Beginning credits: In This Moment - "In The Air Tonight" [Official Lyric Video]
Title Card: "Threshold, Thaumont 9, 1000 AC"
Weather: Fine
FADE IN:
EXT. STREETS NEAR THE TEMPLE OF CHARDASTES – MORNING
Background Music: Small City | D&D/TTRPG Music | 1 Hour
The city awakens, sunlight spilling over cobblestones, the scent of bread and damp stone thick in the air. Greegan strolls toward The Juggling Ogre, mind already on the day ahead—until he spots movement from the temple steps. A paladin, striding forward with stiff shoulders and barely contained rage. Greegan raises a brow.
He knows trouble when he sees it. And that is trouble. But why is trouble so much fun? The paladin—Aric—marches with intent, jaw tight, movements rigid with barely controlled fury. Greegan takes one look and grins. This? He cannot resist. He pivots, following at a leisurely pace, hands tucked into his belt.
Then—a sound. A tittering laugh, high and sharp—but unseen. Greegan halts, scanning the alleyway, the rooftops—nothing. His grin fades—just slightly. That damn imp. Back again! But he moves on—his curiosity outweighing his concern.
EXT. FLEETWOOD’S HOUSE – MOMENTS LATER
Aric bangs on the door, puffing and yelling. The house door slams open, revealing Fleetwood—nearly naked, barely a sheet wrapped around his waist as he faces down an enraged Aric.
Greegan’s grin returns. Spectacular. He leans against a nearby post, watching the chaos unfold. He doesn’t care about Fleetwood’s loyalty. He cares about Aric’s fury—and how easily it can be stoked. But the entertainment is only half the fun.
Because while Fleetwood wrestles with accusations, Greegan’s thoughts shift elsewhere. The Iron Ring. The burned-out wreckage of the Salty Harpy. Something bigger is moving.
And while Aric fumes, Greegan watches—not the paladin, not Fleetwood, but the wider picture. Because when things burn, someone always profits. And Greegan wants to know who.
FADE IN:
EXT. FOGOR ISLE – DOCKS – NIGHT
The scent of brine and decay clings to the air, heavy with the sweat and desperation of those who linger here. Greegan moves without hesitation, weaving through the press of bodies with effortless ease. The city—its laws, its expectations—mean little here. And for the first time in days, he feels it—freedom. No party. No watchful eyes. Just him, slipping unseen into the tangled veins of Fogor Isle, where the forgotten and the ruthless thrive.
CUT TO:
A flicker of movement—above. A high-pitched titter—sharp, mocking. The imp. For a moment, Greegan slows, gaze flicking toward the rooftops, the alley mouths. Something moves—or maybe doesn’t. Then—gone. A small disruption. Nothing worth his time. He shakes it off, pressing forward.
EXT. FOGOR ISLE DOCKS – CONTINUOUS
The dockside is alive, teeming with the downtrodden, the forgotten, the cutthroats. Deals are whispered behind crates. Ships laden with goods—legitimate and otherwise—are carefully unloaded under flickering lantern light. Greegan blends effortlessly, a shadow among shadows. His eyes scan the gathering, careful. Watching. Learning.
CUT TO:
A hushed conversation—gestures toward charred ruins. The Salty Harpy. Burned. Gone. And yet—the Iron Ring moves, undeterred.
Greegan doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He simply observes—unseen. The scent of salt and smoke hangs thick in the damp air, swirling under dim lantern light. Greegan moves with practiced ease, blending into the press of workers, beggars, smugglers. Watching. Listening.
Then—a familiar figure. Marla the Crimson. Her presence is expected—her gang has always thrived in places like this—but something is off. Greegan hears his own name. They’re discussing him. The tones are hushed, but angry. Greegan slows, shifting just enough to listen without being noticed.
CUT TO:
Marla, arms folded, voice low but sharp.
A gang member, gesturing—frustration in his movements.
Another, leaning in close, whispering.
Greegan narrows his eyes, keeping perfectly still as the din of the docks fades into the background and he listens. Marla the Crimson, her voice low but dangerous, stands among her crew, her stance stiff with contained fury.
MARLA: "We find him. We find all of them. We take our revenge."
Her words are absolute—no hesitation, no doubt. A murmur ripples through her gang. One of them, shifting uneasily, asks the obvious.
THUG: "And Bargle?"
Marla smirks, green eyes gleaming with barely restrained malice.
MARLA: "Oh, he’s on board." (beat, tilting her head) "Just as long as we cause as much collateral damage as possible."
Greegan feels that. Not just the words—the weight behind them. This isn’t just revenge. It’s destruction.
