The jangle of harness, and clatter of wagons filled the road as a caravan pass through the hills and forests along the Misty Mountains. Following the Green way to it's end in Minas Tirth was the set task in mind for the caravan master. A well to do trader and merchant by the name of Giles Wigby. His hair was sadly thinning right in the back, making a odd look if Master Wigby didn't wear a stout cap which he was obliged to do as often as possible to cover this fact. Giles was a rather jolly man, with a belly too big for his waistband, and a inclination to what people wanted. And when people are worried about being attacked along the road side, and wanting to travel to a new area to start lives fresh... Why, what better way than to journey in a caravan? It would be a tad slower of course but that was not to worry. Larger numbers would be safer against banditry of the Dunlanders and the worries of roving bands of orcs. Yrch as the elves commonly call them.

As the over cast sky warned of a oncoming storm, heavy with rain. Casting a worried look upon the grey sky, Giles Wigby was hopeful to reach the thicker part of the small woods they were transiting through. Smaller villages and farmsteads would come out to barter and much in his favor. Few traders passed through, so when they did it was profitable to the trader. To pick up extra stores of provisions, perhaps rarities or that well crafted item. All bought at a low priced to be sold for triple the profit at a city. Thus was why they were so close to the Mountains and not the Green Way high road. Though, Giles was pleased most of the group had decided to join him. For the patch of the road they were missing was told to be active and heavily so with banditry, so thus he was able to make a profit and avoid a loss. It was a good day to be a trader.

And thus behind the portly trader and his few wagons were the wagons and horses of various traveling folk and farm families in transit. Barrels of goods upon the wagons, pots hanging and women spinning or knitting as the carts bounced along the road. The few children about running to and fro, or simply sticking to the wagon. Men calling to one another and guiding/minding the beasts of the caravan. They were looking for a new life or traveling to see family or for some reason the caravan master really did not truly care. Mixed among them was a group best left avoided, but even Giles could not argue the fact their aid would be of use if they were attacked. Darcyn Telcontar was a cruel and hated man by many. A womanizer would be a kind way to put his traits. A pig would be most accurate term. Tall for a man, his face was covered with a unkempt beard and hair that could be under any color under the grim. His eyes however kept woman farther away was his eyes. Plain and dark but the utter hatred and disgusting loathing for all things sent chills down the spine of many a person. But Darcyn was not alone, with him were several other men some of which were horsed, some which were not. Orc hunters all of them. They got the money, and drank it away. Laughing and boasting over their kills. A crew of killers and not one with a decent heart. Through out traveling with the caravan Darcyn had made his hatred of the Elves and Dwarves in the group quite plan. Treating the single elf like a pretty boy, and often making suggestive jokes about him. It was well known amongst his acquaintances that Darcyn truly hated elves, and considered Dwarves a relation to goblins. When camp was set, he and his crew drank and laughed and brawled. Keeping to their own fire lest one or two wander off to proposition a woman of the caravan. They had few friends in the group.

At the very end of the caravan, and noticeably throughout the travel keeping far away from Darcyn Telcontar was a lone figure. Walking with a mindless purpose other than to follow the caravan was a hooded and cloaked figure. Sometimes riding a cart, other times walking. The young being kept to their self. Most assumed them a traveling farmer's lad. Perhaps a orphan or perhaps traveling to family elsewhere. At the start and every so often Darcyn's group would come at the supposed lad. Jesting and shoving him about before boring and moving to a new interest. The being never raised their voice to the group nor to anyone really. Wearing a cloak, thread bare like the rest of their clothing, they kept the hood low over the face. The few glances now and then, split seconds, revealed parts of a face that was beautiful. Truly a pretty boy. It was no wonder the boy kept their face hidden with Darcyn in the group. A bow on their back with a quiver, were the only weapons and every so often one of Darcyn's would dump the young lad's quiver and laugh while they scrambled after the scuffed and marred arrows. Everything about the young lad looked worn, used, battered, and beaten.

Giles gave a weary sigh and looked onward, they most likely would be able to make another hour of travel. The trader would be blasted if they didn't take it. Every hour would count, especially if the roads turned to mud. It was just as well as it was later in the day. A camp would soon be needed to be made as well.

It was a fine morning for Oid Orisson; all mornings were fine mornings for him. He sat at the back of one of the carts, a pipe in his mouth. He was idly juggling his three throwing axes and his mattock. It took him three days and a mangled thumb to get the hang of it, but now he could freely entertain himself and children. "Shun of an elf...." he lisped with smoke coming out of his mouth as the mattock grazed his wrist. While he did pay attention to not lose anything from his pastime, he was in truth thinking. His first thought was what he would do after the caravan would stop. Would he travel eternally? He wasn't sure what he was here, a Guard, or a hanger-on. He got a little bit of money and from the people, so he assumed the former but still it was confusing. He finally let his weapons drop and collected them, and sat down properly. He jumped down and decided to walk, it would be nice for the horses to get some rest from his dense if not large body.

He waddled along, chopping off hairs that were too long, whistling a light tune and greeting the few people he was acquainted with. He kept his spear over his shoulder; after all with his shield he needed not to rush should an enemy attack.

