Bree

Men of Bree

are free

to be

of what they wish at three.

Being the men that came and went from the Mercer household didn't know which end of a mixing spoon to hold, Lyfrid decided to hide her collection of "odds and ends" in the kitchen mixed in with the cooking implements, fresh herbs and dried spices.  For the time being, that would suffice until she could find another place to set up shop, as it were.

Period: Late Thrimidge

​Time to make up the balance of two weeks of trading in Bree. The weight of the bag of silvers indicate a fair profit for this season. 

Trade earnings of my own wares.

1 Greenhouse grown Apples: 15 silvers

2 Cinnamon and various herbal teas: 20 silvers

3 Mugwort salves:  35 silvers

4 Soothing balms: 25 silvers

Bree does not seem as friendly as I remember. The hairs are always standing on the back of my neck. I feel like I am being watched. It reminds me of... no, I cannot bring that up so soon. I am haunted by that dark time such that all around me seems tinged with grey.

And as Lynxy looked through hills of ice and snow, dreams became forgotten and hearts became broken. Her bloodied feet had led her hill over hill it seemed from the winding plains of Rohan. The shoes were strapped together with torn pieces of her dress in a hope to keep them somewhat together yet the material only wore down messily upon the ground. The coins in her pocket were few and her body screamed with exertion. Her palm clutched at the streaming gash that crossed her delicate face. 

"Could this night get any better I wonder?" Lyfrid thought to herself sarcastically.   She hadn't seen her Stalker coming around the back of the structure.  One would think Lyfrid had the missing eye and ear, instead the Man.  Patch stood there at the end of the bench, one shoulder leaning on the stone wall.  From the woman's viewpoint, seated on the bench, he looked massive.  Instinctively she scooted to the opposite side of the bench, as far as she could move away from the one she called

Laying out one of her better thread-of-gold gowns and a pair of delicately embroidered slippers on her bed, Lyfrid began dressing herself in front of the horrendous mirror she kept in her private room at the Mercer Manor that sat high on the hillside in Arrowhaven.  The petite woman liked fine clothing, shoes and jewelry and spent a good deal of the coins she earned from reading runes on those things.  It would be fair to say, the Seer liked all the fine, tangible