1d6 dangerous badasses* met en route** to their executions

29 Aug, 2025

*Badassery questionable in the case of entry the second.
**Okay, and maybe some are already at the execution.

1. The breathless yelps of a dying man grow weaker and weaker until they can no longer be heard over the raucous laughter of the people killing him. Harkengraad “Hollerin’ Hark” van Dijk has been strung up by his own men, the charismatic gang leader’s well of excuses finally run dry. The first score lost was a misfortune they could bounce back from, the second an inspirational grudge just waiting for a demagogue to activate, but the third was a stretch for even Hollerin’ Hark’s silver tongue. He’s got a couple minutes left of thrashing before he passes out, and those couple minutes are pivotal. Should Hollerin’ Hark get even a moment’s respite from the noose to catch his breath, he convinces half the gang to give him another chance. He then shoots his would-be usurper, Baxter “Cockburn” Foxgrove, in the head with the pistol hidden in his boot (the second pistol hidden in his boot, that is—the first was confiscated during the lynching), which convinces the other half.

2. Two lanky hares pull a miniature wooden cart like draft horses; they are escorted by a column of three dozen mouse landsknechte—so colorful as to be impossible to miss even at their size. Of course, even someone blind could not miss the group, for in the cart is an iron box the size of a shoebox, and from that shoebox comes screaming pleas, threats, and promises of kingdoms, treasures, princesses, and anything else you desire should you simply open this wretched coffin! “Blue” Beau Bonhomme, dressed to the nines in a royal blue doublet and with a peachick-down-feather stuck in an ear-hole of his floppy hat, leads the group from the air, riding a jaybird. He commands passersbys to pay their cargo no mind, though to mercenary-looking groups he offers a share of the reward should they help escort the mice’s cargo safely to the Peletier farm just two days along the road (cut in half at a human pace). He and his mice are delivering the wicked fairy in the iron box to His Majesty Colgrevaunce, you see, so the cat-lord can eat him and absorb his power. What Blue Beau does not know is that the fairy, before he was captured, called in an old favor—even now Sir Thaddeus Pole and his cohort of fellow frog knights gain on the mice, bid by King Anurobert to free the fairy from their clutches. But Sir Thaddeus is pure of heart and, if the fairy’s wicked deeds are laid clear, he can be convinced to disobey the orders of his king for the greater good. It is just as likely that he falls on the side of preventing Colgrevaunce from claiming the fairy’s power, though.
   
   If the iron box is ever opened, the fairy that emerges is covered head-to-toe in weeping burn-scars; he is a Beardsley drawing come to life: a priapic Rumplestiltskin. Under no circumstances does he follow through on any promises made from within the box.

3. A mountain blizzard slowly catches up to a six-horse stagecoach, headed in your same direction. The snow is already thick on the ground; you’ll never make it to shelter in time if you don’t get a spot in the stagecoach. The barrel of a rifle pokes out from the gap between window frame and faded green curtain: “‘Fore you approach, you take them two guns of yours and lay ‘em on that rock over yonder. Then you raise both your hands wayyyyy above your hat. Then you come forward… molasses-like.” In the coach, a man with a wanted poster folded up in his pocket peers through the scope of the rifle; he’s handcuffed to the depicted woman, and the only difference from the picture is her shiny new black eye. She’s due for hanging in Red Rock, and he’s due for ten thousand dollars… (Literally just run the Hateful Eight. I’ve done it. It’s awesome.)

4. The work songs are heard before their singers come into view, and the thunderous, baritone voice underlying them all is dimly unsettling even before its source is realized. Once past the turn in the road, the source of the song is clear: eight armored knights escort two dozen laborers who haul a giant wrapped in thick steel chains. They do so by rolling him over a line of thick logs on his back, like a great stone menhir. Neither knights nor laborers seem to fear the giant in the chains, and neither does the giant seem to fear his fate—he joins them in their song, as cheerful as can be. Robengast, elephant-skinned and boulderish in mien, has already forgotten why these men wrapped him up in the first place, but how bad could it be? In fact, they’ve done him a favor—the rolling on the logs is doing wonders for the persistent itch near the small of his back he can never reach. (The dryads of the northern forest, from which the logs were sourced, consider the loss of twenty or so trees to transport the giant a utilitarian sacrifice, given Robengast’s penchant for uprooting trees to use as temporary back-scratchers, soon-forgotten. At least these trees are getting multiple uses out of them.)
   
