[center][h3][url=https://dicecloud.com/character/DDB5L52REuqZRqLkM/M-the-Silent][color=6C3082]"M" the silent[/color][/url][/h3][/center]
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Half a day into today's travels, behind them the High Road running south from Neverwinter, upon the Triboard Trail that would lead to Phandalin. It was a small miracle that they had made it this far without so much of a gnat to bother their travels. No bandits had accosted them, only the flies that pestered their oxen under the day's sun, and the moths that were mystified by the fires of their camp by night. Uneventful, and uneventful was good, the faster they arrived to Phandalin, the faster he could get paid and return to Neverwinter. Unless of course the journey was meant to be a one-way trip, of which he would have the dwarf's brains splattered inside his skull for such treachery. The kids would have enough for two weeks only, scratched and scrounged out from what savings the psion had, a few glittering gold pieces and of course just enough for himself to purchase a horse to travel back and resell at Neverwinter. Hopefully though the dwarf could loan him a vehicle to get back without charge. Either way there was no intention on staying around in Phandalin, not with his responsibilities and Neverwinter despite all the hardship it had given him, was his home. These others amongst him may have their own purposes, the wizard always annoyingly reminding everyone of both his affiliation with the Lords, and spellcasting tactics. A daily spiel for the sake of the half-orc perhaps, as for the umpteenth time Seethe reminded the party. At least the flute and accompanying lute were less grating. That is until the lutist ended on a short note.

The Triboar Trail ran itself into the woodland a few feet further in. And there in the path, where the greenery and foliage began to overgrow the dirt-trodden plod, was a morbid sight. Amongst the verdant glen two creatures lay, slain by arrows embedded into the their lifeless bodies. What horror was it that claimed the lives of the horses basking under the high noon sun? Their glassy eyes burned out from staring perpetually into the light of unrelenting day even as the leaves filtered out some of the morning beams. Did they die in shock and panic? Suddenly finding themselves riddled with sticks and metal? Neighing and screaming as they fell upon the trampled earth? Did their riders turn back or attempt to as the first arrow met its mark? Yes riders for one was saddled, still geared, and certainly no wild horse would use a road and travel in pairs. What happened here?

They did not a natural death clearly, for what beast uses arrows to kill a steed? No beast made these marks, but what ones made those arrows? Something clever, clever enough to use tools. Bandits perhaps? Looking at the lay of the terrain, it would be likely this was a trap. Holding the reins the silent Psion pulled the oxen back, signaling the beasts to hold their advance just before the edge of the small forest. A hand held up to the rest of the group if they were watching, a cautious stop. Something was amiss. The day was warm, and there was no stench of rot yet in the air. These horses were untouched by anything save the arrows, and how their bodies blocked the path to proceed. Around them ample coverage from nature's blessings, a perfect set up for an ambush was it not? Travelers could not rush forward by the dead barricade. No beast had come to eat the free offerings, nor drag it back to their dens to devour. All of it seemed to cry out trap. Every strike against it considered in his mind.

Watchful waiting, then. the best course of option to see which fool would be the first to be richly rewarded. Either by whatever belonging the riders had left behind, or by more black-feathered arrows. Should it come to it, the psion would demonstrate his ability, taking a moment to refocus his mind, letting go of some knowledge gleaned from the Noosphere and preparing himself for what Seethe had so eagerly been expecting. Perhaps today would be the genasi's lucky day, and finally he would be able to sling some spells, maybe even the Barbarian might hew some limbs off some poor sap. With any luck it would be the half-wit half-orc who would rush down the rest of the road to investigate closer. After all those horses looked heavy, and the brute was probably the only one with the muscle to push them away.

[Hider=Mechanics]
[b]Movement:[/b] From starting position, moving to D7 on wagon then stopping. Looking for enemies with a Passive Perception of 18.
[b]Location:[/b] D7
[b]Investigation:[/b] Passive 20 to consider the scenario presented: considering a trap.
[b]Action:[/b] Switch Psychic focus from Nomadic Mind to Psychic Assault in preparation for possible combat.
[/hider]