“Before you stands a man of an earlier Age, his manner kindly, his counsel sage. Garbed in cloth of varying blue, from palest sky to midnight hue. Not far from hand you note a stave; power therein yet simply made; sheathed 'pon his belt there rests a blade, finely tooled; a gift Elves gave. "Of secret path, he will speak, lore forgotten he will seek, bound to aid the cause of men, from snow capped mount, to Goblin den. The birds and beasts he doest call friend, in his endeavours they're strength to lend, for he doest wield the oldest lore, borne 'cross the sea from Western Shore. From Mithlond forth he shall stride, the shadows touch he shall not abide. staff and sword; tools to wield, 'gainst the Enemy he shall not yield.” Thusly is Helegdir, Loremaster, Elf-friend, from the North he came, to what Doom? What End?