In the ancient lands of Eriador, between the misty hills and the ancient forests, walked a traveler. Few knew his name, and none knew his true story. He wore an armor marked by a thousand battles and eyes that bore the marks of truths no one would want to know.

It was said that once he had been a carpenter in the Northlands. A simple man, skilled in shaping wood. He had spent long winters in the valleys near the Misty Mountains, helping hobbits build small, resilient shelters with well-secured beams and roofs resistant to storms. For this, they began to call him Hutbeam — “Beam of the Hut” — a nickname that became an affectionate title, one he carried even when his life took a darker turn.

For behind that facade of wood and quiet, there was more: once, he had served in a shadow deeper than the night, part of a nameless group tasked with stopping threats before they even took form — gathering secrets, erasing dangers, and ....

But even ghosts, sooner or later, grow tired of creeping in the shadows.

He arrived in Bree one autumn evening, when the wind whispered promises of change between the bare branches. He was searching for something… or perhaps someone. It was said that a company had been formed, a group of travelers and warriors who protected the lands along the road, where caravans and farmers fell prey to bandits and nameless creatures.

He didn’t meet them in a hall or a tavern, but in an encampment outside the walls, where tents were pitched beside the road, surrounded by torches and horses ready to depart. Their eyes scrutinized every traveler.

Hutbeam told only as much as was necessary. He said he had guided travelers through snow-covered passes, fought on the fringes of known maps. He never spoke of the blood he had spilled in the shadows, nor the forgotten names whispered in his dreams.

The members of the Company watched him in silence. Some tested him. Others tried to read him. But no one found certain answers. Only a tired shadow… and dangerously useful.

At the first light of dawn, Hutbeam received the grey cloak and the seal engraved on a black clasp: the East Road recognized those who had already walked too long alone.

From that day on, his name began to circulate among the inns of Eriador and in the whispered tales of travelers: a silent warrior who knew how to open paths where there were only dangers before. But some noticed something else: the Company had more information than before, and enemies seemed to “vanish” with unsettling frequency.