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. They
don't deserve to breathe our air. By the blessed gods, do
you want to live in a city with goblins?"
There were two men ahead of the goblin, thirty feet
away, near a pile of brush and branches from a fallen tree.
He could see them well in the firelight. One wore metal
mail, the other riveted leather. The goblin guessed that the
one in mail was a leader, maybe a knight. The man would
be hard to kill if this wasn't done right. The goblin
wondered if he should just go around them, but he hated
leaving anyone alive behind him, especially people who
didn't want to live with goblins or breathe their air.
The man in the riveted leather looked away from his
companion, his grip loosening on his spear. "No, Your
Reverence," he mumbled.
The goblin froze. Gods of Istar, he thought, a priest.
Perhaps a priest that could tell what you were thinking!
"Well, neither do I," said the mail-armored man,
looking at the other with a half-grin. "No one does. You
know what kinds of evil things goblins do, don't you? Well,
certainly. We have to destroy them, and you know that's
right. And kender. Forgive my asking, but would one of the
gods of good ever have created a kender?"
"They - " The other man stopped, obviously trying to
think this out carefully
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