Darkfire lay in a cart filled with hay. His hands rested behind his head, and he had one legg propped up over the other. He was humming a light tune, his eyes closed. His sword was dug into the ground next to the cart, the pommel just barely poking up high enough for him to see. He always had to watch it. Those damn kids were always trying to take it, and it was pissing him off. Darkfire shifted some, trying to get the hay from finding it's way inside his clothes. His ears twitched lightly as he heard the approach of heavy footsteps. Most likely one of the old villagers come to tell him to get up and do some work.

"Hey, young'in, why dun't yeh get yerself up, and fin' somethin' t' do!" It was a shaky, raspy, slightly feminine voice.

Darkfire rolled over onto his stomach, and rubbed his left eye. It was an old lady.. Or atleast he assumed it was. She was short, atleast five foot, but she was hunched over on a very crude-looking cane, which gave her an even shorter appearance.

"Why should I," Darkfire questioned, raising an eyebrow, "I don't eat anything here, I don't sleep anywhere, besides this old cart, and I certainly don't bother anyone. Yet you and every other old timer always seem to annoy me when I'm napping. Why?" Yeah, Darkfire was a bit cranking when his naps were interrupted.

"You young'ins are all th' same! Yeh think y' can get away with not workin', living of poor, ol' ladies like m'self. But I got som' new fer yah! Yeh can get a job, or yeh can get yer' sorry keister outta her'!" Wow, old people were cranky too.

"Whatever, you old hag," Darkfire said, "I don't need this place. It smells like rotten fish and old people, anyways.." Darkfire pulled himself over the edge of the cart, and pulled his sword out of the ground. It slid smoothly, but came out with a heap of mud on the point. Darkfire pulled his cloak loose a bit, and used it to wipe away the mud. He slid the sword into a makeshift leather sheathe on his back. All it was was leather that wrapped around him, then a small piece of leather that held the sword from falling straight down by sitting under the cross-guard. Darkfire grunted, and walked from the old woman. She to walked away, and when Darkfire heard her retreated footsteps, he turned to watch her go. He unsheathed his sword again, and stuck it into the same place it was before. When she ventured into a house, Darkfire hoisted himself back into the cart to resume his nap.

Ciarán was wandering again. He'd left Lómëdor two, three... he paused, and realised he didn't know when he left the city, or how long he'd been walking. All of the days blurred into one, just a tedious, melding of wild grasslands, hunger, thirst, and the endless thumping of his feet on the hard ground. He couldn't remember if it had rained, or if he slept, or anything. It was all becoming the same now. He shook himself, and paused, sighing, before starting to walk again. He had to stop soon. He kept losing himself in his mind, deep in that pit that seemed to follow him - the mystery that surrounded where he came from, the mystery that guided his feet on this endless trail...

Ciarán blinked, and realised that, once again, he was standing stock still, but now there was something on the horizon. A village of some sort. It must have been the first sign of human habitation since he'd left Lómëdor... Unless, of course... A memory drifted up to his consciousness of a tall, dark tower. It had been completely abandoned from habitation, and was beginning to fall apart. But then... there had been someone there... hadn’t there? He sighed, the endless rolling plains taking over his mind again. He was lost in his own mind, on a plain with no tracks to anywhere... He gave a disgruntled half-cry, and then, starting up again, he walked towards the village, but for some reason found his paces increasing in frequency, until he was running towards the village, a rare smile on his face.

As he got to the outskirts, Ciarán heard some sort of odd argument going on, and as he got closer and closer, he began to be able to make out words, "...But I got som' new fer yah! Yeh can get a job, or yeh can get yer' sorry keister outta her'!"

There was the slamming of a door, and a soft "flump", like a body falling onto a pile of straw. He rounded the corner of a large building, and looked around. The woman who was yelling must have gone inside, but there was no sign of whoever she was yelling at... They must have left. He wandered a bit further, and eventually came across a sword, sticking out of the ground next to a hay cart. Ciarán paused, and leant on his staff, wondering where its owner was. Surely whoever was in that house couldn't wield something like this, judging by the sound of their voice... So he paused, deciding what to do...

Darkfire's ears twitched again. He had heard footstep once more, and sighed. Most like just another villager here to tell him to get up and get working. It was a different scent, however, not on of the villager's. "Probably just some wanderer.." He felt like getting up and leaving this village for good, a task easier than getting hounded all day for his laziness. The footsteps had drawn closer, and they seemed a bit heavy, not old, but rather tired. He heard a soft thump as he rolled over in his side. Peering over the edge of the cart, he saw a man. He didn't look too much older than Darkfire, but his face seemed sunked in, most likely from hunger.

Darkfire had a puzzled look come over his face. This wasn't the type of person who would usually ask him for favors, but then again, he couldn't always assume that someone was capable of doing things on their own, or if the man had even come to see Darkfire. He guessed it did look a bit odd for a grown man to be lying in a hay cart, and maybe the other man had come to silently judge him. Whatever the case, he was going to find out who this guy was, and why he interupted his nap.

"Who're you? Need some help with something?" Darkfire heaved himself over the edge of the cart, and stood near the stranger, "I don't suppose you're here because you need me to kill something, or find your precious little cat?" Darkfire mutter an inaudible curse at this last bit. He had always hated cats, especially big ones. "Darkfire's the name, killing is... Well..." He stopped. He had lost his train of thought, and was unable to think of anything else to say. "Anyways, name's Darkfire Blazen. If you need anything stabbed, maimed, gored, slashed or any other action, I'm your man. " Darkfire extended a hand, "Don't worry.. I don't bite.. Much.." He smirked, revealing an elongated canine tooth.

There was a shuffle from the cart, and Ciarán realised where the owner of the sword had gone. Sure enough, a pair of ears appeared over the edge of the cart, followed quickly by a human head. "odd" Ciarán thought, but stayed silent, watching. The man was obviously thinking about something, and Ciarán thought it safer just to wait and watch.

"Who're you? Need some help with something?" Ciarán resisted the urge to take a defensive step back as the wolf-human vaulted over the edge of the cart, and instead remained silent and pensive. It quickly carried on speaking, anyway, something about needing him to kill things. Ciarán had heard this a thousand times in any of the cities that he'd visited and it was always the same. Some uppity bravo who thinks that they can do anything and everything, but also seems to believe that they are of inexhaustible attraction to women, for some odd reason. But the name stood out. It was always useful. "Darkfire.." Ciarán repeated, before taking the proffered hand and shaking it firmly, "I'm Ciarán Bartholemuz." He noticed the gleam of two elongated canines among the other sharpened teeth.

"Why are you out here in the middle of nowhere?" he asked, "this isn't the sort of place I'd expect to find someone like you." He motioned to the sleepy village and grinned, "not enough trouble. I'd have thought Lómëdor to be much more your sort of place, or Ondoland." this was odd... the thought struck him suddenly. Much more open than usual...

He shook himself mentally, and tried to force his thoughts back into some rational order after days of travelling. "Do you know where I could get something to eat from around here?" He paused an then added, "somewhere cheap. I don't have a huge amount of money..." He left the fact that he had nothing but the clothes on his back unstated, but was sure that this young bravo could read between the lines. He seemed smart enough, as I guess you had to be to survive as a mercenary.