"The Hobtwins of Haversnark Hollow" (Or: How Not to Get Caught Between Two Bickering Brutes with Matching Swords)
by Reverend Dungeon MasterSETTING:
The party enters the gloomy glen of Haversnark Hollow, a place so miserable even the local squirrels carry umbrellas and drink bitter.
The fog is thick. The silence is thick. The tension is, yes, thick.
Then you hear them. Two voices. Loud. Bickering. One nasal, one hoarse, both annoying.
INTRO
Out of the mist emerge two identical hobgoblins, dressed in mismatched bits of stolen armour and fashion sense. One wears a feathered hat; the other, a crushed tin colander. Both wield longswords. Both smell of onion and regret.
“I told you we should’ve taken the left at the cursed tree, you melon!”
“Oh, do shut it, Crispin. You’ve got the navigational instincts of a blind gelatinous cube!”
They pause, notice the party, and draw their weapons with dramatic flair only slightly undercut by the fact one of them drops his scabbard.
MEET THE TWINS:
Crispin & Gristle Snarlgut
Professional mercenaries. Amateur dramatists. Terrible listeners.
AC: 15 each
HP: 24 each
Each Turn:
Twin Tiff – They argue mid-combat. Roll 1d6:
1–2: Gain Advantage (they're trying to show off).
3–4: Disadvantage (they swing while bickering).
5: Accidentally hit each other.
6: Pause to lecture the party on “proper sword posture.”
Sibling Sync Slap – If both attack the same target, they roll +1 to hit, but must yell something like:
“For Mum’s weird stew!” or “Synchronised stab, GO!”
PERSONALITIES:
Crispin (feathered hat): Thinks he's a poet. Frequently quotes nonexistent literature.
Gristle (colander head): Thinks he's a war genius. Reads battle manuals upside down.
They hate each other, but will defend each other to the death, especially if you try to insult one.
MID-FIGHT TAUNTS (roll 1d6 when wounded):
“Oh lovely, I just washed this tabard!”
“You call that a sword? I’ve seen halflings carry bigger daggers.”
“Mum always liked me better!”
“Oi! That’s my stabbing leg!”
“Parry, reposté, and… ow! My eye!”
“Gristle! You said we’d fight adventurers on Thursdays!”
IF DEFEATED:
If knocked unconscious or forced to surrender, they continue to bicker while bleeding out.
“You see? This is why I said we needed helmets that weren’t crockery!”
“Oh, bite me, Crispin. Bite me hard.”
If captured, they can be bribed with meat pies, brag endlessly, or lead the party to even more disastrous relatives (e.g., cousin Fizzle: hobgoblin tax accountant, very stabby).
LOOT:
2 longswords (one engraved: Property of Not Crispin)
1 feathered hat (infested with mildly sarcastic lice)
1 bent colander
7 copper, a love letter addressed to "Lady Shivcrunch", and a half-eaten turnip.
Need more horrible hobgoblins? Visit Red Cape Games, home of Dungeon Dunce Weekly.