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Korgan Bloodaxe's quotes presents lines spoken by Korgan, together with the associated sound files.

Korgan shows plenty of the brutality and love for violence that is common to the denizens of the Underdark he left long ago. He enjoys exchanging banters with his companions, and shows quite the sharp tongue for it, with little respect for the faith or beliefs of others. His skill with an axe is admired by everyone, and Korgan himself is quite fond of other fighters in the party, particularly of Mazzy. He is somewhat dismissive of mages, as expected from a berserker dwarf, and despises weakness, being thus completely adverse to Aerie's presence in the party. Despite his uncouthness, Korgan still shows occasionally some sense and sensibility, even disarming the proud and noble warrior Mazzy with sudden bouts of poetry.

Surprisingly, while Korgan is Chaotic-evil he gets along rather well with everyone else in the party, only getting in conflict with Aerie, who'll eventually leave the party to flee his relentless bullying. His mercenary past is probably the reason of his sociability, as if Korgan leaves the party he'll only join it back if you pay him 500 gold.


Companion dialogue
Aerie Quotes
Anomen Delryn Quotes
Cernd Quotes
Dorn Il-Khan Quotes
Edwin Odesseiron Quotes
Haer'Dalis Quotes
Hexxat Quotes
Imoen Quotes
Jaheira Quotes
Jan Jansen Quotes
Keldorn Firecam Quotes
Korgan Bloodaxe Quotes
Mazzy Fentan Quotes
Minsc Quotes
Nalia de'Arnise Quotes
Neera Quotes
Rasaad yn Bashir Quotes
Sarevok Anchev Quotes
Valygar Corthala Quotes
Viconia DeVir Quotes
Yoshimo Quotes

Dialogues[]

With Aerie[]

Korgan: Aerie? AERIE! Cease yer whinin'! I'd swear on my father's coal cart ye were one o' them fey elves with all the blasted cryin' coming from ye.
Aerie: Eek!

When Aerie stands less than 3 units away from Korgan :

Korgan: Outta my way, brat!
Aerie: Eek!

When an "Eek!" dialogue has already taken place :

Korgan: You there, elf girl. I be tired of yer constant miscastin' of magic while we be in the heat of battle. Can't ye do anything right, girl?!
Aerie: I—I tried my—my best, sir.
Korgan: Well, it ain't good enough now, is it?!

Later :

Korgan: Quit yer whinin', wench. So you be tired; we care not. Sleep when death takes ahold o' ye, which would be a welcome respite for the rest of us... god knows!
Aerie: You are a filthy and horrible little man, Korgan! If he's—if he's still with us this time tomorrow, I'm going back to the circus!
Korgan: Aye, we'll miss you like a good club to the head, won't we, <CHARNAME>? Har har har!

One day later :

Korgan: Ha ha! Look a' the sky, missy. Yer day's up, and I'm still 'ere. Ol' <CHARNAME> didn't e'en break it to ya gently. Take the hint and head back to yer little circus, girlie.
Aerie: F-fine! I'll go! If <CHARNAME> has a... a thug like you around, then there's no need for me, is there?! *leaves party*

If the party gives 100 gold to a girl they free from Slaver Stockade :

Korgan: "Bah! It be a waste of good gold to give it to yon girlie! What be the point of adventuring if ye gives all yer wealth to waifs and the needy?"
Aerie: "You... you are a horrid person, Korgan! I can't believe you say such things!"
Korgan: "Aye, that I am, lass! An' were ye shorter and bearded, I would be showing ye just how I acquired me reputation amongst the women of me clan!"
Gorion's Ward: "Enough, Korgan. Knock it off." (One of the available options)
Korgan: "Aw, it be nothing more than a wee jest, "charname". No need to get yer girdle in a twist o'er it.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: Aerie, ye wingless freak! Ye better spend some time practicing yer spells afore the next battle! I won't put up with any more of yer screw-ups!
Aerie: Leave me alone, you brute! I'm in no mood for this today!
Korgan: Aye, ye're never in the mood for nothin' but weepy sentimentality! Stop playin' adventurer and go back to yer cage in the circus! At least if people pay a copper or two to see yer gangly, misshapen form, ye might be worth somethin'!
Aerie: I can look after myself, you vile little man! <CHARNAME> knows I can hold my own when the rough stuff starts!
Korgan: Ye're nothin' but a scrawny, whiny, stump-backed, miscastin' mage wannabe!
Aerie: I'm sick of your insults, you bastard! You're worth less than the feces of an unwashed kobold! You're stupid, bigoted, mean, small-minded, and small-membered! Now leave me alone, or I'll cast a spell of withering on that pathetic excuse for a manhood you're always scratching at between your legs!
Korgan: Aye, that's what I been waitin' fer. You'll be blushin' fer a week when ye calm down and realize what ye've said, lassie! My work here is done—har har har!

With Anomen[]

Anomen: I have been watching you in combat, Korgan. You fight well... for the unblessed. Perhaps the blood sacrifices that you make to your... primitive gods?... work after all.
Korgan: Yer idiocy is surpassed only by yer unskilled flounderin' on the field o' battle. Stupid boy! Ye're vassal to a selfish god, given useless power in swap for your soul.
Anomen: Do not insult my faith, short one.
Korgan: Why not? All that I am has been gained through my own strength. Ye've naught but that which is doled out to you by a frolicking godling.
Anomen: 'Tis obvious, dwarf, that you speak out of jealousy. So too would I, in your position.
Korgan: Hypocrite. Ye've no faith beyond that which brings you personal pleasure. A pig in filth. Wallow elsewhere, boy.
Anomen: I shall not stand here and listen to this dwarven self-loathing any longer. Truly, you are the one who wallows though in self-pity.


