Fellowship of the Dice

"Hello," the hobbit pipes in. "I'm Pipkin. What's your name?" He gives the man a pause to answer then adds, "have you seen any orcs, or just sign of their passage?"

Borir asks, "Where did the Orcs go? How large of a group was it? Which direction where they heading?" The dwarf looks over the man.

While it may not be clear to the newcomer, the dwarf might just be the strongest and more fierce warrior of the trio along with being the best looking. Borir hasn't yet introduced himself to the newcomer, preferring to get answers to questions before pleasantries in case the knowledge prompts urgent actions.

The dwarf is stocky and bearded, like most of Durin's Folk. His brown hair is mostly covered by his helm while his beard is parted three ways and hangs over his shiny armor. The most glaring symbols of recognition is his large scar which crosses his left eye and forehead.

Aerth agrees with Borir's question and says nothing. The man is tall and lean, having an aura of wildness to his gaze. He is smooth faced with very blonde hair. He wears clothes fit for travel, with a large bow and long hafted axe hanging off his back. The man also wears a head band of green cloth across his forehead, ears, and the back of his head.

Rathar smiles kindly at the hobbit. 'I am well met, master halfling! Your people are little known to me, but this I hoped to change with a visit to the inn. My name is Rathar, though the folk of the Wuduseld more often call me the Wood-goer.'

He nods at the dwarf, then the man, committing their faces to memory. His smile fades into a look of concern.

'I followed far behind the orcs but I can read the signs well enough. Their senseless path continued northwards as I saw it, and I daresay they've gone as far north as the Forest Gate. I fear these men were only running for their lives and deem any who did not are now under the...tender care of their captors.' His eyes flash away briefly. 'Who can blame them for fleeing?'

Rathar manages another smile before speaking again. He shifts his weight to the other foot, saying, 'I expect we could easily pick up their trail again and see to it that they do no further harm...if my appearance and speech leave me to be trusted.'

"We can see he's no orc," Pipkin observes, "but a man of the Woodland people who were such gracious hosts to us last year. Surely his heritage speaks for him."

The dwarf shrugs at Pipkin's comment and says, "Aye. If yer heading to the inn, then give me a hand with this litter." The makeshift litter carries the body of the man slain by the orcs and found by the group.

"Aerth's eyes are better used for scouting and alerting us of surprises or orcs. And you look strong enough to pull your weight."

Aerth nods absently. "We are first taking the fallen to the inn where his friend can grieve and bury him."

He takes a step back from the litter, allowing Rather to take up the litter if he so chooses. "I am Aerth, as Borir here has said. And this is Pipkin. Come, let us be back to the inn so we can decide what our next steps might be."

The Wood-goer looks uncomfortable for a moment and glances back towards the wood awkwardly.

'I am grieved to see this man murdered, but his friend may have to wait. I would urge you all to come north with me and pursue the orcs lest they go further afield and bring more death. Though I much desire to see the inn, the orcs seem more pressing to me. I will lead you there if you follow.'

Aerth sighs loudly. "You can help us carry the body back to the inn, or you can go on your own way. If we wish, the orcs will be easy to track. I am not so interested in running into Mirkwood without a second thought."

Rathar's face looks grave.

'There were others of the caravan taken as captives. They are surely near the Forest Gate by now and will not survive long. I will go myself, but the task will be easier with companions.'