Orduin had been working his forge, day and night for months upon end. Between blade and armour his tenacity with his hammers and pliers grew thoroughly. His face daily covered by soot and grime, smelling like burned hair and metal until he bathed.
The man found himself three days ago frequenting the Tavern in Bree. Barliman's ale had been his recent fanatical obsession. He found many Rohir, two attempted to recruit him to their cause. One an officer of the Elite Riders, another an officer of Riders of the Eastment. He accepted the second offer after the other disappeared, being offered thorough, constant work for his tasks and commissions. He was excited for what was to come, new friends that he could make. It had been too long since he had separated himself from almost all social interaction and he was excited to take part in it again. The next evening he found himself riding to the Prancing Pony. To meet a woman he knew not the name of. Her hair was like raven tresses, her coat hugged her form tightly. She ignored him, mostly. Although she portrayed her disgust for slavers and other understandable disdains. Her ideologies intrigued him, and for once he ran out of the Pony after her. To escort the woman who's hands were full with a platter of alcohol she had bought within the Tavern. They spoke for a while, before she disappeared into the Scholars Hall. It left him with a bad taste in his mouth, leaving someone so like minded to nothing but a farewell and a playful "fuck you."
He'd understand her wishes, and left her to her own devices. Perhaps she'd be the one to run out after him come 'morrow.