Korgan: At least I'm no hypocrite, Anomen. There nae be a heart so holy that evil nae make a nest of black twigs in it.
I've seen the clay feet yer moral crusade stands on, paladin, and no lies can keep it from collapsing. Ye're hellbound like me. Only a matter of the hourglass.
Anomen: Heresy is a devil's bellow, dwarf. My service is to my lord.
Korgan: Yer reputation don't know yer character. Ye lay falsehoods where ye need to, cleric, but I've read yer story on the faces of the dead and all's nae written yet.
Anomen: My god has a face and name, heretic. He leaves me free to draw his grand design upon the souls of the lapsed and faithless.

Throne of Bhaal only, if Anomen failed his test :

Korgan: Ach—you there. Pretty boy. Aye, I mean ye, Anomen. Ye look a mite down today.
Anomen: Down? I believe you are mistaken, dwarf. I am in fine spirits!
Korgan: Truly? I find that a mite surprisin'. With yer sister rotting in her grave and yer life's ambition to join the Order of the bleedin' Heart forever lost, I figured ye might just be somewhat surly.
Anomen: I choose not to dwell on the past, Korgan. I am trying to put those events behind me... though your bringing them up again does little to help the situation.
Korgan: Ach—that's what I'm here fer! To open old wounds and pour in a big bag o' salt!
Anomen: I suggest you choose another target to torment, dwarf. Or maybe after the next battle, I shall treat your physical wounds with the same callous disregard you have shown my emotional scars.
Korgan: 'Twas merely a jest, my surly cleric. Since ye cannae take a joke, I'll leave ye be.


With Cernd[]

Korgan: Rainmaker, use yer mumbo-jumbo and make sure it don't rain when we're traveling in the outdoors! It makes me armor rust, me clothes damp, and me feet slosh about in me favorite boots.
Cernd: I'm afraid I cannot, Korgan. It is not within my sphere of influence, nor is it my place to do so.
Korgan: Bah! Tree-hugging dirt-eater! If yer god lived on Faerûn, I'd break his windows! Good fer nothin'! Go pluck mistletoe and frolic naked in glades!
Cernd: Trying to make me repentant for the ways of the storm will prove no more fruitful than whistling down the wind.
A selective sun may also choose to prolong your damp, but who am I to say?


With Dorn[]

Korgan: ...and that's how I turned the Three Heads of Dannak into the Two-and-a-Half Heads of Dannak!
(if present in party:)
Viconia: Why is it all your stories end with you hitting someone with an axe?
Korgan: All the best stories end with someone getting hit with an axe!
Dorn: A fine tale, dwarf. I'm reminded of the time I slew a pack of lycanthropes in the Wyrm Forest.
Korgan: Oh, aye? What happened?
Dorn: I slew a pack of werewolves in the Wyrm Forest.
Korgan: Hah! Y'know how to tell a tale, I'll give ye that, half-orc!
Viconia: (if in party) You call that a tale? It was barely a sentence!
Korgan: It's nice t' have someone in this wretched crew that understands the finer things in life. Like the many enjoyable ways there are to end it.
Dorn: You and I are cut from the same cloth. We both know the sublime joy that can only be found in unrestrained slaughter.
Korgan: Someday, you'n me'll have to sit down with an ale or two... dozen, an' then we'll really tell some tales.
Dorn: Indeed. I look forward to it.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: But how can ye? With a woman, I can understand, but—it doesnae work!
Dorn: Then you have a limited imagination, dwarf.
Korgan: But what do ye do with all the *hair*?
Dorn: I have seen your women, dwarf. That you were born at all tells me it is not a matter of great concern for your kind.
Korgan: 'Tis true, a fine dwarven woman comes with a fine dwarven beard, but—
Dorn: It is all a matter of power and pleasure. I will take those things with whomever I can.
Korgan: Give me a buxom lass any day. I'll leave the men for ye.


With Dorn and Sarevok[]

Throne of Bhaal only, if Sarevok is still evil :

Dorn: ...and so I threw him into the volcano!
Korgan: Hah!
Sarevok: Well, what else COULD you do, really?
Korgan: He could've thrown 'im off the volcano.
Sarevok: Off the volcano? What would be the point of that?
Korgan: None that I can see, but you asked what else he could do.
Dorn: I think we're all agreed the fool ended up where he belonged.
Korgan: Got that right.
Sarevok: Ah! My loins ache to spill innocent blood.
Korgan: Meself, I'd settle for some guilty blood.
Dorn: I'm sure <CHARNAME> will give us ample opportunity to shed blood by the bucketful.
Korgan: Yeah, but that's fer business. Where's the joy, I ask ye?
Sarevok: It's said that those who do what they love never work a day in their lives.
Korgan: Y'know what I love?
Dorn: The screams of your victims as you cleave them in twain?
Korgan: Well, that too, but I was actually thinkin' of somethin' more in the tankard of ale area. Preferably served by a nice, jiggly bar wench.
Sarevok: Your words paint a pretty picture, dwarf.
Dorn: A little abstract for my taste.
Sarevok: Fah! You just lack the imagination to visualize the scene.
Korgan: I lack the ale and the bar wench.
Dorn: Only for now. Some time soon, the three of us shall visit a tavern.
Sarevok: We'll drink and brawl till it's a smoking ruin!
Korgan: Hah! I cannae wait!


With Edwin[]

Edwin: So tell me, Korgan, what think you of conflict and adversity? It seems this party is long on squawk and short on character.
Korgan: The harder the conflict, the more glorious be yer triumph, I reckon, spellchucker. What ye obtain too cheaply, ye esteem too lightly.
Edwin: How true, how true. As a gallant warrior-born, I correctly assumed you to be a student of warfare as well as a master of battle.
Korgan: Aye. The best battler is he who can smile in troubles deep, gather his strength from distress, and grow brave in reflection.
Edwin: Dwarf, you speak the truth. A warrior without peer, like you, must be an offense to nature. The strongest in the most peril... strange how Fate weaves her tapestry.
Korgan: Survival of the fittest be the term, and that be the puzzle of the Life. The Life of adventurers. Now shut yer yap.


