"I'm shit at riddles," says Fargloss, helpfully. Taking a punt on the nearest one, I give it a tug, only to be informed 'as the lever clicks you hear a scorpion burrow through the floor'.
"You have chosen poorly," says the dim-witted Warforged. "Ha ha, Indiana Jones quote," says the Irish Warforged.
Meanwhile, the aforementioned scorpion proceeds to take great bites out of me while Fargloss casually looks on. Annoyingly, the second lever I pull yields the same result, and astonishingly so does the third. Fighting for my life, I hear the idiotic Warforged announce: "You have chosen wisely." Out of the corner of my eye I see Fargloss pull the remaining lever to claim the spoils as I take my dying breath.
"See, that's how you do it," he smugly announces. "Can you heal me?" I ask, somewhat incongruously, considering that I'm dead. "Umm, I don't think so," replies the hapless Irishman.
"Then this is over."