A plain envelope adorned in a blood red seal with a slightly rancid smell emanating off of it. Upon opening, the recipient would discover the contents include a clump of blonde hair caked in dried blood attached to a strip of someone's cleanly cut scalp.
D,
May this missive find you as well as you deserve. I must admit that I was surprised to hear of your return to these parts, old friend; I was under the impression me and mine were clear that you are no longer welcome in Bree-land the last time your blighted presence infected my town and country. That sentiment remains as strong as it ever has, as you will soon realize upon reaching the end of this letter. My associates picked up on your arrival rather quickly, as I have eyes and ears in all corners as well as every nook and cranny that you could possibly imagine. You have done nothing here without my eye upon you. You would do well to ruminate on my words, but doubtless you are wondering on the contents of this envelope. As like as not, your gut stirs with the knowing of what, or dare I say whom, I have in my possession.
Yes, this is a piece of the scalp of that ornery wench that dogged your footsteps relentlessly the last time you were here. We found her and, strangely enough, a young boy at her heels, asking about your presence at the Prancing Pony. The lad certainly has eyes reminiscent of you, and hair as black as soot. Fear not, Drevorin, for I am no child killer. No harm will come to him. The same cannot be said for this woman, however. Her hands are just as wet with the blood you once spilled so wantonly. I removed most of her scalp, you see. And while I am no superstitious man, I brought it the old wood's witch to roast over her fire. For this woman reeks of your demons and I would have her stripped to the leavings of a mad-woman before I am done with her.
If you would like to prevent such a fate, then I cordially invite you to where we met long ago. Ost Barandor, on the eaves of the Brandy Hills. You will come alone or I will bring your whore in a state you've never seen her before. She's already been a woman broken once or twice before. It did not take long for me to make her whisper. Or beg. Being separated from the young lad seemed to quicken her desperation. She even told me about a certain man that makes your very bones chill; Mordevin. Such news was a delight to me as I have been able to piece together the puzzle of you, one of which I thought I'd never complete.
With the sharpest of regards,
Efram Thistlewood
