[center][h3]The Moving[/h3][/center]

Within this little, humble forest camp, men and women of many races went about their lives. An air of uncertainty, tension and change hung low amongst the scattered tents and framework. The Moving, the resistance movement against the Warlords and the Aphotheoses, a ragtag bunch of misfits led by an old man once mighty to combat the forces of darkness before their land fell to the shadow and became hell. Such was the miracle of their existence; for even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of light to guide those of strong, noble heart towards their destiny, a higher calling by the light to those that would see their world renewed and rejuvenated in nature and in spirit. Warriors, brave and courageous all, though they did not see so far into the future as to know the end of their journeys.

Of course, none of those thoughts passed through the mind of a certain hulk of a minotaur that sat within a corner of the camp. Instead, what did mosey through his head were thoughts of his next meal, and a place to find more straw to finish the hat he was weaving delicately in his huge, sausage fingers.

Argrom sighed and set the straw hat down on the dirt floor. It wasn't finished, of course, but to fit his head he'd require a lot more materials than just whatever long grass he could find that could pass for straw in the forest. He'd come from lands away, many days ago, in fact. The lands where he came from were lush, with rolling plains of golden wheat and maize, thick, juicy heads of corn and the long, flowing rows of rice in their paddies. It was far, far to the East and the farming life was much behind him. Here, now, he was in a very strange place, recruited to a cause he knew almost nothing about, the only reason why he was here being the sheer size of his body and his innate physical strength. Nothing more.

His accomodations within the camp were meagre; since they did not have any tents big enough to house him, he instead slept on the dirt, nestled underneath the shade of a particularly large tree in a corner of the camp. Another, more gracious resident had offered him a small mat upon which to lay his head, which he'd gratefully accepted, but nothing else was given, not to his surprise. His size and bulk were apparently very intimidating to those comparatively smaller in stature to him; but he didn't know much about that either, all the other people he'd known had all been minotaurs, not until the humans and other races had rolled into his village seeking able-bodied men to fight in the resistance. These other, tinier races intrigued him greatly, but he was too shy to ask or query any of them.

T'was only a few minutes before Argrom decided to have another rest, since he had nothing better to do. He kept the half finished hat close to him as he rested his head on an upraised tree root, closed his eyes, and took a nap. Mayhaps later in the day something of interest might happen but for now, he would rest.