the smuggler’s bible

Daraspothil

Daraspothil, known by the townsfolk as limb-hewer and throat-chopper, is camping near the river when he spies something glittering among the bushes.

“Are you kidding me? This sucks” he says, stumbling through a thick and stubborn clump of firethorn. On the other side he finds, revealed by chance, the entrance to a cave.

But there’s a reason Daraspothil is not known by the townsfolk as deep-delver. He gets huffy and annoyed, kicks a few rocks, then goes home to his wife and children.

The next guy, though, he walks in and gets blasted real good by a ten-thousand-year-old death beam.