It was nice traveling with people again as the caravan paced along this mountain pass. Company was sort of a rare commodity for a Dunedain Ranger due to the fact that there was just so much ground to cover in Eriador and areas far beyond. The exception came whenever tackling an assignment that required more hands, namely assaults, but even then your company was sparse and definitely not like this. Gweniera felt like people were everywhere on this trail as kids scurried past playing a game. Gwen had been in caravans before but for some reason, this one felt the ever more lively. Whether it was just her imagining or not, she did not know. However, she appreciated the ambience as they moved along. It was a great distraction for the occasional bout into her worrisome depression. It was a rare thing for a Ranger to quit but that was the least of it. Gwen felt like she had betrayed her comrades and guilt came and went as the tides of a shoreline do. Not only that, but she felt a whole myriad of emotion concerning her betrayal. It was often too overwhelming for her, but at the very least, she could at least coach herself that it was probably for the best that she left for now. She was distracted and if something happened to a comrade, or herself for that matter, she couldn't afford to be distracted.

Regardless, she was here now and hopefully she could figure herself out. Interacting with some of the travelers had really gone a long way in boosting herself. The children were charmingly affectionate to the notion that Gwen was a Dunedain and had often sought her out for stories. Many of the their parents and adults in general were also pretty thankful for having her around. They felt safer and in turn, that made Gwen feel better.

Still, she was a bit peeved with some of the other members, like that orc hunter, Darcyn. Of course everyone hated him and despite Gwen's hidden desire to just be rid of that man, she couldn't do it. She was secretly afraid of his posse, still getting flashbacks to the band of bandits who had taken her only months ago. Thus, she tended to avoid them and their general harassment. She had been occasionally harassed and while it did shake her up a little, things didn't escalate. Perhaps due to her reputation as a ranger or perhaps just due to luck. However the case, she definitely got off better than some. At times, Gwen wanted to step in on the victims' behalves but again, she was pretty shy now. Although she promised herself that she would step in if they ever went too far, but even still, she wasn't sure.

At the moment, Gwen had been riding Collie, her horse, just down wind from Darcyn and his crew, hovering towards the back of the caravan. She preferred it this way as she was provided a better view of the caravan ahead but could know if things happened behind her. She kept her head down for the most part, though. Cloaked under her hood and cape.

"I should have bought a horse..." Agarwaen mumbled, holding himself to not just stick an arrow in that loudmouth, Darcyn.

He hated that kind of person. Treating everyone like trash, making jokes, boasting, yelling and even throwing a poor boys' arrows on the ground. Trying to calm himself and ignore the situation, He sighed as he calmly tried to find a confortable position to sit in that cramped cart.
While he struggled to do so, a dwarf calmly threw his axes around.
He struggled his way out of the cart, surely it would be better to get out of there. Walking was by far more comfortable than being inside.
"Shun of an elf...." the dwarf said
Agarwaen sighed. He was already used to that kind of thing.
"Sorry to bother you dwarf, could you stop throwing your axes around? It may hurt other people." he said, as he jumped out of the cart.

Getting out of it, he stretched his backs with an audible crack. Surely it was better to be outside. He didn't knew why he had the brilliant idea of entering the cart to begin with...

Darcyn continued his typical behavior. Making suggestive jokes about him and walking around like he was better than everyone else. He could just ignore everything, but when he threw a poor boy's arrows on the ground Agarwaen couldn't be quiet anymore. Who that man thought he were to act like that? Showing his face, he looked to Darcyn, with piercing, serious eyes.

"I have no quarrel with you. I've been tolerating your ridiculous acts for a while now. Although very patient, I also have my limits. I would thank you if you just follow your path and let others follow theirs."

"Are. we. understood?" he said, his eyes menacing, like a predator's eyes looking to its prey.

Without looking back, he got near the boy.
"Come, I may not be the best of the companies, but at least i'll treat you fairly." he said, helping the boy to get his arrows, grabbing him and going to the far end of the caravan. Darcyn wouldn't go there just to bother them. Or at least that was what he thought.

"I'm sorry to grab you like that, but I was already losing my patience near that guy."

"I really should start travelling alone..." he said to himself, as he calmly tended to his equipment, taking the dust off the arrows and unstringing his bow to clean it. "Boy, are you alone? Aren't you too young to be travelling all by yourself?"

Noticing the two cloaked figures near him, he got a little bit uneasy. Covering his face, he resumed walking, always keeping one eye on them.

A quiet hum escaped Eodras' lips as he strolled down the road with the rest of the company, the grey skies didn't really bother him compared to looks on other peoples faces. He'd been with this group for around a week now after running into the caravan and finding out that they were heading away from Bree as well. It turned out that Eodras didn't really like travelling on his own, he liked the company of other people. Also it was a lot safer to be in a large group like this.

A dwarf was sat on a carriage just in front of him flipping some axes, Eodras really wanted to try it but didn't want to live the rest of his life with a missing finger. The wind started to pick up slightly as Eodras wrapped himself up in his massive olive cloak keeping himself warm, he left his hood down though thinking the cool breeze refreshed him.

Eodras, like most people was keeping his distance from Darcyn. The man was a brute and one day would get his comeuppance. If Eodras was a skilled fighter, he'd try it himself, but there was more of a chance that Darcyn or one of his bodyguards would stop him and maybe even kill him. For now Eodras wanted to stay out of his way, maybe if people confronted him Eodras would back them up... Or not. It would depend on how he'd be feeling.

Sitting atop a covered wagon near the back of the caravan, looking out over all the busy people all in a row, May hummed a happy tune to herself, very much content with her current circumstance. Leaving Bree it had been no time at all before the caravan had taken her farther than she’d ever travelled before, much to her delight.

