Every end of a tale has a beginning, and my beginning started seventeen years ago. Not the beginning of when I first took breath, but the beginning of the life that mattered. A life in Baldurs' Gate. The Gate was one of the largest metropolises and city-states on the Sword Coast, within the Western Heartlands. It was a crowded city of commerce and opportunity filled with prospering merchants from nearly everywhere in Faerûn. In the early year of 1345 DR was when I first arrived in the city of Baldurs Gate. The memory of my arrival still remains vividly clear as if it was yesterday.
The night was young, the fog was thick, I had just stepped off from a ship and strolled around the docks until I asked a sailor named Captain Deudermont for work. He wasn't hiring at the time, but directed me to the East Harbor and told me to find Malt'z, further informing me that if it was work I sought, it was there that I should pay a visit. Walking along the East Harbor in the dead of the night, one had to constantly watch ones surroundings. There were far too many dark alleys and narrow paths, such elements far too easily for any thief to take advantage of. After finding Malt's shop I entered pushing the old wooden door fast seeing a harden faced man behind a counter. He offered one job then, to pick up supplies from Beregost from another smithy. With less then five hundred gold to my name, I was eager for more. I found the street that lead me out of the east gate and followed the road that lead me to Wyrm's Crossing. It was a massive double bridge structure that spans the River Chionthar just outside Baldur's Gate. I had been weary and tired at this point, but I had no place to stay. I soon came upon a campfire as I crossed the bridge. Seeing several people gathered around the fire. I dared an approach to ask directions to Beregost. The unknown faces gave me the directions but had explained the distance was far, and more dangerous during the night. They further explained that it be best that I save such a travel after a nights rest and best that I had company.
I returned to the city soon after, finding a patch of grass surrounded by hedges next to the Elfsong tavern where I sat and watched people pass by from a distance. I saw merchants, minstrels and various adventurers and even knights. I even saw a man, clad in all black with a hood pulled low that concealed much of his face. He walked up to a bulletin board reading notices and whatever bounties that was posted. I remember being curious of his intentions, wondering what he sought to find on that board. I never learned whom that man was, nor did I ever see him again but I made a mental note to visit that board after I had some sleep. Little did I know it was that very board that would start me off in a journey of my new beginning. A beginning of my tales in Baldur's Gate.
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
Sometimes fate is like a strange, unpopular tavern filled with barmaids who brings you a drink you never asked for and don't always like. Other times fate doesn't place you where you had wish to be, instead, it places you where your suppose to be. It had been three days and four nights since my arrival to Baldurs. I ventured in the Hilltop ruins, using stealth and guile to maneuver around the dim lit corridors looking for valuable finds. The ruins had been a dwelling for Kobolds. I wore simple leathers at the time, nor did anything I possess was of any magical enchantments , I was as mundane as mundane goes but not without resources. Traps had been my ally.
A proper well placed trap could be fatal to anyone. I had used traps that exploded with acid, paired with traps that tangled their feet. It was a perfect combination, hurt them badly, immobilize them after, then run my blade through their backs after until they fell lifelessly on the stone floor. Sometimes I found myself crossing blades or dodging crossbow bolts. I had enough agility to handle two Kobolds at once. What minor wounds I would suffer from fighting pairs was easily mended with my healing supplies of magical curing potions. My combat experience from each fight improved , I was using less traps, becoming more daring and bold. If they didn't see me coming, they surely died quicker. I was starting to feel like death itself. A fatal end for the Kobolds. But due to my eagerness to cut as many as I could down, I had made too much noise. More Kobolds were alerted by the sounds of fighting and I was becoming outnumbered, and worst of all, I had one potion left. Life is full of running. The key to a life lived or an existence tolerated is held in the single decision as to the direction in which we will run.
