Being about a month since the last entry, in which time Carlsson has been off working in Ered Luin, and I have been doing a bit for recruitment in Bree. The Bandits from the North will be a formidable force in no time! Also, this is the first entry in which I write with new, iron hands.
About a month ago, just after the time when I wrote about the failures of thieving in Bree, I met a large fellow. I was just walking about on the street when a large man passed me, with an angry look. Curious, I stopped him and asked him who he was. He said he was Borgvar, a man, and I asked him if he wanted to join our band of bandits. He accepted and joined, but I haven't seen him since. He may or may not have simply left Bree.
For a number of days I stayed in my apartment. I knew, somehow, that Carlsson was away, but I did not know the circumstances. I had not seen him, and each day that gap extended. I decided one day to attempt some robbery in his absence, at the very least to give him a riveting tale when he returns. I positioned myself on the south side of Bree between the Staddle Gate and the South Gate, waiting for the next person to pass by.
Eventually, a warrior-type fellow came around. He seemed official enough, had a helm and everything. Carried a spear, rather like a few of the watchers I've seen. However, he was not a watcher. He wore armor I would characterize as Rohirrim, but I'm no expert. Anyways, I stopped him as he walked past. As if I was a tollman on some road out in the wilderness, I demanded a fine for passing that way, or else to see his papers. Not buying it, he continued to walk. Acting quickly I stopped him and held up my stumps, asking him to then give charity for a handless man. He did not seem affected. At wits end I admitted to being a bandit (and not a watchman), in hopes to appeal to the lawless coldness I saw. Luckily, was thrilled with the prospect of going up against nobles, and he joined us in good faith. As a 'test of loyalty', this man, Baelus Vael was his name, offered to make me hands. I couldn't refuse, obviously - hands are hands, and I lack them.
That was some five days ago. Just today I ran into Carlsson at the Pony. He told me that he was away, working in Ered Luin with Hvalder (his right hand man, whom I have never personally met). Soon enough he left, and I was alone. I walked up to the ruins on Bree Hill and there looked out over Bree. Someone arrived, and it was Baelus. He had in his satchel that which I write with now - iron hands! How I missed the feeling of something past my wrist, even if it isn't my own flesh! It is a crime for anyone to think that I had a well enough life without them - how folk jest at scars who never felt a wound!
Baelus and I went down to the Pony, and he bought me a drink. The first drink I have had with hands in months! Iron hands, maybe a bit heavy, but hands nonetheless.
