The Path of the Thief

[Timmerfee]

Zorien leaned against the fence post casually, examining some phantom dirt mark on the palm of his hand, watching the merchant intently from the edges of his view. "Fresh fruit!" The merchant hawked his wares, "Walnuts! Apples!" Zorien simply watched. the nearby gate guard seemed intent enough watching the coming and goings of locals through the gate, and he seized his opportunity. Walking over to the merchant with a slight spring in his step, he engaged the man in conversation, looking over his wares with feigned interest.

Discussing the finer points of walnuts and somehow acorns, he chose his time to strike carefully. "You need a sack for that?" The merchant inquired.
"Damn, yeah." Zorien clicked his fingers, "I forgot to bring my own. You got one?" The merchant smiled and nodded, convinced he was going to trick Zorien into buying a batch of poisonous acorns to make "Acorn pie, just like momma used to make." As the merchant bent down to reach under his stall and retrieve a cloth sack, Zorien knelt down next to him, and expertly lifted a large number of coins from his belt-pouch.

Triumphantly the merchant managed to wrestle a sack from the jumble of stuff under his wagon, Zorien looked at him apologetically. "You know what, I don't have the urge for fruit anymore. So sorry to waste your time, maybe I'll come back for some apples on the way back through." Not listening to the merchant's offer of various other sweeter fruits to tempt him, he smiled and shook his head, wandering away into the bustle of the city. His heart leapt as the merchant began to shout again. He was just hawking his wares again. Zorien ducked into an alley silently, and looked at the spoils.

Within the batch of coins he'd managed to lift, a single, large black coin sat like a rotten apple amongst the pretty fresh ones. He scowled and seperated it, examining it further. Luskan, he presumed, though one side was smooth with a rough "X" etched into it. He continued to scowl as he turned the heavy coin over and over in his hands, unable to glean anything more. With a shrug he tucked it safely behind his belt and bit one of the golden stags he'd lifted, smiling a satisfied smirk as he realised it was the read deal. "Not bad for a day's work." He muttered under his breath.

[Timmerfee]

Screaming. He could hear screaming, somewhere ahead of him, in the darkness. It must be just around the next corner. he had to quiet the screaming, he was going to get caught. The screams were frantic, panicked, cries of "Help me!" staying just out of his reach, just a little further. The sound of his ragged breathing was louder than it should be, he was going to get caught at this rate. He'd never had to chase a mark so far before, he was getting tired. The screams were getting louder and louder, were there more than one? He couldn't remember. Who was he chasing? Why was he chasing them? He couldn't remember that either... His brow furrowed as he tried to work out what was going on.

As he realised the futility of the excersise, he stopped running, his breath coming in gasps as he gulped the cold night air of... somewhere? Where was he? He looked around, but saw nothing, merely bricked walls of an enclosed alleyway, darkness all around, his half-elven eyes unable to penetrate more than a few feet ahead or behind. The screaming continued, and oddly didn't seem to be getting further away. It was deafening. He had to silence those screams.

Zorien sat bolt upright. His daydream had become much, much more intense than he had experienced before. His sleepless eyes looked around himself. He was alone, except for a rat scuttling away from the sudden movement in the back alley of Sundren city. He'd sat down here to get away from the inane babbling of those idiots around the Sundren Comfort Inn's fireplace. He didn't have time for fanatics, or religious zealots, all hunting people madly, purely because their superiors had deemed them "enemies of the state". Their ridiculous arguments they made, trying to justify hunting the followers of Bane to extinction for no other reason than their religion. He didn't quite know why it made him so angry, but he'd felt the strongest desire to be alone. "Why do I care?" he thought to himself.

Picking up his bow, and noticing the black coin had slipped free of his belt and rolled onto the floor, he grabbed it. Placing it carefully in one of his numerous belt-pouches and sealing it, he stood up, only to notice a scorch mark on the wall opposite him. He was sure it hadn't been there before. Had he done that? He felt sure he hadn't cast any spells in his reverie but the evidence was there, clearly. Scowling with troubled thought, he raised his hood and covered his face, slinking out of the darkened alleyway, avoiding notice or recognition.

