It was three years ago. Three years ago on that strange day. Like any other time, wanderers came into Bree. It was the same shady types that always came, until he spotted the man. He had a long walking stave in his hand and his back was bent over. The man had bore a head and beard of white hair. In his other hand, the old man held a small book with a leather cover. I watched on as the man tripped and fell onto the wet cobblestones. I went to help him, seeing as that he would have trouble getting up with his injured back.
Then he did something surprsing. He shouted at me to get away and hit me in the stomach with his stave. I reeled back in shock, but not in pain. The old man was still on the floor, but I was still stunned by the speed at which he attacked me. I asked him if he was okay, ignoring the fact that he had just hit me, but he growled in response. I picked up his book and handed it to him as he raised himself. The old man grabbed it out of my hands before scurrying off.
At that point, I was indifferent so I went to the Pony as usual. Of course, the old man was in there. He spotted me instantly and squinted at me with beady eyes. He went to Barliman and attempted to order a meal, but he had not enough coin. I offered to pay for it, and by the lack of a shout or growl, I could understand that he was hungry enough to accept.
The old man took the meal, muttered a thanks, and sat at a nearby table. As I was curious, I went over to the table and sat with him. He glared at me while wolfing down some bread with cheese. I asked what his name was for a start. The old man said his name was Jerold Delwin. I asked him about his being here, but he said that it was his business only. I shrugged and asked him why he had no coin. He retorted angrily saying that he was old and unable to earn coin. I then asked him why did he come here if he had no coin to support him. He ate silently.
A beggar soon came in and started asking for food. The old man, or Jerold, looked at the beggar with pity. He went over to the poor soul and gave him half his meal. The beggar thanked him for his kindness and started sobbing. Jerold came back to the table with a sad look on his weathered face. I asked him why he helped the beggar when he himself was poor and he answered with these words. "It matters not the person, place, or wealth, as long as someone is willing to help another." Those words changed my life.
I sat with the old man long into the night, asking him questions and answering his. Jerold was a kind man, despite his earlier actions. He did not seem to mind my company either as it turns out. He later left the Pony, with his book and stave in hands. I came back the next morning to see if he was still there. I asked Barliman who gave me a sorrowful expression. Jerold had died during the night.
Jerold had given Barliman his book and told him to give it to me. I was shocked. The man I had just come to know had died and given me a gift still. This old man who I had just met had given me his last act of generosity. I decided to emulate this kindness that he passed onto me. That day, I had named myself as Karthuil Delwin.
