I killed him, I did it today, I can still smell the blood. After these years I finally tracked down the man responsible for all my woe and misery, the man who robbed me of house, home, rank and honour
Grimlang... the only Dunlander I would have ever trusted in my camp, a man that'd actually proved himself in battle by my side. The stench was intoxicating, I dumped him in the marshes and I can be sure 'e was as good as dead. T'was as brutal a death as I ever saw. He was mangled, unrecognisable for what he was... I looked on with horror at what I was actually capable of, I'd killed men before, of course, bandits and the like, men that disrespected me and my family, but always cleanly. I was horrified, though of course I'd never admit it to anybody. half the man's limbs were hanging off, numerous arrows portruding from his skin and I looked like some sort o' bleeding deranged axe murderer.
I laughed, then laughed again, and laughed some more as I kept beating down on the man who had cruelly wrested from me everything I had ever known, the murder of my fiancé, father... and the whole-sale slaughter of my men with the exception of my bastard of a son born out of wed-lock. It was an ill-kept secret and I don' know how I managed to keep it from my friend Leofric for so many years, my affair with his mother so long ago. Seaver, hah! the boy was such a little weed nobody ever really thought much of it really, a man of my being and stature, siring such a shameful excuse for skin and bones? Never!
Revenge... was what I sought, cold-blooded revenge for nigh on three years and now I finally had it, but now what? am I supposed to feel any better... I've damned well done the deed! But then the realisation dawned on me, nothing would ever bring them back. My father, my woman, my men, all of my brothers that died on the 'field that day, that fell to the swords of the Uruks and wild men. Gone.
And what am I now? I'm mad, stark-raving bonkers, in my dreams... I kept seeing? and what would I become?
A murderer and a thief, Fear and intimidation would be the tricks of my trade and armed with my upbringing, the skills I had from all those years ago, from my very early childhood when my father raised me for war. I set out to make the most of my natural talents...
And that I did, the fires in Archet rekindled the madness within me, having tried to settle down to a quiet life as a simple village smith, it happened again. The Blackwolds came. I had nowhere to go and so I left for Bree, I sought refuge with a group of traveller's but none of them could ease my pain, I was broken, careless... Theroneth, my old friend as it happens was connected to a band of mercenaries, cutthroats and the like, and simply not caring anymore I did what I did to survive. I would learn all I could silently, the art of torture, the less than convenional ways of murder, I did anything to make my fortunes from one day to another, preferring to work alone whilst learning all I could from my associates. The art of torture, less than conventional ways of murder, you name it. I slit throats for a living in dark alleys whilst carefully covering my tracks, I had dealings with bandits, beat people up and stole horses. From one day to another there was always another job, always another fence to deal with and another man to swindle, that was the only meaning I had in life back then. I would spend my evenings in the Prancing Pony in seclusion mostly, apart from the odd conversation with Thero, and occasionally others of the lot, but I lusted after one thing that I had not had in a very long time... a woman.
