Rangers of the North

A few days have passed since I last sat down to fill these pages. I would have written every single day, yet I wish to restrain myself some, to not fill this small journal too fast.

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.

     Tonight I took with me a small company to repay our enemies for their actions against us. Rayah, Daeriir and myself ambushed many of their patrols on the city streets, and were even able to retake much ground with the aid of our kinsmen.

     Today I scoured the lowest ring of the city. It seems that this is the section most effected by the lake, as the water in some places came up past my knees. Many building are entombed beneath the water, and the docks district is entirely inaccessible, except by boat, or by swimming across.

          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.