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For several weeks, excitement has been building in Kenabres—Armasse is coming! Traditionally an opportunity for scholars and priests to come together to study the lessons of history from wars past, since Aroden’s death, this holy day has become more about training commoners in weaponry, choosing squires, and ordaining new priests. Over time, Armasse has grown to encompass jousting competitions, mock duels, battle reenactments, and other festival events. In Kenabres, the festival (which takes place on 16 Arodus) is eagerly anticipated, for itprovides distractions from the horrors of being on the front line of the war. Smiles on faces normally marred by downcast eyes and furrowed brows do wonders for city morale in the weeks leading up to the event.
Armasse is a citywide celebration, but the majority of the event, including its jousting matches and other entertainments, takes place at Clydwell Plaza, just west of the cathedral. It is here that the campaign begins, with the PCs in attendance near the cathedral’s facade—they’ve been lucky enough to get good spots to observe the opening ceremonies at noon.
Sylvara is an odd one, not quite Aasimar, and definitely not a tiefling, but there is planar blood in the elf woman. From her long and thick hair, that shifts in different hues of silver, white and grey, to her eyes that seems to be a different colour each time you look at her. Even the small feathery wings change colour similar to her hair. She is tall, even for an elf, muscular, training of a soldier in her mannerisms, from her way of speaking down to her walking. She is clothed in the traditional cleric vestments of Iomedae. Sword on her hip, elven made mithril longsword
Not too far from her, mostly due to not many wish to actually stand between a lion and his charge. This almost white lion, darker mane, seems to be daring the stable keepers to bar his need to be by his rider's side. Only thing keeping him there, truly, is the fact that she asked him to stay. Normally he would be garbed in the same colours as his rider, added by proper armor to symbolize his own lineage, a king of his own kind.
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A muscular half-orc sits next to Preacherelius and watches the crowd. Having arrived in town recently, he hasn't lived the day-to-day tension of being near the worldwound for a long time. Still, he says "It's a shame what they've done to this tradition." Wearing simple clothes and carrying a not very full backpack, the man doesn't carry any visible weapons, but has wraps around his fists as though he prefers to use them over an axe, like a typical member of his kind.
He sees the elf woman nearby and can't help but stare for a little while. He is impressed by her composure and the impact she does. He realizes celestial blood surely runs in crusaders, so he mentions to the gnome next to him "Hey Preach, look at her. If she is as strong as she looks, she is surely a commander in this army." Guriok, the half-orc monk doesn't know why he is more talkative than usual. He figures the excitement must be contagious.
Across her face, it may have been very pretty once, but multiple scars has changed that fact. Clearly a claw of some sort had cut across her face, leaving scarring across it. Heavy makeup would have been needed to hide it, yet none have been applied. She seems to simply ignore any and all stares and whispered remarks
The big lug smiled as we walked around the normally dower Kenabres, happy to see the fortified crusader city could finally loosen the holy longsword from it's collective rear. He walked around in his Iomedean best, which was just his normal gear but clean.
Xantor Orphabielson was a 6'3", muscular man, with blonde hair cut in a militaristic short style, and deep blue eyes. He looked like a celestial sculpture of a paladin came to life. The aasimar wore high quality chainmail, with a matching longsword on his hip. A simple wooden shield over his backpack, allowing his tabard of Iomedae to be stretch over his wide muscular chest. The oracle winked roguishly at several pretty maidens walking by, checking him out.
Out of the crowd, Xantor notices a 'elven' woman in full plate with a mithril sword.
Damn! The oracle thinks. She looks like she can handle herself.
She looks 'elven', but. I don't know. Something seems off.
Preacherelius replies to Guriok after shifting Shimmerella's phantom state, "Her impressive mount seems to support your speculation."
Preacher then starts to concentrate, as he whispers , "Captain, we are in Kenabres. You wanted to be present during talks of taking the fight to the demons of the Worldwound. It is time to make your presence felt."
In front of the now vacant chair beside Preacherelius, the 6'5" tall spectral form of the infamous Chelaxian slaver ship-raiding tiefling Captain Fergus the Furious starts to slowly appear over the next minute, with Shimmerella's spectral form vanishing at the same rate that Captain Fergus' spectral form 'solidifies' fully.
