Fall From Grace (Cameron's Sunday afternoon game)
Get up. Come on, get up. You know you can’t stay here, so get off your ass. Good job, nice and steady, compose yourself. Are you hurt? Oh, that’s Sazan’s blood, I’d recommend a change of clothing because that’s never coming out. Alright, enough milling around, go check on our Lord. That’s it, slowly does it, one foot after the other. Hold a moment, is that Eyraast? He always was a shifty bastard but he didn’t deserve that, no one deserves that. Well not strictly true, one certainly comes to mind. Human, black braided ponytail, goatee, green cloak and a longbow that was near bigger than him. Never caught the rest of his party but he’s a start. Ah, our Lord’s residence. A banquet hall, treasury, theatre and living quarters all rolled into one cavern. Now also a grave. It was here you made your place, you seemed to always have musical and theatrical talent. Here it was put to good use in entertainment of our Lord whether it was music with your flute, drama, tragedy or simply singing your Lord’s praises. He may not have been the grandest of dragons, nor the largest or the oldest but he was your Lord, your protector and your patron. And look at what they’ve done to him. Blood, scales and claw littering his proud home, his treasury emptied. The once great hall where Daahrehn the Performer played for the amusement for all, desecrated and pilfered. I think we’ve seen enough, let’s take our things and leave. Clothes, flute, pick, dagger and a handful of gold. All that’s left is to take a visit to the workshop to pick up your project.
Ah there’s that smell, not even the slaughter could dull it. Black power, that sulphurous intoxicant. Here is where your rather more practical side worked. Ever since the raiding party came back with that wagon of pistols and muskets you’ve been drawn to this. Daily maintenance, ensuring that the raiding party could continue to use their new toys after they blew up in their faces earned you the other title of Daahrehn the Fixer. They worked wonderfully, especially for Kobolds. Black powder doesn’t care how small, weak and frail you are. It is raw, untapped power waiting to be unleashed. Perhaps this extra power is what drew them here, it is unlikely it went unnoticed. Easy to say with hindsight that it was only ever going to end like this. There it is, your grand project. The only problem with the current stock of weapons (outside the usual such as long reload speeds and an element of unreliability) was that they weren’t designed for Kobolds. Too large and unwieldy, properly aiming and manipulating the weapons was a major issue. No longer with your prototype. An unholy abomination of various broken firearms, scrap metal and more than a little alchemical adhesive it is a smaller, albeit weaker, musket designed for Kobold use. More a proof of concept than serious battlefield weapon but it will suffice. I think we’re done here, it seems no one else made it or they’ve scattered blindly into the wilds fleeing. Good as dead either way. Lucky for us it is dawn, gives us time to reach the nearest city, we both know you won’t survive a night in the wilds. Earning bread and board when we arrive should be an easy task, if you could entertain your Lord, you can entertain drunken peasantry who are just grateful not be levied by their liege. And who knows, they may be of some use. Perhaps one may have seen a curious human, black braided ponytail, goatee, green cloak and longbow. Perhaps it is time for the grandest play of all, a vicious tale of death and revenge, with a important lesson revealed in the third act.
Do not cross Daahrehn.
TL;DR – Daahrehn is the lone survivor of a Kobold warren which was raided by a group of adventuring heroes in response to firearm backed Kobold attacks. A former bard for his Dragon lord and experienced in the maintenance and handling of firearms, he is a strong ally to those who earn his trust. However anger and lust for vengeance has consumed him, driving him to inflict disproportionate retribution on those who wrong him, with only one set of targets possibly quelling his rage.