Bree

While i write this the storm is above me for last half of a day, without any source that could take away boredom of waiting under the bloody rock of the ruin till the flood of the sky passes i use this old journal of someone who is very mopey about the woman he loved, then he cheated on her cause he was drunk (like that never happened to me), wich made him take next caravan to nowhere to escape the womans husband.

I have been tasked with finding information on the palantirs in the land of men called “Bree-land”. I do not want to go, but I must. It is not really a matter worth discussing. I have been advised to wear a hood around the Men, as they do not see the eldar often, as so it may cause disruption. I am not fond of being the centre of attention, so I will heed this advice, to save me some trouble.

Fingers caressed the surface of the pages, as if they might absorb details missed by her eyes, even after multiple readings. The paper in this section of the book was slightly rippled, and the tome now opened automatically to it.

While we rode on more warily after being waylaid by the Orc grunts that night by the border of Gravenwood, we kept pressing on as our hearts still burned for adventure. Perhaps even more so now that we had tasted its sweet taste and the rush. 'Twas not quite the same as patrolling the Mark with fellow Riders, battling whatever danger had passed the borders into fair Rohan and engaging them in petty skirmishes. Nay, there was a sense of excitement differing from it now that we were alone and a long way from home, me and Sigefaest.

Once again I find myself quill in hand. Since last I wrote I've found a peaceful area in Bree-land to call home away from home, though that is a story in itself. More than likely no other shall gaze upon these pages, but still I wish to pen my recollections. For myself and later years. Perhaps for some offspring of mine to read, should I yet be blessed with some.

Ever since I was a wee lad I've done my best to sift through all the books and dusty tomes I came upon anywhere in the Mark but never did I think of writing a simple diary, such that I've now opened and staring at its blank first page. It is because of... well, loneliness, or mayhap a need to document my travels and dare I say, adventures, in these far-away lands, that I now grasp the quill.

The Prancing Pony is full of unruly people, fugitives from other lands, outcasts from other races, and so on, perhaps worse than the Forsaken Inn. The barkeep is known to have the best ale in the land, and I would have to agree, he does make good ale. I met with a woman by the name of Ellasraen, a beautiful darker skinned woman. She is from Trestlebridge, or so she says. A traveler, of sorts, if I recall correctly.

I was returning to my home when I had heard talk of a trial in court, public, of course. It was so interesting, I had never been to a court before, more-so ever hear of one in Bree, so, of course I had to go.

Sunlight filtered down through the budding branches of the Yellow Tree. Jonn squinted up, smiling at having the warm spring breeze on his neck. He looked back at Glorwen, making sure the lead-line between them didn't get caught as they maneuvered around the large trunk. Content she was following safely, he repositioned his aching backside and faced forward again, giving Scorch's mane a playful stroke whether he liked it or not.

The crew had a couple of ideas to get coin, but what they promptly jumped at was starting an arena of sorts - a brawling ring, run by them, with betting to make money. The captain formed a similar project in Bree some years back, but was too focused on the pleasure aspect to turn it into a profitable business at the time.