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Tales of Travel, Thieves, and the Occult.

Started by Flint, February 28, 2017, 10:35:07 AM

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Flint

Introductory note.

Recent events have brought me to begin recording my life with ink.

You see, I have a tale to tell. A tale of life, love, death and debauchery to name a few. I am, as many would call, a leach on the great pure body that is society. I lie, cheat, steal, all for my own gain. I rarely regret it, honestly. I am the putrid wound under the bandage. I represent what kings and lords don't want you to see in their cities.

It is then, to their benefit, that I work in the shadows. Which is one of the main reasons I am writing in this notebook. As much crime as I have committed, I'd like to think I've done my share of good deeds. I intend on having you, whoever finds this journal, remember me, Flint the thief. Flint the scoundrel, the scammer. I want you to remember me as something better than most would have you believe. I intend on having my tales one day sang by a bard in some run down tavern down an alley in Essyrn or Reajh.

I've seen more than most men can brag. Gods, demons, battles and wars. Economic empires rise and fall, corruption run through cities like floodwater. If you decide to keep on reading, dear friend, you will learn the story of a young street rat who grew up to become a highly skilled and dangerous thief. You will hear of my tale: Flint, thief, Con man, and for a time, Champion of a god. You'll hear of my good fortune, my allies and enemies, and even my mistakes.

Who knows, maybe I'll make it to the end.

Flint

The Early Years

My father threw me out when I was a boy. I was never what he wanted me to be. Had no interest in being the heir to his business. Cost him a fortune skipping class with my tutor and getting in trouble with the town guard. I wasn't built for trade. I was built for travel, for discovery.

I knew Reajh like the back of my hand, but when my father had his men take me away, I was lost. Thrown out into some town near the southern border. Living on the streets, it was awful. I felt like a rat. Dirty, hungry, scampering down alleys. Sleeping on the streets, feet away from piles of shit. I got sick often. People shot me looks of disgust, hatred. I was lost.

The other homeless men helped. They showed me how to survive. To scavenge. Most importantly, they showed me how to avoid being sold into slavery; information that proved invaluable in my years on the streets.

I picked pockets, became quite good at it actually. After a while I could afford to stay in a tavern, clean myself up and get a job as a baker's assistant. That didn't last long. I found it too slow, too boring. Thievery was easier, and more enjoyable. So I quit, and kept to swiping coin off unsuspecting bystanders.

Everyone runs out of luck at some stage. Me, I picked some old crone's pocket one day. Turned out she was the Chief Guard's mother. He found me, dragged me off down one of the alleys I used to live in. He made a long slice across my face with his rapier. The scar is still there today, unfortunately. I'd probably be even more handsome without it.

He didn't stop with the face. He tried to slice off all my sneaky fingers. He only managed to take one before one of the homeless men who used to take care of me came to my aid.

I'll be honest. I ran. I left the other beggar with the guard, and I fled the town. Never ran so fast in my life. From then on, I became more cautious, and that's probably why I'm still alive today. Those years on the street molded me, toughened me up, and I came out stronger and smarter for it. But it was only when I went to Serendipity that I was thrust into a course of events well beyond my control.

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