[IC] The Age of Iron

[CrystalCHTriple]

Great, a fight, Ashé lamented to himself. He glanced at each of the men huddled by the campfire, the one who informed him of an ensuing conflict sharing features with his people; it had been some time since he saw a familiar face, but then again, the last time he did, it was marred with murder and betrayal. However, the young man's accent differed from those of Yanoibi, or its surrounding peoples.

He removed his backpack and sighed. Pulling down on his scarf—revealing his soft, bronze visage adorned by stubble—he replied, "Really? Perhaps I should find some place safer, yes?"

[Gisk]

Rolf glanced at the image in the fire as he stood to face the newest arrival.

"Finding somewhere else might not be an option," he mused alllowed, watching the circle converge on the miniature camp in the fire.

"Our mutual friend the mask advises us to do nothing. Very well, I will have faith, and if there's to be a fellowship, it will have the sword of the Ashfoots."

He drew the smaller of the two swords from the hip of his armor, but merely stood with the point in the ground and his hands resting on the pommel.