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.

Diary of a Rogue (5)

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.

Diary of a Rogue (4)

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.