With nothing much of anything in particular to do, May did what she does best and went out to learn about the people she was travelling with, choosing to start at the front and work back. With so many interesting people to get through and a lot of time invested in talking with each she’d only reached the back of the group that day, and still had a few more people she was eager to meet properly.

Moving her arms behind her and leaning back on them, May spent some time observing the members of the caravan from her vantage point, as she had done almost every day since they’d started the trip. It was a nice way to get to know everyone at once, in a limited way, and served as a much better way of relaxing than napping in her opinion. The small resting smile on her face grew larger as she watched a small group of young children (all still taller than her) getting up to shenanigans with wooden play swords, but it briefly slipped into a slight frown as her gaze fell on that noisy, rather horrid group of men that had been veritable pests the whole entire way. The hobbit had greeted them once, only to have a tall man with mean eyes (Darcyn she later learned) crack an awfully bad short joke at her expense, followed by the groups mocking laughter, much to her indifference. With a huff she’d turned around and simply decided they weren’t worth her time, and that was that. They didn’t really bother her much afterwards.

That thought reminding her, May turned her head to look over her shoulder at the lonely figure far behind, the one that seemed to attract Darcyn’s heckling more often than anyone else. Still quiet, still hooded, May had no idea what to think of them, which only made her even more curious. But, they didn't look like they were looking for a friend, and, at least for now, the hobbit was more eager to find out when they’d be making camp than approach her. Days and days of the same routine was wearing away at her spirit, tonight she just had to to go out and do something.

Deciding to head up the trail in search of Giles Wigby (to whom she’d warmed up quickly) in search of an answer, May stood up atop the wagon and revelled in a heroic stretch before taking a deep breath and beginning her sprightly descent. Flashing a big, warm, genuine smile to the far off unhappy stranger in the vain hope they might see it, May dashed away on her business. She didn’t manage to get very far however before running past the tallest person she had ever met walking the way she’d come, his unusual height and wonderfully strange armour distracting her utterly as she zipped past.

Head turned towards him fully, even as she ran, the small hobbit barrelled straight into a dense mass of muscle and hair, practically losing herself in a thick beard before taking two steps back. She did a quick bottom to top glance before meeting his gaze. This was the one dwarf in the group she hadn’t managed to greet properly yet, though she’d observed him and he seemed like a friendly enough fellow. As good a time as any I guess! she thought, her original mission forgotten.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry I bumped you, uh, Sir. I got distracted! Do you know who that tall ma…” she got out before gathering her wits and remembering her manners. She restarted. “Hello, um, Sir” she greeted him, holding out her hand to him and maintaining eye contact. “My name is May Littlefoot, it’s really, really nice to meet you at last, I’ve been meaning to say hello properly, but there’s just so many people to get through! Can I ask your name?"

Darcyn was a man of many things. He loved his ale, his smoke, his women. He enjoyed the culling of tribes of Orcs. Their runts were quite delightful- if he knew the word- to run down from his equally problematic gelding. A sad excuse for a horse with a liability to bite anyone with reach if he got bored. But as he looked to the knife ear elf, that was far taller than he, and was met with a hostile and predatory gaze. It reminded him he wasn't the one thing he claimed to be. Brave. For Darcyn thought himself everything perfect in a man, when in fact he was quite the opposite. Darcyn was a coward. A blight upon many a tavern and road. Staring down the seven odd foot elf from a horse. The man sneered from his tangle, and most likely lice infected beard. "C'mon lads, this twinklin' fairy aint worth the time." Turning his horse, he and two of his cronies trotted off up the column. Knocking the Númenorean to the side with the shoulder of his horse, and a cruel laugh as he passed. Joining up with the rest as they roved off the road. Most likely to terrorize the local wild life much the relief of the caravan.

Lathranien breathed a sigh of relief. Darcyn was a threat, and a large one if her years amongst the humans had taught her anything. But as ever the situation did, it had turned for the worse. But thankfully the Elven man thought her a boy, most likely a human as well. A Númenorean at most. It was a ruse she had worked for decades to keep up, it was a must for her survival. Keeping her head down as the Elf helped her gather up the arrows about her. One of the few tools she could use well with her injured hand. But as a hand clamped on a thin shoulder, perhaps a tad too thin, she tensed as the elf paused to let the caravan move a tad further ahead as she had already been at the very tail end of it. The nearest person was the Númenorean woman and she was further ahead. Far enough she was just out of earshot even for her kind. Lathranien had learned not the mess with the Dundain, they were too sharp. Her pale eyes flickered at the elf. Capping her by two feet and then some. Elves were more so dangerous to her than Númenorean. When Agarwaen asked if 'he' was alone, the elfling paused. She tugged the hood lower over her face., her sleeves nearly passing her gloved hands the ends thread bare.

Her voice deeped, or tried to, cracking. Good to pass for a boy. "Ah'm doin' just fine." A tone of annoyance heavy on her voice, like any indignant youngster. Albeit she was a eldar one. The less she talked, the less she was around others the better it would be for her. The grey sky and overcast lighting from the oncoming storm was a blessing in the current. The wind about the caravan picking up a tad. Though her worries about finding food and shelter for the night were only added by the anxiety of the elf. She picked up the pace as the Elf released her, nearing the edge of the woods. Perhaps she could slip into them and the elf would stay here. If she was lucky, she could get a rabbit or something. If Lathranien was unlucky and she ran into Darcyn, she'd climb a tree and circle back about to follow the caravan's wake. Something she should have done in the beginning Lathranien mussed. Of course, she didn't suspect a elf joining them.

