[Legolas]

A green eye peers out from betwixt the black silken curtains before the trap door opens. Feminine hand in the lead, begging Casquinto's gallant assistance, his companion emerges from the perfumed confines of the carriage.
These common scents of the out of doors never fail to offend her, and she looks down upon the expensive white gown as though it is already dirtied beyond salvation.
"Why must my lord parade me at every halt," she complains with an indignant toss of her copper crowned head. The accusation seems mild, however, and like as not she is as pleased with the opportunity to stretch her legs as anything.


The night darkens and those with the unfortunate chore of keeping an open eye on this, the first real halt after a lengthy journey, find little threat in the presence of these locals. Brisken has ever made a living off traders like their masters, and could ill afford to lose its hospitable, if humble reputation. With the few families keeping their offspring in check, the only threat lies in the greedy hands of fellow travellers. Travellers who even now sleep in beds and on tavern floors, or else down one chilled ale after the other, all for the first night in weeks. Even with a murderer to torment, what could make for a duller watch?
The faintest jumble of his cart is enough to waken the caged man once more. A guard strolls up, rapping on the cage and growling insults before returning to his post - righteous duty done for now. But he is not the hooded figure which crept onto the cart only seconds before, crouched in what shadows can be found in the dark, almost close enough to grab. The hood and its accompanying cloak seem black, or darkest purple perhaps. If there is purpose or reason to this visit, it is not voiced, and indeed the visitor's gaze is directed down and away from its host, where it remains.