Aethidos, smoked his pipe weed silently. The darkness embracing him, his cold grey eyes watching the dancing lights of the festival grounds. He enjoyed to see the folk dance and drink. At some point on his return trip to the north he had managed to meet up with a company of mercenaries, in which he joined in their hunt of the orcs. After the mess had been cleaned up they had planned on a night of merrymaking and celebration. He refused their offer, and instead sat outside away from the festive activities. 

The night wore on, and his pipe had run out. A small portion of the band left the general grounds for the party in a rush, following the sound of other worldly screams. In the back of his mind he knew what it meant, and all too well understood what was about to unfold in the world of men. The feeling rose from his stomach and sank quickly. He packed his pipe one more time and sat back, waiting for the return of his new companions. [i]Naur en' Kala[/i] rested comfortably beside him. 

[i][color=f7941d]"The nine ride again."[/color][/i] he spoke softly and to no one in particular. Letting out a long puff of smoke, he placed a well calloused hand on the hilt, the familiar feel of the cool metal under his hand put his mind at ease. He was one of the few left of his race, the days of the Dunedain were over, and now he lived to preserve the line of Elendil. With the nine roaming the lands again, things were about to change and he hadn't decided yet on how it might.