“Who do I think I am?” He growls a guttural animal sound that belongs in the deepest, darkest wilds of Frostwater Wood, not inside a Malgrosian tavern. Then he looks up at the faces staring back at him in shock and fear, his eyes glowing like orbs of sunlight from beneath his cowl, his fangs descending like blades. “I’m your motherfucking god,” he says. “That’s who I am.”
