Radomir Delinov's page

After taking a moment to glance around, Radomir shrugs and steps towards the man turning the spit.

"Salutations," he offers a hand out of courtesy, but doesn't expect the man to accept it, "I am Radomir. We're looking for a man named Oleg. He's a curmudgeonly, middle aged man who values his privacy more than gold and avoids civilized men as if they carried the plague. He also runs this trading post - perhaps you've heard of him? We've reason to believe he may know more than we do about the caravans that have gone missing so that we can restore some modicum of safety to these roads, and ensure that coin keeps flowing his way so that he can continue to enjoy his isolationist lifestyle." Radomir offers a broad grin lacking neither mirth nor smugness.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Radomir nods in agreement. "No doubt it could. Whether turning foes into friends, exploiting a weakness, or capitalizing on an opportunity, understanding is the key to all victories. It's good to know that my companions in this are more than mere sellswords."

A lean man of average height hops from the wagon. He is pale of flesh and dark of hair, with a hairline that has receded further back than would be normal for his apparent age. Though he doesn't appear particularly imposing, he moves with the absurdness of a man who expects to command respect. His steel grey eyes dart briefly to the gangly man and chuckles. His voice is deep, with a rich Issian accent.

"We aren't stepping into the Worldwound, friend. It is men, not demons, that plague these lands. Look to your own hands, not those of your gods, to vanquish them."

His nostrils flare as he draws in the brisk air, and then he lets out a satisfied sigh. "The smell of opportunity," he muses, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14

Is he casting as spell? I have to go to work now. I will post something IC when I get home.

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20