It was a fine morning for Oid Orisson; all mornings were fine mornings for him. He sat at the back of one of the carts, a pipe in his mouth. He was idly juggling his three throwing axes and his mattock. It took him three days and a mangled thumb to get the hang of it, but now he could freely entertain himself and children. "Shun of an elf...." he lisped with smoke coming out of his mouth as the mattock grazed his wrist. While he did pay attention to not lose anything from his pastime, he was in truth thinking. His first thought was what he would do after the caravan would stop. Would he travel eternally? He wasn't sure what he was here, a Guard, or a hanger-on. He got a little bit of money and from the people, so he assumed the former but still it was confusing. He finally let his weapons drop and collected them, and sat down properly. He jumped down and decided to walk, it would be nice for the horses to get some rest from his dense if not large body. 

He waddled along, chopping off hairs that were too long, whistling a light tune and greeting the few people he was acquainted with. He kept his spear over his shoulder; after all with his shield he needed not to rush should an enemy attack.