Dearest Aldor,
I apologize for the gap between this missive and the last, but several occurrences have set my nerves on edge. Even now, a full day after these events, my hand still shakes as I write to you. In previous letters, you may recall that I made the acquaintance of a Gondorian soldier named Tothrandir. Well... I suppose I shall have to start from the beginning. Nothing else makes sense.
To start, I have been as you likely know, spending evenings down at the Prancing Pony. I was walking down the hall when a man came out of his room screaming about being robbed. Naturally, I volunteered to help him. This man, may it be noted seemed a bit unbalanced so to speak. His hair was disheveled and his clothing stained. He claimed to have been out of his room for several months. Months Aldor. Barliman would have cleaned up the place if a guest failed to return within the week. I humored him and he showed me a supposed hidden panel in the wall. There was nothing. He began ranting about an amulet and his gold. After some deliberation, we would consult the Watch. Here the tale grows stranger yet.
The man saw Tothrandir in the hallway and began ranting. Little of his ranting made any semblance of sense, something about wargs and desertion and abandonment of duty and country. He tried to strangle Tothrandir. I intervened. The situation escalated. I drew my weapons on him. Tothrandir was injured and the man dragged him into his room. I followed, compassionate fool that I am. He threatened both of us all the while screaming and ranting about orcs. He held Tothrandir's face to the fire when he failed to recognize the man's delusions. He would have killed my friend if not for the timely intervention of the Bree Watch who heard the quarrel from the hall outside. The madman, thankfully is quartered within the Bree jail. Tothrandir's wrist is sprained and there are finger-shaped bruises about his neck. As for me, my left eye is almost swollen shut. It hurts when I touch it and is doubtless a lovely shade of purple.
Aldor, the madman knew my name and by the Valar themselves; I swear never have I seen him before. His eyes- even now I can feel them boring into mine. There was a light in them an unholy- wraithlike light in them when he held Tothrandir's head to the flames. As though- he was not a madman, but possessed. His body was there, but the mind in the body was not HIS. He seemed, when the Watcher confronted him ignorant of the whole incident. Perhaps, he was a deserter driven Northward by a guilty conscience and haunted by the War to the South which I pray never touches Bree.
On a final note, have you heard tell of strange amulets, magical, cursed, or otherwise significant? The man seemed less disturbed about his gold and more concerned with his missing amulet. (Assuming it existed at all).
Loving you always and forever,
Siofran Breckenridge.
P.S. Give Dirhael my love, unless he still mopes over his lost Haradrim lover. In that case, please smack him over the head for me.
P.P.S. Your father's obsession with eliminating salamanders is reaching absurd proportions. It is unlikely that we will ever come close to eliminating the creatures so he might as well come to terms with the fact.
