The goblin king staggers back, black blood dripping from your sword. He glares at you, startled but not surprised as he realizes the game you have played. A young adventurer come to claim his throne. A goblin has no right to be king. They are but creatures of the cold and damp places, confined to the dark crevices of the world, their ugliness to be reviled. They were misshapen long ago by magicks which cannot be undone. You glimpse your face reflected in the goblin king's beady eyes, a look of disgust, but also remorse. You were tasked to kill this creature, but as his hot blood and bile stain your hands, you recognize the life that you have taken and the burgeoning civilization you have decapitated as a pawn in a game much bigger than yourself. This is the place for those not meant to survive. Maybe that includes you.