Banewing

It is Spring in the year 2955 of the Third Age. To the South, in Gondor, it is a difficult year with the rapidly growing might of the Shadow. It has only been some months since Mount Doom has burst into flame again, its tremors being felt far and wide, and the swiftly blackening horizon heralding portent in the hearts of many.

Ithilien has become, for all purposes and intents, a wild, fallen stretch of land, barely recognizable as the verdant further arm of the kingdom as it once was, and few at all inhabit it, most having fled to the regions of Losarnach. It is the same picture of dilapidation there as it is in Osgiliath, long fallen and mouldered.

Raids, even if desultory and minor, by Sauron's servants or other evils frequently reach even as far as the Rammas Echor, and the spirits even of the sturdiest are seen to flinch at times these days. It is within the walls of the great city, that an important task needs addressing, and folks daring enough to sally out in the midst of a sudden gush of enemy-prowls just beyond the Echor are sought...