This was no ordinary trip to the Rhael, he didn't even have his caravan with him. This was the only item he carried, and the man who needed it, needed it urgently. His thoughts kept returning to the name of the man who must receive this strange tonic.
“Farjadis Wisebeard...hmmm...Farjadis Wisebeard“ He mumbled to himself quietly. “ooh hoo hoo I will find you mister Wisebeard. If not I would be failing mother, and I won’t fail mother, no no no.” His ramblings became enraged until suddenly his attention was yanked from him.
Off to the edge of the road Jabit saw the remnants of what looked like a raid. To his left was a wooden rundown caravan with it's back doors busted open, small boxes and spools of various fabric littered the surrounding area. He gazed upon the caravan before he began twiddling his thumbs and looking around in anticipation.
The air was still and the early fog gripped the Southland as the messenger glided across the dirt road towards the caravan. Looking inside he saw many of the boxes and crates were ransacked, one of the floorboards were shattered, and most of what could be scavenged was already taken. He stayed close to the wall of the caravan as he shifted himself to the back doors.
Jabit peeked around the corner when he found himself face to face with a man who was slumped over next to the caravan. Jabit jumped in shock before losing his balance and stumbling to the ground. He looked at the dark clothed man, his milky blue eyes stared back at the hobbit, but his face was concealed beyond a black cloth wrap.
Moments went by but the man remained motionless, a foul stench drifted up to Jabit’s nose turning his stomach and gagging him. He knew this man was dead, and could have been for days. He turned away and picked himself up before nearly puking from the disgusting smell. The interest in scavenging was short lived and without thinking twice Jabit returned to the road.
The mist gradually dissipated in the morning sun, awaking the south for another day as he approached the next crossing. A mix of birdsongs echoed through the landscape joining the constant flow of the Faric. He paused for a moment to study the rickety bridge he was about to cross. Two thick pairs of braided rope stretched across the entire width of the river, both secured by large engraved oak posts driven deep into the earth.
He remembered crossing this bridge before with his caravan, the bridge gave little to no clearance on its sides. At first glance it seemed impractical, but its defensive capability was impressive for a hobbit village. Thankfully for him, he was alone this time, and his only possession was no bigger than his palm.