The sun sinks low in the west, stretching shadows across the well traveled road only a mile or so from the polis's edge. At this rate, your characters, traveling in a group with about a dozen other travelers, should reach the outskirts of Akros just before dusk. But then, behind you, the sound of frantic clopping of hooves is coming fast, you turn around a horse rounds the bend, galloping at top speed. The beast looks frantic, terrified and frothing with exertion. Upon it sways a figure wearing a gold mask. The rider barley manages to stay in the saddle, his body bristling with cruel black arrows. Blind with panic, the horse plows on, threatening to trample some of the travelers in its path, Before it can, the beasts legs give way. Both the mount and the rider topple, crashing into the dust with a piercing whinny and sounds like snapping branches. What do you do?
"How uncommon!" gasps excited satyr, overloaded with books and scrolls, in his early 20. He grabs small book tied to his waist. As he inscribes some words in it he clumsily moves towards horse and rider. As he notices dragonborn he gasps again "What a truly exceptional day!"
A lean, bearded soul leans on a walking staff near the rear periphery of the group, as though herding a flock of sheep and any errant lambs. Or wolves. Hair the color of oiled walnut, and skin like oak, he seems to be one with his large, wooden stick. Indeed, he carries it with a grace and ease that renders it an extension of his own body. Yet the staff isn't needed for walking, for immediately he is bounding down the road toward the fallen man and animal, hot on the heels of the dragonborn ahead of him.
"Hail! Is he alive? Who would do this, bandits?"
Farshaya falls to one knee and attempts to determine the fallen man's and horse's conditions.
The dragonborn reaches the fallen man and horse. He kneels down in the dirt next to the bearded traveler and looks around with eager anticipation, obviously highly excited that something eventful is happening. It's very clear that he doesn't run into anything like this in his daily life. "What's going on? Can you tell? What happened?" he asks the traveler examining the fallen rider's condition.
The horse is alive, but has several abrasions. The man is strange, he is dead, and has been for quite some time. His skin is gray and he his blood is deep black, you recognize this as one of the returned, a creature that has managed, somehow, to escape the underworld.
A small and disheveled being will wriggle his way to the commotion. His hair brown and messy, clothes tattered but sturdy and held together with straps and patches of various beiges and browns, his feet are bare but seems strong and he has odd tinted glasses on. A halfling, young enough to be confused for a human child.
“Ooof! This guy got out through the ringer. Anyone know him?”
"No, I've no idea who he is. Gosh, this is all terribly exciting. And alarming."
His voice is deep and warbles as he speaks. He has a slight english accent. He turns his head back to the bearded traveler beside him.
"I'm going to try to help the horse."
An owl with brown, rumpled fur flies down from the sky and lands on the dragonborn's shoulder. The dragonborn smiles.
"Ah, hello, Sir Featherduster!"
He leans down and lays his hands upon the horse. A mysterious green energy begins to glow from the dragonborn's hands, which begins to flow into the horse as well.
The horse regains 9 HP.
The dragonborn stands up and looks around, smiling, pleased with himself.
While the dragonborn and "Sir Featherduster" help the horse, Farshaya starts, jumping up to his feet. "That's no guy! It's a returned, a creature of the underworld. How it come to be here, and to be pegged with these black arrows..." He looks nervously back in the direction from which the rider came. Then he uses his staff to gently lift the golden mask from the creature's face. "W-what's this mask?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Quobin is taking everything in, scurrying a little closer and poking at the body "A returned?! No way, what's that??"
He'll take a bit of bread out of his pocket, it looks stale and he'll chomp on it checking to see if there is anything else valuable or informative on this being.
The horse stumbles to it feet, still looking scared. Taking off the golden mask reveals an featureless head, with just deep black lips, and no eyes or nose. Looking inside the mask shows many symbols etched into the mask, with only one word standing out, "Khea" Then the sound of racing hooves thunder from the direction the rider emerged. Two more riders with golden masks and grey skin, both wearing darks skin approach you on their horses. One commands, pointing a spear at Farshya.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Seeing the mask and totally ignoring danger from other riders Lores rushes through few scrolls tubes attached to his bandolier and pulls one of the scrolls out Arcana10 (for checking more about the mask)
"Khea", he says aloud, reading the inscription in the mask. "Does that mean much to any of you?"
