“There was a time when I’d have killed Gmok without thinking. His pocket-sized goblin heart would have been exploded, his speckled green skin scorched with fire, or his mustard-yellow blood boiled with Black Magic until he was in a coma or dead. Maybe I would’ve also constructed another piece of furniture using his miniature skull as I’d once done with a thousand corpses of his kind. I’d slept so peacefully for decades on that glorious bed frame made of their tiny but sturdy bones.”
