Fellowship of the Dice

Kir stands to the side, making sure his feet aren't messing with the established tracks. That would be just like him, fudging up something outside his expertise. "Well even my eyes can see they went that way." He points in the direction of the deep boot prints. "Unless we're changing tactics, or you find a hidden path of prints I'm not seeing, let's continue on."

Storm Oak nods and leads on following the tracks, weapon and shield in hand.

You set off in pursuit of the mysterious figure, jogging over the clearing. After about five minutes you reach the treeline at the other side and find the prints of the figure, fresh in the soft soil.

The trees here are Sommlending oaks, their leaves have started to turn a beautiful russet as the autumn season begins and patches of fallen leaves carpet the ground here and there. The leaves make finding his trail harder once you are under the forest canopy and it seems like you are in danger of losing his trail when you come to a part of the forest where the covering of fallen leaves is especially thick.

Kir is rapidly losing track of where the footprints are leading. He has been observing with interest the art from the others, especially Storm Oak. But it is simply that - tips and tricks. He has yet to understand the baseline knowledge that would let him gain valuable insights.

Bare rock, sand, snow, or any foliage ground cover, Ermanaric has tracked man and beast through it. He looks down at the fallen leaves in front of them, then confidently indicates a direction with unblinking eyes and the toe of his boot.

Storm Oak pauses, he kneels and touches the leaves. He turns to the side and brushes some to the side. He narrows his eyes and furrows his brow and turns moves to a tree, and back. "I've lost the trail." He stands up gazing about hoping to just catch sight of something or someone.

When the others locate the trail he slips in behind, "Lead on."

You hear a short cry of pain and surprise.

It comes from among the trees directly ahead. You press on with your pursuit and a few moments later you happen upon the lifeless body of a man lying at the foot of a Sommlending oak.

He is dressed in travel-stained clothes that smell strongly of body odour. He’s wearing an old leather jerkin and a brown woollen hat. A bow lies by his side, along with a quiver containing four arrows. Attached to his belt is a short sword in a black leather scabbard. It appears that, in his haste, he has tripped over the roots of the tree and slammed head first into its trunk. The impact was forceful enough to break the man’s neck.

Ermanaric kneels over the body for a moment, then shouts for anyone who may be hiding close by:

"This man is seriously injured. If there is anyone here who values his life you should stop skulking and come to his aid, for we lack both the craft to heal him and the inclination to carry him any distance for treatment."

Ermanaric looks at his companions, shrugging off any objection to his deception.

Kir doesn't get too close, sticking to the side of one of the oaks. These men have bows and arrows, assuming this man wasn't unique, and he doesn't feel obliged to make himself an easy target. He keeps an eye out, seeing if Ermanaric's gambit yields any fruit.

Storm Oak hurries to the fallen man and inspects his wounds to see if there is anything that can be done for him.