((my primary purpose in writing this was to allow others to get a feel for how I'll be writing Rofield. Not much here, but I tried to make it interesting to read, at least. Also, goal in this RP is to keep my posts under 6 paragraphs, as advertised in the OP. Which I've done here. So far, so good! Thanks for reading!))

[b]Sir Rofield's Story, Post 1: The Encampment[/b]

	The fire flickered a bright orange over the encampment of eight, making angels and demons out of the shadows, twisting and shaping them, forcing them to love and hate, to fight and embrace, before the patterns disappeared from the world forever. A light breeze rustled the tops of the trees and the loose threads of the party, and high above, the stars and moon, newly risen in the evening, glittered at amusement and sorrow as the mortal world scurried about underneath them.

	Of course, Sir Rofield noticed none of this. He was distracted from the laughing cosmos and dancing flames by a set of much more earthly desires. For he had found himself, inexplicably, in the center of a camp of beautiful young women. There were, of course, others – with himself being the fourth male in a group of eight, the ladies weren't even a majority. Still, such opportunities were too great to pass up. [i]I shall make it my mission,[/i] he decided, looking out at the group from behind a blank expression, [i]to gain the favor of these young women before the morning comes.[/i]

	With this in mind, at last he stood up, the only one in the group to have done so at that moment, and commanded unwarranted attention as he gracefully removed and set aside his heavy leather armor. Beneath his chest plate and leggings, a powder-blue cotton shirt and matching drawstring pants billowed out, and he felt refreshed as he set the armaments aside. To carry such a weight for more than a few hours, though he was well used to it by now, was as though he were holding the sky on his shoulders, and to have the weight relieved was to be free of a burden that the body began seeing as a commonality.

	He stretched, comically, reaching for the tops of the trees and hearing his joints crack and pop as they adjusted to that lack of weight. He closed his eyes briefly and hummed, enjoying the sensation like a pampered cat. Cracking one eyelid, he briefly froze as he realized that everyone in the camp was staring at him. The idle chatter that had appeared over the last few minutes had faded as they all stared at him. He stared back for a moment, then pointed to the fire, where the stew had nearly finished cooking. “Dinner, anyone?” He asked, and fetched a pair of bowls from his bag, near the edge of the clearing.

	Returning to the camp, he saw that activity had resumed, the participants each finding something to eat with and taking a share of the food. He looked at two of the other men distastefully – one with long, silver hair, the other with a coloration quite electric-blue. There was some aura about them that made him feel as though he shouldn't keep his back turned for too long. An attitude of some sort, perhaps in the way that they carried themselves, that was entirely un-Lellan.

	He stepped in front of the man with blue hair and knelt to fill his bowls, ignoring an irritated huff of breath from the fellow. [i]Don't act so irritated about it,[/i] Sir Rofield thought to himself. [i]It's just soup. It's not even yours, it's ours.[/i] Gathering up both bowls, he sat himself down next to the younger girl he'd been traveling with from the capitol, who he'd yet to make acquaintance with. “You look famished.” He lied, setting one of the bowls down next to her. “Eat up! You said your name was Alice, right?” He smiled kindly at her.