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I stood over the corpse of a Spittlefist archer.
Grimz.
Not once in the times I've wandered the Sharahan Hills has a Spittlefist ever introduced themselves, or said anything other then unintelligible battle cries. I've lost count the number of those green-skinned little ear-gnawers I've sent to the lands of the dead.
I saluted him...well, I saluted both halves of him after I struck him down. He was an (almost) brave, persistent goblin. I wasn't really put out by it, so I figured, "Hells, why not?" I should have built a pyre or done something to mark his worthiness. Imagine that: Aiden Harcourt, the Goblin Undertaker.
I almost laugh.
"Ah, who am I kidding? He was a garbage-eatin' goblin! And he died a better death than most." I speak the words aloud to myself, with none in the Sharahan Wood to bear witness. The scavengers will pick the body clean in a matter of hours.
Grimz.
Not once in the times I've wandered the Sharahan Hills has a Spittlefist ever introduced themselves, or said anything other then unintelligible battle cries. I've lost count the number of those green-skinned little ear-gnawers I've sent to the lands of the dead.
I saluted him...well, I saluted both halves of him after I struck him down. He was an (almost) brave, persistent goblin. I wasn't really put out by it, so I figured, "Hells, why not?" I should have built a pyre or done something to mark his worthiness. Imagine that: Aiden Harcourt, the Goblin Undertaker.
I almost laugh.
"Ah, who am I kidding? He was a garbage-eatin' goblin! And he died a better death than most." I speak the words aloud to myself, with none in the Sharahan Wood to bear witness. The scavengers will pick the body clean in a matter of hours.
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