She stares a moment at the apparition, then calmly replies
"You do not seem to be malevolent, hence your presence here isn't met with hostility. You may address me as Sylvara. Paladin of Iomedae. As to the names you seem to be blurting out. They do not mean anything to me. And though my companion is at a safe distance from the festivities, it would be ill advised to simply go towards him before showing the proper respect, he is of noble blood of his line." she warns just as the spirit seems to fade from existence
"Quite peculiar, though no harm was done I suppose" she mostly states to herself before continuing her watch over the happenings
The small figure pads along in the wake of his tall, muscular, armored companion, never quite stepping into the light. He moves like a living shadow, his black cloak drawn tight around him, the hood pulled low to swallow his features. Only when the fabric shifts does a hint of dark, scaled flesh glimmer beneath, catching the light for the briefest instant before vanishing again.
Barely three feet tall, the creature’s stature is diminutive, his presence easy to overlook by anyone not paying close attention. Yet there is a coiled alertness in the way he moves, a quiet precision that speaks of instinct and caution. Lizardfolk, perhaps—though of a smaller, rarer kind—his nature remains as obscured as his form, trailing his companion in silence like a faithful, watchful echo.
The big man whips around to double check his diminutive friend is still trailing in his wake, like always. "You alright, Onyx?"
As Captain Fergus' spectral form finishes manifesting completely, he nods back at Guriok, as he uses his mental link with Preacherelius to communicate with him telepathically, in his native Iblydosian, <"Why did you manifest me so that I am unable to retrieve my tankard and fill it with Cayden's divine brew?">
Preacher replies mentally in Iblydosian, <"Would you not prefer to wait to hear what the others gathered here have to say before you make a toast to the glory of Cayden helping to free the land here of the demons that have kept it shackled for more than a century?">
Then speaking aloud in Taldane, "Captain, his name is Guriok. He is a friend."
Still looking at Guriok, the spectral tiefling pirate captain speaks in a dry, raspy voice and in Iblydosian"Do you understand Iblydosian?". When the orc does not reply, he switches to Taldane, "Which languages do you speak, orcblood?"
Captain Fergus scans the room while Guriok replies.
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Guriok looks at the captain a bit confused at such an odd question. He may be Preach's friend, but he needs to make sense to him first, so he just answers "Enough to get by", and continues waiting for the festivities to begin. He figures if this captain is anything like Shimmerella, he'll know everything there is to know about him soon anyway, so there's no point in asking questions.
The big lug stops in his tracks; so quickly Onyx walks right into his leg.
The oracle is surprised to see the strange gnome appear to have spirits manifest around him.
He timidly looks up at his friend, "Yesss, thank you my friend. You are cursed with me!" He laughs at the joke.
Then seeing the spirits as he peeks out from the side, he quietly exclaims, "Huzzuah?!"
Captain Fergus turns his gaze towards Xantor and asks him,
The big lug's eye widen shortly as the spirit of a pirate (maybe) asks him a question in Celestial, then erupts with laughter.
Preacher, untangling the bit of string Shimmerella had wrapped around his antlers earlier in the day and putting it back into the brownie's pouch of his adventurer's sash, chuckles at Xantor answer, and addresses him as well.
The big aasimar swing his leg over the chair and sits down, then picks up then small scaled one and sits him down on a seat next to him. "I am Knight Xantor Orphabielson and this is Onyx Breaktooth, my friend and arcane speciaist."
Preacher swaps back to speaking Taldane, "I am Preacherelius. My green-skinned friend is Guriok and this is the infamous pirate, Captain Fergus the Furious of the ship Fiend's Demise, wielder of Fiend-Ender, Slayer of Fiends, Sinker of Slaver Ships, Savior of Slaves, Liberator of the Lost, Champion of Cayden Cailean."
Now with a closer look at Preacher, Xantor sees the gnome with antlers also has a necklace with a silver pendant (with an amount of silver typically used for a human-sized silver religious symbol), and unlike a typical singular butterfly to represent reverence to Desna, the Goddess of Dreams, Preacher's symbol is a flutter of butterflies which are in the shape of a star.
DC 10 Knowledge (planes): Aasimar
DC 15 Knowledge (planes): which category of aasimar bloodline the aasimar is, if the aasimar has one: idyllkin (agathion-blooded), angelkin (angel-blooded), lawbringer (archon-blooded); musetouched (azata-blooded), plumekith (garuda-blooded), emberkin (peri-blooded)
DC 20 (or higher) Knowledge (planes): which specific type of agathion, angel, archon, azata, garuda or peri the aasimar is descended from, using the DC of 20 or DC 10 plus the CR of the specific creature type, using whichever is higher.
