In the common room, leaning against a pillar clad in grey and green stands a grim, mysterious figure; smoking a long wooden pipe as is his custom. Seldom do folk approach to speak to the man, as his somewhat intimidating presence is enough to drive even the most bold of patrons away. However, by the way in which this stranger presents himself, it is clear to anyone that he would have more than a tale or two to tell; although few would dare to listen. This was Arthenion, son of Arvaldon. Ranger of the North. 

His tale began among his people many years ago, born to Arvaldon and Eliffa. Who were his people, you may ask? These were the Dúnedain, Rangers of the North, heirs to a legacy of nobility, bloodshed and ruin. These descendants of Númenor were left scattered, seeking refuge within the ruins of their once great kingdom. Warriors no more, but watchers and protectors of the realm. This was the legacy that Arthenion had thrust upon him, taught by his father and other Dúnedain within the ruins of Esteldin, nestled within the hills of the North Downs. From a very early age, he was tutored in the way of combat, studied the great histories of his people and the realm, trained to hunt and survive in the wild and more importantly protect and stand vigil against the forces of darkness that threaten the land. 

In his younger years, Arthenion soon became acquainted with the perils of the world. He fought alongside his fellow Dúnedain on many fronts, proving himself to be both a steadfast and cunning ranger. Thrice did he overcome great odds on the battlefield; charging into the fray against all manner of foul spawn of evil. He was well-known for his comradery and selflessness in battle, often putting his fellow rangers before himself. He travelled many leagues and survived within the wild with only wits for company. Unbeknownst to the Free Peoples, he foiled many an attack upon the borders of peaceful lands with no thought of recognition or reward. Selfless to a fault.

It was not until the death of Arvaldon, his father, did he return to Esteldin. There he dwelt and took over his fathers duties whilst assisting in the training of other Dúnedain within the settlement. Tried and tested in battle and with the iron grip of Angmar reaching out, he and a group of other rangers led an expedition into the blasted lands to the North to assess the situation. Two years after the company left, only five returned. It is not known what occurred, for Arthenion and his companions refused to elaborate on what became of the expedition. However, from his experience in Angmar, Arthenion was undoubtedly changed. He had become cold, distant and grim. The remaining signs of youth had all but left him, replaced with a stern and mirthless visage. A recluse to all, including his kin.

Years passed and Arthenion remained in Eriador, choosing to wander the wilds alone once more. He would help where he could but remain hidden from plain sight; unless seeking the warmth and comforts of a nearby inn on the colder seasons. His own personal agenda is unknown, but his story is yet to continue. He shall remain vigil and pledge his sword to the greater good, until his people recall him to fight once more.