Korgan: Ye know, Bag o' Tricks, ye and I are nae so different. Ye fetch awe with eye of newt and tongue of salamander, I with battleaxe and bloodlust.
Edwin: A rather bold conjecture, don't you think, Korgan?
Korgan: Nay, not so bold. The rest of these backpedalers 'aven't a clue. Ye and I, we know the longlimb's capacity fer the horrible and severe, eh friend? We know.
Edwin: You're an odd little fellow, Korgan. I'm not quite sure what to make of you and your chagrins.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: It's been a grand fight, eh, mage? Can you better cap a life than with blood betwixt the toes and the flames o' Hell itself? Ha ha!
Edwin: Would someone get this bile-soaked freak away from me?
Korgan: What? No stomach for the cleavings of me axe?
Edwin: I do not fault the need for frontline offense, but I fail to see why you find it necessary to sink a blade to your elbows.
Korgan: Bah! Mages! Ye'll blast away from your mother's window but catch yer scatter-willys at the thought of blood. It's called follow-through! Feh!


With Haer'Dalis[]

Korgan: There not be enough critters in all the world to stain me axe nearly enough. I've killed aplenty already, an' I yearn yet for more. Come, then, and face this dwarf! Aye, come!
Haer'Dalis: My hound, my hound, my dog of war, do not invite death to come knocking at your door. I am sure there be plenty of diversions awaiting your keen edge anon.
Korgan: If there be more of ye out skulking in the shadows, then show yerselves! I have to have some fun... I cannae go about tough and unfeeling all the time!
Haer'Dalis: You do have a certain invective creativity, Korgan. Now, if only you could direct that skill for invention into something more cerebral, less bravado.
Korgan: Cease yer jabber, fool! Blasted actors! Even nae a script or play and still ye need to be the center of all! Strewth!


Korgan: Balderdash, imbecile! I've more than a fair mind to tear ye a new dirtchute, ye lying swindler! Faerûn would be none the poorer, with ye pushing up daisies.
Ye'd be wise to skulk about in the shadows and pick yer dainty locks, else yer time be up. Hear me, scoundrel?
Haer'Dalis: I hear you plain enough, dwarf. I seek no quarrel with your prowess.
Korgan: So the snakebelly ain't as dumb as he looks. There's a lad.


With Hexxat[]

Korgan: Ho there, wench. I've a mighty appetite this <DAY/NIGHT>.
Hexxat: A situation with which I'm all too familiar.
Korgan: Aye, well, perhaps ye can help me out wi' this. See, I be cravin' somethin' specific.
Hexxat: And what is that?
Korgan: Meat. DARK meat. If ye know what I mean.
Hexxat: Hmm. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement.
Korgan: Oh, aye?
Hexxat: I am also craving something.
Korgan: Oh, I just bet ye are.
Hexxat: And when I crave something... I lose control. I can't get enough of it.
Korgan: I like the sounds o' that.
Hexxat: I'm unstoppable. I drink and I drink until my cup is empty.
Korgan: Yer cup.
Hexxat: Or tankard. Whatever I'm drinking out of. How much do you weigh?
Korgan: What?
Hexxat: I've never tasted dwarf blood before. I'm used to... larger meals. I wonder how much blood you could spare? And if it's as delicious as you make it seem, whether I could stop myself before you were drained dry.
Korgan: I, er. Hm.
Hexxat: Still want a taste of dark meat?
Korgan: ...
Gimme some time. I'll have to think on that one.
Hexxat: You do that.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: I don't like ye, vampire.
Hexxat: Many don't.
Korgan: However chummy ye be gettin' with th' others, there'll always be one here watchin' ye.
Hexxat: More than one, I think.
Korgan: Ye fain even look at me funny an' I'll take t' sleepin' with a stake under me bedroll.
Hexxat: Sleep with it atop your bedroll, dwarf. Keep it beneath and you'll never reach it in time.
Not that you'll ever need it. But if you did... Yes, best to keep it on top.


With Imoen[]

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: Hmph! Imoen, ye're an o'erlame excuse fer a member o' this party, and I be tired of exertin' meself to protect ye! Next time, I let ye perish, screamin' like a ninny as ye does!
Imoen: The last time I saw you exert yourself over anything was the last slab of pork at an inn. If you could keep up with me with that beer gut of yours, I'd be amazed.
Korgan: Beer gut?! Why, ye stinkin' wench, how dare ye! Keep up with my keen axe as it flies towards yer head, more like! Though it'd be like splittin' a hair, skinny as ye are!
Imoen: I'd be startled if a drunk dwarven oaf like yourself could hit the broad side of a barn with your axe. And while we're talking about stench, let's talk about the last time you passed out in your own vomit.
Korgan: An outrage! Ye're a canker on me backside, and the world would be best rid of ye! Loathsome mongrel she-dog!
Imoen: Brutish pig! You're nothing but a boil needing lancing!
Korgan: I've seen harlots wi' less open sores than ye, ye pimple-faced, whining guttersnipe!
Imoen: You cantankerous, foul-mouthed excuse for a gully dwarf!
Korgan: Gully dwarf? Har har! Ye knows how to hit low, ye does! Har har! Ye're a fine, fine lass, ye are, Imoen. That Gorion of yers would be proud!
Imoen: Aw, gee. Thanks, Korgan!


With Jaheira[]

Korgan: That's a fine wooden staff you've there, woman. Tell me, ye crack acorns with it? Or call some rarebit friends to frolic with ye?
Jaheira: Nature's servant makes no judgment on the woodlands. Your tone betrays you, Korgan.
Korgan: Perhaps ye could summon a horde of squirrels to take the day, or make a lovely leaf stew? Make sure ye and yer twig be of some use, though that use be lost on me.
Jaheira: A great many things are lost to you, I would think.


