Encroaching Traveler

The muscles in Dorge's legs tense and he grinds his desire to run against any backbone he thinks he has. The Paladin hasn't even unsheathed a weapon, which isn't a good sign. It's a sign he's not going to have to roll a D20 to attack, he can probably snap Dorge's neck as a free-action.
"Do not attempt to flee, cur," Rolan says, his hand arresting.
If Dorge were a Rogue he might be able to lie his way out of this, but that's just not the case. Go for his sword against a mounted, armored combatant? Spells? Cast broke, no spells. This is going to get hairy.
"Who's running?" Dorge bluffs, forcing his shoulders to relax, "I'm just on a quest, you can see my status page."
Rolan smiles, "I'm aware you're on a 'quest', sir. Would you like to see my status page to see what sort of quest I'm on?" Rolan strokes the horse's neck gently.
"None, I'm guessing. Looks to me like you're just veldting."
"'Veldting'?" Rolan asks.
Dorge twirls his fingers, "You know, gaining XP, just leveling up before the Big One, right? Maybe pilfering a few healing potions and dirks along the way?"
Rolan's chin tilts up sharply, "A Paladin does not pilfer."
Dorge would like to see his status page so he could put together what lvl he is. His armor had some dings and scuffs for sure, but it was hard to tell. A noob certainly didn't have a warhorse like that monstrosity snorting hellfire and tromping the ground to mush, but.
Dorge's fingers curl into fists, squaring his shoulders. He wasn't going to be able to lie or run, but he could bluff a few levels. "So what is the big one? There a dragon harassing the countryside? Probably not that big, but I'm close. You're the tank for your team. But where's your team? You're out veldting without them because...," a smile spreads across Dorge's face, "Because they don't know how really weak you are, do they?"
It's hard to read someone's expression from that distance but the Paladin's body language suggested he just took a swallow of something bitter, "I do not need my stalwart companions to handle the likes of you, thief." Now Rolan is reaching for his weapon, a formidable war hammer by the looks of it.
"I take it that means the two other riders weren't really with you, then? NPC's or...? 'Never Split the Party' is like the first thing they teach you and you're out here alone? A tank on the road without even a Cleric? Fine, you know some healing, but you don't have anyone with you that can make a ranged attack?"
The Paladin seems to relax a bit, slowly pulling the hammer free from its harness, "I believe you may be overestimating your abilities." The horse makes a low rolling sound, and shifts its weight. Rolan adjusts his hold on the hammer and takes a fistful of the horses's mane.
Dorge pulls a small knife from his belt and starts to pull the other glove off with his teeth, letting it fall to the ground, "And I believe you may be underestimating them," he says, drawing the knife blade swiftly across his palm. The blood immediately spills down his wrist until he clenches his fist and squeezes out a crimson half-circle in front of him.
"Serpent! What are you playing at?" Rolan yells, his back arching, hammer raising. Before him may be some manner of evil he had sworn to defeat, sworn to protect the realm from. Now is his chance to gain favor with the Holy Order he has dedicated his life to!
Dorge holds his bloody palm outward, the wound pulsing fresh and horrid, "Stay back, Light-Walker! You have scant idea the evil I have wrought! The pact I have made!" All the while inching closer and closer to the horse and its rider, "That's right, I have paid dearly for this blood magic!" Then Dorge begins to chant in some arcane, dark language, indecipherable utterances, guttural and pitched.
Rolan was having a hard time keeping calm, and only slightly aware that his horse was becoming more and more agitated with the encroaching traveler, the rust-smell of blood blossoming in its flared nostrils, "Stay back, Devil! Surrender now and I will smite you in one blow!" the horse nickers, its feet dancing in the mud.
With that Dorge rushes the horse, windmilling one arm while reaching up and grabbing the horses's nose with his blood-soaked hand. The horse's eyes roll white as it neighs violently and rears onto its hind legs, Dorge goes sprawling as a hoof glances his shoulder. The weight of the Paladin pulls the horse back farther than it intended and both go crashing into the dirt until the horse can kick and buck itself upright again, trotting back and forth on the road, flashing its mane from side to side. Rolan wheezes and coughs, the wind knocked out of him, he had thankfully been loosed from the stirrups before the horse could drag him through creation. Dizzy and addled he gropes blindly for his warhammer, knowing the Warrior would be upon him soon, no, the Blood Mage! Give me strength! Rolan implored, getting himself to his knees, his hair drowning his face, his helm having been scattered a few feet away.
Finally his hands seize his weapon and he rights himself onto his feet, spinning into a fighting stance to combat the agent of evil before him!
But Dorge is no where to be found.