"Not much is known - or documented - about my life, much like many other men that have come from lands far and wide to dwell within the great green hedgewalls of Bree-town. I find that extremely disappointing. I would think that the historians would be lusting after knowing all that I know, or documenting all that I've seen!

 Even though my origins and heritage are not easily disputed thanks to the clasp shaped in the form of a White Tree spreading across my mantle. You like it? I bought it from a Haradrim merchant with a twirly mustache. Or did I? Nah I'm joking.. I think that my raven-coloured hair leaves no doubt as to that as well. Or at least I think. The Ladies never had issue with it.

But the way I conduct myself is unbecoming of most Gondorians. Unlike most of my entrepreneurial countrymen, I am no merchant, though I have  sold goods in the past. Unlike my pompous countrymen in the Prince's realm of Dol Amroth, I have no ships to boast either - though I haves sailed in the past. So truly, what am I? What did I do? Why am I now in Bree?

All these questions are answered in the same manner more often than not. "Come, sit and share a drink!".. or move along, I'm talking here and you're blocking the greatest view that there ever has existed on this good, green earth; the prospect of a free drink.

As far as most folks are concerned, I am a soldier from Gondor hailing from the river fort of Cair Andros. The fortress has long been an important part of Gondor's strategy despite its ill-maintained and lackluster garrison. I didn't say that, by the by. Our Captains always used to say about how we were the best in the land, the bravest, the most accomplished sons of Gondor.. but in truth, all the veteran and seasoned fighters had gone down to Osgiliath. You'd look around and all you could see is men turning pale at the thought of kicking the boot a little earlier and losing out on their marriage day, or fathers concerned about their sons.

Farmers, fishermen, artisans. Try convincing some poor farm-boy clad in iron that he's brave when the troll-drums start banging from afar and the arrows fly; maybe then you should be the Steward!

Ah, I am being too pessimistic. Here - fetch yourself another drink, and one for me as well.

Have I told you about the time where me and a few good lads managed to stop that smuggler coming up from Osgiliath? Or the time we repelled three Orc assaults in a single night? No? Well.. then you wouldn't really be interested to hear about how I sailed under the Swan banner either I wager.. or the time I saw someone toss a javelin down the ramparts and pierce a troll straight through the eye. Ugly, horribly big fellows. What are you interested in then? On a second thought don't answer that question.. I don't want to know. 

What I want to know doesn't matter anyway. Not yet.

Ah, but who am I kidding? You probably think of me as a blabbering drunk fool who is trying to impress. I see it from the glint in your eye.. or maybe that's just the candlelights.

But - where is the fun in telling the truth all the time, eh? This town is full of people who wear masks and pretend to get a copper out of you. So I've heard, at least. I may not even be all that I said that I am, and maybe I'm trying to get a copper out of you too. You look like you could use a strong sturdy blade for more than just protection.

And I could definitely use another drink."