I can’t remember a whole lot about that night. What I do recall is something like this -
- a guard standing over me as I lost consciousness, after a failed run at a warehouse we were tipped off had a pile of gold relics coming through.
It’s been a great many years since that day. The dungeons in Qeynos aren’t that special, but what comes next isn’t any better: These same paragons of justice sold us off to some slavers.
I guess they did that whenever the dungeons got too full.. off the books, of course. Antonius Bayle would never allow that sort of thing. Ha!
This morning I woke up with my cellmate trying to get a little grabby at me while I was sleeping. Where’s he find the energy for this?
Arias has always been a little ‘touched’ in the head. I’m sure he’s got another escape plan.
Sure enough, he says he wants to get us out, but somehow this time he manages to get the door open.
Now, I’ve been at this game a long time, and I’m not looking to get any more attention than I need. Arias goes first.
Some kind of meeting must be going on, because we only had to deal with one jailer to get the key out of our block. I head for the exit;Arias runs around opening all the other cells. Hopefully the racket they make will cover my escape.
Out in the main chamber, they start setting up shop like they’re going to fight the slavers, and it seems like we’ll have to to get out, but then my eyes pick up on something -
Now, everyone else seems to want to stick around, maybe some kind of sense of justice in taking out the slavers or whatever, but I’ve spent too much of my life in shackles at this point to risk going back. I need to get back to Qeynos, and see what I can salvage, and move on while I’ve still got time.
The gnoll infestation back home seems as bad as ever. Kind of comforting, in a way. I shiv down a couple of the little bastards while I work towards my little bit of hope..
Amazing! My stash is untouched, after all these years. An old dagger, some blackmail material, and under the false bottom, another, smaller box.
I had pinched it on the side from a banker’s desk in one of our jobs. In this little lockbox, a tender note from the king that should convert to a cool ten thousand platinum.
From what I’ve seen on the trip back, money isn’t worth what it used to be, but whatever it is worth will sure beat being penniless and eating giant rat feet for supper.
I had stashed it since it was surely too hot to try to cash in at the time, but now? Pfft, I think they forgot about this twenty years ago.
I had dreamed of knocking this place over when I was young.. but here I am on legitimate business. Legitimate! Just keep it cool.
I hand in the note, and he credits my account. I guess I might as well leave my coin here, no sense being the old man walking around with a big bag of money.
That done, time to stop by the old places and see if any old hands are still at work. Mostly new kids, of course, as this is a young man’s game. A few from back in the day here and there, enough to keep my blood inside me where it belongs when I poke my face in.
It’s all about as nice as I remember it, which ain’t nice.
Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, there’s not a whole lot for me here. Maybe it’d be best to stay out of the game, and live out my life in peace.
No, I don’t intend to die that way. Thinking back, before I got caught up in all of this, I remember following my uncle, as a young lad, on a great adventure.. maybe, before I die, I can retrace those steps.
Let’s see where this takes me.
-Denc Wormington, ex-rogue