A
ArmoredScout
Guest
Original poster
Carl listened to their introductions, noting the silence of the dark haired youth, before nodding at each of them politely, forcing a thin lipped smile.
"I am Carl Righenbald, marksman of the Arm of Bolesh. Er..." He paused for a second, adjusting the chain coif he had pulled back, "I suppose that would be former marksman,". He looked out over the wall, taking a few steps toward it and leaning on it with one arm, looking the lot over with a little more scrutiny. "It's a shame that none of my compatriots seem to have shown up. It could be that they're still lost out there in the fields or-" His breath hitched in his chest, and a short spasm ran up his back, leaving him shivering and releasing a solid set of hacking coughs. When it had subsided, he continued, "- Or maybe they moved on without being subjected to this place. I sincerely hope for their sakes it was the latter." He took a second to regain his composure, adjusting the sleeves of his mail and fiddling with his belt, before idly continuing the vain search for a light for his cigarette. He didn't yet want to bother these folks for a match, for he wasn't entirely sure his company trusted him enough to come within arms reach.
"So, when I entered, I heard preaching from a hooded monk about death, demons, and redemption. I could probably guess my way to the correct answer, but would any of you more knowledgeable folken care to share any further details?"
"I am Carl Righenbald, marksman of the Arm of Bolesh. Er..." He paused for a second, adjusting the chain coif he had pulled back, "I suppose that would be former marksman,". He looked out over the wall, taking a few steps toward it and leaning on it with one arm, looking the lot over with a little more scrutiny. "It's a shame that none of my compatriots seem to have shown up. It could be that they're still lost out there in the fields or-" His breath hitched in his chest, and a short spasm ran up his back, leaving him shivering and releasing a solid set of hacking coughs. When it had subsided, he continued, "- Or maybe they moved on without being subjected to this place. I sincerely hope for their sakes it was the latter." He took a second to regain his composure, adjusting the sleeves of his mail and fiddling with his belt, before idly continuing the vain search for a light for his cigarette. He didn't yet want to bother these folks for a match, for he wasn't entirely sure his company trusted him enough to come within arms reach.
"So, when I entered, I heard preaching from a hooded monk about death, demons, and redemption. I could probably guess my way to the correct answer, but would any of you more knowledgeable folken care to share any further details?"