Mawiyah s'arrêta juste à l'extérieur de son abri, tournant curieusement la tête vers les sons des cris de nains et des coups familiers d'acier sur le bois. Poser le lapin après avoir pris une autre morsure de la zone la plus épaisse du petit mammifère, saisir son casque corné et s'incliner pendant qu'elle s'agenouillait aussi, le tirant sur son écharpe d'une main, avant de frapper un peu de terre au-dessus de son feu pour l'éteindre. Marcher vers le son du nain criant, avec quelques autres parties intéressées en veillant à rester à une distance équitable de n'importe qui d'autre que l'ajout de son casque effrayant dans l'obscurité ne fait qu'accroître les craintes ou les soupçons des peuples; mais Mawiyah savait s'il y avait un combat pour avoir un casque était un choix intelligent. Ce n'est que trop souvent qu'elle avait vu de forts hommes redoutables tomber en bataille ou en duel simple de prendre un coup éblouissant au crâne, et les hommes faibles moins qualifiés gagnent ou du moins vivent pour combattre un autre jour grâce à la tête métallique couvrant sans mentionner la forme unique du casque souvent inspiré peur.
Alors qu'elle s'approchait, elle reconnut l'épaisse voix basse du nain, soulevant la barre de son crâne en se rendant compte qu'il n'y avait pas de véritable attaque mais seulement une querelle d'une sorte entre le nain et un autre; pas rare parmi son genre en raison de leur nature tenace. C'est pourquoi ils ont fait des marchands grands ou très infructueux dans son expérience, toujours curieuse qu'elle a continué jusqu'à ce que le venu en vue du prochain combat; rester une distance respectable de quiconque avec son dos à la ligne d'arbre lui faisant plus confiance que la caravane de ne pas coller un couteau dans son dos. En observant le conflit, Mawiyah a pris une corne de boisson attachée autour de son épaule avec une sangle de cuir, la déguisant pour siroter le vin sucré qu'elle avait laissé de la ville orientale la plus proche de la frontière de Gondor; la saveur riche laissant son corps avec un picotement et un léger désir pour la maison et le soleil chaud du désert. Sa main droite a posé paresseusement sur ses scimitars en cuir souple lié hilet, les yeux balayant autour de la zone l'explosion des Nains prenant la plupart de l'attention de tout le monde en ce moment.
Name:Mawiyah Firyal
Age, Gender, Race: 29, Female, Haradrim
Appearance:
Mawiyah is a tall and lean woman with swarthy sun tanned skin and curly black hair cut just below her jaw, with a long black line tattooed across her nose just beneath her eyes; along with three black dots on her chin. Her exact height six foot one inch weighing a hundred and seventy five pounds in excellent shape from training and surviving the harsh desert lands south of Gondor.

Equipment:
-Steel brass colored lamellar armor
-Horned brazen helm
-Three and a half foot scimitar
-Bamboo composite bow
-Bamboo arrows, iron heads (x20)
-Steel curved hunting knife
-Firestarter
Personality: Mawiyah is clever and quick of mind with no shortage of low cunning to call upon, not entirely trusting of Gondorians due to the two cultures constantly clashing. Though her travels and time around the men of the west has tempered her dislike, knowing she could end up dead if she gave any reason a thirst for the world and no direction also keeping her in check to see as much of it as she can.
Story:Being that Mawiyah is quite alone and without company she is looking for any that will talk with her, using her sharp tongue and the information she has about the dark powers arising on rare occasion seriously. More often twisting it into a fable of sorts to entertain drunks while she swipes there valuables, and learns all she can about the customs and expectations of the other cultures.
Biography:Mawiyah was born in a Haradrim port city bustling with trade and baked by the powerful desert heat, the city drawing most of its wealth off of fishing and trade of spices with neighboring cities and peoples. She was raised by an average family her mother was a spice trader and her father a guard for the Lord whom ruled the city, due to the harsh nature of the Harad Mawiyah's father taught her skills necessary to survive; starting with hunting and tracking along with the use of a sword. When she became old enough Mawiyah joined the city guard like her father before her, the remote location of the city along with the vastness of the desert sparing her from any incredible battles or sieges. She dealt with pickpockets, assaults, theft and the like eventually becoming a dirty guard bored with the repetitive life and frustrated by the Lord living like a king while everyone else footed the expense. So she took bribes and looked the other way on occasion, earning herself a fairly steady pay raise also collecting from some merchants to take extra care of their stall's. A dark man cloaked entirely in black arrived one day, a poor color in the deadly heat as any could tell you, but he never removed the cloak and had an air of death and cold around his very body; something very off putting which frightened Mawiyah. Then not even three weeks past a strange man cloaked in blue was preaching to a huddled group in the dark of a tavern warning them of a great evil arising which would seek to use their people's strength, he was promptly arrested on the orders of the Lord and thrown into a cell.
Mawiyah was set to guard the cell along with others which rotated day and night in teams of two, the formerly blue cloaked man still talking with her when she cared to listen, his ramblings sounding crazed to her until mention of the black rider arose. He begged her to free him from the cell, and she eventually did one night when the palace slept she shanked the other man on duty with her convinced of the old mans stories. Using the cover of night to sneak the man from the Lord's palace an uproar spreading quickly just as they passed through the lower port gate, where he split off from Mawiyah giving her a small silver ring with a ruby stone set in the center. It always seemed to give her comfort since the moment she touched it, granting a feeling of warmth at night and soft cold during the heat of the day, obviously unable to return to her home city Mawiyah wandered north. Finding the forests nearer to Gondor and the warlike Easternling's whom occupied them to be her kind of people, getting work as a private sellsword for some time protecting wealthy merchants and other such nobles. Saving enough coin to venture into the west, running into a caravan on the way to Minas Tirith the supposed city of several dozen tiers made of all white stones in the side of a mountain. Something she yearned to see.