To many I am but a stranger,
None know my real name,
To others I am just known as a Ranger.

He is the Gray traveler,
A staff in his hand,
He is the great guider.

Small is his size,
But a package he carries,
Small it is, but to all, a prize.

A man of honor, courage, and power,
His lineage is historic,
A longing inside him to see the white tower.

Before us all, his wisdom is not tested,
Forests he calls home,
Before man his kin were rooted.

Another of the 'little people,'
Constantly curious and troublesome,
Another traveler, always very simple.

Far and deep in mines, his kin built thier history,
His axe is more than just a tree cleaver,
Far away is his country.

Faithful to the last,
Darkness and death cannot stop him,
Faithful beyond when the ring is cast.

The third of the small companions,
A rather simple being,
The slayer of dark minions.

Finally there is I,
Wandering, but not lost,
Finally I will either defend or die.

No merit we wish,
Glory is for men alone,
No obsticle will hinder us, not even anguish.

Togeather we must survive,
To the depths we will march,
Togeather hope we will revive.