Sleep Without Rest

"Brazen"

A word that kept tumbling through Aras' thoughts.  Murder victims with the seven pointed star carved defiantly into their chests in the streets of Magnimar, bewitching a Lord Magistrate, doppelgangers of nobles serving up tea and poison.  These were the acts of someone very sure of their own power.  These were the acts of someone flaunting that power in your face...trying to confuse you and make you feel weak.  It was hard to not succumb to those kinds of thoughts at times like this.

The rogue lay in his sleeping bag at their makeshift campsite a few miles outside of Magnimar.  The moon and stars were bright in the sky above.  It was a beautiful summer night and yet he found it difficult to rest.  His problems were compounding by the day.  Cults, demons, goblins and now the dead mage was not so dead after all.

Luckily he had convinced the others to take the inexplicably kind warning of Trial to vacate the city as soon as possible.  With the bounty on their heads, every assassin in the city would have soon been climbing over themselves to get into their windows.  Seeing Trial with the blade over Garadin's throat put that into a very clear perspective.  Obviously they had been spotted at the market, probably trailed to the estate and then the Kaijitsu manor had been methodically cased day and night to detect patterns and capabilities of those inside.  It's what Aras would have done.  Always go in with a plan.  Always know what you are up against.  That was the most frustrating thing about this whole debacle....he had no clue what he was up against.  There was no pattern, no clear motivation.  Sacrifices of victims tied to old stories of sins.  For what purpose?

His companions frustrated him.  Why was he talking the mage into studying up on the cult and its symbols?  Why was he trying to talk the priest out of selling the masks which would tie them to the scene of the murder in the sawmill?  What had come over them?  Was it fear?  Was it the thrill of the adventure that had blinded them to caution and composure?  They wanted to act on impulse.  Acting on impulse gets you killed.  Aras very much wanted to continue living despite the world, it seemed, conspiring against him.

Was he actually turning into a hero?  The constant din of his subconscious whispering "flee and abandon this lot" was quieting by the day.  He had grown to enjoy their company.  He had actually held his breath when he saw Trial with the knife a the cleric's throat.

The rogue drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep; a sleep filled with blank faced horrors and ancient evils.  He would awake to find himself more tired than when he laid down hours before.

Skender's Journal - Progress

My dear brother Cray. Always has he been strong and large enough to make ruffians think twice before crossing him. My recent research has paid dividends. During the battle in the underground temple I used the power of the arcane to increase his size. He loomed over the fiends summoned by the devilish little imp-ress. None could escape his arms or his blade. Now I will focus my studies on increasing his strength. Not only will he have size, but also the strength to pound our enemies to dust. Cray will become more formidable, unbeatable in battle. The first steps towards immortality.

My brother has always been my champion. If I can keep him free of harm he keeps me safe from the brutal risks of combat. It buys us time against fate. I must do research to protect myself as well. The imp-ress we slew violated my mind. For a few precious moments I was not in control of myself and fled. This was intolerable. I must find a way to shield myself from such attacks. My mind is my weapon and to lose control over it is to fail my brother and my companions.

Garridan and his god Cayden are useful allies. I welcome their help in achieving common goals. But at the same time no god will dictate our tasks or our fate. I hope Garridan comes to understand this. I believe he will. Cayden seems amenable to the concept of mortal freedom. I believe this Lamashtu means to enslave us. To turn us into monsters and unsurp our free will. We must not let her have it.

Speaking of free will, what is not Aras but the embodiment of it? I fear however that he may push the inhabitants of this town too far. His attempts at extortion could sour them on us. I too, like Aras, have nothing but the survival of my brother and myself, and then my companions in mind. Ultimately the survival of this town means little to me. However you attract the dog more with juicy steak than beating it into submission with a stick. When it comes time to put the dagger in the dogs heart, do want it growling, backed into a corner ready to defend itself? Or is it not easier to have the dog wagging it's tail and nuzzling your neck unsuspecting? You are wise in the ways of the alleys of Magnimar, but don't let them become you my friend Aras.

A stained blade

The dagger was small, slender and jet black.  A circular onyx stone was inset at the base of the hilt.  A narrow channel ran the length of the blade.  Aras knew what that channel could be used for.  The hit squad in his guild would create all manner of vile concoctions....elixers that would sap one's strength, mind or render the victim unconscious.  They would dress the blade in the poison and then quickly and painfully take down their target.  This blade however, was more interesting than anything he had seen in the guild.

