#Breeland

It had been a rough night for Furley. It had pained him, and he'd been battered and bruised, and he'd merely only had a couple of sips of ale from the tankard he had purchased in the Prancing Pony. Now, he found himself in the Bree-Town Jail, and he wasn't in the least bit amused. 

Eachna's father was a kindly, respected older gentleman of the nobility. He had placed himself in many situations benefiting himself and his family, at least, politically speaking. He had worked hard to bring his father's decrepit estate back from the brink of ruin. His connections were scholarly, political, and in trade. He was known for his generosity to those less fortunate, and for his hobbies of philosophy and herbalism. He had done well for himself, in the eyes of others.

But he had, in those eyes, a failing which could not be ignored.

The past few days had been hectic. Indeed, Anorieldis had rarely found time enough for sleep over these past few days. The busyness of the Mortar and Pestle gave her time to distract her mind from the conversation she had had with the physician, Elias Dimheim, and had furthermore nearly kept her mind from what had been becoming an obsession with grave-moss from the Barrow Downs.

"It's all 'ung up, ma'am!" exclaimed the young boy, no older than ten. He smiled with glee as the woman put a few silver in his hand. She had found him at the edge of the Mud Gate, and he was looking for work, so she gave him an occupation. Anorieldis was a philanthropist in that way. She walked down the roads of Bree-town and admired the notices, all created in her elegant yet legible hand.

A smile crept over the woman's features as she examined the interior of the property. She stood beside a much older Bree-man, in an older farmhouse. The man had suggested a reasonable sum for the property. Indeed, she thought to herself, this place was perhaps too reasonable to be true. 

I write as though to a friend, though it is only to myself. I had never thought of writing in a journal until now, but it seems as my new life begins, I ought best to chronicle it. For whom, I cannot say, other than myself.

My dearest Mamma,

I hope this letter finds you and Papa well. I am very well.

What a bizarre few weeks. 

I must say that the lady Drubainbess has an interesting nose for companions, though I cannot say that I haven't grown fond of one or two of them... marginally.