Le nain se battait joyeusement, marchant le long du flanc gauche de la caravane, lance de son épaule. Il n'a pas prêté attention aux paroles de l'elfe, car les elfes n'ont jamais rien eu de bon à dire. Ils étaient cependant une chose si intéressante; grande, mais d'une certaine façon, ils ont réussi à être encore des rancunes.
Il a gardé un œil sur la route au cas où quelque chose arriverait. Il a plissé le long heureux, ses bottes d'ornée Dwarven croquant à travers n'importe quel obstacle. Il regarda la compagnie rassemblée, le problème que l'elfe rencontrait. Il espérait que l'homme lui donnerait une bonne frappe. Les pansies ont besoin d'un bon battement, c'est un fait connu de tous les nains. Il semblait que le centre d'attention était un garçon d'une sorte. Eh bien, c'était bien pour lui, s'il y avait une grande attention à lui, alors ce serait parce qu'il a donné à quelqu'un une hache; quelque chose à éviter pour l'instant.
Alors qu'il ressentait quelque chose, et qu'une voix grinçait nerveusement près de lui. "Hmmm?" Il a commencé à souffler de la fumée dans son nez. Après avoir réfléchi à ce que disait le hobbit, il s'est débarrassé de la gorge, a souri un peu et a hoche la tête. "Oui, je suis Oid, fils d'Ori."
Après s'être nommé, il s'est arrêté un peu, prenant quelques bouffées de sa pipe. "Dinnae s'inquiète, je doute que quelqu'un ici vous empêchera de bouger si vous demandez. Quant à l'homme?" Il a réfléchi à ce qu'il fallait dire, en pesant soigneusement ses mots. "Oh juste un peu de grand-git. Peut-être un soldat, je ne sais pas. Tu sais ce qu'ils disent, plus ils sont grands, plus ils tombent!"
Oid, son of Ori.

Age: 67
Gender: Male
Race: Dwarf
Appearance: 4'4, and possessing brown hair and eyes, of a colour so similar people often remark about it. He has soft features except for a jaw so large it makes his beard look just a little odd on him. His hair is in a long unkempt mess though his beard is expertly braided. Unlike most Dwarves his body is devoid of any major scars or tattoos except for some near his mouth from when he once shattered a glass of wine whilst trying to drink it.
Equipment: no professional soldiering armour though his leather armour is thick enough to usually get arrows stuck in it and greatly soften the blows of blunt attacks, although his boots are a thick ornate Dwarven steel. He is armed with a heavy round shield as large as him if not for his clothes, and an ornate poleaxe. He also carries three throwing axes, and a (approx. one and a half handed) pickaxe from his mining days. A single bar of gold from which he takes pieces. Two loaves of bread, a massive flask of wine, and a dried fish.
Personality: He has the gold-lust of most Dwarves though significantly less of it. He is quite oblivious to the world around him, making him a little naive, and too friendly. He can even deal with Elves, only giving them the necessary "up your's git," before engaging in conversation.
Story: to be a "gentle giant," (I know that sounds odd considering his race) generally following others, having his happy views on the world shattered, yet to desperately cling to the happiness and wonder he sees in it and make others do the same.
Bio:
A son of one of Dain's soldiers arriving to the Lonely Mountain, he is the direct descendant of one of it's re-colonizers. He grew up to take a quite normal profession for Dwarves, a miner. He did it well, singing and laughing with the other miners. It all went well until the other Dwarves started accusing him of stealing, of a gold-lust horrid. In truth, he was innocent and perplexed, yet such was the flurry of accusations even his family started hiding their possessions from him.
Soon the subtle suggestions to leave began, and he took the hint. He used what little money he in truth had to get some gear, took a family shield and his pick-axe and set off to wander. Having discovered a Caravan by word of one of his few friends, he instantly joined looking for adventure and to see the world.
His clothes are a treated and extremely thick variant of something like this