Ronnald Braxton. One of those jumped up merchant types who fancies himself a noble. Someone I'd usually avoid, such arrogance offends even me, but not this morning. I received a tip from a contact in Combe. The good lord Braxton has recently come into ownership of The Silver Hare. Apparently, this old trinket dates back to when this end of Bree-land was known as 'Cardolan'. I'll leave the historical interest to those who know better, all that interests me is the price it might catch to the right buyer.
My contact, who I'll refer to has Joe from here on in, happens to have a buyer lined up. Another merchant, by the name of Alvis, representing a trading house from the south. He wants a finders fee, fifteen percent, but reckons the take on this jewel would leave me enough coins to settle for a down payment on a house. Maybe even pay off a few debt's down south.. What the heck, I'll bite. Seem's the burglary trade is getting ever more troublesome after the old hags bear took a swing for me. Blasted thing.
Ronnald's a creature of habit. Each morning he and one of his guardsmen, A Rohirrim by all accounts, take a stroll through the streets. First to the bank, then through Stone Quarter. He seems to enjoy watching less wealthy merchant hawk up deals and offer to entice the locals into their specialties. Perhaps he should be paying more attention to his own wealth, like I have.
He wears the Silver Hare around his neck, but clear and on show. Suppose that sellsword of his has a tough enough look about him to ward off rogue's with less character than myself. I've found my timeslot, just as he leaves his home. It would seem his household is quiet until dinner time, just a maid and his wife home. His guardsman is confident, and a touch too foolish. He doesn't wear a helmet. After all, what sort of fiend would attack a man from above?
