Rangers

So it was that, with the fair Princess Éowyn by my side, I departed from the dread Golden Wood with life and sanity intact, a great feat indeed by the accounting of any man.  A little bit later, we came back to the Ranger camp by Loopy Creek, where still those lowly ruffians feasted and partied, revelling about the place and enjoying their loot.

‘Come’, said Mr Elessar, as he freed me from my bonds, ‘Sit, and I will tell you the sorry tale of how Boromir the Mighty was led by treachery and sorcery to his unhappy death.’

Early the next morn, I rose and departed from the inn, even as the sun rose.  I rode swift and true, heading towards Loopy Creek in the north, even as the wizard Mithrandir had counselled I should do.  I could but hope that I was going the right way, and that he wasn’t trying to lure me into a trap.

Aelwynna slowly stood before the crowd of solemn men, a mix of Dunedain rangers and those of her kin, the Hand of Numenor. Her face was pale and pained with grief. A discerning eye might notice she was trembling slightly, not used to being the center of attention.

She swallowed hard and began: 

Elkirian had been drifting away from home for so long. Her bones ached with loneliness, fear and anger. No, not anger, rage. She raged against the world that had blown her around like a dead leaf.

OOC note: this is a rewrite of a previously written story to more accurately represent events from the RP that happened

“Investigate, lass. Earn their trust and figure out what’s going on. I cannot tell if they’re an aid or wolves masquerading as sheep.”

The last vestiges of the evening’s fire were swept beneath a thin layer of earth and the first fallen leaves of autumn. A thin coating of amber, brown and green spread by the travellers boot and all was as it had been before Araglir had arrived the night before.

04 - Hooded allies