Though the door to the Eastern gatehouse is shut, it is neither locked nor barred. At a glance it seems to be a sort of barracks, with bunk beds and footlockers on one side and and assortment of tables and chairs on the other. Another recurring theme is present here as well- the guardhouse is empty of people and seemingly abandoned. Though, judging by half eaten meals and overturned chairs, it seems as though the guards here were forced to respond rapidly to some sort of situation.

As far as Marcon can tell, that rascal Evard has no tricks up his sleeve this day- assuming you would even be able to see through such a trap before it were sprung. In fact, a more thorough investigation of the Western gatehouse would ultimately yield the dead bodies of two men, dressed as guards and bearing the sigil of the fox and rose on their armor. The gatehouse is furnished much the same as the Eastern gatehouse, except that most of the furnishings in here are shattered and strewn about with the rest of the rubble.

Tortetarte catches Anchor's meaning "Trust me friend, I've been taking too many naps this adventure". Tortetarte still follows behind Anchor, and seeing the gatehouse empty, inspects the food to see if it indicates how long it's been sitting out. He also rummages through the footlockers for any mementos.

Theren steps through the gates deciding to follow Anchor, all while keeping an eye out for anything that might explain what had happened here.

The food sitting out seems to be several days old at your best estimate. Within the footlockers is primarily spare sets of clothing and fairly mundane daily odds and ends- things such as mess kits, books, fishing tackle, soap, mirrors, or shaving kits. Also, there as various minor mementos that seem of little worth. Among these, there is a small wooden holy symbol, a small scrap of parchment with a faded emblem on it, a glass vial filled with nail clippings, a tiny silver bell with a ribbon attached, crudely sketched blueprints to what appears to be a tavern, a deck of cards signed in flowing script, and a sheaf of paper bearing hand-written poetry so terrible it could potentially be used as a means of psychological torture.

Theren sees nothing new beyond what Tortetarte and Marcon have already seen. As for an explanation of what might have happened? Well, any conclusions he might have drawn from smashed buildings and large boulders strewn about the town are about all he has to go off of still.

Tossing aside the poetry with a grunt of disgust, the fighter speaks his mind.

"The siege killed or forced retreat. The outer defenses seem abandoned."

Marcon considers what he remembers of Bragnon's "Siegecraft".

"Whoever survives shall be in the keep."

He keeps his shield high as he approaches the keep doors. Should he arrive there without incident, he will knock before entering.

No ambushes forthcoming and still no signs of life in the inner bailey, Marcon makes it to the doors of the keep without incident while his companions loot the guard houses of every jar of toenail clippings they can find. Though there is no response to his knock, as the doors slowly begin to swing open he can hear the sounds of people talking within. Unable to hear exactly what is being said, he can nonetheless tell that they seem to be having a serious discussion, with more than one heated voice rising now and again in the conversation.

Taking small interest in the bell, Tortetarte says a prayer for the owner of the belongings, and moves on. Tortetarte continues on as well staying behind Marcon and readying a spell. (It has been a rough day so far, Tortetarte is ready to Bless himself, Marcon, and Anchor)

Marcon arches an eyebrow at the sound of heated conversation. He turns to Torletarte.

"'Words may cut crueler than blades' but I hope no fiercer opposition awaits us."

The quotation from the Amnic farce "The Gentle Duelist" gives the soldier a wry smile. He moves through the doors towards the speakers.

Seeing Marcon and Torletarte heading inside, and hearing the voices coming from within, Theren follows. For now, he holds off on drawing his weapon in order to prevent any unneeded conflict.

Anchor, having seen enough of the empty barracks, follows the group deeper into the keep.

Hearing what may be an argument going on, Anchor is reminded of his own reason for coming to Nightstone. With the state of things as they are now, the survivors of what ever attacked this town may require his service as a mediator more than ever.

Tortetarte eyes Marcon and Anchor and says, "shall we announce our presence, or just saunter in?"

"I hold with Wheelock, Master Torletarte. 'Action is the finest herald!'"

So saying, the young Tumari shoulders open the door, sword and shield at hand but unraised.

