"Is it too late to suggest that making superpowered humans might be a bad idea, even if it seems foolproof at the time? No? Good. Great. Bad idea - Mark it down for the next time I get possessed by a god."

Talking to yourself in the middle of battle is, of course, the favored activity of all lackadaisical wisecracking types. The bard had been rather impaired the previous night and didn't quite remember all the circumstances that had landed him in the middle of a small army in Issarra, but there they were and there he was. As fond as he was of Garvy, there were certain aspects of the man's existence he didn't wholly appreciate, his god's decision-making skills scoring fairly high on that list.

"It's the enhancing draughts, isn't it? You've taken way too many; totally understandable, I hear the athletes overdose on these things all the time and get pretty darn doped outta their minds. Maybe take a walk - some fresh air will calm ya down a little."

This is accompanied by a nice gust of fresh air in the form of a tornado that begins to rip a line through the Rift-spawned army. Happy breathing.