Hooves struck the leaf strewn ground of the woods as Darcyn and his men pounded after a frightened herd of deer. The crude leader of the group was snarling and cursing in frustration of the puny hunting bow he had snatched from one of the farm wagons, much against the protest of it's occupants. But it was the law of nature, the strong got what they wanted, the weak gave it. Women were for giving ale and taking care of men and their needs. Ale was for the best, and Orcs were to be hunted. Chased down and killed for sport. Dwarves were little better than goblins. Only their work set them above the rats that hid in the Misty Mountains. A arrow nicked the the hind before him, the arrow thudding into a tree harmlessly. Darcyn cursed aloud.

Elves, elves by far were the worst of the races of Arda. They were so aloof. So much better than the race of Men. They best him at every round and shamed him. HIM! He was the best, the strongest! He had women and ale. He slew Orc for game, and took Dwarven works for his own. Something they should be grateful for. Pulling the horse up, he wrenched the arrow from the tree. His men tiring of the hunt to laugh and joke about him about the caravan and it's various occupants. There was currently a bet going on as to whom could win the pretty 'warrior woman' first. Darcyn sneered at the thought, the Númenorean would be a good conquest. A notch on his belt.

Dismounting the bad tempered nag his rode, Darcyn moved to check the ground. Disturbed leaves catching his eye. Leaves still on a tree. And black with blood. A small smile crossed Darcyn's lips. True game was at hand. His job required he report this to Giles, who would most likely skip resting the night and move the caravan. Even through the storm. The merchant took no chances, not with Orcs. A smart man but one that had no fun on his caravan. Darcyn's smile only grew at the thought of what he enjoyed for fun. Perhaps even the elf would get taken out and it'd solve his problem for him.

@Pirouette @13org @Daft Monarch @josephb @Andreyich

As he was waiting for the boy's answer, he felt something run past. Giving another look, he saw a very little blonde girl running past him, curiously staring at him. "Well, there it is someone who isn't even a little bothered by the trip." he thought to himself, with a low chuckle he said in a low tone "That one sure is a loose cannon." he said with a smile on his face.

Turning his attention to the boy again, he walked closer to him.
"You seem awfully young and, if you beg my pardon, fragile to be traveling alone." he said to the boy again. "You don't need to be so tense, relax a bit boy! I wont do anything to you. I just brought you here so Darcyn and his pawns wouldn't bother you." he said, seeing the boy visibly tense himself, pulling his cloak before replying to him.

"Say... do you hunt?" he asked the boy, pointing to his bow.
"I'll get out to hunt some food for me in the end of the day, you're welcome to join me if you want to." he said, taking of his cowl and showing the boy an amicable smile, while he took one of his arrows out of his quiver and inspected its point.
"Surely fresh caught meat tastes better than the ones stored by days." he said.

Turning his face to the other cloaked figure riding a horse in front of them, he analyzed the strange figure. He was still a bit uneasy by its presence, especially the hunting bow on its back.
He got visibly more relaxed after seeing the Dúnedain star broach on the strange figure. The Dúnedain had good and deep ties with the Elves.
"We might even extend our invitation to that fellow over there." he said to the boy, smiling. "Come on, she probably isn't an enemy." he said, marking the word probably in a jest.
Picking up his pace, he walked in the direction of the Dúnedain woman, giving a loud, but gentle whistle, calling her.

He didn't know why, but he felt somewhat responsible for the boy. Maybe because he looked fragile... Agarwaen was used to traveling and being alone, and was doing so for a long time. This time, he chose to go with a caravan by pure impulse. Maybe all the time he passed focused on his mission, without talking to anyone was finally taking its toll.

@LadyRunic @Pirouette

The Dwarf was humming happily to himself, walking along the left flank of the caravan, spear of his shoulder. He did not pay attention to the words of the elf, for elves never had anything good to say. They were such an interesting thing however; tall, yet somehow they managed to still be runts.

He kept an eye out on the road in case something came up. He plodded along happily, his ornate Dwarven boots crunching through any obstacle. He looked at the assembled company, at the trouble the elf was getting in. He hoped the man would give him a good battering. Pansies need a good battering, that is a fact known to any Dwarf. It seemed that the centre of attention was a lad of some sort. Well that was fine by him, if there was any great attention to him, then it would be because he gave someone an axing; something to avoid for now.

As he felt something, and a voice squeak nervously near him. "Hmmm?" he started, puffing some smoke through his nose. After thinking back to what the hobbit said he cleared his throat, smiled a little and nodded. "Aye, I'm Oid, son of Ori."

After naming himself he paused for a little, taking a few more puffs of his pipe. "Dinnae worry, I doubt anyone here will stop ya from moving if you just ask. As for the man?" He thought about what to say, weighing his words carefully. "Oh just some tall-git. Maybe a soldier, I don't know. You know what they say though, the taller they are, the harder they fall!"

Eodras started to flick the string on his bow as his mind started to think of food. A rabbit or a pheasant perhaps, probably just the first animal that crossed his path when he was out hunting.
Everyone else seemed to be thinking the same thing as Darcyn and his group rode off into the woods. The best thing that Eodras thought was to go the other way, the only thing those lot would do would put the animals on the run. It was always easier hunting animals when horses weren't thrashing about everywhere.

