Mr. Vandal was a well to do man... I'd rather be living here than in Beggar's Alley scrapping with Southrons for food I'll admit that.
Mr. Vandal had high standards and carried this air of nobility about him, I was not accustomed to the likes of upper class folk, having been a simple farmer common as muck until now... But now I was taken in by this man, I had no choice but to get used to it.
He spoke little but when he did speak, I did well to listen. For much was yet unanswered and I knew far less about the outside world than even he would care to think...
I was taken to a large cobble estate to the North, it was a pleasant house with well kept gardens and even a smithy. I was shown around by a nervous young girl just slightly older than I. As skittish as she appeared, she seemed well pleased to have someone else to talk to.
I never even knew her name... And I still don't know exactly what happened to this day... For she went missing the very next morning and never returned...
And even after that, Mr. Vandal spoke little of it, though something told me that he was grieved greatly by what happened... The way he simply did not speak to me during the next few days and would often leave to drown his sorrows in The Prancing Pony made me rather lonesome and afraid... I found better company with the old hound, Champion.
Luckily it was not long until he came round to his senses again, he seen me as his own apprentice from that day forth, and I had no choice but to see him as my new master...
Almost instantly he got me training, I liked to think I was already rather fit seeing as I was raised on a farm, but in the use of arms I was not skilled in.
Mr. Vandal seemed keen to teach me how to use a blade and bow. I didn't see much use in it... But I thank the Valar these days that he taught me... It saved my life more than once.
Along with that, he also taught me how to read and write... For it was Mr. Vandals belief that one must be sharp witted to be skilled with a sharp blade.
Why does he train me so? What is he expecting? When I ask about what happened when the farm was burned down he turns cold and silent... When I ask about the attacker himself, Mr. Vandal grew deathly quiet and ill tempered... I learned swiftly not to question the past and look towards the future as the apprentice of perhaps one of the most skilled sellsword I came to know.