   Their destination: the capital. Good King Bartov wishes to display his might and remind his noblemen the peace that comes with his rule—how better than to kill famed man-eating Robengast by sticking his sword in one too-small, squinting eye until he hits brain matter? Robengast does not typically fear the swords of men, for his hide is too thick for them to penetrate, but if he doesn’t put two and two together in time for the king to finish his speech, then he has no way to defend himself—his eyelids aren’t nearly as thick as his thighs. If, though, Robengast realizes the king’s intent, there is not a knight in the capital who can stop his rampage. Only boredom quells his wrath.

5. A thin line of steep runs across the road at ankle-height, painted black and near-invisible in the twilight. When your horses inexorably break their legs, a voice calls down from the trees: “Easy, now. Throw your weapons away from you, a good distance away. We’ve got a dozen rifles pointed right at your heads. And someone shoot the goddamn horse. Don’t you worry, down there: we’ll just be wanting your valuables; we don’t give a damn about your lives.” Johanna the Red and her gang of merry thieves perch in the trees. Once you’re disarmed, Johanna—famous auburn curls bouncing with each step—shimmies to the ground, accompanied by her bag man, Sweet Jorge. They collect anything valuable (depending on how urgent they’re feeling and the size of the ambushed party, Johanna goes so far as to search boots and brassieres), take your weapons, and instruct you to get on the ground and count to a hundred. During this process, Big Max, Little Max, and “Princess” Elke remain in the trees, rifles unshaking. When you open your eyes, the whole gang has vanished.
   
   Johanna doesn’t know that hers aren’t the only rifles pointing at someone’s head. Sir Paritor, the court sharpshooter of King Abelard the Stern, in whose woods Johanna and her gang have so unkindly set up shop, has been sent to cut the head off the snake. Which, in Sir Paritor’s case, actually means popping the snake’s head with a single shot of his Lemurian plasma-charge sniper rifle. He’s nestled three hundred feet away, perfectly camouflaged in the mid-branches of an ancient pine. His ghillie suit ensures he’s nearly undetectable—the only thing that could have clued someone on the ground to his location is the glint of sunlight off his scope, but he’s positioned his back to the setting sun. Once Johanna is dead, Sir Paritor’s off the clock. Unfortunately for you, a hobby of his is shooting fish in a barrel. He likes it even better when the fish aren’t in a barrel—more fun when they try to swim away.

6. Lady Delphine de Morgane, the white swan of Sword Lake, rides alone to Castle Oldstones, the same place her husband, Lord Léonce, was summoned six long weeks ago. He rode in with a dozen loyal knights; he never rode home. The master of Oldstones, the wicked Baron Camille de Valorbe, covets that which belongs to the lord and lady de Morgane. Lady Delphine knows her husband is almost certainly dead, and she knows that she herself likely rides into a trap, but de Valorbe is protected by knights and old stone walls; she would need to siege Oldstones for years if she fought him openly. The only way to get close enough to the baron to kill him is to put herself entirely in his power. The baron will not execute her on the spot; she will be treated well while the guillotine is prepared—hanging is no death for a lady—and the two will dine together at least once before it is ready. What the baron does not know is that the lady Delphine is called the white swan for her mastery of the water dance of Sword Lake, taught to her by the maiden on the other side of the rippling mirror. She is as deadly wearing a fine silk dress and holding a champagne flute as she would be armored head to toe in steel and wielding the sharpest blade in the kingdom.

For G L A U G U S T 2 0 2 5, "Random Encounter Table: Dangerous Badass About To Be Executed (think Zoro's introduction in One Piece)." I’m still not entirely sure what One Piece is and I’ve certainly never met Zoro, so I’m flying blind here. You can pretend one of them is named Zoro if that helps?

#glaugust #random table