The Style of the Snake...
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DM: The Sneaky Sneaky Gobblie
The guards raised a ruckus the other day.
A woman in red robes bearing the mark of the Tyrant on a silvery cloak strode through the gates surrounded by a dozen or more able-bodied adventurer-bodyguards.
One of the gate guards said she'd mentioned something about being a former Tribunal before passing straight through Norwick, north to south, without a word to any of the citizens.
The archers in the tower watched as a violent scene developped, the monk's guards being disabled by a woman in green that moved like a snake.
Before long the large group dissembled and the monk, with a much reduced entourage, followed the serpent-like assassin westward.
Word trickled in later of a hamlet, sacked by the Rawlins lizards, now a ghosttown. The town lies empty, the inn burned to the ground and bodies of humans and saurials littering the dirt roads.
