“Slimy, conniving, dirty piece of goblin filth,” your prisoner barks at you as you and your buddies drag him up the mountain pass. You have fond memories of your mother calling you those words when you were just a welp, but you are tired of hearing the Adventurer make so much noise.
As you round a corner you pause to knock the annoying man unconscious. There. All better. Meals really shouldn’t talk so much.