"Who the hell am I?"

[Timmerfee]

Zorien was finding it very difficult to concentrate. His mark was lazy, innatentive, and his coin pouch was bursting, all the hallmarks of a perfect mark, but his heart just wasn't in it right now. With shameful regret, he turned around and walked away, feigning interest in the wares of another passing merchant and stealing an apple from the other side with what he could only assume was a practiced habit.

Only, he didn't have to assume anymore. That woman... whatever her name was, she'd never taken the time during her screeching and slapping to actually tell him. She'd cleared up most of the confusion successfully, and he was still in mixed feelings abut the whole affair. Wanted in Waterdeep for theft, assault, murder... a thousand gold pieces riding on is head... all nulled now after his unsuccessful interrogation. He hung a right, entering the Entertainment district and headed for Jimmy's dice table. The bar of questionable repute was ideal when he needed to be alone and think. People didn't go into Jimmy's and bother people.

Ordering a tankard of strong ale, he took a seat in the corner, able to watch the current cage fight from the corner of his eye, a comedy it would appear, as a hin fought a gnome barefist, like watching cockfighting without the feathers. He pulled his hood up and tight around himself to hide his face from any who entered, and nobody questioned him. That Woman.

She'd come bursting into the Sundren Comfort, and immediately slapped him, and he'd had no idea why. Then she began to rant. Ranting for quite some time, he managed to slowly piece together something of a story here, but it was like hearing someone relay rumours, he had no memory of it, and had to keep reminding himself that whoever she was, she apparently knew more about him than he did. Apparently, he'd used this woman, this watch guard as she appeared to be, to get inside information. He'd strung her along and cheated on her shamelessly, then dumped her ass when he didn't need her anymore. He knew he should feel sorry for the woman, but he found himself trying very hard not to feel largely impressed by himself. "A thousand stags?" he thought with an inward smile.

A full twenty minutes of screeching and two further slaps later, he managed to regain control of the situation. Or rather, Cybil walked in at the right moment. He spent a great deal of time calming the woman down, and managing to swallow such a convincing apology he almost believed himself. "You always did have a silver tongue." She remarked. Zorien had started to like the inherent skills that came with his so far short existence of three weeks. The woman looked deep into Zorien's eyes, and a single tear ran from her eye. Zorien, for the first time in that encounter, suddenly felt a pang of guilt clench his stomach, but he swallowed it as the woman threw a ring at him and walked away. "I'll find a room and return to Waterdeep in the morning." She informed him. He was lost for words, picking up the ring she'd just taken from her hand. It was pretty, and it struck him that she'd been wearing it still.

So sat at the dice tables at Jimmy's, his mind was fairly racing. Whatever he'd been, whatever he'd done, he may well have enemies out there, and he obviously wasn't that difficult to find. He needed to be ready.

[Timmerfee]

Zorien stormed out of the four lanters, watching Surya walk away unhappily. He kicked the dirt angrily and stalked around the corner, slumping to the floor and crossing his arms with a scowl. The barman was asking for it. The blue-faced genasi had somehow grabbed hold of him like a lost child, and he found it impossible to explain the strange friendship they had developed in such a short time. Regardless, he felt inexplicably responsible for the lost boy, and fumed as he recalled how the ignorant barman had terrified the poor man.

He wandered into the trade district, nodding to the gate guards with a false smile which they returned tersely. As soon as he was inside the gates, he looked around himself hastily, searching for a mark he could take out his anger on. The perfect man walked around a corner and out of sight. Several minutes later, Zorien fairly skipped back out of the same alleyway, a fresh purse of coin hidden under his cloak. He didn't really feel better, but at least now he could go back to Jimmy's for a round of cards.

His mind wandered back to the young air genasi, not that he was aware what that was. He seemed so innocent and friendly, everything Zorien wasn't, and he again wondered what the strange bond was that they seemed to have developed. Surya seemed to trust him implicitly. He stalked into jimmy's Dice Table and took a seat, ordering a tankard of ale and sitting at a table, closing his eyes...

