Diary of a Rogue (18)

Part XVIII:

The next few months became a series of working interspersed with deep thoughts about what I could do to change the world. I was 17, sowing my oaths as a rogue, and a blood elf that stood out like a sore thumb pretty much anywhere I went. Not exactly a winning combination.

One thing I did know was that most people who come to positions of power tend to surround themselves with people who tell them what they want to hear. This is not necessarily a bad thing if the ruler is competent. Unfortunately, most people sitting on thrones today inherit the position from mom and dad. Not exactly your best qualifications for employment. Most of them are spoiled idiots.

Every now and then there are exceptions to the rule but these are very rare. Trust me, I’ve been across Azeroth and back again and have met a mere handful. When you are told that you are great, even if you are a lousy ruler, you tend to believe it. When told from childhood that you can do pretty much as you please, as long as you don’t annoy the bigger kingdoms around you, you tend to believe that also. Price Lenword was a perfect example of the types of rulers that we had in our midst.

Already word of his farting problem had begun to spread like wildfire. He had no idea that it was magical, of course, and at this time I hoped he would not find out anytime soon. I was still in amazement that I could think of a plan that was not only so clever, but also very cruel. The punishment was indeed fitting the crime.

It was now time for me to make a decision, and I did. I collected my salary, had a long and tearful talk with mom and dad, and packed a traveling bag. It was time for me to see the world. It was time for me to cause a little trouble.

Diary of a Rogue (17)

Part XVII:


After this it was a simple matter to climb back up to the room and replace the ring on the sleeping Prince’s finger. Everything went smooth as cream although I still had the urge to stab him in the eyes. I said a slight prayer to whatever gods were listening that the plan, as simple as it was, would work.

Prince Lenword, I found out later, was first in the line of three sons for the throne of Alterac Lake. He developed a strange malady it seemed on his travels to visit Stranglethorn Vale with stops in Westfall and Southshore for entertainment. He had large attacks of flatulence at least three times a day that started strangely after a brief stop in Southshore. Although the loud farting sounds were quite an embarrassment to the Prince, it seems the horrid smells that accompanied them were even worse.

After returning home he was shunned by his father, the King, who found this problem more than a bit embarrassing. Although the best doctors were brought in and many different diets tried, it seems the “vapor attacks” continued. The King actually built his oldest son a small manor outside of the castle walls. Prince Lenword spent most of his days there under the King’s orders. Later, at the King’s passing, the throne went to the second in line.

It is said that Prince Lenword spent most of his days in an alcoholic stupor when he was not chasing away folk with his farts and smells. Little did he suspect that had he simply removed his enchanted ring his malady would have been miraculously cured. When he was in his 50’s a passing magician noticed the enchantment and removed it with a simple dispel.

It is said that when Prince Lenword discovered that he had lost his throne and been shunned for decades due to a simple enchantment that he walked to the tree in front of his manor with a rope and hung himself. Just like Sally had done a week after he had departed Southshore. Some justice is long in coming but ever the more sweet in taste when it finally does.

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Part XVI:

Now some of you are probably thinking, “Her great revenge was to steal a ring?”
Let me answer that. Yes. However, for you who quickly get bored, I had another plan. To return the ring intact to the place I had stolen it, the finger of the sleeping Prince.

I knocked on Uncle Nico’s door and he let me in without questioning why I was dressed in a robe which was very unusual for me. Uncle Nico isn’t really my uncle, that is the name adopted by the kids of the town for him. He is huge, kind, and more importantly an enchanter. Enchanters use magical components to place enchantments upon common items. For example, my daggers had been enchanted by Uncle Nico to absorb sounds. If I ever had to stab someone I did not want his or her screams bringing more someones. I did not tell that part to Uncle Nico though.

I handed the ring to Uncle Nico, told him the story, and then asked him if he could place a specific enchantment on the ring for me. After hearing what I wanted done and watching him laugh himself into crying for a few minutes he agreed, saying it was a just and simple enchantment that he could do one better. I smiled when he told me his improvement.