The dwarf was still in front of him and was now chatting with a hobbit. It took Eodras a few days to actually realize she was a hobbit and not a little girl, Eodras knew hobbits were small but never expected them to be that small. Maybe she was just small for a hobbit, he had no clue. The town where Eodras was from wasn't really big and a long way from The Shire, so none came through. This was the first hobbit he'd ever seen.

A few minutes after Darcyn left, Eodras decided to actually go. "Well I'm off to go and get some dinner." Eodras announced to them both as they were in the middle of their conversation. "I'll be back soon... Hopefully." With that, Eodras was off into the woods.

A few minutes walk into the forest when the noises from the caravan had disappeared, Eodras finally pulled out an arrow and notched it. He crouched down slightly and started to move ever so slowly, trying to stay as quiet as possible and hoping to hear any movement. Within a few minutes, a squirrel came into view. It was sat on a branch trying to break into an acorn. Slowly Eodras pulled back his arrow and stopped his breathing. He aimed just to the side and above the squirrel, knowing how the arrow would fly through the air. He let go of the arrow and the only noise that could be heard was a thrang as the bow string flew forward launching the arrow. Within a few seconds the squirrel was lying on the floor. Eodras went and grabbed the animal and pulled out the arrow. Within a few seconds he was off again looking for more.

Eodras's hunt was successful. Bagging several more squirrels, before a woman appeared in the forest. A tall woman, with hair of a ravens wing appeared before him. A farmer's wife most likely. She ushered him back, warning that he would do best not to hunt so deep and a storm was coming fast. Her voice littered with accents the young Man could not place. For never had he nor any of his heard such a accent, or words spoke as though from a hundred years earlier. But the way the woman said it, the way she ushered him back... The young man could not refuse. Most likely he had been hunting on her land and she needed the game more herself, and if a farmer's wife, a large family that would need every morsel they could get.

It was hours later, from when Eodras met the farmer's wife, that Giles looked at the encroaching clouds, wiping his furrowed brow and readjusting the cap he always wore. It was growing late, and progress was steady. All things good to combat a coming storm. But still the trader had been at this business of trading for quite a while, and he just couldn't shake the sense something was horribly wrong. Directing the wagons and families into a roadside clearing, the caravan made the customary circle of wagons, albeit a half circle to shelter in the lean of the forest. The storm was promising to be rather rotten, so any added protection against the rain and wind would be welcomed to both man (dwarf and elf included) and beast. Unhooking his study shire horse (Not a horse from the Shire, to note) the caravan master tethered them to the back of the wagon and bustled about. There were other wagons to check, horses and the rare oxen to settle. Using one plump hand to keep the slipping cap upon his head, he cursed the splatters of rain that started to fall.

But he did find the man he sought. Shortly before they came into the camp, Darcyn had returned with a plump deer. The mercenary group was rather pleased as they pitched tents and got about with the evening activities. Including leering at the local ladies and making crude jokes between themselves. The rest of the camp made large circles about their fire if they needed to pass, but a few felt the need to draw near as Master Wigby argued with the group about the guard stationing. Many of the group stated there was no need, nothing would move in this storm. But the argument was shorted as Darcyn was giving a small keg. Not enough to inebriate them, but to give them something for their 'troubles'. The rotten man was grinning far too boldly as Giles hurried off to separate a group of bickering families. Space was a something of a commodity with the coming storm, so the better the shelter the more it was fought for. Darcyn took full advantage as the mercenary group egged on the problems and laughed among themselves. "Look's like we'll get some fun tonight, lads!" The man laughed loudly as their fire roared.

Lathranien took to the woods far before they reached the clearing, not so much hunting as simply escaping from the ruckus of the caravan. She much enjoyed the quietness of the woods to the noise of city or men. Reaching the caravan shortly after the rain had picked up and most fires had died. Families enjoying a cold meal rather than deal with the pouring rain. Leaning against a tree she observed the set up. Families had taken to the wagons they owned, outsiders tossed out to fend for themselves as they would be sleeping in there. Space would be needed. Darcyn's band of 'gentlemen' had taken to their tents. The newer members forced to stand in the rain, most likely some foolish way to man them a better 'man'. Lathranien had seen it from time to time amongst the decades. Other tents were set between the trees, other travelers. Some had light, others had none. The rain had drenched her slightly, it wasn't overly bad and would dry out by morning. Shelter would be needed to keep her from staying drench long after morning. The elfling gave a slight smirk as she slinked from the forest's edge towards the wagons. Elvish grace in a nervous step, moving like a ghost amongst the night. It was a amusement for her to move so, but it was not reasonable for a mortal boy. So moving as she was meant to was rare. Making her way towards the wagon, she pulled the cloak tight about her. It would be tight but she wouldn't be seen, nor be too terribly wet. If luck was with her they would have a brazier- though such things were rare.

None noticed the too glad smile from Darcyn, as he sat in his warm tent and boasted of the Orcs he slain. Or the missing lad that wandered off now and again. Night had fallen and the caravan was settling in to wait out the storm.

@Pirouette @josephb @13org @Daft Monarch @Andreyich

"This weather..." Agarwaen said looking to the sky.
Looking around, he saw the families gathering on some wagons, and Darcyn's group of ruffians taking some tents for their own.
Those who didn't have wagons or tents, had to stay in the rain.