With a practiced hand and a quick flick of his wrist he launched the blade.  It sank into the wood of the opposite wall in his tiny room at the Rusty Dragon.  Within a fraction of a second the dagger had magically returned to his palm.

"No stained blade to retrieve or leave as evidence" Aras thought, smiling to himself.

He was in the midst of adjusting and organizing his new gear.  The demon's dagger fit perfectly in his wrist sheath.  This was a dagger for special occasions, he thought.  It's size also made it the perfect weapon to sneak into places where weapons would not be permitted.

He sharpened his two other new blades.  The silver dagger he had pulled from the crypt was beautiful and deadly sharp.  He paired it with a new cold iron dagger that he had purchased that morning.  Both blades had been built by master craftsmen.  They fit comfortably in the sheaths running across his chest.  He adjusted the straps on his new leather armor.  His old set was worn, dirty and scarred from the acid of the goblin creature.  It was also guild make.  A keen eye would have picked up on that eventually.  His new leathers were beautifully made and would no longer give insight into his past affiliations.  The armor fit perfectly and felt much lighter than his old set.  He stood in the center of his room and in a flash executed a perfect standing backflip.  With catlike grace his soft footfall made little sound.

Aras smiled again.

Though not without difficulties, this trip had certainly been prosperous.  He even managed to negotiate a property from the mayor.  It sat right on the waterfront.  His part of town.  His kind of people.  The cleric had been a minor annoyance during the whole ordeal, but Aras paid it little mind.  Stubborn, zealous thinking is what makes them clerics in the first place, Aras mused.  As long as the man didn't overtly get in the way of his plans,  Aras had no problem with him.  Aras was growing fond of Skender and Cray.  Skender always had the look of someone with a scheme in mind.  That was something that Aras could appreciate.  Cray was brutishly efficient at what he did, but there was more to the half orc than he first thought.

Aras was born with the vision of a hawk and the ears of a mouse.  He noticed things that others did not.  Several times while looking in Cray's direction he had noticed odd goings on.  At first he thought them tricks of his mind because given a second glance, whatever he had seen before was gone.  He couldn't put words or images to what he thought he saw.  It had happened enough to see a pattern.  There was something going on there, but the rogue could not puzzle it out.

"Intriguing" thought Aras.

A lonely night . . .

Do good, Enjoy life, Have a drink now and again, Stand up for what you believe in

Garradin had waited late into the night before slipping downstairs to the Rusty Dragon's tavern room.  Finally clear of the usual customers Garradin quietly sat down at a corner table and poured himself a drink from his favorite flask.  Here in the quiet solitude of the tavern Garradin felt Cayden's uplifting spirit and began to finally relax.

Today's adventures into the ruins below Sandpoint had been hard on Garradin's nerves.  Between the past few days events of goblin attacks, family infighting, which ultimately led to murder, political maneuvering, and keeping the three other members of his party alive Garradin was surprised that his most irritating moment had been with Aras earlier today.  Garradin grimaced and poured himself a little more of his favorite ale.

Garradin was troubled over the events with Aras to be sure.  He had always thought that once Aras saw he was no longer under the Guild's thumb he would change.  He would begin to trust his new companions and maybe someday be able to call them friends.  Now Garradin was not so sure about his previous thoughts.

Garradin glanced down at his flask and read the engraving he found there aloud into the night.

"Do good, Enjoy life, Have a drink now and again, Stand up for what you believe in."  Such an easy oath to follow Garradin thought.

This was the simplified teachings of Cayden's Placard of Wisdom.  The Drunken Lord was not so high and mighty to judge people on religion, past dealings, rumors, and upbringing.  If a person worshiped Asmodeus and did good then judge him by his actions not his god.

Aras, Skender, and even Craylin were examples of Garradin following this simple teaching.  Skender and Craylin had both proved themselves to be men of both trust and respect.  Aras had Garradin's respect but not his trust and with today's actions - he might never earn it.

Garradin refilled his tankard once more before putting the flask back in his pocket.  Garradin drank the dwarven ale from Magnimar and allowed himself to miss his old home at the church for just a moment.  The fiery liquid burned away his mental fatigue as he sat in the tavern's silence.