"You killed another one? Dammit Paw, this ain't on! You been through four partners in a year!"

"Wasn't me." He sulked, "The guy walked straight over a bear trap, his head was bouncing on the floor in an instant."

"Well we've 'ad enough, Paw, this time you're getting something different. You've killed enough sneaks, time for you to deal with a challenge."

"Yeah? Why don't you let me work alone? This is ridiculous, I don't like being tailed by an amateur."

Smirk.

"This guy ain't no amateur, Paw. He's a mage. Spellslinger."

Snort.

"Yeah yeah, who ain't? And who's this new trap fodder?"

"'E's standing right behind ya"

A figure steps out of the shadows just over his shoulder, as if he's been completely invisible. His face is blue, and his hair stands on end, static crackling through the air around him.

Zorien suddenly snapped out of his day-dream, drink still in his hands, but the tankard was dented where he'd been gripping it so hard. He pictured that face in his head and stared. "Surya?" He whispered.

[Timmerfee]

"Honour amongst thieves."

The off-the-cuff comment echoed through his head repeatedly. His head was swimming, as though drunk and exhausted all at once, and he felt unsteady, even though he was sitting, supported by his elbows. His mind was trying to do something, he felt like a huge portion of his consciousness was bound and gagged, struggling desperately to be free in a darkened room, but to no avail. It was causing him to draw attention to himself, even here in Jimmy's, and he tried as hard as he could to stop the shaking and swaying, taking a deep gulp from his ale, and another. His hands gripped the sides of the table, and he closed his eyes.

The darkness of a prison cell stifled his half-elven vision, and the stench of human waste almost made him gag. It would have done, had he not seen the inside of a jail cell before. In one corner, a flea-ridden pile of what was once straw was supposed to be a bed, and a hole in the ground opposite swarmed with flies. He put a hand to the large, red welt on his temple where he had been whacked, knocked out cold. He panicked. The words "Interrogation" and "Truth sages" echoed in his head, along with the sneering face of a guardsman, holding him by the hair.

He curled up in the corner, preserving the little heat he had, wrapped in rags. He was nervous, but not panicked. He remembered the sensation of confidence, of power and of knowledge... things he missed. He was going to be interrogated, and no matter how convincing he was when he lied, truth sages would know the difference. He was trapped between a rock and a hardheaded guard captain, determined to bring down "The Paw".

He had already formulated his plan, but he wasn't sure whether he could make himself go through with it. He was going to use his magic, his knowledge and all his courage, and destroy his memory. If he didn't remember doing it, then they couldn't know he was lying... all those things he'd done, it was the only way to get away with it, to escape this jail. Janine would know by now what he'd done as well. He needed to get out, and not just from this dungeon. From Waterdeep.

Doubled over with fear, he gritted his teeth and started to unclench his fists, weaving them in a pre-determined pattern. Coloured light gathered around him, piercing the darkness, and his voice echoed quietly from the walls as he whispered an incantation. The culmitation felt like an explosion in his head, and he was thrown back against a wall. His eyes lost focus, his ears began to pound, and everything faded to black...

[Timmerfee]

Zorien allowed his eyes to close. The relative safety of the room afforded him by his new compatriots allowed him security enough to do something he hadn't done in years. He slept. As the warm comfort of the bed enveloped him, he let his mind drift to and fro, every so often knocking hard against the wall built in his memory. Crumbled sections were starting to become apparent, so close he could almost see over... did he really want to?