CUT TO:
Greegan, standing in the shadows—watching, calculating. His pulse thrums, but he stays perfectly unreadable. Because now, it’s not just him at risk. It’s everything around him. And Marla intends to burn it all.
FADE IN:
EXT. FOGOR ISLE DOCKS – NIGHT
Greegan moves with practiced ease, slipping between shadows, weaving through the press of bodies like water. The Iron Ring thugs never notice. Not once. It’s almost too easy.
CUT TO:
Greegan pausing near an alley mouth, watching the gang’s movements—undetected.
The murmur of their plans, lost beneath the din of the docks.
A fleeting smirk—amusement at just how effortlessly he has moved without them.
EXT. CITY STREETS – NIGHT
He keeps his pace brisk, mind already racing ahead—toward the others, toward warning them. Then, somewhere between the rhythm of his footfalls, an unwelcome thought sneaks in.
CUT TO:
Fleetwood, big and loud, dressed in heavy mail, always drawing attention.
Felonious, dramatic, unmistakable—impossible to miss in a crowd.
How much easier this was without them.
Then—his own realization.
EXT. TEMPLE COURTYARD – NIGHT
Greegan slows, exhaling as he nears his destination. He looks toward the dimly lit halls where the others wait—Fleetwood, Felonious, Clarion, Silverleaf.
CUT TO:
His fingers tightening just slightly at his sides.
His breath steadying.
A quiet, begrudging acceptance.
Yes. It was easier. But he needs them. And, truth be told— Felonious wouldn’t be unwelcome, either.
FADE IN:
EXT. CITY STREETS – NIGHT
Background music shifts: Suspense | D&D/TTRPG Music | 1 Hour
The city breathes in the quiet hush of late evening, lanterns flickering weakly against encroaching darkness. Greegan moves quickly, slipping between alleys, his pace brisk as he heads toward the temple courtyard.
Then—movement. A shape, lurking in the farthest reaches of the shadows. Big. Too big. A grunting sound. He slows, eyes narrowing, fingers instinctively grazing the dagger at his belt.
CUT TO:
A hulking silhouette, barely visible, shifting along the darkened street.
Surprisingly quiet—for something that size, it moves with unsettling grace.
The faintest glint—red eyes, sharp against the gloom.
Background music shifts again: Surprise! | D&D/TTRPG Battle/Combat/Fight Music | 1 Hour
Greegan shivers, breath tight. He moves swiftly, still processing the sight of the hulking shape watching Felonious’ laboratory. Then—it turns. Locks onto him. And charges.
CUT TO:
The creature barrels forward, its sheer size making the ground tremble.
Its eyes gleam red, locked onto Greegan with terrifying focus.
The air fills with a deafening squeal—high-pitched, unnatural—like a monstrous pig.
Greegan’s instincts take over.
EXT. ALLEYWAY – CONTINUOUS
His feet barely touch the ground as he scampers up a fence, muscles straining, heart hammering. Just as he pulls himself onto the rooftops— CRASH.
The creature slams into the wooden fence, splintering it apart in a frenzy. Below, it squeals, thrashing, stomping wildly against the broken remains.
CUT TO:
Greegan, crouched on the rooftop, breath tight, eyes locked on the chaos below.
The monstrous shape, turning in circles, searching for him—furious.
Felonious’ laboratory, untouched—but watched.
Whatever this thing is— It’s not just some wild beast. And it knows exactly what it’s doing. Greegan crouches on the rooftop, breath steadying, heart still racing from the near miss.
Below, the moonlight catches the creature just enough for him to see. It’s a feral hog— massive, unnatural, glowing red eyes, its body tense with brute force. The twisted squeal it lets out is not of this world.
CUT TO:
Lanterns flicker to life as doors creak open—residents stepping out to see the commotion.
The hog’s red eyes gleam, scanning the people, weighing something.
A moment of hesitation—an instinct to attack.
Then, just as quickly—it bolts. It turns, rushing down the alleyway, its squeal reverberating through the narrow streets like a warped echo. Greegan exhales, watching its retreat. Whatever it is, whatever it’s after—it knows these streets. And now, it knows him too.
EXT. FELONIOUS’ TOWNHOUSE – NIGHT
Greegan pauses, scanning the street one last time—ensuring the monstrous hog is truly gone. Satisfied, he moves, slipping across the dimly lit road toward Felonious’ townhouse, where a warm glow spills from a window. He’s not as careful as usual. His breath still feels tight from the chase, his pulse too fast to slow completely. His foot catches briefly against a loose cobblestone—a sound.
INT. FELONIOUS’ TOWNHOUSE – NIGHT
Inside, Felonious hears it. A noise. Instinct sharpens. With practiced ease, he prepares a spell, hands moving swiftly—arcane energy coiling at his fingertips.
