Also, I recognized correctly that you were seeing if Puddin appeared to be influenced somehow. She was the target of your roll. Whether it’s an attack or something benign like that, as a rule of thumb we won’t do that. Sometimes I will allow it but check with me first.
The lookout and Puddin approach each other on the road. Puddin sees a young man with a saucy grin. He touches his soft cap as they approach, in a gesture of respect, but his eyes and his crooked grin tell you that (1) he has no great regard for the privilege of rank, (2) though he acknowledges he, as a wanderer, is of a lower station, (3) he doesn't care, and (4) he wants you to know it. It's charming.
Alas, Puddin, you do not get to talk to him, yet, because, as you walk eastward, following the road, he just walks right on past you.
Puddin takes another step or two, after the young man has surprised her by almost completely ignoring her, and she watches over her shoulder as he goes another fifteen or so feet. He pulls up dead even with where Barnaby and Kif crouch in the brush. Fope has taken some steps to hide himself, but he is only ten feet from where the young man stands. He turns from the path and speaks directly into the wood, to nobody in particular.
Greetings, travelers. We saw you come up the road. We mean you no harm, and we would like to invite you to join us for dinner. We are but poor traveling Vistani, and our leader, the wise Stanimir, has asked me to offer you this invitation. In our culture, he wishes you to know, the lit doorway is a sign of welcome, so we have constructed such a one for you. Please join us.
He offers a deep, dramatic bow, with a flourish one might expect from an actor on the stage, and he turns to make his way back to the camp. He does not run, but with his long strides he quickly catches up to Puddin. He falls in alongside her, offering her a kind, slightly teasing grin. Welcome to our camp, my lady, he offers, as you approach the campsite.
The rest of you remain in the darkness on the roadside. He did not look at anybody directly; he just spoke into the woods. What do you do?
Well screw this Kif mutters. He steps out of the wood and starts on down the road, They've probably got their own damn bird in a bush that's been watching us for the last mile.
Puddin beams with delight. Thank you so much for your hospitality! Our band is a cautious bunch and so we appreciate such a warm welcome. My name is Breena Nackle, a simple priest, who is tagging along with this group of wary travelers who are heading home from the great festivus of warriors from our region. Again, we thank Stanimir for the hospitality, which is most welcome after a long days walk and a rather frightful encounter with a bear and her wee cub.
What is your name, kind sir, and where is the Vistani travelling to?
I'd like to roll to see if I can tell if he's lying or not; should I role charisma to see how much I convince him of my fib?
Føpé will attempt to remain hidden. Move farther away from the path. Keep his eyes open for spying birds or other critters. He will try to stay close enough to hear should somebody scream. If he can find a well concealed spot to see, great, but not at any substantial risk of being seen himself.
Fope draws two paces deeper into the forest, to hide more securely behind the trunk of a tree, though he is also mindful to keep a good view of the road.
Kif strides out onto the road. He doesn't want to be seen running, because that would be not cool, but he is walking quickly to catch up to Puddin and her companion.
Barnaby has spent the last few moments rehearsing his speech:
Right. And I am Barnab...um, er...u, yes. I am Barnabu. Barnabu Jenkins, at your service.
He realizes, a moment too late, that there is actually nobody there. Puddin and the traveler have gotten halfway to the campsite, and Kif is already half a dozen steps down the road, too. Barnaby clears his throat and shuffles after them.
The silver-tongued Puddin, meanwhile, has told her tale. Her companion responds:
Welcome to our traveling home, priestess. My name is Menidetto. Where are we traveling? Traveling is a funny word, in Visanti. The way we now speak, in the common tongue, "traveling" means being on the way from the first place to the second place. It does not mean precisely the same thing, in Visanti. Most of the time, when we are on the road as we are now, we are where we intend to be. We are always home when we are with our clan, and in that way are not "traveling" in precisely the way you speak.
As for our purpose in being here, I believe Stanimir is more able to answer that question than I.
You do not have any reason to doubt the sincerity of this short presentation.
Fope, you are too far away to hear any of this, but you can see them walking and chatting amicably. They are all walking ahead of you, now. I imagine you want to follow? How do you want to proceed?
Føpé will take a wide circle around the camp to get the lay of the land, and then approach from the direction with the most cover, bearing in mind that caution is the better part of valor.
Puddin, Kif, and a panting Barnaby reach the camp at roughly the same time.
