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It'd been a very long time since he'd left.
The first foot he set upon the isle he wanted to make his name known.
As he tried harder and harder to do so, what he ended up with were more enemies than supporters.

That didn't matter now anyway. He was glad to be back.
In his absence on the isle he'd gone back home. He'd witnessed the burial of his brother, Dhaeraow and the birth of Dhaeraow's child.

Not many knew, but back in their homeland Dhaeraow had a wife.
Never had Dhaeraow spoken a word about her in his time on gobaith,
And Fjaen thought it to be the right thing to do at the time.

Yet now, he was not so sure of it. For arriving upon the isle once again,
He was not alone. Wrapped in a dark shroud lie the son of Dhaeraow Greybone. The Elders of their homeland instructed Fjaen to return to gobaith with the baby and raise it there. For the Elders suspected something great was going to happen to his homeland.

Obedient in their request, Fjaen did as he was told.

It took many weeks to arrive at gobaith, but they were finally there.
With the baby in his arms, and a small bag of items, they headed North from the harbour towards the one town he knew all too well, Troll'sbane.

((Open RP.))

Ildor sat just silently against a tree at the fork in the road on the way to Trollsbane, seemingly working on the rough shapes of arrowshafts, not finishing them, though throwing the ones wich' wood had knots, or otherwise didn't qualify away, back into the woods.

He was just silent, sitting in his usual green robe, looking up at every passing person though, seeming about always aware to any other presence, inspecting those who passed quickly, offering a small, slightly friendly and possibly also a bit anctious smile each time one looked...

((Sorry for any typos or such... awefully tired ))