Brin: “4? Let me count.” He raises his fingers to start counting, “One, two, five…”
Random soldier: Slaps Brin, “That’s three.”
Brin: “What?”
Random soldier: “Three. One, two, three.”
Brin: “Oh.”
Brin: “What were we talking about?”
Yes, I know I’m going to DnD hell for this.
ETA: P.S. To the GM…green text! green text! I wasn’t that stupid in front of the pretty lady!
Elfstan gives Renee a bright smile and a nod in thanks.
His attention is then drawn to the constant banging from the forge. He considers trying to introduce himself to the dwarf, but somehow the noise reminds him of the clatter of pots and pans.
“Say, does anyone know when we eat around here?”
In the midst of the various discussions a slim, reasonably tall elf casually detaches himself from the nearest foliage and strolls amiably towards the party, absently picking the odd twig from the flowing folds of his off-brown robes. He stops at the edge of the group, narrowing his eyes and wordlessly glancing around the group, scrutinizing each member in turn. Apparently satisfied his curiousity, if it could be called that, he next turns his attention to the surrounding terrain, scrutinizing the party’s surroundings with the same wordless vigilance. His visual examination of the party and environs only takes a moment, and yet the awkward, wordless manner in which he conducts his survey gives the interaction a somewhat anxious feel to anyone paying particular attention to the youth.
In any event he visibly relaxes once his survey is complete, the wary tension leaving his form as he straightens up and noisily clears his throat, shaping his features into an attempt at a friendly smile. His first words, however, are not directed at anybody in the party proper, but rather to the recently arrived goshawk. “Is he here?” he calls to the bird, looking to the sky for a moment before returning his gaze to the group and politely nodding in Caramir’s direction. “Lord Caramir, I bring a message from the main host,” he murmurs, his voice growing quiet as he apparently states his business. “I’ve been charged to tell you that a troop of heavy infantry has been stationed at the Watch Camp, at the Gates, in order to aid you, and that they bring additional supplies. Furthermore, another small group of mounted archers should be on their way.” Having apparently finished the message his voice climbs from a low, rushed whisper into what is apparently his ordinary speaking voice as he turns to address the party as a whole. “I have also been asked to remain with this force, should they have me. Whether this posting is contingent on your continued service in the campaign I am not sure, but I would be happy to help in any capacity that I am capable. Now, if you would excuse me for a moment, I left my horses in the name of stealth, but I am loath to make them wait unattended for long.”
With that he darts away from the group, remaining out of sight for several minutes before returning, this time with two horses in tow. “I apologize for the abrupt departure,” he offers, his demeanor significantly less formal than it was when he addressed Caramir, “But you can see why I didn’t want these two staying out of sight for long.” Indeed, while the riding horse is fairly typical of its breed, albeit very well-fed and well-groomed, the second horse is quite heavily built and currently covered in saddlebags, a small chest having been lashed onto the back of the pack saddle. “You don’t need to worry about him,” the elf urges, quickly escorting both beasts to the edge of the camp, “He’s used to carrying far more. In any event, I guess that is that…” the elf trails off for a long moment, repeating his ritual of glancing around the camp, and around the terrain, before he shrugs and turns his attention back to the group. “In any event, my name is Miron Daelhind, and if you’ll have me it would be my pleasure to join you.”
Gwaelur snorts, spits, and continues working. He doesn’t look up from his work.
What, there was a dwarf there? I guess Miron’s neck doesn’t bend that far down. 
[elvish]Don’t mind Gwaelur. Like most Naugrim he doesn’t take readily to strangers, and that goes double for the People of the Stars. And Brin there, the Dalesman, he’s so green he wouldn’t burn in a campfire, and so naturally suspicious of what he doesn’t yet understand. Both however, I have found, can be counted on in a crisis, and that is worth much, as you well know.[/elvish]
Or in plainer speech 
, welcome, and we’re glad to have you.
Miron thinks that he is far too polite to smirk, yet for a moment anyone with a mirror would be able to easily disabuse him of that particular misconception. His reaction doesn’t remain long enough to be particularly noticeable, however, and he seems to be reasonably unbothered by the dwarf’s reception.
[elvish]I thank you for your kind welcome, and it’s quite kind of you to look out for your companions’ impressions. I assure you, however, I’ve campaigned with humans many times, and even inflicted my presence on a dwarven tracking party on one particularly unpleasant act of nonpartisanship. In any event, I shan’t be bothered by them; I heard of your impressive performance at the last battle, and I’m thoroughly convinced that any member of your party who was not a noble, loyal, and steadfast companion would’ve left or gotten himself killed by this point. Plus, I am the newcomer, and in the presence of such respectable companions I am more than happy to exercise patience.[/elvish]
Having finished his disclaimer Miron glances at the party and their adventuring gear, sniffing the air for a moment before calling his goshawk to him. When his hawk comes close enough to hear him clearly he gestures vaguely towards their surroundings: [hawkish]It doesn’t look like we’re going to be needed immediately, so you’re free to hunt or rest if you’d like… just don’t stray out of sight. We might need to move quickly, and I’d hate for you to get separated from us.[/hawkish]
Having urged the hawk to have fun he turns back to the party, sniffing the air again before turning to gather an armful of clothes and gear from one of his bags. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change into something more practical.”
