Let the bad times roll

Nothing good ever happened to Boranthar. Nothing. He'd been born in a time when the Valley was still recovering form the First Righteous March, and just when things had begun to calm down, he'd been frozen as a statue for 600 years. During which time The Valley had a long and peaceful spell (by Valley standards) and he'd been unfrozen just in time to watch everything go to shit again.
That's not to say the dwarf was ungrateful for his rescue, or regretting his continued existence. For Boranthar (a dawrf who'd never known a good day in his life) had no comparison. He wasn't even sad, not really, not as other people would understand it. He was just simply distrustful of the world that always promised sunny days and fair weather, and consistently delivered a swift kick to the jubblies. 
He was a casual follower of Dwerfater, and did his best to honor his god by showing a brave face, and seeking to create a little beauty in the world. His only hobby was origami, and although he had the thick, chunky hands of a dwarf, decades of practice with a set of a tweezers and scoring knives had allowed him to fill his cramped bedroom with hundreds of little artworks. The tiny space was filled with paper-recreations of medusas, aboleths, otyughs, and even what he fancied was a recognizable hyena-zombie. 
Most of his days were spent trudging through the muddy hills surrounding Tarren's Junction, leading his squad carefully through a string of goblin ambushes, skeleton attacks, and bandit camps. His men were well trained and fought admirably, and it was a rare occasion that any of his men went down and didn't get back up. Boranthar himself had earned a reputation as a cautious commander who was canny and wise to the various traps and ambushes that often befell the ranger squads. Boranthar knew it had little to do with wisdom and cunning, and everything to do with expecting at every corner for life to deliver that swift kick to the jubblies.
Tonight was one of his rare nights off, and he was spending it sitting on a bench in Tarren's Junction, slowly teaching himself to fold a paper intellect devourer by glowstone. He didn't need to glowstone to see, but rather to give a second source of light to properly highlight the ridges and folds of his creation. The main source of light was an ominous red glow in the sky, which provided sufficient illumination for his purposes. 
His drum, hammer and helmet on the ground in front of him, just in case. After all, you never knew when life was about to take a run at you; best to be prepared. A young half-elf woman sat beside him, and he gently moved his gear over to give her a little more space. 
"What's that you making there?" Her voice was friendly, but odd. He guessed that either common was not her native tongue, or she spent most of her time speaking a planar language.
"It's going to be an intellect devourer. They're little four-legged spider-things that fill your mind with madness then eat your brain."
"That actually sounds awful interesting. Why does your hands do this? You are not dressed an artist."
"I'm not one for art. I do it for Dwerfater, trying to actually make something beautiful. I'm not very good at it, but I find it relaxing."
"You follow Dwerfater? You don't dress a priest either"
"Not all dwarves are Dwerfaten clerics. I guess I don't have a lot of faith, but he's been my god for some time, and has never let me down. Or done much of anything to me really, which I am grateful for."
"You don't seem awful concerned about the sky red"
"Why should I be?"
"Look at Tarren's. Everyone visits family and holds the loved ones. They're afraid."
"They should be. You should be terrified at all times. Life is short and horrible, and going around believing everything's going to be fine only gets you a swift kick to the jubblies. But I think if you worry enough and keep your guard up, you can get through it all ok."
"That's noble then. Everyone in Tarren's wears worry, but today you're the calmest person there. Just sitting and folding. I admire it."
"Thank you, but it's nothing special. Just how I live my life"
"Wouldn't be great if there was no fear? No worry? A life where you were rewarded for hardship, not punished?"
Boranthar sat back and thought. A life where hardship was rewarded? Where bad things happening to you made your life better? Just because nothing good had ever happened to him didn't mean he had no desire for an easier life. "I admit I see the appeal."
The young lady straightened up, and for the first time in the conversation she looked him in the eye. "I've seen you for many months, Boranthar of Junction. I have watched you suffer, watched you sleep alone, watch you risk life and limb for meager gold. I know you deserve better. I know you can be great, you want to be great. I have come to lift you up from the life, and to finally wear a smile"
Boranthar had never met an angel, but for the first time since he'd been unfrozen, he let a glimmer of hope into his voice. "Did a god send you to help me?"
She nodded and smiled. "Yes. Your worth has been seen. Your hard work, your dedication, your refuse to let hardship drag you down. You are strong of soul, Boranthar. You are of worth. Come with me."
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The voice was deep and articulate. "Name, rank, station"
"Captain Boranthar, Council Rangers 7th Unit, Tarren's Junction surrounds"
"Why did you do this?"
Boranthar looked down at the ground, where the half elf lay in a pool of blood. Her skull had been caved in, and his hammer lay by the body.
"I had to. Check her pocket"
The guardsman reached down, and carefully removed a small felt pouch. Inside were few vials of black liquid, a pair of long thin knives, and a silver amulet in the shape of a skull impaled on a spike.
"Heavens above! A black hand assassin! You're lucky you're alive. These murders are the worst of the worst of the worst. How did you ever figure out who she was?"
Boranthar picked up his drum and carefully wiped the blood off of it. "It wasn't difficult. It's pretty easy to tell when life takes a run up, it's probably about to give you a swift kick to the jubblies."