Sort of a fishy premise. When I read it, I cod hardly believe it. I mean, I won’t entirely rule it trout.
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Nothing soothes his savage heart like the feel of wind on his skin and fabric in his white-knuckled clutch. If he critically fails his check to rip the shirt, does he put on a sweater?
*whispers sweet nothings into your ear but in infernal so it’s more like a maddening non-language that sounds of the abyss and feels of a thousand beetles crawling up your spine* ;)
Talk about a buzzkill.
<Later, standing over grave with remaining party members> There is nothing I could have done.
SWEAR TO MEOW.
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“This is not ‘a few extra.’“
I bet she price gouges.
What a dog.
“Lo, brave adventurers! Have you the mettle to take upon ye this noble que-AAHH” “SKREAUGUGHGHH” (violent noises)