The the Fends

No man went there to dwell, only for desperate refuge when no other path was ahead.
And no path back, but past the long spearpoints of those who range the Fends.
They keep the wilds, ever roving it's bounds, ever prowling and watchful
Rough men, gnarled and wind-tanned, walking in the old places where few venture
Places where much may be gleamed, if one knows but to look.