This sleepy hill-village is home to hardy shepherds and their flocks. The fierce Arnglarren make their own sleep-venom (a secret mixture of local berry juices and plant saps, equal in effects to drow poison) and are always armed with crossbows and envenomed bolts to use on wolves, wild dogs, and human sheep rustlers alike.
High, windswept Arnglar stands on the site of the ruling seat of the long-vanished elven realm of Glorfindral; burial mounds of elven kings form a defensive ring around Arnglar's simple cottages and central never-failing well of deep, crystal-clear water. Several of the mounds are crowned with the crumbling ruins of old, long-abandoned, spell-blasted brigands' keeps. In more sheltered locales, ruins tend to get overgrown fast, reclaimed by the ever-creeping forests, but on the high, windswept hills where Arnglar sits, the storms and sharp frosts keep growth slow and stunted. Aside from the hill grass eaten by the sheep, crops not shrouded and sheltered will fail.
Arnglarren worship Talos, Hurler of Lightnings, mainly to appease his wrath and so preserve their flocks. Arnglar is an independent community governed by a Circle of Elders. This council (of eight laconic, weather-beaten local ranchers and the grim, scarred village blacksmith, Harneth Breldren, a LN male Chondathan human Ftr2/Exp4) doesn't welcome visitors, but will sell or trade wool, tallow candles, and mutton sausages fairly with outlander merchants. (Arnglarren look most favorably on small groups of merchants - and very suspiciously at large, well-armed bands of strangers.)
The sign of Arnglar, scratched on boundary-stones and on the standing Beacon Stone in the center of its market, that shelters the well, is two circles linked by two diagonal, zigzag lines (the sun or moon over the well, joined by two lightning bolts).