Korgan: Yer eyes wander all over me back while I battle. Do I meet yer approval? I hope not; I find yer nuts and berries approach quite feeble.
Jaheira: What does it matter what I would think of you, if at all? You could scarcely care less.
Korgan: Aye, that is true enough, but I'll not have ye at me back and thinking me ill. I'd sooner gut ye here and now, and let yer bile fertilize yer precious plants.
Jaheira: Ahh, you have quite the way of inspiring comrades. Certainly such an act would let you sleep soundly at night. Your "friends" will... watch over you intently.
Korgan: Ehh, such a sleep be akin to death, maybe even become it. So walk on, wench o' the wood, but do so ahead o' me!

With Jan Jansen[]

Korgan: Hahahahahaa! Marvelous tale, gnome. Well told, well told. Only blight on ye is that trimmed beard and that loathsome pointy pickle hanging off yer face.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Jan: Korgy, old pal, have I ever told you how much you remind me of my uncle Uriah Twin-Hammers?
Korgan: Watch yer step, gnome. If ye make me angry, I'll bury the head of me axe so far up yer backside yer breath'll smell like magic metal!
Jan: That's exactly the kind of thing Twin-Hammers would say. He was a ruthless, savage, bloodthirsty outlaw who would kill anyone or anything that got in his way. He used to repeatedly terrorize a certain gnomish village he frequently wandered through in his never-ending quest for profit and bloodshed.
Korgan: A man after me own black heart! Carry on, gnome... ye got me blood stirrin'!
Jan: Of course, all good things come to an end. Fed up with Uriah's antics, the village hired a hero to protect them and enforce the law—the legendary Clint Hackman (so named for his habit of chopping his foes to little bits). With the townsfolk peering from their windows, the outlaw and the famous lawman stared each other down in the center of the dusty, deserted street. Cold as ice, Uriah said, "I've killed women and children. I've killed everything that walks or crawls on this earth. And now I'm here to kill you."
Alas, Uriah met his end in that street. With his first blow, he broke his hammer on Hackman's shield, and that was it. Weaponless, he wasn't much of a match for the mighty Clint. If my uncle had only been named Twin-Hammer because he carried two weapons, he might still be alive today. But Uriah got his nickname for the mighty hammer he carried in his belt and the even mightier... uh, "hammer" he had *beneath* his belt, if you get my drift. A fine instrument to have, but not much good in a fight.
Korgan: HAR! HAR! HAR! 'Tis a good thing ye know yer audience, gnome... me axe stays in my belt.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: 'Tis been far too long since our last battle. Jan, ye runty windbag, tell me a story to ward off the boredom... and if ye know what's good fer ye, it'll be about dwarves!
Jan: Ah, finally, someone who appreciates my tales! A story about dwarves, eh? Let me see... Of course—my cousin Kimble. Not himself a dwarf, per se, but Kimble always was of peculiar tastes for a gnome. He fell in love with a dwarven lass. She was stout and stocky, with a gruff voice and a soft, supple, full beard...
Korgan: Ah, gnome, ye know how to paint a lovely picture... such a beauty she must ha' been!
Jan: Oh yes, she was a fine-looking woman... to Kimble's eyes, at least. She cast a spell on him far stronger than any sorcerer ever could. But she wouldn't have anything to do with my cousin—she had dwarven princes and clan lords after her calloused hand, and she couldn't be bothered with a dirt poor turnip-farming gnome. But Kimble's heart wouldn't be denied... he left his own family to follow this bewitching creature back to her clan home.
Korgan: Ye're losin me, gnome... I don't want some weepy love story. I want killin' and death! Give me blood!
Jan: You wanted a story about dwarves, and this is the only one I've got. I can't just make up a lie, you know... that would be an affront to the grand tradition of storytelling in my family! Now, where was I? Oh yes, Kimble. My cousin followed the lovely dwarven lass to her clan home in the Alimir Mountains and started a turnip farm there. He had a rough go of it at first, let me tell you... taxes, levies, zoning restrictions. It was almost like the dwarves didn't want him and his farm there. But they had never tried turnips, so they didn't really know what they were missing.
Once those turnips started to sprout, things changed in a hurry. Turns out the dwarves of that particular clan LOVED turnips. Fried, baked, boiled, whipped, pureed, mashed—you couldn't find a meal of the day that they didn't have turnips with. Turnips became so fashionable the dwarves began to wear clothes made from turnips. Never did a dwarf look so snazzy (or smell so appetizing) as when he was dressed up in a turnip top hat and turnip tails, with turnip skin shoes to complete the ensemble. And with his turnip business booming, Kimble found himself with more wealth than he knew what to do with. Just walking around his house was an effort, what with all the mountains of gold spilling out of every door of every room.
Korgan: All that gold got my attention, gnome, but the happy ending isn't doin' much fer me.
Jan: Happy ending? I never said any such thing. Kimble was rich, true enough—but it turns out his dwarven love didn't share her clan's fondness for turnips. In fact, she was deathly allergic. She did her best to avoid the lethal vegetables, but as popular as Kimble's crops were, it was only a matter of time until she accidentally ate one. It killed her, of course. Heartbroken, Kimble tried to return to his own people. But the dwarves weren't just going to let him and his turnips leave. They threw him in prison and demanded he reveal the secrets of turnip farming, but that isn't something you can just teach. You either have the gift or you don't, and dwarves don't. In the end, Kimble's frail body succumbed to the dwarves' torture and interrogation, and he left to join his beloved in the afterlife. And that particular clan of dwarves discovered that turnip farmers were almost as tasty as the turnips themselves. Or so I've heard.
Korgan: HAR! HAR! HAR! A great tale, gnome. Ye done yerself proud!