As an elf, the first thing that came to his mind was going to the forest, using what the nature had to offer to build a little shelter for him. Maybe on the top of some trees. But that probably wasn't a good idea. As much as he hated, he would have to stay near the wagons that night.

Turning his head to call for the boy, he stopped, surprised.
He was already gone. Maybe he went to look for a shelter already?

"Dúnedain." he called the woman neear him.

"I'm sorry to bother you, my name is Agarwaen." he said, with a traditional elven greeting gesture.
"As much as I don't like to, the only option we have is to stay near the wagons. If we try to sleep in the rain, we will be weak and weary on the next morning. And I don't think you are particularly excited with the idea of being weak and defenseless near those guys." he said, pointing to the loud mercenaries.
"I just wanted to warn you. I trust you more than the others here." he said, glancing to the brooch in her cloak.

As he walked towards the wagons, he thought to himself:
Hunting is not a good idea. All the animals are hiding from the storm, and if I try to hunt, it will only be a waste of time. Probably I will need to sleep without eating. Well... I stil have that bottle of mead... Now... Where that boy went? I didn't even realized that he disappeared. It was on that exact moment he remembered of the small hobbit girl that ran past him a couple of hours earlier.

"Dúnedain, if you meet the small hobbit woman, see if she got herself somewhere safe to sleep." he said before continuing walking.

"And be careful. I don't trust Darcyn and his thugs. Those man are unpredictable and dangerous." he said, walking towards the wagons, looking for somewhere he could sleep.

Taking out the Dwarf mead and taking a sip from it, he walked towards the wagons, looking for somewhere to sleep, the boy and the hobbit.
"Its been a long time since I hadn't tasted dwarf mead. It sure is one of the best I have ever tasted." he said to himself, looking to the bottle.

@LadyRunic @Pirouette

As the rain continued to bounce down, Eodras slowly followed the tracks of the caravan. His hood was covering his face and his cloak was wrapped around him keeping him slightly sheltered from the rain. But all he could think of was the woman he met, her face and that voice was burned into his memory. He'd never seen anyone like her before. Curiosity was starting to sink in, Eodras wanted to know who she was, he wished that he didn't leave now.

The sound of people laughing brought him back to reality, a few moments later all of the caravans came into view. People were piled into tents and the wagons, with a few people unlucky enough to be out in the rain. Eodras was one of those unlucky few. He casually walked through the camp and took his cloak off. Within a few minutes Eodras had made a makeshift tent tying his cloak to a branch and to the floor a few feet away from the tree. He leaned against the tree and went to work on skinning the squirrels while also having a nosy at what was happening in the camp. Skinning the animals was always the worst bit as he started to fling all the innards into the forest behind him. Anyone was welcome to one of the squirrels but he doubted anybody would queue up for a measly squirrel.

It didn't take long for the woman to come back into his thoughts, but he had to get that her out of his mind, he'd never see her again. Eodras started to quietly whistle a tune as he carried on with his task.

The Dwarf trodded along quietly until they came to a halt. He sat on his shield, smoking his pipe, looking thoughtfully into the sky. He smelled the smell of home, and groaned as he saw who was drinking the Dwarven ambrosia. A knife-eared bastard, someone who couldn't appreciate wonder like that. A member of a race that had a life-span endless, yet by feeble minds and bodies had life expectancy shorter than goblins. He grumbled a little under his breath, stroking his beard.

He quickly strolled around to see what was up for grabs and subsequently ate it; he kept his own food for later. When he returned to sitting on his shield he looked to the few Dwarfs in the caravan, a series of nods starting between them.

One pulled out a flute, then another a horn, and so Oid stood up with his shield and grabbed his pickaxe in one hand, and started banging it for a beat.

'Let's have a song, with a fancy rhyme!'
'Very well, but what's the time?'
'Four-four, for this wonderful song.'
'Aye, we'll need it, 'tis a journey long!'

Oid grinned happily, and kept along with the 4/4 time they had decided upon, providing the last line.

'Speed it up! The journey will seem faster!'
'What, with such a wazzock of a caravan master?'
'Oh sod him, he's a bastard both large and at large!'
'Bah! We can take him down if we need, all his sods have got is sword and targe!'

'Let's have a song, with a fancy rhyme!'
'To keep our spirits up, going through this muck and grime!'
'We've got a shield, a Dwarven one's better than a gong!'
'Aye, we'll need it, 'tis a journey long!'

'A toast, a toast! To our health and coin!'
'Aye, we'll be great just like Thorin's Oin and Gloin!'
'We'll make it to the end, do not be fashed!'
''n' if we do nay, well runts'll have been smashed!'

'Let's have a song with a fancy rhyme!'
'Bugger them asking for sleep, singing's not a crime!'
'The night is still young, we're singing strong!'
'Aye we need it, 'tis a journey long!'

Mawiyah sat at the end of the long caravan line, her stout black mare tied to a tree beside her makeshift shelter which she built from the plentiful branches and trees around the area; child's play compared to building a shelter in the Harad desert. Though the rain here was far heavier and frequent, she had a small fire beneath the shelter providing her with warmth along with a way to cook the rabbit she had hunted earlier in the day; using her curved hunting knife to roast the fairly heavy meat over the fire. Her scimitar sheathed and laid against the tree her shelter propped against, along with her quiver of bamboo arrows and her bamboo composite bow currently unstrung to keep tension out of the arms; her black eyes scanning the darkness every so often knowing her presence was tolerated but not appreciated. A silk scarf was wrapped tightly around her head and neck, leaving her hair hidden but not her tattooed face, the ruby ring on her right index finger filling her body with a sense of dull warmth against the dropping temperature.

