[center][h3][url=https://dicecloud.com/character/DDB5L52REuqZRqLkM/M-the-Silent][color=6C3082]"M" the silent[/color][/url][/h3][/center]
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A fairy riding a dog. Coming from the west along the road. A friend? Or another nuisance to deal with? She was small enough to perhaps over take but, not in his injured condition. Though in suspicion the psion did subtly reach for his dagger hidden in his left sleeve. It was until the small creature attended to his side, and revealed a Harper's emblem. Ah yes the Harpers. One of the more amiable factions within Neverwinter, gatherers of information throughout Faerûn, keepers of the status quo in the shadows. And best of all aided the weak, the poor, and the powerless. Not all who delved in the dark were bad or sneaks, ill-trusted perhaps, but the Harpers had earned his approval, and vice versa. This fairy in particular seemed familiar enough, perhaps their paths may have crossed in the past, and after her introduction, the mute lowered his hesitation and grasped arrow shaft. Bracing himself for the pain once more, his collapsed lung draining the oxygen from the air as best it could, a final inhale before pulling the damned arrow out. A process that winced the mute's body with his inability to scream out as the bloody metal was ejected from the flesh wound. Then the healing words soothed his bleeding flank, the weave woven around as flesh and organ were restored by magic. With a silent nod acknowledging her work, a finger pointed out at Kiki's direction, for the rogue look a little worse for wear herself moments ago, as she ducked into the pursuit of killing every last one of these buggers... It should be fairly obvious to a trained healer that the psion was a mute.

But it seemed just as the man recovered, literally catching his breath as his lung began to balloon back up into a healthier state, the battle was over. Goblins picked off one by one and their Barbarian raging enough to scare the two or so remaining into submission. Killing a chicken to scare the monkey. And the Goblins gathered themselves, dragging their dead one by one and piling up the belongings of their former adversaries and friends. A rather interesting sight to behold much to the psion' amusement, it seemed he was correct about the barbarian, in such a simple man's mind, might made right. And in lieu of benevolence, ruled over his newfound minions with strictest authority. A bit of power and suddenly the true viciousness comes out. Bathed in blood of his own and the goblins, the green giant looked less than jolly, but taking to hacking away the gruesome trophies of goblin skulls, the man looked fine.

That was until Bar decided to confront him about the lack of collectable skull from the Goblin who had crumbled before the psion's vengeance. An overload of psionic power clearly too much for such primitive brain to handle that it burst. Lifted from his recovered state as the man looked around the battlefield, boots grimed with goblin guts from the rampage that was Bar, a large hand taking him by the collar. To which the immediate reaction was to unsheathe the hidden knife from his sleeve, pressing the blade against the orc's bare flesh, letting the steel edge run across as a warning of how close it was. A bit of knifeplay perhaps, tip threatening to pierce the half-orc's chest should he press them any close together. For the monster's breath was still rank, and is body smelled even more foul. If words wouldn't get through to that idiot's skull, then perhaps sinking a sharp knife would for all the sudden aggression. Did the barbarian even stop to consider a thing called personal space? Or that he was expecting words to come from a mute?

Regardless it seemed it was over, and scuffing off his shoulders and cuff the silent member returned the knife to his sleeve, hidden once more for a quick draw such as this. Daggers of the mind did enough, but sometimes it took something more readily observed, a knife to the throat or to cut off some unfortunate man's chances of children. It would be for the better, as their children did nothing to offend him, but to take them in after killing their sire? There was a twisted irony in that. All that aside, the psion silently peered through the looted remains, taking a curious vambrace which with a conceal blade and examining the mechanism cleverly tinkered to create a spring-loaded dagger. Another to add to his collection of weapons a street boy would use. Rolling up a sleeve and strapping on the new weaponry, giving his wrist a few flicks and a press to extend and react the blade at will. This was worth the setback they had in terms of time keeping. Their party numbered Seven now, as the psion observed the tiefling morph back into the bard making idle conversation with Kiki who hopefully the fairy had gotten a chance to heal. A polymorpher? It seems the bard had some secrets after all, and wore another mask just like he did. Regardless, the psion rejoin the main group, with his ever silent presence as they discussed the fate of the goblins rather openly in front of them.

There was no reason to keep the goblins all alive. They did after all try to kill them, why should a surrender be taken when they were vastly out numbered? No one strikes me down with impunity, and a snake thread upon shall strike the heel of the creature that insulted it. But then again, he really cared not to deal with that unwashed orc again, who wasted another horse for the sake of food. Ah, there were some fried spiders, rations perhaps he could offer the goblins these picking a few in hand. Spiders, a meal compared to what he had eaten, not as good as rat, but certainly more palatable than slugs. They needed more information, these were according to Seethe, the horses of their employer and his guard. A guard that failed at his job presumably, to which the psion would find himself eager to interrogate one of the two conscious goblins remaining who quivered in fear attending to Bar and his offerings of horse meat. Ah horse meat, another street rat delicacy.

[i]"Eat."[/i] The Psychic invitation to one of the two conscious goblins. Some spider rations given, alongside the charred horsemeat. The silent man had a voice, one that resounded in the mind as he folded his legs and sat down, taking a horse-kebab casually with eyes watching the two goblins keenly. To those not privy to the mental connection made with the goblin kicked by Bar, it would seem like a normal exchange, goblin being offered food. It was either a small kindness towards ones prisoners, or a last meal before more heads exploded. If indeed they caught on to his psychic powers, but for now it seemed charade worked, at least with Bar. [i]"She will kill you if you do not prove to be useful. There are three of you, it is either you, the one beside you, or the one tied up. Take us to the dwarf safely and she will spare you. Do we have a deal?"[/i] Chocolate eyes watching the goblin eat, no signs of any communication between them, but the telepathic link there, as if there was an understanding between the two somehow being communicated as the psion ate his horse meat as well.

Beckoning the wizard over and the cleric to join them, as well as the fairy had she not secretly left with that dog of hers. And if not, the good-natured man would offer the tired dog a bite of his kebab before taking another of his own along with a few scratches to the dog's ear should it not bite him. But turn on the man who counted every wrong against him, and you would end up like the poor goblin with bits of skull and brain scattered in the wind. Let that be a suggestion to the goblin he was currently offering a deal with. Cross him, and suffer a terrible death, perhaps one that would make you stop breathing so that you too may feel the fire burning up your lungs and your body going into respiratory shock.

[hider= Mechanics]
Claimed Loot: 1 punch dagger, 2 days spider rations.
Action: Switch Psychic Focus from Psychic Assault to Telepathic Contact for Telepathy
Check: Persuasion on kicked goblin: 1d20 + 4 = 12 + 4 = 16
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