"Follow me." It is neither a question or a command, merely a statement of fact. The leader walks out of the tent towards the bonfire. A few paces in, he stops by a tall, bulky man. The man has a greasy mop of dark hair, and is armed with a bow & quiver full of arrows, with an axe hanging from his belt. He is talking quietly with three other similarly-armed men. "Baden, some newcomers have arrived. Please find them a space to camp with the other newcomers, and take care of them as well."

Baden looks at the group in surprise, and then casts an appraising eye over the travelers. "Righto," he says. The festival seems to be dying down. A few of the drunken villagers stagger into their tents, but most of them are finding an open spot to sleep under the stars. They spread out their bedrolls, talking amongst themselves, casting the occasional wary eye at the newcomers. Many of the younger villagers are still up and about, taking short walks to the outskirts of the camp for some private time. Bowls of stew are brought over to you, as Baden weaves his way through the crowd. A spot is found for you near the riders that you had seen earlier. Well, there are four of them. An older man, with thin, graying hair, a young woman in simple peasant's garb, a rangy man with a longbow whittling on stick, and a dwarven woman with flamboyant clothes and elaborately done braids piled on her hair. Baden says, "Here's a good spot for ye to camp. Reckon we'll all be sleepin' in tomorrow, but there'll be chores enough for all when ye wakes." He pauses for a few moments to see if there are any questions. Once done, he will head off into the crowd.

The other newcomers size you up as well. The old man says, "Howdy folks. Name's Stanislaus Vorgrimler. These yokels probably ain't seen a halfling before, but I knows one when I see one. What brings you out here?"