"Tell me more of this lawbringer," drawled Nicol Bolas as he casually tore off the right arm of the minor functionary he held in his talon. An elf, the leader of whatever-this-place-was and the overseer of who-cares.

As Nicol Bolas used the severed appendage to slap the man repeatedly, he reflected that he should not allow himself to be so easily tempted into savagery by the foolishness of mortals, particularly not when even the slightest use of his telepathic ability would suffice to get the information he needed. Nevertheless, the slaps had the desired effect, dispelling the man's shock long enough to produce an answer. There was a certain feeling of joy Bolas achieved only by punishing stupidity.

While all this elf's fellow bureaucrats—and everyone else in the city—had been sensibly running for their lives, this one pathetic fool had remained in the plaza. He had begun hurling insults. At an elder dragon. He had sworn that the lawbringer would soon return, and would once more bring an end to evil. Such tired invective, thought Bolas as the elf blubbered, telling all he knew and begging for his life.