Rolled 11, 13, 2 = 26 (3d20)
>>5800551You stepped towards Rudolfo and the goblin, Yok-Brot, and put a hand on the former’s shoulder. This seemed to surprise them both, but it was a calculated move—if also motivated at least a little by a desire to avoid further carnage.
“I healed this… Gentleman,” you began, choosing your words carefully and hiding the instinctive distaste you felt towards the grimy little goblin-man. “And he helped us. There’s no reason to re-remove any limbs.”
Your father shrugged, though his eyes second-guessed you. Still, he’d said you were the ‘party-leader’ here, and it seemed he meant it: he sheathed his sword and stepped back, watching you and Yok-Brot.
His hand never strayed far from the scabbard, though.
“So we’re good?” Yok-Brot asked after a moment, picking up his knife with swift and nimble fingers, twirling it once as if to test his reattached limb, and then tucking it away.
“Actually—”
His eyes narrowed, and you held up your hands defensively.
“Look, Yok-Brot? We… I came here for a reason, and it wasn’t…”
Your eyes drifted across the battlefield with a grimace.
“…it wasn’t this.”
Yok-Brot regarded you warily, but didn’t interrupt, so you went on.
“We came here to find information about… Events in Hawksong, twenty years ago. Events in and around Goblintown. The demonist incidents… Before the terrorist attack on the Infinite Fountain>’’
“Don’t know jack about shit,” he quickly replied. “Didn’t do nothin’. Never even been to Hawksong.”
“Your Common’s remarkably good,” you replied, attempting a smile. “Could have fooled me.”
“…God for trade,” you replied. “Learned from me mum.”
“My mother taught me Common, too,” you noted, latching upon this flimsy attempt at common ground. “For pretty much the same reason, even! I think, maybe, we got off on the wrong foot.”
“What, Jak-Jeet’s foot? Separate from the rest of him?”
You frowned, glancing where the goblin pointed. You didn’t remember any goblin missing a foot among the dead…
