Trading bow for sword and shield, Marcon moves forward,checking the gatehouse's for signs of survivors or loot.
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"Well, I haven't come this far to NOT fulfill my errands."
Marcon Astoro, warrior, traveler, failure, moves to the door and strikes it three times with a fist. Whitetabard's "Etiquette In The Courts Of Faerun" no doubt covered this situation, but having only skimmed that Dusty tome, he improvises.
"Hail, the fox and rose!" the Tumari shouts with all the might his lungs can muster. "Travelers seek refuge! Long have we travelled to sample the hospitality of Nightstone, and we hope to find her welcoming!"
Marcon Astoro, warrior, traveler, failure, moves to the door and strikes it three times with a fist. Whitetabard's "Etiquette In The Courts Of Faerun" no doubt covered this situation, but having only skimmed that Dusty tome, he improvises.
"Hail, the fox and rose!" the Tumari shouts with all the might his lungs can muster. "Travelers seek refuge! Long have we travelled to sample the hospitality of Nightstone, and we hope to find her welcoming!"
Nodding his thanks to There, Marcon grabs his pack and gazes in concern where Torletarte and Anchor had gone. Seeing the turtle-man's stir, the young warrior gives a happy shout.
"Well done, Master Anchor! A regular Shalosh Bright banner, no comrade left behind!"
"Well done, Master Anchor! A regular Shalosh Bright banner, no comrade left behind!"
Safely across, Marcon secures the rope at the strongest point he can find, remembering that Anchor's weight will be a concern. This done, he turns and calls to the bridge's far side.
"If someone would bring my things, please, you can all cross easy as Tenser's Proposition!"
"If someone would bring my things, please, you can all cross easy as Tenser's Proposition!"
Okay, so 1d20 + str + athletics?
Marcon laughs, putting his rucksack on the ground again and grabbing the free end of the rope.
"'I'll merely need someone to carry my bag.'" He quotes 'The Humbling River' from memory, then leaps the chasm.
"'I'll merely need someone to carry my bag.'" He quotes 'The Humbling River' from memory, then leaps the chasm.
The burdens of command may sting
But more than crown must make a king.
- Geres Graythrone, Rule and Ruin
Marcon smiles at the turtle-man's reticence.
"Master Torletarte, the keep's occupants may be our only hope to learn what happened here. My business here must be completed, either in success or impossibility, and those folk will point me in the right direction."
The long silence is broken by a snort from the idle Tumari.
"Release the poor thing. If anything, she knows less than we do. The answers we need will be in the keep."
Standing, Marcon shoulders his rucksack and calls over his shoulder.
"Master Wormwood! We make for the keep!"
"Release the poor thing. If anything, she knows less than we do. The answers we need will be in the keep."
Standing, Marcon shoulders his rucksack and calls over his shoulder.
"Master Wormwood! We make for the keep!"
"The dog, Master Torletart?"
Marcon considers the question for a few moments before shaking his head.
"I see no honor in chasing down and butchering a wounded animal. With respect to Gurinder Seven-Knives, I am no carver of meat."
The young warrior looks slightly wistful, imagining the recipes in the dog-eared copy of "Beasts Hunted and Eaten" he found in a university's scullery.
Marcon considers the question for a few moments before shaking his head.
"I see no honor in chasing down and butchering a wounded animal. With respect to Gurinder Seven-Knives, I am no carver of meat."
The young warrior looks slightly wistful, imagining the recipes in the dog-eared copy of "Beasts Hunted and Eaten" he found in a university's scullery.
Sighing, Marcon continues to watch the interrogation. While optimism is the key to any successful endeavor, he cannot help but recall a passage from Jannicot's "The Folly of Mercy".
What knowledge can be gained from the fearful? Look in their eyes, young prince, and see how small their world has become, them and the threat circling like marbles in a basin. The room for wisdom is used up by terror; the tongue is leadened by dread.
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