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Anarchir
Anarchir
| Name | Anarchir |
|---|---|
| Status | Active |
| Occupation | Dúnadan ranger |
| Age | 32 winters |
| Race | Man |
|---|---|
| Residence | The wild |
| Kinship |
| Outward Appearance | Anarchir has long black hair, pale skin and grey eyes. He has seen only 32 winters - still young in the reckoning of the Dúnedain. He comes coated in shades of green and brown, in a wool and leather tunic with reinforced arm bracers bearing a subtle mark of the Elendilmir, and a weather-stained hooded cloak. His boots are sturdy but leave no distinct print, at least not to the untrained eye. And from his belt dangles a waterskin of goat leather and a pouch of pipe-weed that is never quite filled as much as he would want. No jewels adorn his hands, neck or brow, though he carries in his pocket a small medallion, a trinket he recovered from a grave robber in Cardolan.
***
The iron he wields is of no wondrous craftsmanship. Neither dwarf skill nor elf magic played a part in its making. But for one who dwells in the woods and would much prefer to slay his enemies from behind tree and rock with a flurry of arrows, it suffices. However, the longbow he carries is wrought of heartwood in the ways of the Dúnedain bow makers of the North-Kingdom, the closest to a work of Westernesse today's hands can shape.
***
His name, Anarchir, was given to him by his father Aglaron, which in the tongue of the Eldar means lord of the sun. But his mother calls him Ithilgon, for she loves moon- and starlight above all other light. The Men of Bree refer to him rather mockingly as simply another Longshanks, a sobriquet they tend to use for others of his kind.
*** |
|---|
Background
Anarchir spends most of his time scouring the wilds between Sarn Ford and the ford at Tharbad, along the old North-South Road. A stretch of land that takes at least a fortnight to patrol from one end to the other, even for one so lithe as him. He knows his way around the ruins of Cardolan and can read the land fairly well, including where to find fruit-bearing bushes or edible roots. But never has he crossed the dangerous crossing at Tharbad into Enedwaith, though he has met disagreeable men who came from that desolate region.
***
His father Aglaron still lives, but he has chosen to serve his kindred as a fletcher and bow maker. He lives with his wife in Esteldín in the Kingsfell mountains of the North Downs. It is a rough and cold place to live, but they would not have it any other way. Every other winter, Anarchir travels north to stay with them. They do not send ravens out of fear that spies might intercept them. After all, they are bound by secrecy. And only in secrecy can the legacy of the North-Kingdom live on.
***
On the 22nd of September, 3018, Anarchir was stationed at Sarn Ford on the far southern border of the Shire. He remembers the day well, for he reckons it the most dreaded day of his lifetime. There was great unrest at the ford encampment that day. Something was amiss and all the Rangers were on alert. The shadows grew taller than usual at sundown. And the night was starless and unusually cold. Then, the Nine came from upon the road. Out of the shadows they leapt, and their fell cries and black breath scattered the Rangers. Anarchir was nigh brought to despair, but he found some strength in evoking the name of Elbereth. Nevertheless, the powers at work there that night were too much for him to overcome, and he fled eastward, following the river Baranduin almost as far as the Old Forest before he returned to his senses.
***
The ordeal with the wraiths has cast a shadow over Anarchir. Dark have his dreams been of late. He vowed to protect Eriador from the Enemy, but if such evil things now roam the land freely, how can he hope to stand against them. Still, he does not forsake his duty. Perchance he can find some solace in the words of his fellow rangers, or in seeing fair Imladris of which he has heard so many heartening things. One look upon the vale of the Eldar might be what he needs to restore his vigour. Alas, it is many leagues away, and with winter at the doorstep it is high time for Anarchir to return north to his family in Esteldín. Yet fate might have something else in store for him.
| Friends | |
|---|---|
| Relatives | Aglaron (father - not in game), Uiloniell (mother - not in game) |
| Rivals/Enemies | Enemies of the free peoples |
| Loves | Imladris |
|---|---|
| Hates | Ringwraiths |
| Motivation | To waylay the enemy any way he can. |
| Quotes | 'Fair winds, clear skies.' |