After another rousing session of “Disappear into the bushes without warning,” Miron re-emerges in significantly more practical garments: his light robes, which he is now folding and storing in one of his bags, have been exchanged for a suit of soft leather armor, a pair of short swords, and the elven cloak that seems to be the trademark of many a professional ranger and scout. He also carries a particularly nice bow, upon which he has obviously lavished a great deal of care.
Since he’s a bit eccentric it might take the party a bit to work out precisely what Miron does, but for expediency’s sake, I can tell you all OOC that he’s a ranger :).
Oh, DM: I’m not clear on what Miron was up to leading up to his deployment here… would he have had a chance to see Renee in princess mode?
Probably, but not so you would recognize her easily. You do know Caramir and have spoken to most of the other Ithilien Rangers. You don’t recognize anyone else.
Is that a Ranger of Ithilien (which I thought were limited to men of Numenorean descent), or just a plain DnD ranger? Oh, and how tall?
More or less both: his class is D&D Ranger, and while I don’t think he’s an official Ranger of Ithilien he moved to Ithilien with Legolas, and spent a prolonged period studying with Legolas, Faramir, and the Rangers of Ithilien.
Oh, and I imagined him as pretty tall: is 6’1" too tall for an elf?
During the week while **Brin ** is out on patrol, he witness nature in action. A small weasel like critter is grabbed up my a large raptor and taken off to be eaten.
You hear a soft mewling not far away from a small raised area around a stump of a tree.
6’ 1" is probably tall for the Silvan elves, but them Noldor tower over all others. Galadriel was probably around 6’8" and I think Fingolfin may have been a 7’. So 6’ 1" would probably just make you an abnormally tall Greenwood Elf.
[del]I’d like to look around for my goshawk, and call it back to me if it’s close: I don’t want to risk it eating whatever we’re hearing. Otherwise, though, I’ll just ask “Does anyone else hear that?” and hang back to watch how the party reacts.[/del] Sorry, that was for Brin on patrol, right?
Hmm, I don’t wanna be an abomination of elfness… how about we say he’s 5’10 and call it good?
Thoroncir smiles at the tall Elf and says in Quenya, “Hail, Miron, and well met! I am Thoroncir, a Sea-Knight of Gondor, at your service. Another of the noble People of the Stars is always welcome here. I think your bow and your swords will find much to occupy them in the days ahead, and it will be good to have you with us. If I may be of any service to you, you have but to ask. Welcome, friend!”
Welcome to the newcomers! Deor is happy to greet you both and hopeful that this will bode well for us. The tinderbox will be wonderful, thanks.
I’m short on internet connection, so if someone need to act for Deor in my absence, please do so. This will last about a month, whereupon I’ll be back in force. Sorry for the long delays!
Miron grins widely (perhaps too widely) at Thoroncir’s welcome, nodding courteously in his direction. “I look forward to occupying both tools,” he replies, “and while I certainly hope it sees significantly less use, I have no small amount of knowledge regarding the use of herbs. I’m not familiar with flora of this region, but I imagine there grow at least a few plants that might be used to create draft or draught what might aid us at times.”
Having said this he pauses and repeats his ritual, glancing slowly around the group, turning his attention to the surrounding countryside, and then returning his attention to Thoroncir with a shrug. “I actually do have one small request,” he ventures, “And I assure you, I’m not making a suggestion, but I’ve brought a quantity of soap with me that I’m hesitant to carry, now that we prepare to enter the field. I assume my duties will at times require me to conceal myself in close proximity to the enemy, and the smell of soap is so foreign to the orcs that I fear I would risk giving away my position.” His face is artfully cast at this, making it difficult to tell whether or not it was a joke. “In any event, I would appreciate it if someone else would be willing to carry it for the time being.”
Somewhat haltingly Elfstan says, “Mae govannen, Miron!”
He then adds, “I welcome you, although I’ve not been here much longer than you.”
Miron lights up at the hobbit’s language, very slowly replying “Mae govannen! Saesa omentien lle” before reverting to Common and repeating “Well met! It’s a pleasure meeting you”. He frowns in thought for a moment before shrugging, regretfully commenting “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the Hobbit language, else I would try to reply to you in kind. Alas, while I have been lucky enough to learn how to communicate with hawks, most other languages have quite skillfully eluded me.”
“Henion.” Elfstan then smiles and softly adds, “barely…”
He continues, “Don’t worry. You did reply in Hobbit language. We speak the common language of Man. I’m just glad that you understood me. I don’t think I listened enough to what my mother and Grandpa Samwise were trying to teach me…”
A slightly sad seems to cross his face at the mention of Samwise, but his smile returns so swiftly that it could have been imagined.
If Miron is not actually trying to tactfully suggest that Thoroncir needs a bath, the Sea-Knight says, “I will carry your soap for you, if you wish.”
Doh!
A slightly sad look seems to cross his face…