Korgan getting Jan to tell a story is quite funny and disturbing:
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 for ye, it’ll be about dwarves!
Jan: Ah, finally someone who appreciates my tales! A tale about dwarves, eh? Let me see, of course - my cousin Kimble. Not a dwarf himself 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 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 could have. But she wouldn’t have anything to do with my cousin - she had dwarven princes and clan lords after her calloused hands, 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 character back to her clan home.
Korgan: Yer losin’ me gnome, I don’t want no weeping 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 just can’t make up a life, 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 never had turnips, so they didn’t really know what they were missing. One of those turnips started to sprout things, changed in a hurry. Turns out the dwarves of that particular clan LOVED turnips. Fried, baked, boiled, pureed, mashed - you couldn’t find a meal of the day they didn’t have turnips with. Turnips became so fashionable they began to wear clothes made from turnips. Never did a dwarf look so snazzy (or smell so appetizing) as when he 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 had 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 me attention, gnome. But the happy ending isn’t doin’ much for 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 clans’ 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 before she accidentally ate one. It killed her, of course. Heartbroken, Kimble tried to return to his own people. But the dwarves just weren’t 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 dwarven clan discovered that turnip farmers were almost as tasty as turnips themselves. Or so I’ve heard.
Korgan: HAR! HAR! HAR! A great tale, gnome. Ye done yerself proud!