Inside these doors lies the great hall of the keep- at least, what is left of it. Half of the hall is buried in rubble and the sky can be seen through an enormous hole smashed into the southern side of the keep. Near the middle of the hall the shattered remains of an oaken table have been set up, where the body of a woman lays atop it. Around the table, four humans stand. By their appearance, they re likely all Illuskan and are dressed in guard uniforms. When you first start opening the door, the four of them all seem to be in the middle of arguing among one another.

As more people begin to enter the keep, one of the guards catches sight of your group and breaks of arguing. The others quickly follow suit and turn to see what has distracted their companion. One of the them, a tall red-haired woman, takes a step forward. Though her hand instinctively falls to her scabbard, it is presently empty. "Who are you?" She demands, sounding more weary than threatening "What business do you have invading Nandar keep?"

Tall and red-haired. Nice.

With the brashness of youth and the poise of practice, Marcon salutes with his sword in the style of Lindisfairne's "Manual of Courtly Fencing".

"Marcon Astoro, my lady, a free blade. My companions and i arrived in Nightstone, and we come to your keep not as Invaders, but in hopes of learning what happened to the town, and how we might assist."

Tortetarte waves

Anchor approaches along side Marcon, reattaching his trident to his pack and taking his hat off, holding it.

"Anchor's the name. I myself have been sent here at the request of the Emerald Enclave to aid in talks with the people of Ardeep Forest."

Looking around at the damage to the keep and it's remaining denizens, Anchor sadly sighs.

"Though it appears I may have been too late."

Theren also steps forward to stand besides Anchor and Marcon.

"My name, if there are to be introductions, is Theren Xiloscient. We wish only to know what happened here, and offer whatever help we can."

"I am Sydiri Haunlar, these are my fellow guards. This is Tore-" Began the first of the group to have taken notice of the new arrivals. Unfortunately, she had barely begun to introduce the rest of her companions when the second guard she had been gesturing to interrupted her.

"The fuck it looks like happened here? We were attacked!" The bald Illuskan man spat out, rounding on the group. He glared first at one intruder then another before finally settling on Anchor. "And damn right you're too late. I suppose you just want to pretend to care long enough to loot what our people left behind when they fled."

"That's more than enough." Sydiri responded, making a sharp cutting gesture at the second guard as she spoke, eyes narrowing in anger at the outburst.

"But what of the people? They still haven't returned. The giants took what they wanted and left. That was three days ago. No one has come back, other than that pack of filthy scavengers." Chimed in a third guard, a Damaran woman with close cropped black hair. She spoke more calmly than either of the other two guards, but her eyes never left the woman lying on the table while she spoke.

"They're dead. Just as we will be soon enough if we don't pack up and leave." Added the morose voice of the final guard. A Tethyrian man with medium length brown hair, he leaned against a pile of rubble as he spoke sounding utterly resigned to the dire situation.

"We still have a duty to the town. Someone has to come back eventually, or at least a patrol from Daggerford or Waterdeep will learn of this and send help." Sydiri added, making an honest attempt to sound hopeful yet falling flat.

"If they even care, that is." The bald man interjected.

"the lady is dead, what duty does a guard have if the line they guard has ended?" The Tethyrian said with a small shrug.

"There's still the people of the village, someone should figure out what happened to them." Insisted the Damaran, taking her eyes away from the dead woman and finally turning to look at the intruders. She eyed the new arrivals as though weighing them each in turn, raising an eyebrow at the sight Tortetarte. Before she was able to say anything further, the one bald guard was speaking again.

"They're dead too most likely. Probably bandits. Maybe even those bandits over there." The bald man concluded, pointing an accusatory finger at Marcon.

Tortetarte eyeing the 'dead' woman. "I am Tortetarte, though my abilities meager at the moment,and although the question akward I must ask it, is your friend truly gone from this world? We may be able to help if she is not."

Sheathing his sword and shouldering his shield, Marcon moves to Sydiri, genuine emotion is his tone.

"Miss Haunlar, you are to be commended. Shaara the Herald, in the siege of Knightsbridge, showed such fortitude. To hold a keep against giants, though your liege be fallen and your companions -" he gestures here to the bald man "-be gormless larvae more pustule than man."

With the brashness of the young, he kneels before the woman.

"You speak of duty, and as Wheelock writes,'Honor cries out to honor!' Let the God's witness this oath! I shall track these giants to their lair, and if one soul of Nighstone still breathes, I shall deliver her here!"