Círestel (or Razân) had long grown accustomed to dwelling in an interesting albeit tumultuous existence.

 Born in Minas Tirith to a petty nobleman and his wife as their only son, Istuichir had little standing in the White City. His childhood and adolescence were comfortable enough, with little of import coming to pass; save the growing darkness on the horizon, looming ominously within the borders of Mordor. His father, a paranoid man, sought to leave Minas Tirith, and Gondor, and journey eastward to the relative safety of Eriador; as it turned out, to return to their ancestral home. Many generations before then, their Dúnedain forebears had travelled west.

 It was an ill-conceived journey, and a hostile Dunlending tribe attacked the small caravan as they passed through Enedwaith. Círestel, a boy of only fifteen winters at the time, hid as his father was slain and his mother mortally wounded, now bereft of their provisions and horses. With his father buried and many miles behind him, Círestel's dying mother bade him to continue on without her, for she knew what meager food they could forage could not sustain them both. He refused, but as he slept, she found a quiet glade within which to die. Jaded and yet broken, he accepted his fate and journeyed on; and did not stop.

 For the last twenty-five years, the wanderer known as Razân has stalked the wilds of Eriador, charting unexplored forests and plains for his own purposes; seeking out any lore of the Dúnedain and the Men of the West, and aiding forlorn travellers or merchants beset by orc ambushes. He frequents the town of Bree, where he is often seen lingering in the corner of the famed Prancing Pony with a flagon of frothy ale and a pipe, savouring the simple things in life... and then he is gone again.