“We killed all our wizards for good reason. Now I have to clean this up!”
Finarton is grumpy. He likes his mountains. He likes his solitude. But most of all he likes peace and quiet. The black plague (and now the green horde) has brought him anything but. The orcs were noisy neighbors to begin with, and now they seek out living flesh day and night. If Finarton has one thing, it’s a lot of living flesh. Giant society has no wizards after a similar incident in the distant past, remembered only by oral tradition among the giant folk. He suggests humankind use their own rather drastic method of prevention.