[Open Commentlog] - Old Persian - Found Prince 001
[Unfortunately, Dastan only reads that very first line written by Lord Deior before he snapped the journal closed, frowning before absent-mindedly tucking it into his belt. Sorry, Deior, but he believes he has a way to fix this, and if time isn't on his side he has to move now so it soon will be. First objective: find the dagger. He certainly can't do that here.]
For a Lord's Keep, you certainly do not know how to decorate to make your guests feel welcome. Well, no matter.
[And Dastan is racing out of his room on the first floor of the barracks, dodging people as he makes his way outside and into--snow?! Yes, snow. He shivers once, rubs his hands together, and locates a long rope as he races along the Keep's stone walls, tying the rope into a looped knot and tossing the looped end up to an iron spoke a few stories above the ground. Within a matter of moments he is scaling said rope as quickly as he can manage, making the feat look effortless as he settles himself onto a protruding bit of the keep, unhooks his rope, and aims for a spoke that will lead him to the roof.]
This isn't so bad...
[As Dastan finally reaches the roof he winds the rope loosely around one shoulder and races the length of the barrack's walls, taking in his surroundings for the best road to escape. As he rushes to the end of the barrack's roof, however, his footing slips on the snow and ice and he yelps, twisting in an attempt to correct his footing until all he stands on is air. Another spoke catches Dastan's eye and he reacts before his brain processes it--feeding the loop in the rope over the spoke and grasping the opposite end as gravity pulls at him. He collides roughly into the side of the stone wall, air knocked from his lungs as he hangs a few feet above the ground.]
...Spoke too soon...
For a Lord's Keep, you certainly do not know how to decorate to make your guests feel welcome. Well, no matter.
[And Dastan is racing out of his room on the first floor of the barracks, dodging people as he makes his way outside and into--snow?! Yes, snow. He shivers once, rubs his hands together, and locates a long rope as he races along the Keep's stone walls, tying the rope into a looped knot and tossing the looped end up to an iron spoke a few stories above the ground. Within a matter of moments he is scaling said rope as quickly as he can manage, making the feat look effortless as he settles himself onto a protruding bit of the keep, unhooks his rope, and aims for a spoke that will lead him to the roof.]
This isn't so bad...
[As Dastan finally reaches the roof he winds the rope loosely around one shoulder and races the length of the barrack's walls, taking in his surroundings for the best road to escape. As he rushes to the end of the barrack's roof, however, his footing slips on the snow and ice and he yelps, twisting in an attempt to correct his footing until all he stands on is air. Another spoke catches Dastan's eye and he reacts before his brain processes it--feeding the loop in the rope over the spoke and grasping the opposite end as gravity pulls at him. He collides roughly into the side of the stone wall, air knocked from his lungs as he hangs a few feet above the ground.]
...Spoke too soon...