Redcliffe feels oddly familiar to the strider who lingers towards the rear of the tavern. With the hood of his gray cloak obscuring his face and only the dim light of his pipe gleaming from the shadows, Aragorn watches with muted humor as the townsfolk fuss about their prized cakes. Despite not being too fond of the ale served in this quaint little tavern, the ranger can't help but find some odd similarities between that of Redcliffe and Bree.
Bree is a small township in his realm not too far from the Shire. More often than not, Aragorn would haunt the Prancing Pony for the sake of food, ale and information. While he could gather all three here at leisure in Redcliffe now, Aragorn can't help but miss his regular haunt. The people of Thedas are a queer bunch, hostile and unusually cruel most of the time. While Redcliffe is blessedly better than some of the other regions he visited, Aragorn can't help but miss Arda.
A sigh leaves him as the fire in his pipe grows dim. Tempted to smoke another bag of this delightful pipeweed that holds a hint of cinnamon to its dried leaves, Aragorn refrains in favor of attempting to drown this mug of ale again. Oh, how he wished he ordered the mead instead. The barkeep claimed this was the best ale in the house but clearly the old man lied.
Content playing the role of the voyeur, Aragorn sits back and watches the fesitives unfold. Of course a rat or two scurries past him once a few crumbs fall to the wooden floors. Apparently this little contest has provoked the hunger of every rat south of Denerim. The ranger makes no attempt to shoo them away unless they come too close.
5.
While the snowy hills of the Hinterlands are known for their blatant dangers in the forms of fae-touched bears, Aragorn could tell the worth of this land lies within its soil. Since arriving to Thedas, the ranger made himself useful in adding the Inquisition. He's taken up a few small jobs here and there that plunged him into the wilderness in search of odds and ends. Today's search lies within the Inquisition's need for provisions in the form of herbs. While the herbology of this land differs greatly from Middle-Earth, the ranger can spot the always coveted elfroots well enough.
Trudging through the snow is a bit of a bother but the cold doesn't deter Aragorn in his quest. He makes his way carefully through this land making certain to avoid the fiends that lurk nearby. While the bears certainly gave the ranger some trouble earlier, he manages to keep a healthy enough distance from them while collecting herbs.
Now crossing near the banks of a river, Aragorn crouches beside a few shrubs once he spots another cluster of elfroot nearby. He's dressed plainly in his dark brown long coat and a plain greenish brown jerkin underneath, the usual dark leggings and heavily weathered boots. He forsook the green cloak he received at Lothlórien since he knew he wouldn't be wandering out here for long. With the cold constantly nipping at his heels, he doesn't dare linger.
While Strider doesn't look particularly menacing towards anyone passing by, the ranger is most certainly armed with a long bow upon his back and a sword at his hip. His face is mostly obscured by his shaggy hair but hints of blue peek out as he eyes his surroundings. This man doesn't hardly look like the prophecized King of Men but the silver pendant that hangs down his chest looks quite odd for a ranger to wear.
Aragorn | Tolkien | OTA
Redcliffe feels oddly familiar to the strider who lingers towards the rear of the tavern. With the hood of his gray cloak obscuring his face and only the dim light of his pipe gleaming from the shadows, Aragorn watches with muted humor as the townsfolk fuss about their prized cakes. Despite not being too fond of the ale served in this quaint little tavern, the ranger can't help but find some odd similarities between that of Redcliffe and Bree.
Bree is a small township in his realm not too far from the Shire. More often than not, Aragorn would haunt the Prancing Pony for the sake of food, ale and information. While he could gather all three here at leisure in Redcliffe now, Aragorn can't help but miss his regular haunt. The people of Thedas are a queer bunch, hostile and unusually cruel most of the time. While Redcliffe is blessedly better than some of the other regions he visited, Aragorn can't help but miss Arda.
A sigh leaves him as the fire in his pipe grows dim. Tempted to smoke another bag of this delightful pipeweed that holds a hint of cinnamon to its dried leaves, Aragorn refrains in favor of attempting to drown this mug of ale again. Oh, how he wished he ordered the mead instead. The barkeep claimed this was the best ale in the house but clearly the old man lied.
Content playing the role of the voyeur, Aragorn sits back and watches the fesitives unfold. Of course a rat or two scurries past him once a few crumbs fall to the wooden floors. Apparently this little contest has provoked the hunger of every rat south of Denerim. The ranger makes no attempt to shoo them away unless they come too close.
5.
While the snowy hills of the Hinterlands are known for their blatant dangers in the forms of fae-touched bears, Aragorn could tell the worth of this land lies within its soil. Since arriving to Thedas, the ranger made himself useful in adding the Inquisition. He's taken up a few small jobs here and there that plunged him into the wilderness in search of odds and ends. Today's search lies within the Inquisition's need for provisions in the form of herbs. While the herbology of this land differs greatly from Middle-Earth, the ranger can spot the always coveted elfroots well enough.
Trudging through the snow is a bit of a bother but the cold doesn't deter Aragorn in his quest. He makes his way carefully through this land making certain to avoid the fiends that lurk nearby. While the bears certainly gave the ranger some trouble earlier, he manages to keep a healthy enough distance from them while collecting herbs.
Now crossing near the banks of a river, Aragorn crouches beside a few shrubs once he spots another cluster of elfroot nearby. He's dressed plainly in his dark brown long coat and a plain greenish brown jerkin underneath, the usual dark leggings and heavily weathered boots. He forsook the green cloak he received at Lothlórien since he knew he wouldn't be wandering out here for long. With the cold constantly nipping at his heels, he doesn't dare linger.
While Strider doesn't look particularly menacing towards anyone passing by, the ranger is most certainly armed with a long bow upon his back and a sword at his hip. His face is mostly obscured by his shaggy hair but hints of blue peek out as he eyes his surroundings. This man doesn't hardly look like the prophecized King of Men but the silver pendant that hangs down his chest looks quite odd for a ranger to wear.