Whencommanded, he steps away from the body, though still holds his staff and the mask. He eyes his companions, sizing them up and deciding how helpful they would be in case this gets ugly.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
After hearing Farshaya, Quobin will shake his head, pushing is glasses up towards his eyes. He takes a few steps back from the body in response to the command, wriggling his nose and crossing his arms from slightly behind the human...
"Heyy, Mr. Dark Horseman put those pointy sticks for weapons away... yer friend here came like this and we were jus tryin' to see what's going on and we mean no harm"
He'll wink at the group, falsely showing some confidence as he tries to deescalate the situation
The hafling will keep his distance and look at the riders with a slight glare.. "He's a what? A Heretic, care to explain Mr. Doom and Gloom?.... and wait, do you not bleed? That's weird are you sure?"
He curiously asks, then begins scratching his unkempt hair. He will take a glance at the rest of the group to see if anyone has any ideas, not so subtly looking for someone to say or do something else.
Farshaya bristles at the command, but his training kicks in. He pauses, breathes, and reclaims his patience. "What business do you have with him?" he returns against the riders. "He's fallen at our feet, we at least have a right to know."
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The sun sinks low in the west, stretching shadows across the well traveled road only a mile or so from the polis's edge. At this rate, your characters, traveling in a group with about a dozen other travelers, should reach the outskirts of Akros just before dusk. But then, behind you, the sound of frantic clopping of hooves is coming fast, you turn around a horse rounds the bend, galloping at top speed. The beast looks frantic, terrified and frothing with exertion. Upon it sways a figure wearing a gold mask. The rider barley manages to stay in the saddle, his body bristling with cruel black arrows. Blind with panic, the horse plows on, threatening to trample some of the travelers in its path, Before it can, the beasts legs give way. Both the mount and the rider topple, crashing into the dust with a piercing whinny and sounds like snapping branches. What do you do?
I yell, "Good golly!" and run towards the fallen horse and rider, my wand in my right hand.
I'm a copper dragonborn, about 5'9", with a long, green cloak and a scythe and javelin strapped to my back.
(Should this be in first-person or third-person? Does it matter?)
"How uncommon!" gasps excited satyr, overloaded with books and scrolls, in his early 20. He grabs small book tied to his waist. As he inscribes some words in it he clumsily moves towards horse and rider. As he notices dragonborn he gasps again "What a truly exceptional day!"
A lean, bearded soul leans on a walking staff near the rear periphery of the group, as though herding a flock of sheep and any errant lambs. Or wolves. Hair the color of oiled walnut, and skin like oak, he seems to be one with his large, wooden stick. Indeed, he carries it with a grace and ease that renders it an extension of his own body. Yet the staff isn't needed for walking, for immediately he is bounding down the road toward the fallen man and animal, hot on the heels of the dragonborn ahead of him.
"Hail! Is he alive? Who would do this, bandits?"
Farshaya falls to one knee and attempts to determine the fallen man's and horse's conditions.
Medicine: 17
The dragonborn reaches the fallen man and horse. He kneels down in the dirt next to the bearded traveler and looks around with eager anticipation, obviously highly excited that something eventful is happening. It's very clear that he doesn't run into anything like this in his daily life. "What's going on? Can you tell? What happened?" he asks the traveler examining the fallen rider's condition.
The horse is alive, but has several abrasions. The man is strange, he is dead, and has been for quite some time. His skin is gray and he his blood is deep black, you recognize this as one of the returned, a creature that has managed, somehow, to escape the underworld.
A small and disheveled being will wriggle his way to the commotion. His hair brown and messy, clothes tattered but sturdy and held together with straps and patches of various beiges and browns, his feet are bare but seems strong and he has odd tinted glasses on. A halfling, young enough to be confused for a human child.
“Ooof! This guy got out through the ringer. Anyone know him?”
