A man stood on the crest of Weathertop, looking down over the Lone-Lands, off into the west. He is clothed simply, a long, gray jacket that goes down to his knees, two gray leather boots, covered in dust and dirt, some simple leather gloves. His long, dark brown hair is in a mess, and he's obviously been on the road for a long time. His skin is a medium tan, and his eyes are a icy blue. He could be considered handsome, but in the state he is in, it would be difficult to see. His jacket is old and worn, as are his boots or gloves, but he seems to cherish that fact, and take pride in it. A hood hangs down from his cloak as he stares into the distance.
The wind is calling me.
He slowly hefts his spears that cling to his back. A cool breezes floats past him, making his hair mess up even more. He looks up into the sky and smiles.
The wind is calling me.
He turns away and walks away slowly, eyes wild and his face smiling.
The wind is calling me. The wind is calling me. I am Alazarn Elendar. The wind is calling me...