I watched Uncle pull some vials and powders off of a shelf. He placed the ring into some mixture, placed his hands over the whole thing and closed his eyes for a minute in what looked to be intense concentration. When he was finished he used tongs to remove the ring from the mess, wiped it off with a towel, and handed it back to me with a wink.

Diary of a Rogue (15)

Part XV:

I am not normal. Do not ever think that I am normal. Someday I will die doing something unusual. What? I do not know yet but it will be unusual and memorable. My mind has a strange way of working quickly and some say I am brutal. I could have killed the Prince that night as he slept and did some serious pondering in that direction. That would be too easy, however. I wanted to hurt him.

Night fell and with it I came to be a real rogue. I put on my black leather outfit I had put together piecemeal, covered it with a robe, and walked to the Seahorse. I stepped into the dark alley behind the Seahorse and prepared. I pulled the robe off and placed it in my sack, donned my black mask, and checked my leather sap and daggers. I double-checked the small vial, making sure the wax and cork were intact.

My stomach fluttered for a minute as I looked around then it was all business. I climbed the stone wall of the Seahorse easily. I peered into the window of the room I was seeking and saw the Prince sound asleep. His snores were actually loud enough to wake the dead which worked in my favor, this being my first job and all.

I slipped open the window and my padded boot made contact with the floor with no noise at all. Poor Sally lay at his side sobbing. Although I was loathe to do it, I sapped her first. I then sapped the Prince. As they sat there unconscious, I removed the cork from the vial and poured a few drops onto each of their tongues. The sleeping potion would ensure that they both slept till morning. I removed the large golden signet ring from his finger and climbed back to the street below.

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Part XIV:

Prince Lenword sailed into Southshore without much fanfare. I was working the early afternoon shift that Thursday when the chatter stopped as two large guards dressed in mail stepped into the Seahorse, peered dangerously at us, then motioned for the teenage Prince to enter. A herald (gods I hate them) stepped in behind them and announced, “Rise for Prince Lenword, heir to the throne of Alterac Lake”. Everyone rose dutifully even if no one had ever heard of the minor kingdom.

Everyone sat down just as quickly. My eyes fell on the large, gold signet ring that most nobles were given as young boys and never removed. It would probably fetch a good price from a fence or just melted down. Then I looked at the two large goons that were watching everyone and decided against. it. The Prince sat down at poor Sally’s table.

Sally seemed ecstatic to be serving royalty. She was a good girl from a nice family and wasn’t the “wench” type that I knew of. She was also very pretty, unfortunately for her. After an hour or so of heavy drinking the Prince had the guards drag poor screaming Sally to his room upstairs as we all watched. Not a one of us did anything to stop him. What was I, a 17 year old girl, going to do against to heavily armed guards in mail? I still wake up today cursing myself for not trying.
Ol’ Salty’s eyes just fell away from mine and although I cursed him at the time I knew he would have been slaughtered had he tried anything. In my helplessness a flame lit somewhere inside my soul. This flame would change my destiny, and along with mine the destiny of Azeroth.

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Part XIII:

The first week I worked at the Seahorse I pulled in over 3 silver in tips. The pay was lousy but you were supposed to make up for it in tips. A good “wench”, those who worked the bar to ply sexual favors, could make a gold a week or even more. She could retire at the end of a year or two having bought her own farm without even a single loan. This type of life was very tempting for the poor. Of course, the hidden dangers were always in the beatings, diseases, and even sometimes murders of these poor souls.

I was not a wench. My father had spoken to Salty, my boss, and informed him that he would shove a pitchfork very far into his nether regions if he so much as heard a hint of me doing this. Salty was a very smart man and kept the rowdy off of me. Of course, if he could not, I could. Drunks are not very agile.