The Drunken Lord only had one real rule . . .  "A follower of Cayden is forbidden to deal in human misery."   Most followers of Cyaden believed this to mean outright slavery but Garradin believed it might expand past just slavery.  Garradin thought perhaps any aid given knowing it would bring about human misery would be unacceptable.  And so underhanded and overly threatening extortion tactics sat very wrongly with him.  To Garradin it was another way to capitalize on human misery.  Knowing full well a town of innocent and unprepared villagers stood to be overrun and obliterated from the map.  To threaten that you would abandon such a town if not paid more than a fair share . . .  such tactics were so distasteful to Garradin that they were a mere copper better then slavery itself.

Tactics which Aras has tried to use earlier today on the town mayor.  Perhaps Aras ties to his past were too strong to overcome.  Garradin hoped that they were not.  He prayed that they were not.  For if they were then Garradin did not see a future in which Aras and he could continue to work together.  However the companions had negotiated a small residence / business in the town of Sandpoint.  Perhaps with ties to the community and a reason beyond favors and gold Aras would eventually drop his old habits.

Garradin sat long into the night alone with his empty cup and troubling thoughts.

Some things are not as clear as Glass...

Craylin stood there leaning against the wall of the Glassworks waiting for his brother and the other’s to return with the city guard or militia. The bloody mess inside was as much human remains as it was goblins at this point as each time Craylin’s greatsword would connect with a goblin there was little left over that resembled the small humanoids other than blood and gore.

The hours rolled by as Craylin stood watch at the Glassworks patiently waiting for his comrades to send assistance. As Craylin had the free time he allowed his mind wander reflecting on the battles they had just fought and the situation that caused one sibling to turn on the other. Ameiko’s relationship with her older half brother Tsuto was one that closely resembles Craylin and Skender's family bond. However, no matter how Craylin thought about he could never imagine Skender would ever do what Tsuto had done to his sister Ameiko to him. Skender always told Craylin that no matter what family comes first, before wealth, before women, and before power. Craylin believed his brother incapable of such duplicity and evil against his own family, even with all the animosity that Skender felt to their father he still believed he would help the man who was partially responsible for their being here today.

Then there was all the other weird creatures in the dungeon, Craylin didn't like going down there in the tight spaces, it reminded him of the basement that their father would lock him up in when he was younger. Craylin also didn't like being unable to keep the creatures from getting close to Skender. The master used to tell Craylin that Skender was one of his most promising students, he ever tutored and that it would become Craylin’s job to watch his brother and to keep harm from looking upon him. Craylin took that job seriously for he remembers it was because of his brother kindness that Craylin ever made it out of that basement that was his home in for much of his childhood.

The sun kept sliding down into a sunset and still Craylin waited for his brothers returned, he assumed it must be something else going on to delay his brother and the other members of their party. Just as his keen night vision started to become useful Craylin spotted a small boy walking along the space between the homes and shops. The young boy was carrying a dagger which like the rest of him was covered in blood. Craylin watched the boy for some time till he felt that it might be a good idea to see if he needed help, but ever attempt to get closer to the boy was met with the boy being farther away than he first believed, when at last the child climbed over the rocks by the lighthouse not leaving a drop of blood in his passing did Craylin wonder if he had seen any of it and if this was perhaps one of the ghosts coming back to haunt him. Quickly dismissing that idea the ghosts were gone they could not have possibly followed him all the way from Magnimar, no this was something else. However Craylin promised Skender he would guard the Glassworks and so he returned to his post as night fell, waiting for his brother and the other companions to return.

The question of leadership.

Garradin and his companions retreat back to the Glassworks in Sandpoint after being nearly killed off by a monster none of the party seems at all familiar with.  It's screams and blows upon the stone door left to lock it inside the dungeon echo in Garradin's ears.

Garradin's quickened pace did nothing to elevate his pulsing heartbeat.  His exhaustion forgotten only moments before now resurfaced at any alarming rate.  However Garradin's pace did not slow.  Fear and anger kept his exhaustion at the edge of his consciousness.  Garradin did his best to hide both his fear and his anger from the companions who kept pace with him.  Garradin's thoughts turned inward as he climbed the stairs of the Glassworks' secret smuggling tunnel.

