The names and structures of different kinds of stone flicker through his brain. Feldspar. Beryl. Peridot. Tourmaline. Different from all of them, because this is a living, breathing person, not a geological sample. He smiles at them.

Honestly, that level of collateral damage is par for the course for adventurers in general, as far as Barcus can tell. "I'm sure you're spectacular in action," he says. "But I may have to ask you to step out of my workshop if you feel the urge to break things coming on."

"I went out alone," he confirms, with a wry look. "I was looking for...for a friend of mine, who I was convinced was in danger. I didn't plan well. Goblins travel in packs, and I was carrying too much to outrun them. Lucky for me they decided to play games rather than just take me straight to their camp for their masters to handle, but I'll never look at a windmill the same way again."