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.