Identifying Preacher's aasimar heritage:
DC 10: Though he looks like a gnome (with antlers), he's an aasimar
DC 15: He appears to be of idyllkin heritage
DC 27: He appears to be of cervinal heritage.
Preacher than directs a question at Onyx, "Onyx, would you enjoy talking arcane theories with someone from the Age of Legends?"
The pirate captain lets out a raspy laugh in response to the question Preacherelius asks Onyx.
"Huh." Xantor breathed. "A Desnan? In Kenobres? You, good sir, are far from home. Sorry our 'heavenly garrison' isn't more friendly to other good faiths. And, if I'm not mistaken, you are an aasimar also! Well, thanks to Onyx, I know we outisider-blooded folk come in all shapes and sizes.
For what it's worth, welcome to Kenobres."
"You are correct. I am an aasimar."
Preacher moves his hand along his antlers, seeking any other pieces of string Shimmer might have wrapped around them.
"Unlike my ancestors who were blessed, my antlers never grew fully out. Which is a good thing, considering how much longer it would take to collect the string my brownie friend likes to wrap around them. Did you see her when you walked in?" Preacher notions towards the silver-haired elven woman, "She was chatting to her when she dissipated."
As he lowers his hand from checking his antlers, he asks, "Is there any string still on my antlers, Xantor?"
Xantor simply shakes his head 'no'.
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Despite the short answer, Guriok starts to like Xantor already. Few words are always a good idea. Why go for a million when a simple 'no' will do? He says "I understand." He wants to ask more about Onyx but knows better than to pry. He just throws a nod at him as well to acknowledge his presence, then goes back to looking around.
"So!" Xantor said at a higher tone to get the half-orc's attention. "Attached to any local temples? Or are you a solitary practitioner?"
The blonde aasimar looked around the table, realizing the question could apply to nearly everyone.
Preacher than directs a question at Onyx, "Onyx, would you enjoy talking arcane theories with someone from the Age of Legends?"
He shakes his head indicating no. He tries to keep covered up after being placed in the chair and simply observes...
Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral’s facade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.
To the west, the fortress known as the Kite—the location of Kenabres’s wardstone—had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.
A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd—Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human.
Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!
As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above.
The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelev’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the crowd.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruins as it smashed into this world.
The rift it created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape—it opened below your feet, angling away into darkness. Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above
was gone.
Then there was only darkness.
Your heads throb with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring. You are having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent, but it remains pitch black.
Feeling around in the darkness, you feel rubble all around and realize that your body is covered in dirt and filth. Despite the general aches and pains, you are only mildly damaged. Most likely from falling debris after your slow descent.
The group sees that they are in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound.
Also besides the four of you, there are other survivors.
As the terrible scene unfolded before him his eyes glazed over. He didn't move from his chair on his own.
Among the rubble he channels healing most of you and any other living within 30 feet of him.
As the group begins to move he asks in his raspy voice, "I think its time to move. Should I summon dancing lights?"
During the fight, that paladin had her shield and sword ready. Fending of claws and bites, protecting who she could, all the while making her way towards Arataurë, while he did the same, via claw and fang, the two United, just as they saw the mighty dragon take her last breath to save them
The silver haired ganzi groaned as her eyes became use to the dark, shades of black and white showing her the damage that was done. Her whole body seemed to ache, but she couldn't find any physical damage that needed immediate help. She slowly looked at the others around her, lifting her sword, she says a few words as her weapon starts to glow
"No need" her words a bit strained, but a sigh of relief when she sees Arataurë there with them, the lion in a similar condition she was in
"Sound off, who's still breathing down here?" she raspingly calls to them around her
As Preacher and the others start falling while he remains at the same elevation he was at before things went to shite, Captain Fergus curses aloud,
The dragon's magic slowing the group's fall, gives Preacher enough time to shift Captain Fergus to his ectoplasmic form, and he starts to fall as well, thankfully affected by the same fall-slowing magic the dragon caused.
The captain lets out a loud raspy laugh as the group is still falling, "You're supposed to be a priest of the fallen, not a falling priest!"
