Diary of a Rogue (13)

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.

Diary of a Rogue (12)

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.

Diary of a Rogue (8)

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.