Night came. It came quite some time ago, and when it came, the half-elf decided to settle down for the evening. He went off to the sides, out in the margins of the field; out of sight, out of mind. He constructed a small, elaborate fire pit that he had learned during his campaigning days as a mercenary. Two holes in the ground, a small tunnel to connect them, proper fuel layered in the right way, and a ring of stones. The end result was a fire that produced no visible smoke, and which shed light in only one direction; out and away from the area that soon seemed to be oddly populated.<br/><br/>His tent, and his other traveling gear were all set up, close by the fire, but not too close.  He watched the surroundings with a wary eye; one always had to be on the look out. Bandits, undead, land owners that didn't take kindly to 'vagabonds'. Well, his alertness keyed him into the presence of the others, and he became curious.<br/><br/>He activated the rune of illusions with a small murmuring of the Elven language. He knew only a handful of words, and they were keyed to the tattoos of the runes on him.  Color left his body; left his clothes, left his spear. He blended, like a chameleon, and began his slow approach towards the people he saw. He'd keep his distance for now, observe them, listen; then decide whether to reveal himself or to slink off into the night.<br/><br/>They might notice his movement, like the heat mirage over a hot fire, if they paid close enough attention to it.