Lisbaeth

This page is written in clean-cut, simple script, in a plain leather-bound journal with the words "Sefton Heathridge" written in precise letters on the inside cover.

It is hard to write, I just dont want to face black and white truth of what has happened. 

The wedding happened, to early, just few weeks after the first word of this..tragedy. I think my father was affraid I would flee. 

I was called to home to help mother about something important, not knowing of this. Mother was angry and she just cried a lot, as she gave me her wedding dress. She asked me for forgivnes while my brothers were hold off by farmworkers from the house. It was chaos.

(( This letter is tucked between pages of Lisbeths diary it is written with manly un orderly writing, and accompanied with few pages of documents))

Lisbeth dear, my wife,

Nothing quite like the kick of whiskey, eh? Nothing quite comes as close anymore, ‘less I have a blade in my hands. Perhaps the kick of life, but, recently I've found myself less 'kicked' and more stampeded upon by horde of, let's say less than pleased, oliphaunts. But, I digress, I can't say things haven't been interesting lately.

"When you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."

My mother always said.

It was never come to my mind what would it mean till now.

Wandering through the markets of Bree-town, Dagramir perused the wares with keen eyes. Scoffing at the brazen proclamations of "The best swords in all of Eriador!", and stifling back laughs at the weird and wonderful items on display of the stalls of Bree. He took in the fresh air, hands clasping comfortably behind his back as his mind would drift to memories of old.