Commander Morgan's page

Oops! Forgot I made a profile for this guy!

He curtly nods at Beorae’s information. “I was told. I entrusted the interrogation to one of my captains, I’ll see what it turns up when I return. Safe travels.”

His eye briefly surveys the Nme’an’s companions and their armaments without comment before he trots his large horse toward the open gate. The rest of the patrol takes note and quickly mount or steer their horses out of the gate as well.

When the Commander sees the company ready, he lifts a horn from its sling and touches it to his lips. A rallying call sounds off their thundering hooves as the dozen horses speed to the south. A trumpet from the heights of the castle return the call.

Commander Morgan nods slowly, a brief look of approval at the paladin’s summation. “Reports of this man-beast, the werewolf, increase every month. A most vexing and elusive creature. I will schedule more patrols through the area, and hope he is bold enough to confront our riders. Tonight I will write to Deeproot as well, to contract a few expert huntsmen to bring him down. The very first of those reports came from Axton, so it seems that the monster has expanded his territory.”

He gestures assuringly, “Soon he will not be able to escape us. That I will promise you.”

“Now if that is all, I bid you good night. May you reap tenfold your sowing.” the Commander intones before marching out into the hallway.

“Hm. So perhaps it is you who is unfit for this mission?”

The twinkling jest in the Commander’s betrays his stern, hard face. After a moment his expression furrows in concern at Nme’ans suggestion. “Passage through the ravine will take several hours, perhaps all day if all of you move carefully. I do not think a single diversion will guarantee the safety of your companions. Though I commend your bravery, if it is your charge to protect your comrades then I encourage you to not be too eager for self sacrifice. The narrow winding road is many miles long, too many places for those nasty lizardfolk to spring from a hiding place. Perhaps your small company can exploit these places and hope for the best.”

“A small, lone kobold is hardly a threat -but they are aware of this weakness and try to overwhelm their enemies with large numbers. Also, be wary of the crude and devious traps they might lay in absence of keeping watch. I’ve lost a enough men to spiked pitfalls and falling rocks in the pass, that I am loathe to allow anyone else to repeat my mistake.”

The plate armor clanks as he rises, standing a hand short of six feet. With the slightest limp he marches to the exit of the mess hall. By his tired demeanor, it is plain he has more business to attend to before getting his much needed rest. He stops and turns to the half-elves. “Do you have any further questions?”

Commander Morgan nudges his empty plate and utensils away, and answers the druid. “I’ve not been near the pass in a few weeks. If that is where the king’s cure lies, or beyond that, I will tell you that your best chance of survival will be the use of stealth. The Blackcrag Pass is a narrow ravine, walled by sheer black cliffs. Kobold tribes live around the base of Armaag’s Peak, and they watch the pass closely. Little foliage grows between the rock face, so only the seldom stone overhangs and sharp turns in the pass will serve as cover.”

The grizzled officer drains his cup and ponderously returns it to the table. “Stealth is not one of my strongest suits, so I have not personally ventured far into the Blackcrag Pass without meeting opposition.”

The commander coolly brings his hand from his hilt when he sees the tiger back under control. His eyes linger on the beast a moment longer, until the Elven tongue rolls from Nme'an's mouth, at which he looks up at the knight apprentice in annoyance. Still, he is quiet until the two are finished speaking, and he lets the silence hang a moment longer as he takes another sip from his cup.

“Prince Titus dined at this very table, with nineteen other knights, just before autumn's first moon. According to the prince and his comrades, one of their number succumbed to a poisoned arrow from a band of brigands they routed on the way here. The rest of them seemed to be in good health, some with the thought of a fallen friend still fresh in their minds. Such is the way of battle, though.”

The wood creaks as he leans back in his seat, regarding Nme'an before continuing. “Since the disappearance of the prince and his men, I've sent patrols further than I dared, for fear of sparking another kobold warpath, or worse. My trackers tell me the knights rode north into the Blackcrag Pass, but beyond that, I do not know their fate. Traveling through that damned ravine would be inadvisable with heavy horse and heavy plate, had I known the prince's intentions.”

“Your reasoning is reminiscent of his, Sir Nme'an, and leading a score of heavy cavalry does not grant the same experience as decades of commanding skirmishes and patrols. Tell me this, Sir: can you fight poison with a sword? Does your shield protect you from the winter's chill? I suspect that your court wizard realized that sending twenty knights on this mission was akin to using a sledgehammer to pick a lock, and sought out those skilled outside of combat when the knights evidently failed.”

He raises a gnarled finger at the pair. “And it is much easier for a company of four to travel unnoticed through enemy lands than a company of twenty. If I were to lend two of my men to replace such skills, would it not mirror the Order of the Dawnflower's first endeavor?”

The middle aged Commander sighs tiredly, a thin layer of grime covers his armor and face, perhaps from a day of riding. He looks up at his guests with alert eyes without rising from his seat.
“I am Commander Morgan,” he begins gruffly, “What is it?”