The copper dragonborn turns to the halfling.
"No, I've no idea who he is. Gosh, this is all terribly exciting. And alarming."
His voice is deep and warbles as he speaks. He has a slight english accent. He turns his head back to the bearded traveler beside him.
"I'm going to try to help the horse."
An owl with brown, rumpled fur flies down from the sky and lands on the dragonborn's shoulder. The dragonborn smiles.
"Ah, hello, Sir Featherduster!"
He leans down and lays his hands upon the horse. A mysterious green energy begins to glow from the dragonborn's hands, which begins to flow into the horse as well.
The horse regains 9 HP.
The dragonborn stands up and looks around, smiling, pleased with himself.
While the dragonborn and "Sir Featherduster" help the horse, Farshaya starts, jumping up to his feet. "That's no guy! It's a returned, a creature of the underworld. How it come to be here, and to be pegged with these black arrows..." He looks nervously back in the direction from which the rider came. Then he uses his staff to gently lift the golden mask from the creature's face. "W-what's this mask?"
(Any skill check to know more?)
Quobin is taking everything in, scurrying a little closer and poking at the body "A returned?! No way, what's that??"
He'll take a bit of bread out of his pocket, it looks stale and he'll chomp on it checking to see if there is anything else valuable or informative on this being.
Investigation: 3
The horse stumbles to it feet, still looking scared. Taking off the golden mask reveals an featureless head, with just deep black lips, and no eyes or nose. Looking inside the mask shows many symbols etched into the mask, with only one word standing out, "Khea" Then the sound of racing hooves thunder from the direction the rider emerged. Two more riders with golden masks and grey skin, both wearing darks skin approach you on their horses. One commands, pointing a spear at Farshya.
Seeing the mask and totally ignoring danger from other riders Lores rushes through few scrolls tubes attached to his bandolier and pulls one of the scrolls out Arcana 10 (for checking more about the mask)
The dragonborn jumps back when he sees what's under the mask.
"My word!"
Seeing the other riders, he begins to move backwards slowly.
"Come on, Featherduster, let's just move away verrry slowly..."
He also attempts to guide the horse towards him.
"Something we want no part of," Farshaya replies.
"Khea", he says aloud, reading the inscription in the mask. "Does that mean much to any of you?"
When commanded, he steps away from the body, though still holds his staff and the mask. He eyes his companions, sizing them up and deciding how helpful they would be in case this gets ugly.
After hearing Farshaya, Quobin will shake his head, pushing is glasses up towards his eyes. He takes a few steps back from the body in response to the command, wriggling his nose and crossing his arms from slightly behind the human...
"Heyy, Mr. Dark Horseman put those pointy sticks for weapons away... yer friend here came like this and we were jus tryin' to see what's going on and we mean no harm"
He'll wink at the group, falsely showing some confidence as he tries to deescalate the situation
Persuasion 18
Note wow I forgot to write what they say.
"Get away form the heretic, bleeder!" one says
The dragonborn, with Sir Featherduster on his shoulder, leads the horse to a safe distance away before casting Speak with Animals on it.
"What happened, huh? Why were you coming this way? Who was your rider?
He speaks in soothing tones to the horse, attempting to reassure it.
The hafling will keep his distance and look at the riders with a slight glare.. "He's a what? A Heretic, care to explain Mr. Doom and Gloom?.... and wait, do you not bleed? That's weird are you sure?"
He curiously asks, then begins scratching his unkempt hair. He will take a glance at the rest of the group to see if anyone has any ideas, not so subtly looking for someone to say or do something else.
The dragonborn also rubs the horse's head, soothingly, and continues.
"What's your name? I promise you that we mean no harm. I'm Z'Tim... and this is Sir Featherduster. Featherduster, say hello to our friend."
The owl flies off of Z'Tim's shoulder and lands on the horse's back.
Farshaya bristles at the command, but his training kicks in. He pauses, breathes, and reclaims his patience. "What business do you have with him?" he returns against the riders. "He's fallen at our feet, we at least have a right to know."