Preacher walks over to the rubble to see if anyone caught within it still might be breathing and potentially healed before they expire as he prays for the recently lost, "May the Goddess of Dreams and Travelers guide you each to the divine realms of the deities you held most dear during your lives, which were ended abruptly this day."
"Captain, are there any survivors in the rubble?"
The phantom scans the rubble.
She glances at the new apparition, shaking her head, dismissing the oddity, she walks over to Preacher
"I welcome a Desnan to the ranks, and bereavement is a thing that needs to happen, i believe we need to tend to the living first. Especially the ones able to help those that can not help themselves at this juncture"
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Guriok replies to Xantor "I studied under a great master under a temple in the mountains. You wouldn't have heard of it. But the important thing is that we follow the teachings of Irori. My master is a great person, she trained me and helped me get in touch with my ancestries. It seems I have blood from some Empyreal lord and it manifests in me with arcane power." He wants to ask him about him, but feels he doesn't know how.
The half-orc is confused at first and doesn't understand what is happening. Only when he hears Terendelev's roar, does his eyes flare up. He looks at the shapeshifting dragon and realizes this isn't part of the show, but an actual demon attack. Still, with Terendelev here, the demons surely don't stand a chance.
Since he has no deep knowledge of the demon Khorramzadeh, he sees with glee as the two clash in the sky, but then it starts to look like the demon is gaining an upper hand in the fight. As the two fall from the sky in a heated battle, a wave of demons pour into Kenabres, and Guriok feels he should do somehting. He looks at Preacher and says "We gotta do something!" He takes out a wand from his belt and casts a spell on himself. He, then starts looking for people in trouble and getting them to safety.
The next few minutes are torture for Guriok. He remembers being a demon captive and not being strong enough to do something and help other captives. Now, despite all his training, he couldn't do enough. He fought and punched and shoved, but it wasn't enough. He eventually felt that he was more useful helping people out of rubble. He held a baby in one hand as he pulled up a collapsed wall from his mother with the other, he helped pull up rubble to create a safe hole for people to hide in.
In the end, he found himself next to Preacher again and Terendelev's final moments. He wanted to help, but knew that the demons could cut him as easily as they cut the dragon. He fell suddenly and tried to grab anything he could, but it was only a hole downward.
Guriok could see in the dark. He first checks on Preacher and asks "Are you ok?". His body ached and there were many scratches, but Onyx healed him. As the others looked for survivors, he started to think, and finally said "If this cave was built by the sundering of the ground, there is no exit. Unless, it already existed before." He immediately starts looking for a way out, wanting to find a way back up, but he realized there wasn't much he would be able to do if they did find a way. Still, he had no intention to die in a cave.
"I hope that it is the latter. I for one do not wish for us to perish here in the dark. We should make sure the others can move, before we continue. We can not risk more injury due to stubbornness." looking around some more, using her sword to add colour so she can properly determine blood and injuries, she turns to the half orc again "I did not catch your name half orc, I am knows as Sylvara, and Iomedae surely delivered you from certain death today. Same as everyone here. We will survive. You go help your friend, I shall go to the others and make sure they can accompany us further, where ever further will take us"
The lion shakes off dust and debris as it too joins her as she takes in her surroundings. Heavy huffing as be breaths in the dusty air around him
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The half-orc says "My name's Guriok, right now I am just trying not to think about what happened up there. If not for the demon invasion, the death of such a magnificent creature such as Terendelev is a tragedy by itself. But for now, I agree, we should stay alive. Which is why I think we should stick together before all."
"Hopefully this endeavour will not leave you with a scar like mine Gurion, and by her grace, I'll be dead before I let a scar like this be done to any I can protect" she crosses her sword arm over her chest
Preacher was casting stabilize each round on people who were on the ground bleeding out, whether from collapsing rubble or from a demon's claw that dropped them.
Captain Fergus demanding the gnomish aasimar shift him to his ectoplasmic state so that he could end invading demons, his peripheral vision tracking the lesser demons nearby while his main focus remains on the balor fighting the dragon,
Preacher, prioritizing trying to save as many of the dying as possible, did not comply to the phantom's demand, telepathically replied in Iblydosian, <"I must attend to the helpless that still live first. Thirty more seconds and I will..."> when the ground collapsed and several of the attendees at Clydwell Plaza, the standing conscious and the prone unconscious, fell...except for Captain Fergus, still in his incorporeal form.
