The mystery of Benfal (Moore, Tryll)

[Nephrite]

"You really should go get that pickaxe, you know." Moore says with a smile as he gets back to his feet. "The mountain's probably trying to tell you to get moving." He laughs a bit and with a wave decides to continue on.

[Anastasia]

"I'll go when it feels right, or until an archon throws a stone at my head," The dwarf grunts. "Good luck."

[Nephrite]

"I don't think they have Stone-throwing Archons." Moore calls out as he continues on.

Or maybe they do? They seem to have every other type covered.

[Anastasia]

Roll 1d100-21.

[Nephrite]

[21:18] <Nephrite> roll 1d100-21
[21:18] <Serith> Nephrite roll for Serith < 47 > [d100=68]

[Anastasia]

You wander up the path a time before coming to a long cliff that juts off the path, with the path continuing on ahead. On that cliff is a single gravestone, a man in full armor and helmet kneeling before it, hands clasped in prayer.

[Nephrite]

Moore will fly over but wait respectfully. For a while.

Hopefully this isn't a statue or something that looks like a real person.

[Anastasia]

The man is silent for a time. Perhaps 5 minutes before he speaks up and says, "Thank you. Many are too focused on what lies above to see what is in front of them." A man's voice, old and weathered, gruff. "It's my son's tombstone."

[Nephrite]

"He was truly something." Moore says, as if he's just completely sure of that. "You're an even better person for honoring his memory. May I ask his name, sir?"

[Anastasia]

"Ronyn," The old man says, not looking up from his vigil.

[Nephrite]

"I'll make it a point to come and say hello to him and tell him about my adventures so he isn't lonely whenever I'm passing by." Moore says with a smile.

[Anastasia]

"You're a good one," The old man turns around, a visible startle when he sees you. "A fairy? Here?" he says, voice stunned, almost faint.

[Nephrite]

"My voice didn't give it away?" Moore says with a small laugh. "I've been blessed to be... ah... hm. I'm not really sure what you'd call it. I guess I'm under Erathaol's wing? You're the first person I've met who actually seemed really surprised by it, though. I guess the archons are just used to whatever."

[Anastasia]

"The archons don't see your body, but your soul," The old man says, "My apologies, good sir." He reaches up and takes off his helmet - an old man with a droopy white mustache and beard, faced lined and wrinkled. "I am Malasgar."

[Nephrite]

"There is no need to apologize. My name is Moore, of Aurora." He says with a flourishing bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Malasgar."