And I ran down the maze of corridors in those ruins as crossbow bolts zipped past my head. It was soon that I lost the chasing band of Kobolds and rushed out of the entrance of the ruins with many wounds and injuries. And just after I drank my very last potion to cure some of my injuries, I got ambushed by a pack of hungry wolves. I was already badly injured, but still clung to my sword. If the wolves were going to feast upon my corpse, they would have to earn it with a fierce fight. Fending off a pack of hungry wolves in that moment was no easy feat. Their claws and fangs found my flesh, I was exhausted from my fighting with the Kobolds, the loss of blood only made me slower and weaker. But by sheer determination and desperation I manage to slay each wolf but I couldn't feel any sense of triumph. Because I was dying, bleeding out, I couldn't even move, I had no strength left to even try, I had nothing to heal myself. I simply laid in the grass saturated with my own blood waiting for my death. How pitiful I was, it had not even been a tenday of my arrival and I was at deaths door. By cursed wolves.... My breath was shallow, I closed my eyes because that very night there wasn't even a moon look at. I was ready to die. But it was at that moment I heard something. What I heard would forever be etched into memory. What I heard was the end of the silly worthless life I knew, and the birth of a new life that I would call my rebirth. What I heard was the beginning of one of the many complicated tales in the Sword Coast. What I had heard was simply....
"Psst..."
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
"Psst..." That very sound I would never forget. There I was laying in my own blood, the life seeping out of me and again I heard .."Psst.." I barely opened my eyes and looked around but saw no one. Yet I still managed to ask..."Who's there?"....and it was then I got a reply..."You don't look so good there, your bleeding all over the place, better do something about that before more wolves arrive." I barely managed a smirk before I answered in return .."I have no more potions.". The voice said .."Guess your in a very bad situation." I barely had the strength to be annoyed about the mockery but I did manage to feel something else. Desperation. "Well then are you going to help me or simply talk to me to death?". "Help you?.. I can help you but what's in it for me?" Those words could had easily came from the mouth of a devil I had thought. It alone made me realize just what sort of person I was speaking too. A person of coins, a person that would enjoy having me in their debt. I was growing desperate all the while, it likely wouldn't be long before more wolves pick up my bloody scent. "You can take all the coins that I have for exchange for your help."...Coins..often the means to get what one wants, but not this time. "Coins?....." The voice laughed as if I made a jest. "I doubt you even have enough coins to satisfy me, after all, I'll be saving your very neck boy." In the distance wolves had howled, it was only a matter of time, my desperation once again grew. I'm not a man that is afraid of death, but I didn't want to die by damn wolves. "Fine then! A life for a life...save me, and you can consider my life yours!" The next words that came from the unseen person told me everything. It told me that I fell right into their hands. The muffled tone of their voice soon changed, cunning, manipulating, I wouldn't even be surprised if the overwhelming numbers of Kobold's was their very doing, or the timing of the wolves. Everything seemed far too perfect if I looked at the situation from their view. "Hmm..a life for a life..now that is a very satisfying offer. Okay then...I agree to such terms."
The source of that very cunning voice soon materialized from the nearby shadows, almost mystically. When they had approached I knew then for sure, I had played right into their design. They turned out to be a halfling, the proportions of a woman. If I had the strength to smirk, I wouldn't have. Because everything about this very scene told me it was designed as if plotted out by fate. I knew that my life was about to change forever. What I didn't know , was just how much it was going to change. A contract is only as good as the people signing it. A professional who doesn't deliver as committed is not just lazy, he is a liar. A promise is a spiritual verbal contract. And to any real professional, promises are meant to be kept.
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
It had been three days and four nights since I had given up my life to service to an unknown halfling woman that had saved my life. Back then I knew I was going to be used to her advantage, I knew I would be ordered to do risky things that would either end with me in prison if not the gallows. Consequences all of it and I had accepted it all. You see in my eyes a man has but few things in the world, their word is one of them. A man that cant keep his word, is not a man at all.
