Marek Dolk
Watchman
Marek Dolk
Species
Human
Appearance
Marek is a narrow-faced young man with the restless stillness of someone who spends entire nights listening for danger. His skin is weathered by cold spray and river mist, and his hands are permanently roughened, with black grease embedded beneath the nails. He moves with careful, economical steps, placing each boot as if the stones might give way beneath him. His uniform makes him look official from a distance, but up close it is patched, salt-stained, and faintly scented with lamp oil, wet masonry, and sewer rot. The unexpected contradiction is his smile, which is soft, shy, and almost boyish, completely at odds with the hard crossbow and the practiced way he watches people's hands.
“Marek speaks in a low, clipped voice softened by a flood-quarter accent. He pauses to listen between sentences, lowers his volume when discussing the sewer, and becomes painfully precise when inventing an official explanation.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A crescent scar beneath his left ear shaped like a fishhook.
A missing upper-left canine that gives his polite smile a crooked, conspiratorial quality.
Purple thread stitched around the cuff of his right glove, used to mark people he has allowed through.
His brass whistle bears a tiny notch for every person who has disappeared in the old sewer.
He smells faintly of lavender soap despite the constant odor of damp stone.
Voice
“Low and watchful, with a roughened edge from damp air and sleepless nights. When startled, he speaks too quickly, then repeats himself in a formal tone.”
Clothing
A well-maintained purple surcoat bearing the faded silver emblem of the Southern Wall, worn over riveted leather and a quilted jack. He wears high mud-stained boots, a hooded oilskin mantle, fingerless gloves, a brass watch whistle, and a belt lined with hooks, cord, chalk, and spare crossbow string.
Body Language
Marek keeps one shoulder angled toward the gate controls and one hand close to his sword hilt. When lying, he rubs his thumb across a brass washer sewn inside his glove. When genuinely relaxed, he leans against stone with his head tilted, listening to distant water.
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