Fargrin
of Fargin,
Fargin strides with boots of pride, a human bold on every ride— he farms, he fights, he drinks his mead, and laughs while troops obey his lead.
Fargin once chased a cow through town, swore it was a spy from a rival crown— tripped on a stump, rolled down a hill, stood up shouting, “I meant to do that! Skill!”
He brewed a potion meant for speed, but it only made him dance with weeds— yet still he boasts with hearty cheer, “Greatest alchemist of the year!”
And so, as sunset smears gold across the Illyriad fields, Fargin hangs up his boots—still muddy from heroic cow-chasing— and wipes the last potion glitter off his shirt.
He sighs the sigh of a man who has battled weeds, outsmarted livestock, and survived his own alchemy.
With a grin, he mutters, “Not bad for a Tuesday,” then wanders home for mead, already plotting tomorrow’s disasters.
The Bard’s Tale of Fargin’s Four-Minute Arrival
Oh gather ‘round, good folk, and hear a tale so grim, Of Fargin and his sixty lads who trusted far too much in him.
They marched to aid their allies, proud as heroes in a play, And reached the field triumphant… for about four minutes that day.
For just as they were settling in, adjusting boots and gear, A rival host of fourteen thousand knights appeared with cheer.
The hill erupted horsemen like a tavern bill gone wrong, And Fargin’s brave support force didn’t last remotely long.
So raise your mugs for Fargin — whose timing was so poor, He arrived to help the battle… right before becoming floor.
NPC Encounter Group Sizes
| Size | Min | Max |
|---|---|---|
| A Few | 1 | 3 |
| A Handful | 4 | 8 |
| Several | 9 | 21 |
| A Pack | 22 | 81 |
| Many | 82 | 128 |
| A Gathering | 129 | 227 |
| A Horde | 228 | 462 |
| A Throng | 463 | 815 |
| A Host | 816 | 2,500 |
| A Legion | 2,501 | 9,999 |
| A Myriad | 10,000 | 24,999 |
| A Sea | 25,000 | 49,999 |
| A Cornucopia | 50,000+ |