Tailia

It certainly hadn't been the best few weeks of Dagramir's life, by any measure.

Not that he was one to have great weeks as a man of a certain repertoire, where he was used to being within inches of certain death by sword, or the hands of a scorned lover. Or even a scorned lover's lover. But he was beginning to feel the world turn against him one moment at a time, and the hole he usually slipped back down into when things turned sour was looking so awfully tempting.

"-...ye have two days. If ye come back t' Ost Forod withou' a cart, ye're no' leavin' these lands wi' a head.", the gruff trader grumbled, one of his calloused hands having a rummage with the back of his reddened hair, "If ah find out tha' ye're no' worth the extra coin..."

Dagramir laughed, a foreign accent chiming out mirthfully through the ruins. Local men nearby turning their heads in annoyance to the clearly unwanted visitor. 

A rolled length of neat parchment, clearly expensive paper, denoting some form of wealth. Sealed only by a tied ribbon of crimson, the knot held down by a stamp of black wax. A coiled snake contained within the void-like circular impregnation. Upon unfurling the document, it would read:
 

Dearest Ashaia,

I don't think I've ever felt like this. Not truly. Not even with Tailia. My own fucking wife could not evoke such disdain, such hate. Yet this woman did. This fucking woman. Who the fuck is she? Was anything ever real? I doubt it. She made her decision. After everything we shared, after everything that I did, and gave up, for her...

Sunlight finally breaks through the cloud of mist that inhabited the small hide-away's main window, and rays of light flood into the room. A mess, by all accounts. Scraps of text, and books, lay scattered across a desk. A pot spilling its inky contents onto a parchment which may have held information one could deem important, but now was  blotched with black. Words lost to the will of the void. As the light works its way steadily into the room, caution thrown to the wind as the room's contents are revealed to the world, a scarred body lay still upon the bed.

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.

"You killed them, Dagramir. They're dead because of you. Look back at all the rotting corpses you left in your wake. You deserve to die for the things you have done. Yet you failed to even kill yourself. Do you hear their screams, 'Black Viper'? Do you?!"
 

The Viper sat above Bree. Much like he always does. His legs swinging from the rooftop he sat upon, his eyes scanning across the skyline of the town. Yet, somehow, unlike any other day where he would waste away simply watching the world around him, he felt incomplete. He sat there, in simple thought. And he had a lot to think about.