With Keldorn[]

Keldorn: Well, I can't say I appreciate Korgan's company or the crudeness of his tongue. But by the gods, one can't deny his prowess!
1. Player: Do you mean to say that even evil has its place and use, Lord Keldorn?
Keldorn: It scares me to ponder the implications of such a thought but... yes, <CHARNAME>, that maybe so. But I do not like how easily it rolls off of the tongue.
2. Player: Do not be so awed that you would leave your post and make us vulnerable to renewed assault, Keldorn.
Keldorn: Yes, m'<LADY/LORD>, accept my apologies for the indiscretion.
3. Player: It seems we live and die by it a little more each day.
Keldorn: Aye, and I like not the dependence that he cultivates from it, m'<LADY/LORD>...


Korgan: Fer a muddled longlimb, Keldorn, ye doth wield a clever blade indeed.
Keldorn: As do you, Korgan. But alas, blades be far too lengthy for the vertically challenged, I hazard a guess.
Korgan: I need no narrow stick of steel to rend a foe asunder. I prefer the axe to split the difference. Allies, aye, fallen too, if need be.
Keldorn: Your axe has claimed a few close to you, we know. I'd not put a revisit to the same impulse past you.
Korgan: It's nae brutal, only reasonable force. Ye pick yer battles big enough to matter and small enough to win. They all had it comin'. All of 'em.
Keldorn: We all do, Korgan. Our lord makes this world a vale of tears and sorrow. And, alas, few are saved. Infinitely more are damned.


With Mazzy[]

Korgan: Be aware, Mazzy, I've something long, hard, and low to the ground ye're free to touch and fondle. Child, no need to glare! 'Twas me axe I was referring to... it's a joke!
Mazzy: Your sense of humor has no sense in it, Korgan. Quite tasteless, and I'd appreciate it if you would keep it to yourself!
Korgan: Were ye aware, Mazzy, that despite my gruff bearing and taciturn manner, I am also trained in the erotic arts?
Mazzy: Please, Korgan, if I wanted to know the nature of your leisure time, I'm sure I would have asked.
Perhaps your smarm impresses the brazen strumpets at the Coronet, but you have to do better than that with this girl, beardy.
Korgan: Ahhh, Mazzy, the sweetest flowers always resist the plucking. The fire doth burn most brightly in ye fer ol' Korgan... I can see that plain as day.
Mazzy: What's in your wineskin, bellybuilder? A potion of delusion is my guess.


Korgan: Ye know, Mazzy, I'm a poet of fair renown back home. Here's a mere trifle:
"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life be a broken bird that cannae fly."
Mazzy: That's delightful, Korgan. Not lengthy, but effective.
Korgan: Aye. Wrote it after a liquor-induced dervish o' temper, whereby a tavern was flattened and me helmet dented.
Mazzy: Any other masterpieces of prose hiding anywhere?
Korgan: Aye... carved this one on the wall of the lav at the Red Sheaf Inn, reckon it still causes an uproar each time a bowler uncoils his business.
"I were here; alas I'm gone; left me name, to arouse thee on, They who know me, know me well; those who don't can ride me stinking dump, straight to hell" Haha! Masterstroke!
Mazzy: I'm sure your mead-bellied kin would appreciate that lowbrow nonsense, but I don't. And here I thought you might have some values or sense.


Korgan: I've an elf-knot in my neck from strainin' to admire the whole of yer beauty, Mazzy. Calf's skin suits yer form mightily, girl.
Mazzy: Must you be so urgent and clumsy in your one-handed courting, Korgan? Perhaps your time could be best spent elsewhere?
Korgan: The cruelest of weapons and the gentlest of touches, milady, that's what the words that leave yer lips be to me.
It's no secret I've nae the longest beard or the most comely countenance, but the Bloodaxes 'ave charm when need be, and ye are deserving of me flattery, Mazzy.
Mazzy: If I hadn't heard it myself, Korgan, I'd have doubted it steadfastly. Perhaps a heart does beat beneath that armored chest, not a daub of stone.
Korgan: Don't let word get about. I've a reputation to protect, girl. Ye'd ruin it twice over.
I've a terrific elf-knot near strangling me... right here. Can ye help me with those nimble fingers and delicate manner?
Mazzy: Only if it will cease your fawning. Stand still and I'll work that kink from your neck... but if you breach the rules of chivalry, I'll wring it while I'm there.

When in a city :