My second week I pulled in 35 silver in tips and stolen goods. Believe it or not, most sailors after months at sea, come into town expecting to get robbed. The smart leave most of their money on ship and bring just enough to get a good carousing going. I figured I would do this for a year or two until I saved up enough money to move to a real city like Stormwind. I would find me a guild there, pay them a cut, and start doing real jobs for serious gold. A couple of good scores and I would return to Southshore, open myself an inn or tavern, and live the life of luxury the rest of my days.

Oh, the dreams of youth. So often shattered by a single event. That event to me was the arrival of a prince. No, I am not going to run away with him or get spurned by him. Let’s get to this part and be done with it.

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Part XII:

As a 17 year old, there are several important things you should know about me. I had become to come into my womanhood in several ways. I shall leave some of these to your imagination, since this tale is meant for polite company. Some I shall explain and delve into a little deeper. First, I was filling out the same way a human does at this age, but with several key differences.

The first was, my sex drive had not kicked in. The changes that were occurring to my body, were mostly cosmetic. As I came to learn, my races sexual urges do not kick in until their mid to late 20's. For this, I thank the gods. I got myself into enough troubles in my immature teenage years. Having some young lout ply me with tale of how he was my one and only true love to get me into bed would have probably had a better chance of working, (and believe me they TRIED)had the effects of my body overcome the sense of my brain, as is so often the case.

I was starting to stress my independence to my parents who politely laughed having been in my shoes at some point in the past. It was hard to imagine them as young, but logic tells me they once were. Anyway, I knew I wasn’t going to repeat their mistakes because I was more intelligent and clever. I believe when the gods decided to create the teenage years they added this major flaw in thinking in just for the laughs.

My first major delve into independence was to take a steady job. The only one available at the time was barmaid (not a WORD from you about “wench”) at the Seahorse Tavern and Inn by the docks. Hey, it was copper in my pocket and let me practice and ply my new found skills on the drunk. I made a killing.

Diary of a Rogue (11)

Part XI:

So that’s how and where I received my basic training in roguecraft. There was no pomp and circumstance involved and certainly no commencement ceremony upon ending my apprenticeship. All rogues understand that the title “Master” is left to those still alive and not in prison.

Most people ask me detailed questions at this point so I’ll do my best to sum up my childhood using these past questions. Yes, I did get Binky later for a present and kept her despite my parent’s protestations up until the time I left Southshore for bigger and better things, voluntarily despite the rumors you may have heard. She did manage to get me into more trouble than I was looking for but probably less than I deserved.

No, I was never once caught stealing in Southshore. The reason for this is I never stole anything in Southshore. A rogue that soils her own bed deserves what is coming. No, I do not feel guilty for doing what I do. I will discuss my philosophy behind this later. Right now I just heard a chorus of sighs on the prospect of philosophy lessons but let me assure you it is vital to understanding what I do and why I did it in this tale.

Lunnassa left Southshore about the time I did and despite promises to keep in touch we never did. Perhaps someday I’ll find out what became of her or even better will run into her somewhere. My guess will be that it will be under a different name since she left town with most of the treasury. The job was masterful and I’m glad she was the type to leave taunting notes at the crime scene or I’m sure I would have been a prime suspect.

Now, we are going to forward the tale to roughly eight years from the above. I had just turned 17 and the tale in truth is about to begin. It all started with a joke. Doesn’t it always?

Diary of a Rogue (10)

Part X:

Her eyes locked on mine, I found myself frightened into non-motion. As much as my small legs wanted to get moving and run as far away as I could, I found I was a statue. My brain seemed to be just as frozen. She seemed to be taking me in inch by inch, quietly assessing the situation.

“Child,” she said carefully, “what exactly were you doing with my mechanical?”

“Your what?” I answered, genuinely confused.

“My mechanical…” she said, pointing at the inactive bronze animal at my feet, “the one you seemed to be in the process of… harassing.”

“Binky?” I asked, blinking, “I mean… I was…”

The feeling was suddenly coming back to my body and brain.

“Trying to steal him?” She answered, an eyebrow shooting up as she completed my sentence much more truthfully than I ever would have.