I stood near the Elfsong tavern in the thick of night after a day with my companions of three. I was debating to enter the tavern for a drink and socialize, or head to the Blushing Mermaid for a drink and a meal until sudden I felt a note slipped into my hand. I quickly looked around, trying to determine which passerby had slipped me the note. I couldn't make out anyone, it was as if a ghost slipped me the note. I hastily found a secluded area to privately read the note. It was a simple note that read..
"Find and Identify a gnome named Foggy McGee,
obtain a set of clothes that matches what he wears.
You will be given three days to complete your task."
As soon as I finished reading the note, I had it burned to ashes. I comprehended the instructions but not the reason, nor did it matter. I gave my life in service and had the wit to understand I shouldn't question it. It was a task and tasks given are tasks to get done. It took me the second day to find the mark. I had spent the first day asking adventurers in the Elfsong or campfires outside the city. I was careful not to bring up my inquire out of the blue to avoid any suspicion on why a new face was asking around for a person who I later found out was quite the popular man. When I was given the description of what he looked like, I was amused for little did I know, I had already met the man before I was given the task. He had passed me on the streets in the East Harbor, tipping his red wizards hat in a passing greeting. I had the man identified, I had just needed to find him and get close to take a good look at what he wore. The opportunity came when one night he stood outside the Weave Masters tower, simply enjoying the air and smoking his pipe.
I wore common clothes, before I made my approach, engaging in small chatter. He gave me his name and explained how he was a mage, and was a member of the Weave Masters. He talked funny, but it didn't matter, I just needed to keep him talking as I took in everything he wore. The red wizards hat, the blue traveling robes, a small backpack, and most notably the bright red boots. The gnome looked rather silly to me, but nor did that matter either. Judging his appearance wasn't the task. Once I took his outfit to memory, I concluded the conversations and said I needed to retire for the night. The gnome even offered me to join the Weave Masters. But I declined. As far as I understood it, I had already belonged to someone else now, even if I didn't know whom they were. I had later spent most of my coins obtaining and fashioning a set of clothes identical as what the mark had worn. There was only one thing left to do. Wait to see who comes asking for the clothes. I was but a small man in a large city in a big world, that had a simple harmless task. But was it harmless really? It would be nearly a year later that I would learn such a small act of obtaining a copy of the gnomes clothes, would play a crucial part for someone else to infiltrate the Weave Masters Tower. I had been nothing more than a tool. A tool in someone's grand scheme. Yet I felt nothing about it at all. Because tools are best made without emotions.
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
Rogue's..Rogue's are often in nearly every city, they operate as burglars, pickpockets, locksmiths, investigators, or treasure hunters. They been called other names, like the crudest one..thief. At least that's how I feel about the word. The word lacks flavor in my opinion. Truth is however I myself was once a thief. I've robbed people, places, I picked pockets, still do to this very day honestly. They say old habits are difficult to be rid of. I agree. But I'm no mere thief, I'm much more than that. Some has called me a simply murderer, which seems rather barbaric to my ears, some call me a spy. Both definitions in my opinion seems mild like a weak spice intent to add flavor to food. I like to consider myself an Operator...a Professional...an Artist.
A thief will try to use their knowledge of the streets and analyze all the common individuals around for their advantage to try to get close enough to eavesdrop on a groups conversation in hopes to hear a loose lip that let slip something intriguing or informative to hear from a distance.
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
Rogue's..Rogue's are often in nearly every city, they operate as burglars, pickpockets, locksmiths, investigators, or treasure hunters. They been called other names, like the crudest one..thief. At least that's how I feel about the word. The word lacks flavor in my opinion. Truth is however I myself was once a thief. I've robbed people, places, I picked pockets, still do to this very day honestly. They say old habits are difficult to be rid of. I agree. But I'm no mere thief, I'm much more than that. Some has called me a simply murderer, which seems rather barbaric to my ears, some call me a spy. Both definitions in my opinion seems mild like a weak spice intent to add flavor to food. I like to consider myself an Operator...a Professional...an Artist.