Korgan: Longlimbs! Look at them! Like grubworms scurryin' away from the light o' day. All avoidin' pain, on the prowl fer pleasure. Nae facin' uncertain futures. Best all dead, I reckon.
Mazzy: Korgan, I know not whether to berate you for your unsolicited comments or for your mantra of genocide.
Korgan: I did nae know ye were within earshot, girl. 'Twas a wee pondering, nothin' more. I enjoy making fun of the big folk.
Mazzy: No one likes to be insulted, least of all tall folk. You just seem too preoccupied with violence to get along with people, to notice beauty about you.
Korgan: I know of what ye speak of, Mazzy. I nae blind to it entirely. Treachery, theft, plunder. Hatred here, killing there. Nae respect fer heritage or the Way.
Mazzy: What are you talking about, Korgan?
Korgan: What do I talk of? Clan against clan, oceans of bloodshed, rivers of tears. And fer what? A tunnel or two. A vein of gold or silver.
Mazzy: I'm... I'm listening...
Korgan: Me mam were murdered. Nay by troll or giant, but by kindred, by one of me own. Pa had ta cut me from her while she heaved her death rattle.
Five harvests on, he were killed too, right in front o' me. I built his pyre, and black smoke showed me I were alone. So ye'll forgive me bad manner where the true nature of beasts is reckoned on.
Mazzy: I'm sorry to hear that, Korgan, but as pained as the past may be, try to be civil while we are traveling in human civilization. They didn't make your past.
Korgan: With due respect, Lady Mazzy, 'tis not civil. Longlimbs be victims of passion far more than me. The brief lifetimes, I reckon, be the core of their rage.
Be wise to this: If there be corruption in me, Mazzy, 'tis only the cost of sleeping amongst the enemy.
Mazzy: We are all responsible for ourselves. I sorrow at the pain of your youth, but you could defeat your anguish. You've no claim to self-pity.
Korgan: Lady Mazzy, sorry for any offense, truly, but I've cradled too many dyin' comrades and nae amount of resolve can keep the darkness at bay.
Ye must roar into the blackness, wage war with fear, and battle pain. 'Tis the only way when carnage be yer crown of thorns.
Mazzy: Then why don't you save your rage for the evil beasts that plague us all, be we human, dwarf, or halfling?
Korgan: Out of respect for ye, I shall try.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: Ahh, Mazzy. We've traveled together, you an' I, fer such a length o' time. Ye know it's just a matter of time before we end up together, aye?
Mazzy: Don't be ridiculous! I know of no such thing.
Korgan: Ye may deny it, lass, but I see the fire burnin' in yer eyes. Ahhh, it shall be a glorious thing indeed when ye gives into yer heart.
Mazzy: The only thing in my heart, Korgan, is disgust. Disgust at your lack of manners, your lack of civility, and yes, your lack of basic decency. You are nothing like Patrick.
Korgan: Eh? An' this be a bad thing? Who is this Patrick o' yers?
Mazzy: I will not speak of him to you, Korgan, except to say that he was decent and good in all the ways that you are not. He died nobly fighting the Shade Lord, and I shall honor him forever in my heart.
Korgan: Ach! I cannae be expected t' compete against a ghost, lass!
Mazzy: Indeed you cannot. And I do not expect you to.
Korgan: He were a lucky man then, Mazzy, to have such a loyal lass as ye.
Mazzy: He... I... thank you, Korgan. I miss him. Now let us speak no more of this.

Throne of Bhaal only, after the previous conversation :

Mazzy: Korgan? While I may rue the fact that I even brought the subject up, I feel compelled to ask you something.
Korgan: Aha! I knew ye'd give in to yer heart sooner or later! So, what's it to be, lass? A kiss an' a tickle now or later?
Mazzy: You see? This is exactly it! Besides the fact that I have rebuffed every advance, you yet live under this delusion? Why, Korgan? Why do you even bother?
Korgan: I bother because ye're a sweet thing, lass. Ye're a halfling of a like I've ne'er seen before, an' I kin afford to be persistent.
Mazzy: Persistence is irrelevant in this case, Korgan. Please stop. It makes me very uncomfortable.
Korgan: 'Twas ye who brought th' subject up, Mazzy. There be truth in that, I think.
Mazzy: Well, now I do regret it after all.
Korgan: So... I suppose a tickle be out of th' question then, aye?
Mazzy: You are a disgusting brute. Leave me be.

Throne of Bhaal only, after the previous conversation :

Korgan: I've a small question for ye, lass, if ye'll be so kind not t' run off on me this time.
Mazzy: *sigh* I'll promise not to run, Korgan, but if this is just another base attempt at flattery...
Korgan: Nay, nay, lass. It be just a small question.
Mazzy: Then ask.
Korgan: I need to know, Mazzy. If it were not for this Patrick fellow ye mentioned... if ye did nae know th' man at all... would I even have a chance with ye?
Mazzy: Korgan, this is outrageous! Of all the—
Korgan: I be completely serious! I just have t' know! Just answer th' bloody question!
Mazzy: *sigh* Well... if it will assuage your bruised ego. If Patrick did not exist, and had not died nobly by my side...
Korgan: Aye? Aye?
Mazzy: And if you weren't a cruel bastard and a complete oaf with barely enough redeeming qualities to count on one hand...
Korgan: Aye? Yes?
Mazzy: Well, then... perhaps. I might give you a chance. A small one.
Korgan: YES! A-HA! She love me, she does! The bloody dwarf hasn't lost it! The girl be MINE!
Mazzy: But... I just... *groan* Oh, never mind. I've developed a bad headache suddenly...


With Minsc[]

Korgan: Yer combat prowess is a sight to behold, Minsc. Ye certain no dwarven blood runs through ye?
Minsc: Boo points, I punch! Is very simple relationship, but it is effective.
Korgan: That rodent? Ye're at the beck and call of vermin?
Minsc: Boo is a fine friend, and powerful in ways you don't let yourself see! To insult Boo is to insult all things small that try hard. Oh, and Minsc as well.
Korgan: Warrior, perhaps chasing windmills be best left to ye.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Minsc: Korgaaan... Korgan, Korgan! Boo tells me that you have been staring at him. I fear your gaze is making him quite angry... you see how his tiny body trembles with the fury?
Korgan: Ach, the little bugger's probably just cold. I'll fire up a pot o' boilin' water to warm his wee bones, and ye just toss him right in. An' then it's hamster stew for everyone!
Minsc: Minsc knows you are just joking. If Boo was in your belly, he might forget the "miniature" part of his giant space hamster size. Ho ho! That would be a messy end to your jests!


With Nalia[]

Korgan: Nalia, ye're overtall, beardless, long-limbed, and lack strength. Ye disgust me.
Nalia: What provoked this hostility, Korgan?
Korgan: Ye deserve the full wrath of my ire, weakling! Ye deserve it because ye're a coddled, privileged imbecile, a sad, little nobleman's offspring!
With what grout ye've left, never question what I've to say, else each night upon the morn ye awake screaming for fear of what I may do to ye!
Nalia: I'm sorry, Korgan. I seek no conflict and wish only to be left alone. Forgive my slights, if I made any.
Korgan: Ye quiver and wither like all the others. Ye're a gutless coward. And so ye'll stay.


