Here we are again my little leathery bastard, you are one of the few things I kept when moving and I have no idea why... Funny thing, is it not?
Lately my mind has wandered the paths of retirement, thoughts of just resigning my position as captain, finding a lovely lady and settling down somewhere. I grow tired and weary. I am far from what I used to be, I lack a half a leg and I have countless wounds around my body, and half of the inbred scum of Bree is starting to get on my nerves. I do not mind people looking down on mercenaries, I do not mind people and their ill whispers, but I do mind when a whelp so green he pisses grass comes to me and threatens me. Seems like half of Bree is the greatest warrior around, though half of them are barely off their mother's breast and have never been anywhere near a battle. All these lads and their shining armour, I fear they will one day end on the pointy end of a sword. I remember being young and invincible, I remember believing that, though half of these lads needs to straighten out... They have no respect... Yet who am I to judge them. I will simply place my behind back in the seat and have a drink. Let the little piglets grunt with their petty squabbles, the old boars will die, they need just wait their time.
I suppose I will write no more today.. I do think this is proper, well.. for a sellsword at least.