The door flies open. Felonious reacts immediately—firebolt loosed before thought catches up with him.
CUT TO:
Greegan, throwing the door wide—eyes widening just in time to see the firebolt streak toward him.
Felonious, realizing too late—magic already unleashed.
The firebolt veers, redirected—slamming into an umbrella stand instead.
The stand bursts apart, embers licking at the edges of the wreckage. Greegan gapes, utterly put out by the lack of welcome.
GREEGAN: (flat, unimpressed) "Is this how you greet all your guests, or just the ones in mortal danger?"
Felonious exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.
FELONIOUS: "You made noise. With that *thing* running around out there." (dry, pointed) "What did you expect?"
Greegan gestures at the ruined stand.
GREEGAN: "Maybe not being roasted alive?"
Felonious tilts his head, considering. Then shrugs.
FADE IN:
INT. FELONIOUS' TOWNHOUSE – NIGHT
FELONIOUS: “I know this… I’m sure of it.”
He goes through several large, leatherbound books on one of his shelves. The audience can read their titles as his fingers go over them: Gygax’s Manual of Monsters, Cook’s Compendium, Mentzer’s Creature Crucible - finally he selects one: Moldvay’s Guide. Opening the book, he lays it on the table, leans over the book, fingers drumming lightly against the pages as he absorbs the details.
FELONIOUS: (low, measured) "Here we are. Devil Swine. A kind of Lycanthrope. But instead of a wolf… it becomes a hog. A dirty great flesh-hungry hog."
Greegan shifts uneasily, arms folded, still bristling from his earlier encounter.
GREEGAN: "Wonderful. So instead of claws and howling, we get tusks and squealing."
Felonious ignores the sarcasm, scanning further.
Felonious: (Reads aloud) “Can change shape any night after sundown. Human reasoning intact even in its monstrous form. Unnatural strength, even for a brute like that, and… oh, this is interesting. Mind control.”
Felonious exhales, processing the implications.
GREEGAN: “So we’re being hunted by three tons of angry psychic bacon? And I left me fork back at the Ogre.”
Felonious tilts his head.
FELONIOUS: "A creature like this—it doesn’t just hunt. It influences."
A beat. Greegan frowns, thinking.
GREEGAN: "You think it’s already gotten to someone?"
Felonious doesn’t answer immediately—turning another page, searching for more.
FELONIOUS: “We need to be very careful. It could be influencing anyone. Our friends, our enemies, random people on the street. Even you. Even me. And we might not even know it got to us until it’s too late.” (He turns a few pages in his book.) “Here’s a physical description. Even in human form, the devil swine still resembles a pig—broad features, thick build, fat, maybe smelly, something just slightly off about them. Don’t recall running afoul of anyone like that recently.”
GREEGAN: "You’re joking, right? You humiliated that portly chap, the Gambler, before we burned down the Salty Harpy. His bread and butter."
Felonious blinks. Then—realization.
CUT TO:
His fingers tightening slightly over the book.
A faint flicker of disbelief, followed swiftly by understanding.
Greegan watching, waiting, knowing exactly what that expression means.
Felonious exhales slowly.
FELONIOUS: "Ah."
Greegan rolls his eyes.
GREEGAN: "Yeah. Ah."
Felonious closes the book, pushing it aside.
MONTAGE – NIGHT WATCH
INT. FELONIOUS' TOWNHOUSE – NIGHT
Felonious and Greegan sit in the dim light of the study, eyes heavy, exhaustion creeping in. Greegan taps his fingers against the table.
CUT TO:
Felonious flipping through pages, rereading the entry on the Devil Swine for the tenth time.
Greegan shifting in his chair, arms crossed, occasionally nodding off—only to jerk awake again.
A faint sound outside—a shuffle? A breath? Both men freeze.
CUT TO:
Felonious moves to the window, peering into the dark streets. Nothing.
Greegan exhales, rubbing his eyes.
GREEGAN: "I swear, if we lose sleep and that thing doesn’t show, I’m blaming you."
Felonious smirks faintly but says nothing, returning to his seat.
TIME PASSES
Candlelight flickers—almost burned out.
A distant noise—too faint to be sure.
Felonious absentmindedly conjuring a small flame, twirling it between his fingers.
Greegan slumping forward onto the table—only to snap up again.
CUT TO:
The faintest squeal—distant, but chilling. Both men straighten, eyes snapping toward the window. Nothing. Felonious narrows his eyes.
Greegan slowly leans back, muttering under his breath.
GREEGAN: “Fat boy is messing with us."
FADE TO BLACK.