A rasping cackle from the darkness - somewhere far down towards the stern. Korbal Broach frowned. “Rude,” he murmured, “to have so interrupted my precious thoughts. So rude.” The cackle crumbled into a rasp, and a voice drifted out. “You”

“Yes,” Korbal Broach replied.

“No, it can’t be.”

“But it is.

“You must die.”

“So I must. One day.”

“Soon”

“No.”

“I will kill you. Devour your round head. Taste the bitter sweetness of your round cheeks. Lap the blood pool beneath you.”

“No.”

“Come closer.”

“I can do that,” Korbal Broach replied, straightening and walking towards the stern. He passed beneath the grainy rectangle of lesser darkness that was the still undogged hatch. And in his mailed hands was a crescent bladed short-handled axe that seemed to be sweating oily grit. Gleaming most evil.

“That cannot hurt me,”

“Yes, no pain. But I have no wish to hurt you.” And Korbal Broach giggled. “I will chop you up. No pain, just pieces. I want your pieces.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

— The Lees of Laughter’s End, page 48-49, written by Steven Erikson.