“Her,” was all I could think of to correct her.

I expected a quick clout to the ear as she approached me, the natural reaction to a child caught stealing in Southshore at the time. With the coming wars this punishment would naturally escalate to beatings and in some cases, worse. No blow landed, however, and for the first time I really wondered what my consequence would be.

“Child,” I heard her mouth whisper inches from my ear and from behind, “If you wish to be a rogue you have to better than this.”

Diary of a Rogue (9)

Part IX:

The cottage door closed behind me and I looked at my target. Binky’s tiny, red glowing eyes were fixed on mine and her tail gave a small jerk as if she were expecting what was coming next. As cute as she was I wanted her now more than ever.

“Come here,” I implored, being ignored.

I reached forward to grab the small creature and felt the metal teeth clamp down onto the tip of my finger. As I lifted the mechanical animal who was much heavier than I expected from the ground the hard way (teeth attached to finger tip), the tears rolled down my cheek silently. I was learning my first lesson as a rogue. Sometimes stealing can be very painful. Binky dropped to the floor as I reached to grab her with the other hand and stood there. I could swear she was smiling. Anger suddenly boiled up in me and I dove at her.

I stepped forward, sack open and pounced on my tiny target that suddenly was no longer there as the bag fell on empty floor. I cringed as I felt the tiny metal feet clawing their way up my leg, back, then neck. I felt the heaviness of the animal on my right shoulder and turned to face her, finding her tiny nose a scant inch from mine. Her red eyes were staring at me in amusement.

Suddenly her small teeth clamped onto the end of my nose and, discovery or no discovery, I let out a scream that shook the foundations of the house. I reached up with both hands and as gently as possible tried to separate the small metal jaws from my incredibly aching nose. Second after painful second seemed to pass.

“Down!” said a feminine voice, “Deactivate!”

The small squirrel went limp and fell from my nose. I felt relief then a good deal of fear as I looked at the brown-haired goblin standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyebrows set angrily as she took in the scene. I was in trouble.

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Part VIII:

 

I could see that even Lunnassa didn’t risk damage to her cottage.  She had built a small workshop a good distance away.  I could see her small, green form through the glass window working on something.

A glint of bronze drew my eyes to her cottage window.  There was something small and metallic moving there.  My childhood curiosity was thoroughly piqued and I made my way through small bushes closer and closer, careful not to be seen by the goblin.  She probably ate kids.  They all did in the stories my brother told.

 My eyes set on the small mechanical squirrel and two things happened at once.  The first was that my desire for something that wasn’t rightfully mine suddenly overcame my good senses for the first time in my life.  The second was that I gave it the name, “Binky” because quite frankly she was small, cute, and looked like a Binky.  I knew at that moment that Binky would be mine.

My career as a potential kidnapper/thief began as I grabbed a small burlap sack from a stack of boxes set behind the cottage.  I looked over at the workshop one final time, saw nothing, and decided to risk it.  The faster I did this the less chance I had of getting caught.

Looking back through more experienced eyes it was to be the first in a series of events that was to shape the person I am today.  I am, however, who I am and like it that way.  I am not one to often wonder how things could have turned out differently.  I have the strange urge to do so now.

 

Diary of a Rogue (7)

Part VII:

“Samlyn Tailor!,” my mom yelled as I made my way out of the house, “You stay out of trouble today, you hear!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I retorted under my breath, making sure she couldn’t hear my mumbles. For a human her ears were sharper than a wolf. Her eyes weren’t half bad either.

My mischief sense led me to the beach north east of town. I had seen a real life murloc there one Sunday afternoon, not that any of the other kids would believe me. Of course, it may have been a clump of washed up seaweed but there was no way I was going to get close enough to tell for sure.

I reached for the small knife in its leather sheath that my father had presented me with last year. He probably hoped that I would take up whittling with it but I had found other games to play with it. Today I was going to kill a murloc! I knew that if I found one it would have to be quick indeed to catch my fleeing form and my screams would probably make it run away, but I was feeling braver than normal since an actual murloc was nowhere around.