Trying not to come off as confrontational, "Which is why I am checking to see if we can see if any of the ones caught in the rubble still breathe. I would not risk any spirits of the recently departed who might be stuck here to think none of the living considered their misfortune. In life we can wake up from nightmares, spirits do not have such salvation."
Preacher continues his prayers for the recently slain, "We will come back to retrieve your corporeal remains when doing so does not risk more of the living from perishing. Take solace that your living loved ones will be able to give you proper farewell ceremonies appropriate to your faiths."
Preacher spots someone within the rubble unconscious but still breathing, and casts stabilize. "I am still breathing and conscious, my friend. I need your strong arms to help free one of the ones stuck in the rubble that still breathes."
Preacher then speaks aloud to the phantom, so all can hear his words, "Captain Fergus, will you scout through the walls to see if there are any nearby passageways nearby that the rest of us can access if we tunnel through the walls of this cavern."
"We can not send the dead to the Boneyard, if we ourselves are dead, all im saying is we need to attend to the ones we can save first, the dead have no more fear of the enemy" she shakes her head, her hair and eyes shift with each shake. Even Arataure seems agitated, but stays with her, as she continues her sweep.
The phantom looks above at the ceiling/ground they fell through, and with hatred contained in his voice, utters "Fiends to fight and no way to get to them.", then yells
Knowing he is not able to get topside at the moment to fight the fiends, he does as Preacherelius suggests, starting with the rubble and walls of the cavern closest to Preacher, and he
With his speed of 30', using his standard action to take a second move action on his turn, he can phase through barriers that are up to 25 feet thick, ending his turn on the other side of the barrier. Otherwise, he ends his turn in the space he started in.
Each time he phases into the rubble/walls of the cavern, a thin, silvery mucus appears and lingers on the surface of the rubble and walls for a minute, whereever he does this particular sort of scouting.
He replies to Sylvara, attempting to shift his tone that has not been coming off well due to the stress of the tragedy of the current situation, "You are mistaken. Spirits can experience fear. Imagine how much worse that is for spirits that never make their way to the Boneyard."
Preacherelius then clearly looks towards the phantom before adding, "Some spirits are more likely to induce fear than experience it themselves."
Then, hoping to clarify that he shares the same principles regarding keeping the living safe, looks back at Sylvara, "When response is needed as quickly as it was before the ground fell from beneath our feet, I will attend to the ones on the threshold of death first, so that they will continue to live, then the conscious and living, if the danger is still imminent. I will not leave souls recently departed from their corporeal remains without kind words to soothe them."
He then moves over to the still breathing unfortunate one trapped within the rubble as Guriok attempts to lift a piece of the rubble up so Preacher can pull them out. "I'm not strong enough, someone help us."
Xantor helps Guriok lift the rubble away.
Bengi had come to Armasse for two reasons. First, there wasn't much else to do on the holiday. Much of the city was closed down for the celebration. There would be nothing available in terms of work beyond the walls out in the wilderness either since only the barest of military activity would be occurring due to the celebrations. Second, she was looking for her friend Misheel. He had told Bengi he would be going when she saw him the week before.
Besides, Bengi's other option of not attending but with nowhere else to be would result in her getting sucking into helping her parents at home in some way and she was not in the mood for it.
Bengi figured she and Misheel could grab a lunch or maybe tea and snacks from the vendors and spend a while talking. The two of them have a lot in common when it comes to politics and philosophies, which is a rarity for Bengi. Also, Kenabres is the kind of place where one must be very careful about expressing opinions. She feels she can talk to Misheel without having to watch her words. It also helps that he is also Sarkorian like her.
Mostly Bengi had been meandering through the crowds at Armasse. She hadn't had any luck finding Misheel. She was still walking about looking for him when the attack came. The attack was a complete surprise of course, and Bengi found herself stuck in a tight knot of panicking people as the realization of what was happening spread. Working her way into enough free space to move happened to move Bengi right into the pathway of the opening ground.
As she saw the crack opening in front of her, Bengi tried to arrest her movement forward. This resulted in her being roughly shoved from behind. She fell forward, knocking her head forcefully against the far edge of the cracking ground. Bengi lost consciousness before she fell. The edge of the rift where she lay broke away taking her with it as it dropped to the bottom of the newly formed ravine.
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As Bengi regains consciousness, she isn't immediately aware that she's now underground. Her head hurts badly, throbbing. She opens her eyes to darkness, which leads her to think for some moments that a lot of time has passed and it is now nighttime.
