The outer edges of the Chargers' camps were always watched over; the men were famous, or infamous, enough to occasionally need to protect themselves from forward scouts, encroaching bandits, travelers that might turn tail and find a local banorn to report mercenary presence to. So the closer Sam came to the camp, the more easily he was spotted by two pairs of eyes settled halfway between him and the campsite.
One glowed faintly in the moonlight, like cats' eyes.
"State your business," one of them called as he stood, unsheathing a sword as he did so and taking a step forward. The owner of the glowing eyes was thrown into silhouette relief against the background glow of the campfire; an elf, with a bow at the ready, though not aimed at Sam just yet.
The closer the first man came to the hobbit, the easier he was to see, all armor and caution, dark eyes narrowed down at the little man with what looked like half a kitchen hanging from his pack. His blade was lowered when he caught sight of the look on Sam's face. A refugee, headed for the crossroads maybe? He didn't look like a dwarf, not any one that he'd seen before, at least. "At ease," he called back over his shoulder, then made a gesture that sent his partner back toward the camp. He lowered himself to one knee after that to be able to look Sam in the face. He lowered his voice. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly. If Sam didn't even know where the hell he was, then it was almost certain that the poor guy was another one that fell out of the rifts.
The kreme of the crop
One glowed faintly in the moonlight, like cats' eyes.
"State your business," one of them called as he stood, unsheathing a sword as he did so and taking a step forward. The owner of the glowing eyes was thrown into silhouette relief against the background glow of the campfire; an elf, with a bow at the ready, though not aimed at Sam just yet.
The closer the first man came to the hobbit, the easier he was to see, all armor and caution, dark eyes narrowed down at the little man with what looked like half a kitchen hanging from his pack. His blade was lowered when he caught sight of the look on Sam's face. A refugee, headed for the crossroads maybe? He didn't look like a dwarf, not any one that he'd seen before, at least. "At ease," he called back over his shoulder, then made a gesture that sent his partner back toward the camp. He lowered himself to one knee after that to be able to look Sam in the face. He lowered his voice. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly. If Sam didn't even know where the hell he was, then it was almost certain that the poor guy was another one that fell out of the rifts.