Dunedain of the North

The passage of time is a curious thing, it can stretch or shorten so indefinitely that it may just as well disappear completely. In the farthest North the days and nights bear an eternal likeness to one another, the challenges they pose to the sturdy peoples who make a life here never changing and yet and yet they live in peace with their bearings. And so at last did one called Tuilinneth.

The sun had traveled past its noon mark when Lhachiel passed the first stones of the ruins. Her arrival had hailed some isolated warm greetings, yet predominantly raised eyebrows, the latter among those who had only heard, not ever crossed path with her. The sight of a woman bearing arms as readily as the men congregated within these ruins, was an unusual one, and Lhachiel was all too aware of this while trying not to show any signs of unease.

Once a great stronghold build upon the town of Dolindîr in ages past, this old fortress of what once was the great kingdom of Arnor is now nothing more then a worn out ruin, forgotten by time itself and hidden within the many hills and mountains surrounding it.
Its very existence is just a legend amongst common men, but it does really exist!

Here, the Dunedain of the North, who have been known as rangers by common folk, have set up their hidden camp to fight against the ever growing evil of Angmar.