Rhinjavar iv Harjihn a'lym Azkharim was born into privilege as the first son of a respected tradesman of the Haradrim. He was raised by his father who taught him the art of literature as had been learned from merchants to the north. His studies, rich with the lore of the greater world, inspired his natural intelligence and drew the eye of the tribe's ruling war chief. With a mind for discipline and a growing arm for battle, he served under the war chief's banner for many seasons and pursued the conquest of opposing tribes. However, following in the wake of the tribe's many victories, the call to war against Gondor came swiftly upon them. Stricken with ambition and a lust for power, the war chief led the tribe's warriors against the Gondorian forces. A great series of battles ensued, but the unrelenting conflict wore away at the tribe's strength and illness befell its people. The forces of Gondor eventually overcame the war chief and slew him, scattering what warriors remained and slaughtering the remnants of the tribe.

In the grim aftermath of the war Rhinjavar eluded capture by fleeing through the farmstead territories of western Gondor. He remained hidden among its people, avoiding wayward Gondorian patrols as he made his way along the shore of the sea, eventually passing beyond the rugged mountains that marked the edge of Gondor's border. Many long days and nights blurred into memory as he struggled to distance himself further from the south, drawing upon what scant resources he could forage from the fields, until at last he reached a worn road that stretched toward the northern lands of Eriador. With nowhere else to turn he followed the path into the sprawling hills of Bree-land.

It was not until he reached the settlements of Bree did he find temporary respite. Amid the bustle and brash of Bree-town he found the streets crowded with other refugees from all corners of the known world, each carving out a meager existence with what little they could afford. He found cheap work where he could, often working as a courier or a laborer, until a parchment bearing a creed of paid service caught his eye. An independently organized militia was hiring sellswords to aid them in their cause. Desiring to lend his talents where they could be useful he signed on as a mercenary with the company.

Though at first wary of those he would eventually call his companions-in-arms, he grew to embrace the values of the company as they brought him into their fold. He trained with the captain and sparred with the other guardsmen, adapting their methodologies to his own history of combat. Over time he formed a strong bond with a young guardswoman by the name of Edelhilde who took him under her wing and shared a genuine interest in his past. Her quaint affection began to mend the sorrows of his heart and he felt as though he were no longer a stranger in foreign lands. His respite, however, was short-lived.

A patrol northward into the wild territories beyond Bree-land ended in tragedy. The reports streaming down from the hills claimed that the company had been ambushed and broken with many of its number presumed slain. Having been scouting the eastern hills for signs of bandit activity, the news reached Rhinjavar late in its course. He hastened back to the company's headquarters but found only greater dismay there. What stragglers had returned were bloodied and grim, their faces bearing the mark of defeat. His heart sank into shadow when he learned that none among them could account for Edelhilde's fate. With determination burning behind his eyes he journeyed alone into the northern wilderness.

For days and nights he scoured the roads of the north, searching for a sign that would lead him to the fate of Edelhilde, but ultimately his solitary expedition proved to be in vain. In the end he submitted to his own defeat, believing her to be lost among an unfamiliar world. Grief overcame him as he returned south to the hills of Bree-land. His courage had failed him, having twice been bled of his fortune, and in his anger he found himself relentlessly hunting down the bandits of the region. He stalked them through the swamps and forests, striking swiftly and without mercy, ensuring that they felt the force of his spiteful wrath. When at long last he had carved a path of blood and bone sufficient to quell his fury, he collapsed into darkness and surrendered to his prey. It was then, at the moment of his deepest despair, that fate intervened with a bold hand...