As the rubble that used to be a sewer entrance settled behind them, Mardic the Brave, warrior for hire, turned to his companion, Tharek Brightflame. He was, to say the least, incensed, because all of this had been Tharek's idea. They were stuck, in Waterdeep's sewers, with no way out except through.
"So let me get this straight," asked Mardic testily "Your god, Vergadain, personally asked you to join us because you were too proud? If we defeat this 'Xanathar', whoever he is, we'll be the Heroes of Waterdeep, by Tymora, and he summoned you to help us because you were too proud?"
Tharek, a cleric of Vergadain, shrugged, and began to speak. Although generally quiet, he seemed to be passionate enough about the subject to speak. "Well, you should never underestimate a deity's sense of humour, Mardic. Although the clergy of my faith are powerful, we don't ask for much, because we're never quite sure what we'll get. Of course," he continued, looking a bit glum "Sometimes Vergadain gives us what our hearts desire, and show us there's better profit elsewhere. The real problem is-"
He had stopped, because, peering myopically at the pair from the corridor ahead was a kobold. It was, at the moment, uncertain whether it had been noticed, and was gently trying to edge away. Mardic had also noticed the creature, but, unlike Tharek, was more amused than nonplussed. Nudging his companion, he whispered "Watch this!" and, without further ado, began charging at the kobold with a bloodcurdling shriek. Rather naturally, the timid creature took to its heels, and, before Tharek could say anything, Mardic had charged into the darkness, torch in one hand, sword in the other, wailing like a banshee.
Tharek sighed. He wasn't actually sure that lumping him with a bloodthirsty idiot like Mardic had been part of the joke, but he somehow assumed it was. He was dirty, crude, had little intelligence, and saw those less violent than himself as sport. In short, Mardic was a thug, and a boastful one at that. Trudging through the slimy waters, Tharek considered his lot, pondering as he tried to follow the human's screaming. Vergadain, he thought I know I've asked for a lot recently, but please let me at least have some humour of my very own, eh?
As if on cue, Tharek heard a quick succession of noises. Firstly, from over one shoulder, he heard the deep belly laugh of a dwarf. Immediately afterwards, there came a sharp twanging, the splash and hiss of a torch falling and being extinguished, copious swearing, and a sibilant tittering around the next corner. Suddenly grinning, he thanked Vergadain for his mercy, and sprinted around the corner. There, clear as day to his dwarven eyes, was Mardic the Brave, cursing mightily and struggling between two nets, suspended halfway between the grimy muck and the ceiling while a small group of kobolds poked him with sharp wooden sticks. He was not being injured, but he was most definitely in more trouble than he had reckoned for. Chuckling inwardly, Tharek acted almost on instinct.
The group of kobolds saw the stout humanoid in plate raise his mace, and call a bright light from nowhere, laughing maniacally as the cold blue light shone down upon his face. Superstitious creatures, they fled, leaving the reckless warrior, still struggling and swearing, along with their spears. Tharek's shining mace swung down, its tines biting through the hempen ropes holding Mardic hostage, and he fell to the stagnant water, immediately coming up even smellier and filthier than he was before. Tharek didn't think he could ever stop laughing, but soon regained control, and, still chuckling, reached into the muck, pulled out Mardic's sword, and handed it to him with a smirking bow.
"See, Mardic? Never underestimate a deity's sense of humour!"
Mardic just scowled.