"They're onto you, Paw." A familiar voice warned him softly.
He scoffed. "Of course they're not."
"Don't be so sure, old friend. That legion bitch you've been bedding took it real hard when she found out about Lesille. She's plastered your face on every lamp post from here to Baldur's Gate."
Zorien's stomach clenched as the news sunk in. Years of evading the law, years of being one of Waterdeep's top thieves... and for what? A stupid fling to tear it all down? "What in Cania am I gonna do?" He wondered aloud, more to himself than anyone.
"You're gonna skip town, Paw. You gotta get out of Waterdeep."
"No ways Laars. I ain't goin' anywhere. I like Waterdeep. The population's neverending and so are their pockets. That and there's always someone lookin' to have someone killed."
"It's gonna be you next Paw if you ain't careful." Zorien looked up into the face of his partner, and the closest thing he'd come to a friend in many years. An air Genasi, one of a kind he'd once thought, by the name of Laars. A warlock of incredible skill, and the muscle in Zorien's partnership.
"I'll think of something, buddy. I'm not the best in Waterdeep for nothin'. If they think a few posters can stop me, they got another thing coming. They'll have to find me fir-" His words were cut off abruptly by the door to his inn room being smashed in by a dozen armed guards. Laars stood by the window, blocking his exit with a shameful extression of regret on his features.
"Sorry Paw... it was the only way I could stay outta the slam."

Zorien wasn't shocked by Laars' behaviour. He wasn't even particularly annoyed, it's what he'd have done in reversed roles. He was more amazed that he'd managed to pull this off without being caught. He was usually more alert to his friends' comings and goings. "Oh, and Paw..." Laars turned his face up to Zor's meaningfully, "they're gonna interrogate you with truth sages. No use trying to lie to them... anything you can remember, they can find out." His piercing glare cut trhough Zorien like a knife. "Anything you remember. You got me?"
Despite the fact that his friend had betrayed him, Zorien winked discreetly at him. He already had his plan.

The half elf slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times as the light of a torch came through a crack in the door, landing straight on his face. The memory of his dream crept away from him, but try though he might to hold onto it, it wriggled from his grasp like a panicked fish. "I need to break this spell..." he muttered to himself.

[Timmerfee]

It was raining. In all fairness, it was usually raining in Sundren. Zorian controlled the urge to ponder just exactly how the entire valley hadn't drowned in mud yet, forcing his mind to stay focused on the job, as ever. Water dripped from the peak of his hood freely, the long strands of his fringe now soaking wet, and one of his boots had a leak. He was mostly disappointed with the collection of equipment he'd managed to scrounge together since returning to Sundren. His work with the Waterdhavian sect of the Shadow Thieves was finished now, and he was relieved about that fact. Waterdeep was a haunting place for him, a city of repressed memory that he couldn't access. Tiny snippets here and there tantalisingly close, but not quite within grasp. Every building and alleyway, every merchant or priest or guard or mercenary would ring bells in his mind that had no clue as to why. People would greet him like an old friend or a suspected felon, though he had never seen their faces before.

Well he probably had. He knew vaguely what had happened with his memories now, but despite that fact he still couldn't grasp the majority of them. It had been quite some time now since he'd awoken in that cold cell, dragged off to be interrogated by sages and found - to everyone's intense annoyance - to be innocent of all charges. In those early days it had been worrying, even terrifying to wonder so frequently who he was and where he came from, whether he had friends or enemies or what the mysteries of his past held. Now he had adopted the same sort of attitude that he had for essentially all aspects of his life. He didn't really care.

Sundren had become his new home, his birthplace to all intents and purposes. He'd unravelled the secrets and intricasies of his sorcerous powers, remembered the thrill of a lock clicking beneath his picks, earned his way into respectful comfort within the Eboncoin... To all intents and purposes, it was where he'd lived his whole life, all five years of it. Anything previous to that was nothing he could remember nor did he care to anymore. It was another life, and he was as disinterested in its story as he would have been the story of any other person.

He shook his head irritably. He'd let his mind wander again. Lifting one foot with painstaking care, he placed it back down in utter silence, stalking the orc no longer. Now he was hunting. His Shadow Thief training kicked in and he pulled back the string of his bow carefully, silently, aiming for precisely the point on the orc's back where he knew its heart would be. With a single twanging of string, the arrow flew in a heartbeat to find its mark, and the battle was on. Magic burst from his fingertips, arrows sang from his bow, and orcs fell face first into the mud of the Mossdale.

He stood panting in the mess of bodies that were previously orcs. He'd forgotten how great this place made him feel. "Welcome back to Sundren..." he thought to himself. For a rare moment, he smiled a genuine smile.