A thief will try to use their knowledge of the streets and analyze all the common individuals around for their advantage to try to get close enough to eavesdrop on a groups conversation in hopes to hear a loose lip that let slip something intriguing or informative to hear from a distance.
An Assassin will use the cover of darkness and their highly trained ability to remain unseen to lurk in the shadows near such a group to overhear such intriguing and informative conversations. They are the most daring, and if highly skilled, one of the most successful for such a job.
But I on the other hand is beyond both. Experience and constant repetitive efforts brings about a level of mystical abilities only a rare few even know how to perform. I don't need to get close enough to eavesdrop on conversations, nor do I need the cover of darkness and dim lights to use some innate ability to lurk in the shadows in hopes to overhear someone's careless lips. Oh no, those are all child's play. There are those that would be in the thick of the conversation, directing the talks to tell exactly what they want to hear. These are the ones that can start wars from afar with but words. Sometimes they obtain a level of professionalism so great, they don't even need to physically be in the crowd. Instead they can even be in the comfort of their own home.
I've trained generations of men and woman to reach such level of art.. A mastery almost considered mythical and magical, however its neither. Murderer? How insulting. If a murderer is someone who takes a human life deliberately and without legal justification, then what do you call someone when they can silence an abundance of people? I've known a woman that nearly exterminated an entire cult by herself. The amount of people I have made .."Disappear" is countless. And each one I have felt was justified. Yes it may be debatable but the fact remains the work was done and it was necessary so.
Their are others in the world that has been responsible for the death of many. The only difference between those like me and them, is night and day. People like myself left no trails, no crumbs to follow. Only suspicions and speculations are left in our wake. That is how we differ. That is why I am an artist. I don't kill for the thrill of it, nor do I do it to gain power. I do it because either I or someone deemed it a necessary to our cycle of society. As meaningful as it is to create life, its equally so to sometimes extinguish it.
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity. Some like to claim the term that we are thick as thieves. And assume we are all very close and we respect each other. A fools fantasy if I ever heard of one. Not all thieves see eye to eye, lone rogues, are agents and elements of their own. Houseless thieves that hunts for the thrill of a job and boasts of how skillful they maybe. They live meaningless lives really in my opinion. The eagerness to snatch a purse, the thrill to pull off a job , to avoid the gallows by the hands of law. Such average traits often considered beneath of those that prefer a more artistic way of things.
For many years I've sought out dozens after dozens of these untrained simple minded thieves. Sometimes I enticed them with interest or gave them a goal of something really meaningful in their lives, other times I took them by force or manipulation. I risen their skills and feats to new heights to a become a work of art, to become perfection far beyond their meager limits. For many years I spent countless hours in the night keeping watch of those with interesting skills, with interesting mindsets. I would watch from the nearby shadows, I'd listen to their conversations, learn whom their friends are, who they associate with. I'd lurk after them in forgotten ruins, old caves, and even dungeons. All seemed rather basic of information to the average person, but they tell so much about an individual. I learn their strengths, their weakness, their many mistakes if not countless compared, by that I learned just how I plot to engage them, how to grip their interest that would always conclude in their absolute loyalty. Over a decade I've prospected so many, trained even more. Those that I had ever trained became tools of perfection, mastery of their own traits and craft. Snatching a coin purse, slipping unseen in a building and spying on hushed whispers became such child's play that it became a half witted effort. I their mentor, they my students, my loyalists, my Family. Even those that vowed never to end a persons life, I've made them into a perfect blade, an instrument of destruction. A man that can turn a heart over, is a very dangerous man indeed.
I even remember the time I corrupted a Paladin of one of the many temples in the city. When you learn much of a person to even become the person, you know just how to bend them to your very will. That is a work of art that only few could ever master.
"You want my name? Fine I shall give you my name if it appease's you before your death"