"I am a fool.  Never have I been more upset with myself.  I knew some of the possible dangers of the dungeon.  I knew that I was nearly exhausted and Skender fared not much better yet I still allowed Aras to open that last door!  Cayden bless me I could have stopped it."  Garradin berated to himself.

Garradin glanced to each of his companions to see how they were handling the accelerated journey and see if they were in need of his aid.  None seemed to be in dire danger and Garradin returned back to his inner turmoil.

"Cayden tells that taking a man's freedom from him or not allowing him to make his own path is a grievous sin but I could have still stopped Aras.  Not by force or trickery but by forewarning him the dangers we were facing.  The lives beside his own which he was endangering.  Simple logic which Garradin kept to himself.  Simple logic Aras may have overlooked in his curiosity.  Or just logic to which Aras was unaccustomed to thinking."

Garradin stumbled then but quickly recovered and returned to his maddening pace up and out of the Glassworks.      

"Why had he kept this information to himself?  Garradin knew had kept this information to himself in hopes  that Aras could be the one to realize that he was no longer alone.  Obviously Aras was having difficulty in adjusting to teamwork."  Garradin shook his head to clear the sweat from his eyes.  "I simply wanted him to think of others beside himself.  To see the big picture.  To realize that the three of his new companions had ran across the rickety bridge that spanned across the prison to his immediate aid upon his frightened yell.  To know that his life was forever changed.  People he could trust were in reach if he choose to accept them.  The Guild which had ran his life was no longer present and that free will was a Cayden blessed option."

Garradin caught a sight of Aras from the corner of his eye.  Some of the thief's early confidence in his immortality seemed to have been replaced by deep thought.  "Perhaps Aras is coming to the realization after all.  It was nearly too late but better late than never." Garradin thought.

"Still if Aras were to endanger Garradin's life.  As well as his companions lives.  Not to mention the lives of the entire village of Sandpoint above the aberration filled dungeon.  Garradin would have to do something to stop it.  Perhaps something as drastic as taking control of this rag tag group of companions."  A thought Garradin dreaded more than any other.

Garradin already knew his companions thought him a pious fool, a self righteous do-gooder, and or a self righteous zealot of a drunken fool lucky enough to become divine.  None of that truly mattered to Garradin.  What truly bothered Garradin was the responsibilities involved with leading a group of  . . . anyone.  He greatly enjoyed his freedom and the thought of telling others what to do and how to do it and when to do it sat very poorly with him.  Perhaps one of his other companions would like to assume the mantle of leader.

A brief and very imaginative scene with each of the other companions acting as leader flies through Garradin's head leaving very little doubt that either Garradin himself must assume the mantle or find another way to get the group to cooperate.

Garradin grits his teeth.  Frustration evident upon his face as he continued to struggle with the question of leadership.

The thoughts began to quickly spiral out of control and Garradin is forced to face his fears.  Leadership is not typical for a man of the Drunken Lord but neither is it unheard of.

"I will address the issue with his companions and assume the role of leader if the group is willing.  I will also relinquish the title of leader at first opportunity to do so."

The thought of returning to Sandpoint and finding it's innocent civilians dead due to a mistake either he or his companions had made sent a shiver down his spine and Garradin knew that he would give up a portion of his freedoms for the greater good.

It was a conversation he would have to present to his allies at another time though as the double doors at the front of the Glassworks were now in sight.  

Just one more door...

Perhaps he had pushed them a bit too far.  He could still smell the musty stench of rot from the skeletal corpse that had fallen on him.  He flashed back to the memory of the horrific creature and its blood curdling scream from behind that last door.  Aras was sure that he had never run that fast before in his life.  As he fled, the sound of his boots hitting the stone floor was drowned out only by the pounding of his own heartbeat.

He remembered everything in vivid detail...the mutant, three-armed goblin and his toxic breath, the glass covered corpse in the glassworks.  All of it was so exhilarating.  He had never felt this alive collecting the guild's protection money in Magnamar.  This was living.  This was freedom.  This was the adventure that the old scoundrels in the guild hall would tell stories about.

