It seemed Saptheth was marginally more welcome than he'd first anticipated. The... what did they call the lower class here? That was it, the peasant girl invited him to take a seat and have a "béor", as a "frēond". He presumed she meant the West's often poor excuse for "beer" in the first case, and "friend" in the second. The Serpent was once again reminded: he lacked both the funds for anything, let alone alcohol, as well as anything resembling a friend... well, anywhere, considering the rest of his people were presumably dead by now, and he certainly hadn't made new ones in the Westlands. Though he let the mild insult slide, he deigned to take a seat, and the girl shortly revealed her true attitude by feigning fatigue, and leaving for a bed herself. Though considering her slurred words and stumbling nature, she may simply have been very drunk.

But that was neither here nor there. Saptheth was left with three individuals: the Ifrit, the so-called smith, and... well, he wasn't quite sure how to place the other man, who was now greeting him with an extended hand and similar joviality to the peasant girl. Indeed, it almost struck him that their attitudes were very similar in nature; yet the equipment on his person, the green cloak in particular, and a sword that was clearly beyond what a mere peasant could afford to own even sheathed, suggested otherwise. He supposed their first battle would determine the man's use: if he was ineffective, he would die. It was that simple. Regardless, his name had been asked for, and whilst pointedly eyeing the man's extended hand, he pondered whether granting it would be wise... then again, they would be travelling together for a while anyway. Why not?

'There are many things I might be called, both past and present... titles,' he stated, not offering his own hand to shake, and instead finally taking a seat as if to offer his presence (though in truth, it was moreso his desire to move to a more comfortable position). 'I was a member of my people's lead... ing caste, and still am an elite fighter; I was a commander of warr- ...armies, and have since become a mercenary in these lands of yours. They call me the Golden Serpent. I shall allow you to call me Saptheth.' Frankly speaking, he felt even giving them that much information about himself was perhaps excessive, but he was sure the Westron knight would eventually tell them far more about his race's failure to conquer the land than he'd want them to know regardless, and from a perspective that would be naught but detrimental to himself. Perhaps best to spin the Balchothi's loss in the best light possible, then, before they would be put down further than necessary.

@Jbcool@Vor@POOHEAD189

"'Allow?' and no shaking of the hand? You must take these men lightly, Saptheth. For an Eastern Man who's been a prisoner for the better part of mountain knows long, you seem a bit reluctant to make cheer and friendship with those who now extend a hand toward you." Branack said with a sense of wisdom, though the show was destroyed not a moment later from quite a loud burp from beneath his beard that echoed within the Tavern.

He had seen the man Baranor go his own way, and young girl who he had befriended now making her way up to her quarters for a rest. He was far more concerned with the cake and drink in front of him, and the humming of a tune as he tried to keep his own spirits up and away from this daunting task before them. Not daunting for the danger, mind you. But daunting because it represented a great deal to his people. He felt as if Durin the Deathless had given him this sacred task, and in a jest made him apart of a group of men and not hard fighting Dwarves.

"It matters little though," he continued. "For soon, all of us shall need to learn to fight with one another, or die alone. For our adventure strays upon the edge of a Knife, and soon our battles will forge us into a group whether we are showing kindness and kinship now or not."
@Vor@BCTheEntity

Cole listened to Sapteth’s words and offered a few of his own, though it was idle talk, lacking the enthusiasm he had at first displayed. It was obvious that the man had little interest in talking to him and for once Cole decided that it was best to keep his mouth shut. He was glad that Branack had stood up for him, but the gravity of his words made him nervous again. The Dwarf seemed to have a very grim outlook on life, but maybe that was normal for folk who lived underground for so long. Either way, what he said was worth noting – whatever grievances this dark-skinned man had with the others and they with him, they would have to be settled before long, otherwise their quest would be doomed from the start.

Lost in such thoughts, Cole withdrew into himself again and finished his ale in silence. His eyes were distant, but they occasionally shifted to focus on either Branack or the stranger, Sapteth. Even the man’s name was strange, it sounded like no other he had heard before, be it of Man or beast. Cole was deadening the moment he would have to utter it out loud, knowing full well that he was going to make a mistake and earn a rebuke from the haughty Easterling.

The group Gweulon had assembled was strange, to say the least. Try as he might, Cole could not find a suitable reason as to why the Elf had insisted on gathering them. Would not a group of the King’s Men be better for such a task? Or why not seek the assistance of other brave knights, like Baranor? The Gondorian had told him that their numbers had dwindled of late, but surely Gondor could spare a couple for such an important undertaking? That line of thought led him to an even more important question – why had Gweulon not sought out his own kin? The Elves were always said to be wardens of ancient lore in the tales, did that not make them the best prepared for this quest?

Still, Gweulon seemed to have made his choice and had come to the realms of Men. Whatever council he took, it was doubtful that he would share it with the likes of Cole. The only thing the Bree-lander could was to place his trust in the Elf’s hands blindly. That, or return home to Bree, which no longer seemed like an option. He shook his head, banishing those thoughts and rose from his seat.

