12/10/2025: The Martyrdom of Deprimer

A collective gasp erupts from the citizens, drawn from the market by the sounds of combat, as Krieger’s men rush Deprimer. Their Burgomaster crashes face-first into the mud, his body going deathly still. The battle rages around his fallen form while spectators press themselves against the buildings lining the street, desperately trying to stay out of harm’s way. The Martyrdom of Deprimer.

Among them stands Father Lucien, his eyes narrowing at the fallen Burgomaster. The cleric makes no move to offer healing to the dying eladrin, clutching his meager purchases close to his robes. Nearby, Dunlarr’s voice breaks with emotion as he bellows, “Deprimer! No!!”

Several yards away, two red guards flank Krieger. A third red guard—one who remains loyal to Deprimer—rushes forward with a mighty swing of his greatsword. The blade whistles low, biting into the facing knight’s boot and severing the long tendon rising from his ankle. The man lists sideways with a clank of platemail, howling in agony. He slashes back clumsily before clutching at his ruined leg.

Across the street, Dunlarr and Sergeant Archibald find themselves surrounded by two city guards and a red knight who descend upon them savagely. Panicking, Archibald flees. Enraged, Dunlarr swings his greataxe heedlessly, bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. From behind him, one of Krieger’s men shouts, “The pretender is dead! Do you yield?”

Dunlarr’s helmeted head whips around. He snarls, “Never! For Deprimer!”

Krieger’s men slash at him again.

As Deprimer draws his final breath, a rippling silver-black aura of druidic energy surrounds his broken body. In a flash, the dead Burgomaster vanishes with a sharp pop. A second gasp erupts from the spectators.

What they do not see: Deprimer’s body has transfigured into his favored form—a flea—in one terminal wild shape transformation. Invisible to the naked eye, the flea’s body has absorbed all of Deprimer’s possessions, including Krelldutt’s magical judge’s gavel and, most critically, the Burgomaster’s ring of office. Without this ring, none will be accepted as the legitimate leader of Vallaki. Only the great Leiber Gothicus has been thrown free, though reduced in size significantly. It lies open at the edge of a bloody mud puddle, several of its pages stained in the final moments of its owner’s suffering.

From the Burgomaster’s mansion, Krelldutt sends a final arrow through the window at Krieger. He curses his foul luck as it misses. He withdraws, racing down the stairs of the Burgomaster’s mansion and out into the street. Krelldutt can tell at a glance that Deprimer is dead. He positions himself on the periphery of Dunlarr’s fight, hesitant to leap in. In the face of the dwarven barbarian’s ferocity, his opponents flee one by one.

Yards away, Deprimer’s faithful captain, Wilhelm, battles on with one of the fallen Krieger’s knights. Wilhelm parries a fierce attack before stumbling. He falls to the muddy cobblestones, dying. 

Reason clouded by bloodlust, the knight turns to confront Krelldutt. The tortle ranger proves too intimidating, and the knight bolts away into an alley in a panicked retreat .

As Krieger’s forces flee past his fallen body, Dunlarr’s frantic cries echo through the street: “Where is Deprimer?” His eyes seemingly dart everywhere at once.

Whispers rise from the citizens of Vallaki, who chatter amongst themselves until a boy of perhaps ten years moves to a bloody spot in the street before the Burgomaster’s front door. “He fell here,” the boy announces, “and then he disappeared in a beam of light!”

Cries ripple through the witnesses: “Rapture!” “He was raised up!” “Goth is the TRUE faith!”

The boy’s sharp eyes spot something near a puddle. He stoops to pluck it between his fingers and brings it to Dunlarr, who squints at the object lying in his gore-smeared palm. It is Deprimer’s Leiber Gothicus, made ridiculously tiny.

“It’s a miracle I can even tell what it is!” Dunlarr gasps, incredulous.

The cry spreads through the growing crowd: “Yes, a miracle! A MIRACLE!! It’s a miracle!”

Krelldutt surreptitiously rolls his eyes as he stoops to retrieve his soggy barrister’s wig. He can anticipate where this is going. He sincerely hopes that Father Lucien has somewhere to go when the followers of Goth rename his church St. Deprimer’s.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​