You see before you a dozen men and women gathered around a crackling bonfire. They are in good spirits. A few of them sing and dance around the fire while others find happiness in their flasks and wineskins. Three barrel-topped wagons are parked at odd angles. Tied to a nearby tree, grazing, are half a dozen draft horses wearing bright coats with bangles and tassels.
As you arrive the food is finally being pulled out of the various locations where it's being kept hot, or warm, and it's being dished into bowls and onto platters for service. As you arrive, the older man rises.
Greetings, fellow travelers. Welcome to our campsite. Menidetto, who you have already met, watched you come up the road and step into the trees, and we hoped you would come and brighten our fire with your own stories, because are quite bored of all the stories we've been telling each other for years. My name is Stanimir, and I welcome you to our circle. Here, have some food and wine. We are a peaceful folk and mean you no harm. Sit, sit by the fire.
He introduces a couple of your hosts: his son, Ratka, and his daughter, Damia. The people, and even their horses and carts, are draped with colorful fabric. Musical instruments lean here and there at the site, though as the food is coming out, there is a pause in the dancing and music as the troupe gathers to eat.
Well screw this Kif mutters. He steps out of the wood and starts on down the road, They've probably got their own damn bird in a bush that's been watching us for the last mile.
No need for a bird in a bush, when the lookout rolls a natural 20 on his Perception check. :)
Ok. As you move swiftly and silently through the trees, you see no signs of lookouts or anything. You manage to get behind one of the carts without making a sound, and you can hear most of what's happening. It's hard to get a good view of everything at once, but you can sort of see what's happening.
The food, if you eat it, is delicious. It is not decadent, as the food was at the Ducal Castle. There is relatively little meat. There are exotic spices that are completely unfamiliar to your Sword Coast palates, and - if you choose - you eat and drink heartily.
Roll for stealth, please.
Edit: Fope.
These threads get confused when the refresh button isn't pressed often enough.
Yes. I think they don’t update immediately, either.
Also, I recognized correctly that you were seeing if Puddin appeared to be influenced somehow. She was the target of your roll. Whether it’s an attack or something benign like that, as a rule of thumb we won’t do that. Sometimes I will allow it but check with me first.
Ok, here's what happens next.
The lookout and Puddin approach each other on the road. Puddin sees a young man with a saucy grin. He touches his soft cap as they approach, in a gesture of respect, but his eyes and his crooked grin tell you that (1) he has no great regard for the privilege of rank, (2) though he acknowledges he, as a wanderer, is of a lower station, (3) he doesn't care, and (4) he wants you to know it. It's charming.
Alas, Puddin, you do not get to talk to him, yet, because, as you walk eastward, following the road, he just walks right on past you.
Puddin takes another step or two, after the young man has surprised her by almost completely ignoring her, and she watches over her shoulder as he goes another fifteen or so feet. He pulls up dead even with where Barnaby and Kif crouch in the brush. Fope has taken some steps to hide himself, but he is only ten feet from where the young man stands. He turns from the path and speaks directly into the wood, to nobody in particular.
Greetings, travelers. We saw you come up the road. We mean you no harm, and we would like to invite you to join us for dinner. We are but poor traveling Vistani, and our leader, the wise Stanimir, has asked me to offer you this invitation. In our culture, he wishes you to know, the lit doorway is a sign of welcome, so we have constructed such a one for you. Please join us.
He offers a deep, dramatic bow, with a flourish one might expect from an actor on the stage, and he turns to make his way back to the camp. He does not run, but with his long strides he quickly catches up to Puddin. He falls in alongside her, offering her a kind, slightly teasing grin. Welcome to our camp, my lady, he offers, as you approach the campsite.
The rest of you remain in the darkness on the roadside. He did not look at anybody directly; he just spoke into the woods. What do you do?
Well screw this Kif mutters. He steps out of the wood and starts on down the road, They've probably got their own damn bird in a bush that's been watching us for the last mile.
Puddin beams with delight. Thank you so much for your hospitality! Our band is a cautious bunch and so we appreciate such a warm welcome. My name is Breena Nackle, a simple priest, who is tagging along with this group of wary travelers who are heading home from the great festivus of warriors from our region. Again, we thank Stanimir for the hospitality, which is most welcome after a long days walk and a rather frightful encounter with a bear and her wee cub.
What is your name, kind sir, and where is the Vistani travelling to?