Her eyes dropped from the darkness down to the modest ruby ring rolling it around her finger slowly with the others, pulling the roasted rabbit from the edge of the flames ripping a chunk from the middle with her teeth nodding pleased with the result though she felt it needed more flavoring. Mawiyah stood up and stepped out from her hovel, grabbing the long scimitar from its resting place pulling the black leather belt around her waist buckling it tightly to hold the blade in place; walking towards the front of the caravan where the merchants would be. Wrapping the silk scarf closer to her head covering more of her face and swarthy oily skin, hoping the rain and dark would lessen the odds of any trouble being started, as any upset could end in her death something she had no intention on reaching. Sheathing her knife as well, holding the rabbit in her left hand as she approached a man with crates on a wagon which she recognized as spice crates, from her time spent in the port city of her birth; she stepped close to the man and nodded respectfully before speaking. Her accent thick and far different from any that would be found amongst the other nationalities of man, her common tongue just as fluent as Harad and black speech.

"Hello my friend, I need pepper and parsley."

The man glared at Mawiyah something she anticipated even before she ventured into the dark rain, but his glare softened as she produced several gold coins in her outstretched palm worth a bit more than the spices actual value; while his disdain for her may have been great gold conquered all. So the man retrieved the spices from a crate and set them in small rough sewn sacks handing them over in exchange for the gold, Mawiyah smiling as she nodded in thanks turning to walk back to her shelter the fire still burning gently beneath it, her lamellar brass colored steel armor catching glints of light from the others fires; leaving her right palm laid gently on the pommel of her scimitar.

As the elf Agaerwan went in look of the boy, he found nothing. For the lad was still keeping far back in the trees to himself. Skillfully avoiding the elf with a almost uncanny ease. Lathranien was adept at keeping unwanted people away from herself. The elf certainly classified as that. Finally seeing him speak to the Dunadain and head to the wagons from within the greenery of the forest. She sighed in relief, hopefully he would not look else without, but rather within and leave it at that. Fidgeting nervously the elfling, ducked behind a large hedge that had once perhaps belonged on some farm before it was reclaimed by the land. It wasn't uncommon that a fallow field would lie fallow for too long and hedges were useful to divide farmland she had noted. Spreading her cloak about her and setting her bow to the side with the many arrows she had gathered. The elleth pulled a small hidden pouch from within her tunic and spilled out the numerous little valuables she had collect on the journey. Coppers, a few small brass rings, even a lovely silver earring. But the grandest was a large bar of gold. It was a wonder she had hidden it or even gotten her slim hands upon it. But it had been a careful bit of maneuvering that left the young elf preening herself. Relaxing in the hidden hollow, she frowned as rain steadily got heavier, breaking through the canopy above her slightly. Still careful to keep her hood well over her face she bit back a elvish curse as a drop hit her squarely on the nose. "Ross!" As much as she enjoyed rain in her youth, it was a torture now. A threat to her survival. But it was easy to ignore and use the shadows and damp to her advantage so long as it would help keep that elf unaware. So, Lathronien turned her focus on how to possible hide a bar of gold upon her person. Know the faux brick the dwarf carried would be called upon and he would be in a rage. For Dwarves were fond of gold and one did not just steal a bar of gold from them. Nor did one just chop it up when the rain was yet light and sharp ears were about. So Lathronien mussed, content in the hide away.

Many of the caravan had retreated within their wagons, one family having known hobbits well. Took in the little May Littlefoot with great pride and pleasure and they were chattering away about whose cousin did what and to what degree they were related. About the Took, and the Baggins, and the Green Dragon. Of smoke-weed harvest and the right amount of tea for a guest. Of the road and it's condition and many other things a hobbit and a friend might talk about in a cramped wagon. The dunadain took refuge in her own tent, far from Darcyn and his lot. For they were loud and boastful. Often giving a firm slap to the unsuspecting woman passing by and more than a single slur was hurled at the dwarfs. Demands for ale and inquiries as to if they were born from mountains themselves or stone barrels of ale. The latter of which was higher in a betting pool. They spoke of elves and a idea cropped up in their drunken state that if dwarves are born of stone then elves were born of trees. The rain though, kept their torments to words and shoves to each other for more room near the fires, and their tents. The wagon folk had no hint for Agarwaen as to the location of the lad he sought, but a few had sharp words with Giles about filching guards and men who took liberties. Darcyn was not well liked. The Haradim woman wasn't even complained about that night as the weather was too awful and even Darcyn's lads retired early. Darcyn roaring about the fun they would have that night.

@Vas Khaleen @13org @josephb @Andreyich

It didn't matter how much he searched, the "boy" simply disappeared. There were not even a trace from him.

Halting his efforts of looking for the boy, he looked around: most of the families were already inside their wagons, and a few were already sleeping inside their tents.

Agarwaen could ask for somewhere to sleep, but Darcyn's shouts and the noise his soldiers made were extremely irritating. Walking away from them, he steadly walked towards the far end of the caravan, heading to the forest.
Yes... The forest would be the ideal place. No Darcyn, no shouts, only peace and the calming sound from leaves and small animals.