Perhaps though...he had pushed his companions a bit too far.  They had warned him that their spells and divine magic had been nearly exhausted for the day.  He had urged them on, thinking that a pile of gold and salvation lay just a door away.  He was sure that just around the corner he might find some long forgotten ancient treasure that could fix all of his problems.  He could pay off the law in Magnimar and live comfortably for awhile.  The thought of a life without having to constantly look over his shoulder, a life without a cover story on top of a cover story.  The reality was, however, instead of finding a life changing treasure behind that last door, they had found a terrifying creature set on killing them all.  The irony was not lost on Aras.

"Perhaps I will need to listen to their council a bit more if I wish to survive out on my own" Aras thought to himself.  In the guild it was easy.  Most of the thinking was done for you.  They pointed you in a direction and gave you explicit orders which were to be obeyed.  Here things were a bit different.  By opening that door he could have gotten them all killed.  Though powerful, each of his companions was fragile in a way: Skender with his flimsy cloth robes, Craylin with his simple mind and Garadin with his belief in 'doing the right thing.'  Even Aras had fallen in the battle in the Glassworks.  If not for the priest's healing he may have bled out on that dirty stone floor.

They all needed each other.  It was a hard realization for Aras to accept.  He was an orphaned child, kidnapped, sold into slavery and then forced into a life of thievery.  Trust does not come easy.  Connections and friends are weapons which may be used against you.  Maybe though, he had been wrong all along.  Or just maybe he was right at the time, but the times had changed.

As Aras finally stepped out of the Glassworks and into the fresh air of Sandpoint, he took a deep breath.  He had learned many lessons today.  If he did not adapt, if he clung to his old ways of thinking....he would die.

"Today is the first day in the life of Aras of Sandpoint" the rogue said to himself.  He fell into marching order with his companions and occasionally gave a watchful glance back over his shoulder as they made their way back to the inn.

Who can it be now...

Craylin sat in the chair staring at the railing waiting for his half brother Skender to come out of the room from his daily meditations. Craylin was not really tired nor was he really bored, he was just sitting there alone with his thoughts, something Craylin could barely remember being able to do without the whispers of spirits talking to him anymore. Some nights though Craylin could still see them in his dreams, all those bloody spirits which sometimes seemed familiar to him as if he should know who they were or that he had seem them before, but for some reason could not remember. Whatever the case Craylin didn’t care the spirits were gone he and Skender were together. Yup Craylin was really liking life here in Sandpoint, he especially liked smashing the goblins that seemed to be causing trouble as of late and the townsfolk here seemed much nicer to him then the all the rich folks in Magnimar.

Craylin didn't even mind the other travelling companions, he especially liked Garradin since they both worked together in the master’s home. Craylin even liked Aras, though he did not like how Aras always seem to spend so much time whispering to Skender. It was not that Craylin felt jealous, but it was different, he was not used to sharing his brother, that and he didn’t like how his brother looked that night when woke him up telling them that they had to leave town immediately. It was almost as if his brother was scared. He wondered if Aras his new friend was the reason for this, but either way Skender told him he could trust Aras and so he did.

As Craylin yawned revealing the small tusks that other than his skin tone and huge size were the only clear signs of his freakish birthright. Craylin was a monstrosity, half human and half orc and he was the reason for his families shame or so he was told most often by his father. Craylin was an abortion that his father let live after having lost a drunken bet. Skender always told Craylin it was not his fault that their father was filthy animal who would had subjected their family to this embarrassment. Skender said the only good thing was that his own mother was not alive to see what had become of her family name. Craylin’s mother was also dead, she was killed shortly after childbirth in a slave pit. Either way the family was publicly disgraced and because of this and Craylin caught the brunt of that shame.

Craylin had another reason to have a special bond with his half-brother. Skender helped get him out of the basement of their family home. He got Craylin a job working with in the master’s house, the master was the wizard who was teaching Skender. Skender needed special teachers because he was really smart and was destined to become a powerful wizard, at least that is what Skender always told him and Skender was smart so that meant it was most likely true. Craylin really did like his new job working for the master, though he did not remember ever getting paid for it, he loved getting to spend more time away with Skender, it was especially nice getting to spend the evenings sleeping on the floor in Skender’s room watching him read.

