Enter the Ranger
A hooded figure slumped in a chair in the pub. A bar maid set a pint of ale in front of him and left him alone. A hand appeared from under a deep grey and green molted cloak. Bringing the pint to his mouth, the man took a sip. Pulling it away, he shook his head in disgust. Ugh, he never liked ale. He looked around the small pub, watching as some drunken fool danced on the tables, singing an old diddy about how the man in the moon went down to the earth to have some the greatest beer. An old song written by the legendary Bilbo Baggins. He chuckled at the antics of the drunken men. He took another sip of ale and sighed quietly.
"Belch. Hate ale." He muttered in a thick aussie accent.
He was from a far island in middle earth. Far across the sea. He was very different from the folks around here, but he was okay with it. He didn't talk much anyways. People, people stayed away from him. They didn't trust him, and thought ill of rangers. Not that he really cared, not like he had anyone to care about him anyways. He was use to having no one like him. He lost his family when he was no more than a child. He barely remembered his mum and dad. He barely remembered his siblings. It wasn't so bad, he didn't have to worry about anyone or rely on anyone. It was just him and him alone. Taking another sip of ale, he stroked his stubble. Placing his mug on the table, he got up and walked to his room. A small room, with just a bed and a small dresser, as well as a chamber pot. Unfastening his cloak, he threw it onto the dresser and looked at the small mirror atop of it. He stared at the man staring back at him. Messy dark greyish blue hair fell just above his spring green eyes. A faint stubble covered his chin. A handsome man, though his face was usually a scowl, grim and generally rather frightening. Not a man one wished to meet at night. But if you got to know him, he was a good man, with a kind heart, and wouldn't hurt a being, unless you threatened him, or another. Then he'd punch you in the face and make sure you lose face with the people of your village. The ranger collapsed on his bed, closing his eyes from exhaustion.
A falcon dropped a scroll onto his face, the ranger sputtering in frustration.
"Wha' tha' bloody 'ell?" He snarled at the bird.
The falcon squawked and fluttered out the window. The ranger picked up the scroll and stared at the neat elven print. He was thankful he could understand it.
E. Aster Bunnymund,
A force does rise upon us. Greater than the dark lord Sauron. We summon you to Rivendell. There is no choice, for if you try and, as you men say, "duck out", I will send men after you. You have three days.
Manfred
Son of Tsar Lunar
Aster dropped the scroll and grabbed his cloak. He grabbed his weapons and his rucksack. Flipping up his hood, he walked to the bar man's table, and dropped three gold coins onto the counter. Walking out of the pub, he hurried to the stables and walked up to a shaggy haired horse. A deep grey horse with black hair and stormy grey eyes, it whinnied as Aster drew near.
"Easy mate, easy. We need tah get goin', ye understand?"
The horse snorted, allowing Aster to climb onto his back.
"Let's go!"
Flicking the reins, he thundered out of the stables and started towards Rivendell.
Bunny! Yes, I made our favorite pooka into a Ranger. Now a quick explanation on what happened to the respect the people had for Rangers. Two hundred years after Sauron was defeated, there was a Ranger who was a right jerk to everyone in Middle Earth. The people revolted against him and well... Rangers have been hated ever since. There should be a more detailed description later in the story... maybe. No idea where I'm taking this. Review!
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