#though there was a tiefling in the party too so they canceled each other out

[heybiji]

Roshan walks with the two Potts, gazing around at the fields and forests painted in warm colors by the setting sun. He remarks, "It is a lovely view from here."

Gazing outward, past the broken walls he had put up 20 years ago, Arthund nods and says, "Forgot. Forgot how... how pretty it all is."

I recently finished running an original oneshot for some friends, The Reaching Woods. It was a story about a little village surrounded by a big wall and the nearby forest's sudden overgrowth threatening to crush it all. It was also a story about blame and guilt.

Arthund Potts, when we met him, could barely speak at all. Too many years spent drinking and weeping. If he was even conscious he was all grunts and sloppy gestures. The scene above was at the end of the oneshot (okay, eighteenshot), once the party returned from the dark, evil woods.