Cole bid the others a good night and made his way to the innkeeper. He paid for the night and headed upstairs, where he opened the door to a modest, but comfortable room. There was not much furnishing apart from a bed, a few chairs, a small fireplace, a worn-looking rug covering the wooden floor and a table, but Cole was only interested in the bed, so he hardly noticed. He got a fire going to ward off the chill, tossed his clothes in a formless heap on the ground and buried himself in the covers. Almost instantly he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Surprisingly, that night had been still and dreamless. Or as still as dreamless as possibly a night before a dangerous quest can be. When she woke up, Éolan felt chilled. Raising her head from the prickly bed cover she saw the window had been opened during the night, and still a breeze could be felt filling the room. She quickly got up and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the cold in her bones. My belongings! she thought and rubbed her cold face. And whose room is this?

She looked about. The room was simple: wooden floor, a dead hearth with a bowl of water upon the mantlepiece, a couple of chairs and a small round table with a white cloth on it, a tiny wardrobe, and a chest near the bed. From outside, a pale morning light shone faintly through the morning mist. The sky looked laden, and rain was again imminent that day for sure. Shivers running down her spine, Éolan slowly got up to close the window. No sound could be heard coming from the rest of the inn. 'I must be really early,' she muttered closing the window and looking at the mist that lay outside, grey and wet. It was easy to lose yourself in that void, she felt, unable to get lay eyes off it, peering deep into the emptiness.

But then her fingers felt something cold and gooey on the window apron. 'Mud!' she exclaimed, frightened. Someone had been in the room while she slept. Upon closer looking, strange footprints (or markings resembling them, but more spoor-like and beastly) were all over the floor, going both to and from the window. Freezing fear came over her and she felt a tightening in her throat. From outside came the first sound that morning: a swish, as if of a cloth left to dry in strong wind. In the blink of an eye, it was gone, and silence returned.

Éolan washed her face in the bowl and was out, trying to make not a sound in the hallway. The wing of the inn where they had drunk and talked last night was a bit warmer, and she recalled a little of their chat: the leaving knight, the weird easterner, the curious Bree-lander (whatever that was) and the dwarf. A man sat in the corner, drinking alone. Besides him, her bag. He was a peculiar fellow, unlike any she had seen in Rohan. Dressed all in a cloak of the darkest grey that hid his face, he seemed a shape made of mist and dew. And he moved thus. His gloved hand left a coin on the table and he was gone from the inn, walking out like a ghost.

'Unusual fellow,' said the inn keeper whom Éolan did not notice. He was swiping the floor and she was startled upon hearing his voice. 'Oh, forgive me! I 'aven't scared ya, 'ave I? I should learn not to creep on like that. My wife always tells me that.' He gave a hearty chuckle and Éolan nodded.

Her items were all there and she was thankful. Thank the grass beneath the sky! But who was that... man? The same icy tremor she felt in 'her' room ran from her head to toe.

'Oh, miss...' said the inn keeper. 'I almost forgot. You must be one of those King's folks that came here last night, no?'

'Yes, I am indeed,' she said, immediately thinking that they had forgotten her and left.

'The fellow. The one in whose room you slept, remember? No? Well... Well, he came back and saw you there. Felt bad for you, had no heart to wake you up, he said! He paid for it, so no worries. He also told me to give you a nice breakfast when you wake up. All paid for, too! So I'll be right back! You enjoy yourself by the fire, it's just starting to crack up!'

'I... Thank you.'

She blushed and was blushing even as the inn keeper brought her her food. She had not expected any kind of kindness, and was grateful for it as much as she was for the fire besides her; and had it not been for the strange disturbances in the room and the eerie sounds in the mist, she would have felt more embarrassed than she was. I must never let this happen again! She ate the stew and the freshly baked bread so sweet it tasted like a cake. The inn keeper brought her tea and sugar rolls with delicious jam, which she welcomed more than gladly. She ate with her mind swinging between shame and fear, feeling guilty for eating the food every time she remembered she had stolen someone's room and left them sleeping who knew where in a cold rainy night. Thankfully I had my clothes on, she thought not even daring think about it further.

With every sporadic blow of the wind outside and the cracking of the timber in hearth, her heart would skip a beat and she would look about to make sure there were no signs of anything uncanny. Soon, she had finished her meal and smiled without even knowing it. In the small moment of rest, the hour for guests to start arriving came, and a few people were already inside having their breakfast. Guests would soon come to the room, and that meant her new friends. Waiting for them, she decided to keep her discovery a secret. Unless of course some of them had experienced it too that night, in which case she would share her observations. But for a moment, she wanted to enjoy the tea now cool enough for drinking, and think about merrier things, if she could, for there was enough trouble and strange people (or wights) in the days to come.

@Vor@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@Jbcool@DrunkasaurusRex