With Neera[]

Korgan: To hear ye carry on about yer magic, ye'd think we'd get a bloodier show when yer spellslingin' goes ugly. Ye go around pratin' about fire an' ice, an' "wild" this an' "wild" that, but the worst ye e'er do is make the milk go sour or turn some poor critter's hair as pink as yers.
Neera: Is this an "all bark, no bite" contest? Because if it is, you win.
Korgan: Oh sure, turn it around on me, ye rose-tipped willow wand. I'm a bloodthirsty dwarf who says a mouthful, sure, an' it may be that I bark both loud and long. But when I bite, I gnash! When ye bite, if bite ye do, it's a wee nibble, like what comes from a minnow's mouth.
Neera: Well, you know what they say about minnows.
Korgan: Nooo. No, I don't.
Neera: They, uh... carry a dangerous stomach parasite? So, you wouldn't want them... nibbling... because they might... give it to you?
Korgan: Utter rot an' ye know it! For one, that'd mean ye'd have t' nibble on them, hedgeling. For two, it's no good if it takes explaining.
Neera: Fine. You win.
Korgan: HAR HAR! The lass is as tongue-tied as she is magic-addled! She concedes she's the most useless, fizzle-prone, squishy-skulled mageling since the last one who died before ever shooting off a wee magic missile.
Neera: I didn't concede any of that! When I said you won, I didn't say you won reality, Korgan. Sheesh.
Korgan: Oh? Then what did I win?
Neera: The "all bark, no bite" contest. Good job! There's an "utterly useless" contest coming up—you've a good shot at winning that one, too.
Korgan: Ye don't say? Well then, lass, I hope ye're free to coach me. HAR HAR!

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: What're ye mooning about, mage?
Neera: Mooning? Who said I was mooning?
Korgan: A dwarf knows moonin' when he sees it, and that, my girl, is some world-class mooning ye're doin'.
Neera: I thought the only things you cared about were food and blood.
Korgan: Ye wound me! There be plenty else I care about!
Neera: Whoring and beer?
Korgan: By the gods, lass, d'ye think I dinnae have a heart?
Neera: If you tore it still beating from the chest of an enemy, maybe.
Korgan: Har har! An' don't ye forget it!
Whatever ye're worryin' about, rip its heart out and drown it in booze. Works fer me.
Neera: That might actually be a not terrible idea. Thanks, Korgan.
Korgan: Anytime, lass.


With Rasaad[]

Korgan: I don't like it, <CHARNAME>! No, I don't like it one damn bit!
1. Player: I couldn't agree more, Korgan. What are we talking about?
Korgan: This high-horsed prettyboy monk o' yers has been lookin' down his nose at me, and I'll not stand for it.
1. Player: Rasaad, is this true?
Rasaad: I do not know what he's talking about, <CHARNAME>. Truly.
I don't know what I've done to offend you, but whatever it was, I apologize.
Korgan: You put yer pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us!
Rasaad: I do, yes.
Korgan: Ye're no better 'n me, no matter what ye think.
Rasaad: I never claimed I was, nor would I.
Korgan: Oh, aye. So that's how it is, is it? Well, all right. But ye better watch yourself, monk. Kicks aren't so impressive comin' from someone whose been cut down at the knees.
Rasaad: I— What just happened?
1. Player: Korgan just happened. Don't let it bother you. *ends conversation*
2. Player: Eh. The dwarf's touchy. Just—avoid him as best you can for a while. I'm sure he'll find another target for his ire in due course. *ends conversation*
3. Player: I don't know, which works out well as I also don't care. *ends conversation*
2. Player: Most people look down their noses at you, Korgan. Your stature makes it difficult to do otherwise.
Korgan: Oh, so ye're takin' the MONK's side! Can't say I'm surprised.
Rasaad: My side? Forgive me, Korgan.
I don't know what I've done to offend you (...)
3. Player: Nor should you.
Korgan: So I can kill 'im?
Rasaad: There's no need for violence—
Korgan: Says the man whose sole reason for livin' is to knock Alorgoth's teeth down his throat!
Rasaad: I don't know what I've done to offend you (...)
2. Player: I'm sorry to hear that?
Rasaad: This high-horsed prettyboy monk o' yers (...)
3. Player: Given your sunny disposition, this hardly comes as a surprise.
Rasaad: This high-horsed prettyboy monk o' yers (...)

Throne of Bhaal only :

Rasaad: You are an intelligent man, Korgan. Why let your baser instincts rule? Is it not more sensible to rely on intellect rather than brawn?
Korgan: Seems t' me ye rely as much on yer fists as yer "intellect."
Rasaad: Perhaps, but each blow is calculated, considered. Minimum exertion for maximum effect.
Korgan: Are ye suggestin' me axe is ineffective?
Rasaad: It is a brutal weapon, I'll admit. But it could also be a useful tool, if you choose to make it so.
Korgan: Brutal's all I need it t' be. I says if it ain't broke, donnae be fixin' it.
Rasaad: As you wish.


With Sarevok[]

Sarevok: I see you eyeing me, dwarf. Are you looking to test your metal against mine?
Korgan: I just be tryin' to come to a reckoning about yer nature, ye walkin' ghost.
Sarevok: Truly. And what have you concluded, Korgan Bloodaxe? Am I friend or foe?
Korgan: Ye're handy enough during a fight, but when I kill something, I want to know it's gonna stay dead. That's where I be havin' a problem with you.
Sarevok: Unless you plan on killing me as I sleep, dwarf, that is not your concern.
Korgan: Aye, that be true enough, I guess. Yer strange return to the land o' the livin' matters not. As long as ye be willing to throw yer blade into the mix, ye're not hurting our group none.
Sarevok: And I could say the same about you. We are done here, dwarf.


