A Parlor Chair, a Scar and Freedom

As Aras sat back in the antique chair he was hit with a miasma of must and cheap perfume.  The fabric covered springs of the seat squeaked slightly as he leaned back and making even that almost inaudible sound caused him to wince.  Every fiber of his being was in 'lay low' mode.  The job in Magnimar had gotten out of hand very quickly.  In just a few days he had gone from running jobs for one of Magnimar's most influential guilds to now sitting in an aging parlor chair in the lone brothel in the small city of Sandpoint.

Aras eyed the door and the movements of the patrons....watching.  His eyes always betrayed him.  He couldn't keep them still even for a moment.  He sized up the madame and the few patrons who had walked in since he had arrived.  He studied everyone.  He remembered the lessons of his mentor, Brim:  

"Always watch the way they carry themselves.  Look to what they are watching with their own eyes.  Look at their shoes, their fingernails.  Always look for the subtle clues that will tip the scales in your favor."

"Wise words" thought Aras, but Brim was miles to the south, no doubt four or twelve glasses of wine into the evening in the guild hall, not stuck watching the mage's back in some two copper whore house.

The madame, no doubt looking to supplement the evening's income turned to look at Aras.

"Are you sure we cannot offer you some relaxation this evening?  I have many fine girls who are free at the moment.  For a weary traveler such as yourself I might even give you a discounted price?"

"No thank you" Aras replied and then held a gaze with her until she looked down at the counter and occupied herself with other distractions.

It's not that he wouldn't mind releasing some of his frustration on one of Sandpoint's finest.  Some of the girls had few enough miles on them that they were still attractive....it was that he didn't want to be distracted for even a moment until he felt a better sense of just how intense the heat was back in Magnimar.  The target had been connected.  Besides, chasing after a woman was what got him entangled in this whole mess to begin with.  

As Aras sat he mindlessly practiced secretly releasing the dagger in his wrist sheath.  

"Practice Aras.  The repetition will one day save your life" Brim would tell him.

As the dagger slid up and down he could feel it run over the scar on the inside of his wrist.

It hit him.  For a moment he was almost in a daze.  He hadn't realized until just now, until he had remembered the scars where the shackles had cut into his flesh.

This was the first time he had been free since he was five years old.  No shackles.  No guild watching his every move.

He had been kidnapped by slavers fifteen years ago, then given to the thieve's guild to pay off the slaver's debts.  He had done menial labor for the guild, until Brim took him on as his apprentice.  Even then he always knew that the guild was watching his every move in Magnimar.  So many times he had considered fleeing the city and trying to find a life on his own, but he knew the guild wold not let one of their prized pupils escape so easily.  As he completed each new job for the guild, life had gotten easier for him....until he stopped even contemplating escape.  He had reconciled himself to a life as a thief and assassin.  Until now.  

Aras smiled very slightly and shifted in the chair to lean forward.

He had heard stories of old rogues in the guild telling tales of the coin they had made as freelance adventurers in the early days.  Surely stealing from some long lost crypt was more exhilarating than poisoning some low level bureaucrat who had gotten out of line?  To be his own man?  To answer to no one but himself?

Though the mage assassination job was done through the guild, they wanted no part of the immediate ramifications.  Aras' temporary exile might be a blessing in disguise.

Now if he could just keep his eclectic group of companions alive long enough to get rich...