As he headed towards the forest, he saw a merchant carrying some crates, and a person talking to him.

Curious, he walked on their direction, probably the person was only buying something from him, but Agarwaen's curiosity was stronger than him.

As he went nearby them, he took a better look at the buyer.
The second he looked at it, his muscles tensed up. That curved sword, the clothes, that accent...
No... Probably it was only a coincidence... It couldn't be.
Getting nearer the merchant's wagon, Agarwaen saw its eyes from a distance. The moment their eyes met, Agarwaen instinctively grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow. His eyes were sharp, focused on his target.

On the last second, he sheathed his bow, controlling his reflexes. His muscles were still tense, his hand was squeezing the arrow, almost breaking its shaft.

Haradrim... He crossed sword with them many times. Their tactics were ruthless and their powerful Mumakil were tough creatures to deal with. What was one of them doing here? But he couldn't know if this particular Haradrim was his enemy. One thing Agarwaen learned is that one couldn't judge if other was a friend or enemy just by its looks.

Sheathing his arrow, Agarwaen flexed his hand, relaxing his muscles.
Nodding to the Haradrim, he walked towards the forest, without taking his eyes of the Haradrim, not with the threatening stare as before, but now with curiosity, evaluating its actions, trying to see if it was friend or foe.
He continued doing so, until he reached the border of the forest, when he turned his head and walked inside it, almost disappearing inside it.

Once inside, he would look for a big tree, climb it and use its leaves to protect him from the rain.

@Vas Khaleen

The cloak did a good job of keeping the elements off of Eodras. All he needed now was a fire set up, which would prove slightly difficult with all this rain. He went about the forest not going too far away from the camp snapping branches off of the lower parts of the trees. Any bits of wood that was on the floor would be too wet and would only cause smoke, so he had to settle for the branches.

It took a little while longer to get the fire going, which he made around a foot away from his tent so he didn't start to inhale all of the smoke. A few minutes later, he'd set up a make shift grill. There was two sticks either side of the fire with a branch hooking on to them with a skinned and gutted squirrel impaled on it. Not really a meal for kings but Eodras was content. A fire and the smell of meat cooking always warmed the soul.

As Eodras sat flipping over the meat, he noticed the Haradrim again. He spat on the floor as she walked past. Eodras had no idea what she was like, but he despised her. Everyone in Gondor hated the Haradrim, even though most of them had never met one before. His Father used to tell him stories about ambushing Haradrim armies, who tired to invade their lands. After a while, he stopped thinking of her and went back to his food holding on to either side of the sticks and taking a bite out of the squirrel. When he was eating the meat, the dwarfs started to sing, Eodras started tapping his foot on the floor going with the beat with a smile on his face.

As the sons of Durin finished their song there was laughing and ale drinking all around, eating, tale sharing, so on and so forth. Orisson reached for his own loaf of bread in his bag - or anything else useful for such an event of sharing and laughter - found his gold missing. This was not a welcome sight, and his bearded smile turned upside down, into a frown that just wanted to shout "Baruk Khazâd, Khazâd ai-mênu!" and leave half of the caravan without bowels in them or a head on them.

He stood up with a light growl, his face, expression and most of the sound hidden by the fact he was still turned away from his newfound friends. He looked about the group of Dwarves, and noted that most of them were not dexterous or attentive enough to snatch his gold bar from his backpack like that. His suspicions went into three directions; the elves, the hobbits, or the chump who hated those who were not humans. He excused himself (after letting one of the longer bearded Dwarves finished his joke) and banging his poleaxe on his massive round shield he went around looking for the Elves on the caravan, hoping to show them how being short is only an advantage, for the groins of others are level with Oid's teeth.

@LadyRunic

Mawiyah spotted Agarwen from quite a distance over the shoulder of the merchant she was buying from, her coal black eyes meeting his from between the crimson silk of her head wrapping; and quickly darting back to the spices she was handed nodding to the male as he did so. Tucking the spices into her belt watching from the corner of her eyes as the bow wielding man passed, her left palm resting gently on the hilt of her scimitar its supple leather smooth against her swarthy skin; with no upset caused Mawiyah began to walk back towards her shelter. Avoiding contact with most people as she steadily walked, her worn leather boots leaving shallow prints in the muddied road; the rain slacking off but still falling regardless her mind set on simply reaching her makeshift home in the treeline to spice her rabbit. As she passed Edoras she noticed him spit in-front of her path hitting the toe of her boot, her head turning a bit with her left hand still balanced carefully on the pommel of her curved blade, eyes cutting through the rain and shadow into the male; though she knew she ought to have said nothing and kept on her way not wanting any confrontation. She still opened her mouth stopping in her tracks and turning on her heels in a practiced and precise manner, looking down at the seated Gondorian she began to speak careful to keep from causing a scene by raising her voice though she needed to be heard tired of being treated in such a manner.

"Can i assume that was a mistake? Or is that how Gondorian men court their women? I haven't been around long enough to know."

Her tone carried a sarcastic tone, obviously knowing he was being rude due to her nationality; a mischievous grin spreading beneath the thin crimson veil guarding her from the cold, rain and the harsh stares. Her heart beating just a bit faster as she hadn't had much interaction since leaving the Harad, any kept her on edge and calling the man out was a risk she did consider, her hand still resting on the steel pommel of her scimitar.

@Andreyich