As I made my way stealthily over a dune I found myself staring down at Lunnassa’s cottage. Lunnassa I had learned was the name of the female goblin that had blown a hole in the Inn. She had apparently adopted Southshore as her home even if the humans wouldn’t let her live there on account of all the explosions.

Diary of a Rogue (6)

Part VI:

It was a normal summer day in Southshore. I was standing on the docks, throwing rocks at seagulls who dodged them artfully. There was a ship being loaded with grains from Tarren Mill and bound to some wondrous land. That wondrous land was probably guarded by some huge, stone fortress to protect from dragons and trolls. Or so my vivid childhood imagination thought. Southshore was as boring a place to grow up as any.

So bored was I, that the explosion and rain of glass around me didn’t register for several seconds after it occurred. A loud ringing sound was all I could hear in my sensitive ears for several minutes. I looked around and saw sailors running toward the Inn whose second story now had smoke pouring from a blackened window. I made my way toward the Silver Dolphin Inn along with the crowd as the sound of ringing slowly subsided.

I gathered in a crowd of chattering children, wondering with the rest if the Inn would burn down and what treasures we’d find in the charred remains after it did. No fire emerged from the hole in the Inn, just a strange bluish-grey smoke. Old Pauly, owner of the Inn, appeared in the doorway dragging a female goblin by the ear. The goblin found herself tossed into the street, with a duffle bag following her soon after.

“Keep your experiments out of my Inn,” Old Pauly screamed, turning a bright purple, “I told you last night not to be mixing chemicals after you stunk my place up like a mess of rotten skunks!”

All eyes were on the female goblin who dusted herself off and held her composure and tongue. She actually had a haughty look as she harrumphed, picked up her bag, and walked down the street.

Excitement had come to Southshore.

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Part V:

One might expect that growing up in a mostly human settlement as the sole blood elf would be difficult. In my case one would be very wrong. As far as I can remember, there were no cases of blatant racism against me as there were against orcs, trolls, or any of the other species I had heard about. I suppose this had to do with the fact that except for my size and ears, I resembled a beautiful human child.

I later found out when I first met others of my own race, that although I was very beautiful by human standards I was pretty plain by theirs. Growing up, I was constantly the center of both wanted and unwanted attention. It became a chore as I entered puberty, which we blood elves do at normal times compared to humans. Our aging does not slow down dramatically until early adulthood.

Besides my beauty, however, my childhood was a normal one. I was prone to getting into more mischief than the average human child as I can remember most of my childhood seemed to be spent sitting in a corner or washing dishes. My parents, both human, loved me as much as they could a human child. My adoptive brothers and sisters accepted me as one of their own and were if anything overprotective of me.

All of that to say that you should not think this tale will be of my persecutions growing up in abnormal circumstances. Not at all. Everything that happened to me could eventually be traced back to my own actions.

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Part IV:

Rassa sat in the darkened room of the Inn and closed his good eye. He began reading the writing. Luckily it was written in the common tongue:

I hereby begin this diary some many years after the events herein occurred. My name is Samlyn Tailor. I am a blood elf raised by humans in the town of Southshore in the territory of the Alterac Mountains. Yes, I realize that this may seem strange to some who have never heard of me but I assure you this account is true.

My first memories involve humans and I did not come to meet my kindred race until later in life and very much against my will. I did, however, share their racial vanity and to some extent still do. I have done much growing in the past 20 years. When one causes a war one tends to grow whether they wish to or not. Now, I know this war is probably in the far past to those reading about it’s beginnings now but I assure you it was all to real to those of us caught in the middle.

The war did not start with the flash of a sword or a drop of poison in some king’s cup. Nor did it start with a border clash or some treasure stolen. The war that covered Azeroth started with something as simple as one childhood friend playing a practical joke on another childhood friend. Had the childhood friends not been frightened of getting in trouble they might have stopped the war. Luckily, in this war the great leader’s and their followers would not be slain. The greatest casualty would be pride.