Korgan: Ach, Sarevok! Ye're a bloody killin' machine, ye are!
Sarevok: Violence has always come easily to me. It seems little has changed.
(If Sarevok is still evil:)
Sarevok: In the cold nether realm, while I waited to be reborn, I sorely missed the crimson spray and the hot tang of death on my tongue.
Korgan: Aye, well said me armor-plated friend! Welcome back to the land of the living, where the chance to reap a gruesome slaughter lurks around every corner! Har har har!
(If Sarevok is no longer evil:)
Sarevok: Even after my resurrection, violent rage pollutes my tainted blood. As <CHARNAME> can surely attest, it is a constant struggle to keep our bloodlust in check.
Korgan: Don't be turnin' all moral and weak on me, Sarevok! If ye're gonna get prissy about killin', we canna discuss this anymore!
Sarevok: I kill when I have to, Korgan. But I no longer take such pleasure in it as you do.
Korgan: Bah! If that's yer new attitude, <CHARNAME> would have been better off leavin' you dead!


With Valygar[]

Korgan: Valygar! Ye're indeed a dervish! If I didn't know better, I'd swear there was a dwarf hidin' in the woodpile nine months before yer mam birthed ye!
Valygar: Thank you for the compliments, dwarf.


Valygar: I must say, Korgan, you're not like other dwarves I've known.
Korgan: I suppose ye're talking about yon sissy forest dwarves, ranger.
Valygar: No, I've kept company with mountain dwarves in the past and always respected their determination and sense. Behind the gruffness was compassion and wisdom.
Korgan: Ehh, ye don't know the dwarven folk well then, I take it. Ye describe me nae e'en a little.
Valygar: That's true. Like I said, you're nothing like them.
Korgan: There be an insult in there somewhere, ranger. I nae like yer tone, and ye should be wary if I stumble across it.
Valygar: I've no worry of that, dwarf. Nor any of you.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Korgan: Ach, I be wonderin' if I might talk to ye, Valygar. Just to pass the time, ye know.
Valygar: I doubt we have much in common to talk about, dwarf.
Korgan: Ye might be surprised, ranger. I understand ye killed yer family—we have that much in common. Aye, that we do.
Valygar: You... were also forced by circumstance to spill the blood of your kin?
Korgan: 'Twas inevitable. When me father died, there was barely enough inheritance to go around fer me and my three brothers. I had to protect my future, ye understand.
Valygar: We have nothing in common, you vile murderer! When I spilled the blood of my mother, it was to cleanse the world of her evil necromancy, not for selfish personal gain!
Korgan: Dead is dead, and killing is killing, my lanky friend. Ye can sugarcoat it all ye want, but when we go to our family reunions, we both stand alone, aye?
Valygar: I did what I had to do, Korgan. No more, no less. But you... you are an animal! You kill for pleasure. It is a sickness on your soul, and I want no part of it. Speak to me no more.
Korgan: Hmph—fine, ye prissy. I'll leave ye alone. But when the fighting starts, ye'll be glad Korgan and his "sickness" are by yer side splittin' the skulls of yer enemies!


With Viconia[]

Korgan: Well, there be the rarest of sights.
Viconia: What's that, hargluk?
Korgan: One of yer baker-legged ilk out under the sun. Rumor has it ye melt, cook like lamb on the spit, or'll fall apart, all limbs askew.
Viconia: Your tone, like your manners, is absent of charm, Korgan. Our kinship as Those Below should be celebrated, not ridiculed. Though equals we are not.
Korgan: The Underdark I left a lifetime ago. Ye blackskins are all the same: good fer three things... owning, hunting, and killing.


Viconia: Korgan, I'm interested in whether your clan has ever had interaction with House DeVir?
It seems to me, if memory serves, that our sphere of influence was quite close to your Bloodaxe clan's stronghold near Talthalra Wern'nt Szithla Har'oloth.
Korgan: Nae speak that vile tongue to me, blackskin. If it moves, I've killed it, but if it be drow, I've tortured it fer days first.
As fer that House of yers, I burned it and relieved meself on the embers and dead. And the necklace of dark-elf ears fetched me a king's ransom in Waterdeep.

Throne of Bhaal only :

Viconia: By the grace of Shar, what is that foul stench? *gag* Korgan, could you not have the decency to stand downwind of me?
Korgan: The only time I stand downwind of a dark elf is when I'm looking to add to my collection of drow ears! But dannae worry, ye dark witch, yer time will come.
Viconia: Toss your idle threats elsewhere, hargluk. I tolerate your presence for the same reason my kin tolerate your kind in the Underdark... you are a useful servant. But servants are easy to replace.
Korgan: Ye think yer healin' powers make ye indispensable, drow? I wonder, can ye raise yerself from the dead if I slit yer dusky throat?
Viconia: And why have you not already done so, Korgan? Like all your kind, you lack the courage to act when you fear the consequences of failure. That is why the drow use your kin as slaves.
Ah... the wind has shifted. I now have no reason to continue this discussion, dwarf.
Korgan: This isn't over, wench!
Viconia: Yes, Korgan... it is.


With Yoshimo[]

Yoshimo: Friend Korgan, you are truly a paragon of dwarven ill humor. Can you find no joy in being alive? The smell of the morning dew and the feel of the free air?
Korgan: Aye, I find pleasure in the feel of an inquisitive thief's neck bone breakin' between me hands.
Yoshimo: They could write a book about you. "Irritable Dwarven Responses," they'd call it. It would be a bestseller amongst the smelly-old-drunk market. What say you?
Korgan: Mayhaps ye should, only "Pleasures of the Dwarven Bedchamber" is a more pleasing and accurate subject.
Yoshimo: Ho! Is it, now? How about "The Unbathed Adventurer: Travels with Korgan"?
Korgan: Worry not, thief. There's naught wrong with yer idea that a sharp blow to yer idiot skull wouldn't fix.
Here is yer title, and argue with me gauntlet if ye dare: "Tall-Folk Scourge: Yoshimo Beware!" Now shut yer mouth and get to writing.
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