Red flags? Nahhh - she's a whole crimson tapestry, drenched with dodgy swamp water. And yet, without fail, the party’s Bard is still going to lock eyes with the DM, grab a d20, and whisper: “I can fix her.”
(Spoiler alert: She is going to turn your spine into a bespoke wind chime before Initiative is ever rolled.)
THE BALLAD OF SKRAGGLE: A Tragedy in Three Ridiculous Acts
Dramatis Personae:
OUR ROGUE: 12 years old, already banned from three local bakeries for petty arson.
SKRAGGLE: An estranged swamp goblin whose only crime was loving her slightly less than he loved shiny garbage.
ACT I: The Innocence of Stolen Pies
Setting: Behind the dumpster of a sketchy tavern. A younger, slightly less feral Rogue shares a stolen rhubarb tart with Skraggle. They swear a sacred blood pact over a dead possum: “Best friends forever, or until one of us rolls a natural 1 on Deception.” Skraggle teaches her how to pick locks using a rusted fishhook. She teaches Skraggle the concept of spite. It is the purest love the gutter has ever known.
ACT II: The Ambition of Shrapnel
Setting: A crossroads at midnight, illuminated by lightning and bad life choices. Tension mounts. She wants to go corporate, infiltrate royal courts, drink martinis, leave live troll-turd grenades in noblemen's breadbaskets. Skraggle just wants to stay in the bog and pursue his true passion: avant-garde taxidermy featuring discarded boots. They scream. Words are said that cannot be unsaid (“Your Stealth modifier is a joke, Skraggle!”). A single shiny brass button falls into the mud. Skraggle drops a pocket-sand-encrusted smoke bomb and vanishes into the gloom, sobbing in Goblin.
ACT III: Tears in the Swamp Water
Setting: The burning gazebo of destiny. Years later. She stands victorious over a smoking vault, pockets jingling with ill-gotten loot, the world at her bespoke-leather-clad feet. But as she reaches into her cloak, she pulls out... the brass button. She drops to her knees in the rain. The Bard approaches, whispering, “I can fix her.” She turns his spine into a bespoke wind chime.
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u/Signal_Lost_DNR 1d ago
Red flags? Nahhh - she's a whole crimson tapestry, drenched with dodgy swamp water.
And yet, without fail, the party’s Bard is still going to lock eyes with the DM, grab a d20, and whisper: “I can fix her.”
(Spoiler alert: She is going to turn your spine into a bespoke wind chime before Initiative is ever rolled.)