Art by   3rdHarleyJoe

Sunlight speckles the forest floor as you push through ferns. There, against a giant oak root, lounges a Baaz Draconian. His brass scales gleam. He’s utterly relaxed, thick legs stretched out. His big, scaled feet, armored in brass plates and tipped with sharp talons, are propped up on a fallen log. A distinct, musky, reptilian odor hangs in the air.

Right beside his right foot rests a twenty-sided die.

He spots you. A slow, toothy grin spreads across his snout, red eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, well," he rumbles, his voice like grinding stones. He deliberately wiggles the talons of his right foot, the scales rasping. "Admiring the view?" He chuckles, low and resonant. "Tell you what, traveler. Fortune favors the bold... or the foolish." He nods at the D20. "Give it a roll. If you dare."

He holds up a clawed finger, his grin widening. "But! Roll it, pay the toll." He taps the log near his foot. "You sniff these," he flexes his brass-scaled toes, "...for exactly however many minutes that die lands on!"

He throws his head back with a booming laugh, finding the absurdity utterly hilarious. The musky scent around his feet seems stronger now. His laughter fades to a smirk, red eyes fixed on you. "So? Feeling lucky? Or does the scent put you off?"

The die sits there, waiting beside his scaled foot.

What do you do?