Before she had opened her eyes Bengi has heard voices speaking in Taldane, which she took as a good sign. If she has her wits about her fully, she probably would not have done what she decided to do next. Taldane alone wouldn't have been enough to put her at ease. But the darkness seemed too deep to make sense, which confused her more. She was still lying on the ground testing her body to see if she could move normally when she recited the cantrip that caused a light to wink into existence on a piece of rubble by her. The concentration in took make her head throb harder, so instead of hailing the voices or calling out for help, all Bengi utters is a low "Uuughmm".
After searching a while you find several other survivors:
Anevia Tirabade
Aravashnial
Horgus Gwerm
They all have a number of superficial cuts and scrapes but is otherwise unharmed.
They are frightened, both by their situation and by the fact that they’re trapped with strangers.
General insults
“I’ve met corpses with better posture—and they smelled about the same.”
“If confidence were brains, you’d still be starving.”
“Don’t look so proud. Mediocrity’s nothing to brag about.”
Toward heroes or adventurers
“Oh good, another ‘chosen one.’ I’ve seen chosen ones die screaming in ditches.”
“You lot look like a bad decision wrapped in armor.”
“That your battle face? Looks more like you’re trying not to soil yourself.”
During danger or combat
“If we die here, I want it noted this was your idea.”
“Try not to miss—again. The enemy’s starting to feel insulted.”
“I’d help more, but watching you fail is strangely entertaining.”
Crude humor
“I’ve had drinks that went down smoother than your plan.”
“You swing that thing like it owes you money—and you still can’t collect.”
“Careful with that spell. Last time someone waved their hands like that, they caught something.”
Backhanded compliments
“I’ll say this—you’re uglier than I expected, but not as useless.”
“Didn’t think you had it in you. Still don’t, honestly, but that was close.”
“Well, you didn’t die. That’s progress.”
When things go wrong
“Ah yes. Chaos. Exactly as predicted.”
“Let me guess—this is where it gets worse?”
“I’d say this couldn’t possibly get dumber, but you people keep surprising me.”
General Horgus Gwerm Sniping
“Do you know how much gold I’ve spent today? Because I’m looking at the worst investment already.”
“I don’t like any of you. I merely dislike dying more.”
“If arrogance were lethal, you’d all be corpses by breakfast.”
Toward ‘Heroes’
“Heroes, my ass. You’re a traveling disaster with weapons.”
“So this is what fate sends to protect me? I should’ve stayed home and hired prostitutes—they’re cheaper and listen better.”
“You strut around like legends, but I’ve paid less gold for better company.”
During Combat
“Kill it faster! I am not dying because you’re trying to look impressive.”
“Is flailing part of your technique, or are you panicking creatively?”
“If any of you survive this, remind me to insult you less—for about five seconds.”
Toward Specific Classes
Paladins / Holy Types
“Don’t look at me like that, shiny. Your god hasn’t smote me yet, so clearly I’m doing something right.”
“Pray harder. I’d hate for your morals to be the reason we all die.”
Wizards
“Wave your fingers again—I’m sure this time it won’t explode.”
“Amazing. All that education, and you still almost set me on fire.”
Rogues
“Try not to steal from me. I notice. And I hold grudges like heirlooms.”
“If you vanish again, make it useful. Preferably permanently.”
Barbarians / Fighters
“Swing harder! I didn’t pay my taxes for half-measures!”
“You’re big, loud, and violent—congratulations, you’re finally useful.”
Crude, Bitter Humor
“I’ve had hangovers with better odds than this plan.”
“If luck were coin, you’d still be begging.”
“Every step deeper into this nightmare is another reason I hate all of you.”
Backhanded Compliments
“You didn’t get me killed. I’m genuinely shocked.”
“I’ll admit it—you’re marginally less incompetent than I feared.”
“If surviving you people is my legacy, I want it carved in gold.”
When Things Go Wrong (Which They Will)
“Ah. Screaming. Fire. Blood. Just like home, but poorer.”
“This is the part where someone dies horribly, isn’t it?”
“I knew trusting adventurers was a mistake. I knew it.”
If you want, I can:
Match these scene-by-scene to Rise of the Runelords
Make him gradually soften (reluctantly)
Or write full banter exchanges between Horgus and specific PCs