[center][h2][b][color=f7976a]Vamyr Turambar[/color][/b][/h2][/center]
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In his dash out the door, Vamyr barely caught sight of Thurin entering the stables, and shrugged his pack from his shoulders, turning to head out past the inn and towards the main bulk of town. [color=f7976a]”Fire! The town is on fire!”[/color] The moment the flames hit the thatch of the inns roof, it would make a pyre visible for leagues, both a good and bad thing. He stopped to slam a fist against a door here and there before slowing, pausing to lean against a building and pant as some of the men and women of the village came out of their homes in varying states of dress, most armed with buckets and pots to fight the fire. As people passed, he bent down to tie his boots feeling the shock of the night wear away. [i]I failed.[/i]

...

Vamyr came back out of the night at the sound of Ofnir's call, tying off a piece of cloth ripped from one of the inn's curtains around his left arm and pulling his sleeve back over it. He nodded in appreciation towards the dwarf and silently tied his pack and replaced the saddlebags on poor Fred who glared at him in response to the weight. Turambar pulled his cloak around himself more tightly and guide the horse closer to the main group. He put a foot up and mounted his horse, using the extra height to more easily watch their immediate surroundings. He was already sore and tired from the fast pace he had taken to come this far north so quickly, fighting and running about, and now willpower was just enough to keep his eyes open. Hopefully they could be done with this business quickly enough to find a decent place to rest.