Dunedain

Traitors! Defilers!

A storm raged in his mind. He felt his blood boiling, he heard the voices from the past, their chattering, their screaming and shouting rising again, until they reached the gates of his Fëa. And all the time, he saw him in front of the eyes of his mind:

Dear Dirhael Breckenridge,

To quote our maternal grandfather, "What in tarnation were you thinking?" In fact, dearest brother, were you thinking at all?

Cathdil woke up in the middle of the night cause of a loud banging on his door. He looked around his room, it was dark and from the outside he could hear a heavy rain falling, behind the banging. He shrugged the sleep away for a bit, still being tired after a long days work of harvesting on his field. He got up and walked over to his wardrobe, opening it. There were a bunch of clothes in there along with a chest. He unlocked the chest with a key he had around his neck. In it some green clothes, a bow along with arrows, a sword and a dagger were laying.

Once they arrived at Esteldin, the rain had stopped and the morning sun was shining through the grey clouds. The rangers trudged up the muddy path to the hidden stronghold, dragging the heavy bound orc with them.

Ivorneth fired at the crowd of orcs, moving with the other two archers to find better positions as the fight swirled. They aimed carefully, not wanting to hit one of their own men.

Calonimir stood before the hearth in the Hall of Fire, staring into the flames. Though a hot bath, a warm meal, and soft sheets had eased the aches of his body, his spirit was still in turmoil, and not even the clear voices of the Elves singing in the Hall could calm him. As he watched the fire dance upon the hearth, he thought yet again upon his meeting with Elrond and his sons and the charge that had been placed upon him.

The Sun was just beginning her climb above the mountains in the East when the Ranger began his trek down the winding way into the Vale of Imladris. He shivered in the cold wind which swept down from off the moors, his breath making small clouds which were quickly scattered. He pulled his cloak closer about him and patted the neck of his horse.

          The Rangers of the North were wandering vagabonds that patrolled the boundaries of Eriador throughout the later years of the third age. They were Dúnedain, who could trace their bloodline back to the people of Númenor.