The woods were quiet, warm and welcoming. Welcoming to elves that is. It is said that a witch lives in these woods, the woods of Lothlorien. It is whispered that she can transform a wary dwarf at her whim, it is said that she is all seeing and that nothing strays within her borders for any amount of time that she does not see. But hers is a story of another, hers and the rest of the party that would decide the fate of Middle Earth.<br/><br/>This is a story of a simple forest warden, a warden whose eyes were as silver as the pale moonlight that drifts down from between the gilded leaves of the trees over head. His ears are sharply pointed, proud and elven as he patrols along the banks of the Anduin river. His wood was protected, but that did not keep some of the dark creatures from attempting malice.<br/><br/>His clothing was simple leather tunic and breeches, his hand carried a finely crafted long-bow that even a human might have had issue using. Yet it was in his other hand that dangled the item of import. A dire item, the evil within it crawling and twisting filling his soul with darkness. An Item that he awaits the special elf girl that the Lady of the Wood deemed capable of carrying out past their borders, to rid the elves of the treed city of its magic.