Diary of a Rogue (3)

Part III:

Two days later Rassa was sitting in an Inn in Southshore, listening to a minstrel playing a tune on her flute to the delight of those around him. His concentration, however, was on the book sitting on the table in front of him. His fence had refused to buy it since he had stolen it from a warlock and it was too dangerous to try and sell. Or so he said.

Rassa had tried many different ways to read it, under different colored lights, by moonlight, by starlight, and even by rubbing lemon juice to try to bring out any hidden writing. All to no avail. The whole thing was beginning to give him one large stabbing headache. Here he was sitting on something that was probably a once in a lifetime find, well a once in a lifetime steal anyway, and he had no way of selling it or reading it.

He closed his good eye in frustration and was so startled that he nearly fell backwards out of the wooden chair. He could see the page clearly. He could make out the smooth, neatly written common script as plain as day through his blinded eye! He could make out the writing and see it through his empty socket without even concentrating. When he opened his good eye it disappeared.

What kind of magic was this where only the blind could read the writing therein? No wonder mages more intelligent then he could not figure out how to read it. For the first time in his life he felt truly lucky for losing his eye. He now possessed a skill that could make him rich.

Diary of a Rogue (2)

Part II:

Rassa thumbed through the empty journal one final time, his fingers tracing over the blank pages. The diary itself seemed old and used yet unwritten in. He spied many different stains on the pages. Some looked like soup, some unidentifiable, and candle wax was found in many different sections. The book itself had a musty smell.

He reached to the ground and picked up the piece of parchment that had fallen out of the book. At first he had assumed it was a bookmark but upon further study he found it covered in script. The campfire lit the common words written in a dark ink. Rassa read:

Uncle,

Thank you for the payment of 300 gold pieces. When I found this diary sitting there in Comband’s library I just knew it must be S.T.’s. If we can only figure out what magical cipher was used to hide the writing we can figure out how the Great War was started and it may even provide us a clue to where her treasure was hidden. Rumor is it is valued in the tens of thousands.

I will consult mages in and around Dalaran for permission to study their libraries. In the meantime see if you can consult your darker friends. Perhaps they of the B.L. can aid in figuring out a way to read it.

Your Niece,

Rosalyn C.

Rassa turned the script over and looked for more writing but if there was more it was gone or hidden. A treasure worth tens of thousands? Gold pieces and not copper pieces he hoped. But how could a humble rogue read it?

Diary of a Rogue (1)

Diary of a Rogue (all Pages Blank):

 

Note:  This story came to me as I picked a lockbox in Booty Bay and discovered a Rogue’s Diary (all the pages are blank) item.  I imagined what it could contain or might contain.  This is the story.

 

PART 1:

Rassa’s lockpick probed gently in the keyhole of the sturdy lockbox.  The pockets the small wooden box had been lightly lifted from were now empty.  The warlock was a dangerous target but his clothing and jewelry promised a nice score.  All Rassa needed was 30 more gold pieces and he could put that down payment on the small farm outside of Stormwind.

The click brought a smile to his face.  He absently rubbed the patch over his eye, feeling a phantom itch from the empty socket.  Rassa wondered if Sandi would still find him attractive for the loss of his eye when he returned from his adventures.  He often wondered how much differently life would have turned out for him had he become a guard or a stablehand. 

The small candle lingered over the open lid of the lockbox revealing the treasures concealed in its depths.  First, he counted the 3 silver 36 copper and placed it in the carefully hidden sack of coin in his left boot.  Nobody was going to pick his pockets the way he did to others.  If he ever ran into a gnome who was a master of pickbooting he might be in trouble though.

 He lifted the small, aged, leatherbound book from the bottom of the box.  Gold lettering on the cover proclaimed it “Diary of a Rogue”.  Intrigued, he flipped it open and a small piece of parchment fell out.  Flipping through the book he discovered page after page of emptiness.  Not a single word adorned the pages.  Strange.