I'd like to roll to see if I can tell if he's lying or not; should I role charisma to see how much I convince him of my fib?
Føpé will attempt to remain hidden. Move farther away from the path. Keep his eyes open for spying birds or other critters. He will try to stay close enough to hear should somebody scream. If he can find a well concealed spot to see, great, but not at any substantial risk of being seen himself.
Barnaby follows suit, popping out of the bushes trying to quickly brush the twigs off of his robes and out of his mustache.
“Right. And I am Barnab...um, er...u, yes. I am Barnabu. Barnabu Jenkins, at your service.”
Puddin, roll deception and insight. I’ll get back to you guys later today.
One more word about insight checks: you won’t normally get to keep drilling the same person with repeated checks in the same dialogue.
Deception: 10
Insight: 22
Fope draws two paces deeper into the forest, to hide more securely behind the trunk of a tree, though he is also mindful to keep a good view of the road.
Kif strides out onto the road. He doesn't want to be seen running, because that would be not cool, but he is walking quickly to catch up to Puddin and her companion.
Barnaby has spent the last few moments rehearsing his speech:
He realizes, a moment too late, that there is actually nobody there. Puddin and the traveler have gotten halfway to the campsite, and Kif is already half a dozen steps down the road, too. Barnaby clears his throat and shuffles after them.
The silver-tongued Puddin, meanwhile, has told her tale. Her companion responds:
Welcome to our traveling home, priestess. My name is Menidetto. Where are we traveling? Traveling is a funny word, in Visanti. The way we now speak, in the common tongue, "traveling" means being on the way from the first place to the second place. It does not mean precisely the same thing, in Visanti. Most of the time, when we are on the road as we are now, we are where we intend to be. We are always home when we are with our clan, and in that way are not "traveling" in precisely the way you speak.
As for our purpose in being here, I believe Stanimir is more able to answer that question than I.
You do not have any reason to doubt the sincerity of this short presentation.
Fope, you are too far away to hear any of this, but you can see them walking and chatting amicably. They are all walking ahead of you, now. I imagine you want to follow? How do you want to proceed?
Føpé will take a wide circle around the camp to get the lay of the land, and then approach from the direction with the most cover, bearing in mind that caution is the better part of valor.
Ok. Take another stealth roll, please.
Puddin, Kif, and a panting Barnaby reach the camp at roughly the same time.
You see before you a dozen men and women gathered around a crackling bonfire. They are in good spirits. A few of them sing and dance around the fire while others find happiness in their flasks and wineskins. Three barrel-topped wagons are parked at odd angles. Tied to a nearby tree, grazing, are half a dozen draft horses wearing bright coats with bangles and tassels.
As you arrive the food is finally being pulled out of the various locations where it's being kept hot, or warm, and it's being dished into bowls and onto platters for service. As you arrive, the older man rises.
Greetings, fellow travelers. Welcome to our campsite. Menidetto, who you have already met, watched you come up the road and step into the trees, and we hoped you would come and brighten our fire with your own stories, because are quite bored of all the stories we've been telling each other for years. My name is Stanimir, and I welcome you to our circle. Here, have some food and wine. We are a peaceful folk and mean you no harm. Sit, sit by the fire.
He introduces a couple of your hosts: his son, Ratka, and his daughter, Damia. The people, and even their horses and carts, are draped with colorful fabric. Musical instruments lean here and there at the site, though as the food is coming out, there is a pause in the dancing and music as the troupe gathers to eat.
No need for a bird in a bush, when the lookout rolls a natural 20 on his Perception check. :)
Føpé's stealth: 18
Ok. As you move swiftly and silently through the trees, you see no signs of lookouts or anything. You manage to get behind one of the carts without making a sound, and you can hear most of what's happening. It's hard to get a good view of everything at once, but you can sort of see what's happening.
The food, if you eat it, is delicious. It is not decadent, as the food was at the Ducal Castle. There is relatively little meat. There are exotic spices that are completely unfamiliar to your Sword Coast palates, and - if you choose - you eat and drink heartily.
Also please let me know what name you give, Kif. I’m assuming Barnaby simply repeated his earlier speech by way of introduction.
Thank you for your hospitality, Stanimir. My name is Ornun.
Kif only eats sparingly of the food offered and drinks nothing.
I hope you will forgive our cautious approach, the road can be a dangerous place to the unwary, especially at night