It was just as Craylin was stretching his massive arms that the little halfling lady came walking up the stairs again this time with Garradin. Craylin did not know why the lady was coming back, it was not like he would now be able understand those weird marks on the note. Craylin never learned to read, he had no real use for it when all he had to do was ask Skender what it meant. Either way Craylin looked at both of them and knew from the look on Garradin’s face that he was going to have to disturb his brother, something he did not like to do.

Meditations

Skender hurled his blade across the room and it buried into the plaster of the far wall. In the time it took him to blink his eyes, the dagger returned to his fingers. He flicked his wrist again to send it across the room where it struck several inches from the last mark. Not good enough, not precise enough.

Here they were in Sandpoint. What now? The man that ruined his family was dead. Yet Skender and Craylin's parents were still living in the slums in Magnimar as fallen from their wealth and influence as they had ever been. The only thing that changed was now Skender and Cray were in exile. Skender had plotted this scheme for so long that he never considered what he would do if they achieved it.

Then there was the blood. The blood covered Skender's hands and he saw it no matter how many times he washed them. The dead master studied his craft all his life and what good did it do him? With a flash of steel the master's mortality spilled red through his robes and across the floor. And on Skender's hands as well. Will not the blood ever wash off?

He did not possess even a fraction of the master's skill or knowledge and Skender could die ever easier. No, to protect his adopted brother and fully restore their parents there had to be another way.

What of these other companions, his accomplices? At one point Aras had seemed like a threat to everything Skender planned, however to the contrary he had become vital to achieving the goal. A dangerous and ruthless man, much like Skender himself. Very useful. They shared a nagging worry that someone in Magnimar would take the effort to come after them.

Garradin was a man of faith. Cayden who Garradin worshiped was not as bad as gods go. He seemed to treasure a zest for life and drinking. Nothing at all disagreeable to Skender. He welcomed Garradin and Cayden as allies, for as Skender disliked the gods in general, he called none of them an enemy more than Pharasma. One day she would come for the lives of himself or his allies, and he was determined not to let her have them. Skender was not a praying man, but Cayden willing, Garradin's prayers may be enough to help save them.

The gods were divine and Skender knew of only one way to be free of their influence; knowledge. What could he find in this speck of a town advance his studies?

A heavy knock on the door signaled good Craylin's return. Skender steepled his fingers, "Mighty brother, give me some news..."

Companions, Allies, or Enemies?

Garradin returns from his meeting with the Mayor and Sheriff of Sandpoint filled with doubts and worries about his new "companions" and contemplates leaving them behind.  

"Magnimar was easier to navigate than this twice damned situation!"

Garradin had decided to take the long way back to the Rusty Dragon Inn so that he could think about his current situation and the people he shared it with.  The meeting with the Mayor and Sheriff had gone relatively smooth even though the rest of his companions had not even thought to attend.  Now he had to convince them that "playing sheriff" was a good idea.  Garradin sighed and tried to remember how he had first met Skender, Craylin, and Aras.

"Skender was at the mage tower where I was a slave.  Craylin was just always around Skender and they both knew Aras somehow."  Garradin rubbed a hand through his hair and began a second trip around the small city still avoiding the Inn.

"So we are all here for the same reason but what is keeping us together?  It's obvious that Aras doesn't trust us or even care to be associated with us.  Well that may not be true his eyes obviously lit up at the mention of starting a "shop" here in Sandpoint."  Garradin thought to himself

Garradin sighed once more.

"Why do I find it so hard to leave them?  They care nothing for me, my god, hell even my opinion.  They ask me to do the talking and then glare when I do it.  On top of that they refuse to even get together and work on a story that sounds plausible and we can all remember.  So why do I remain?  Why do I even continue to try and care?"  Garradin looked around his eyes taking in everything and nothing as his worries continued to dominate his attentions.

Garradin found himself in front of the Inn all to soon for his liking.  He was still unsure of his role in this new situation and if he was even required to stay.  But still perhaps he could do some good for his companions.  Craylin needed a friend other than his brother and his influence.  Skender needed someone to remind him that even as a mage he was not all powerful and that an ally was not always a bad thing.  Especially when they could heal his wounds.  Aras needed him the least but perhaps he would someday.  Garradin dragged his thoughts back to a workable level and entered the Inn.

Upon entering the Inn a small halfling serving wench from the night before left Craylin's side and began walking quickly toward Garradin.  It was obvious that Craylin had tried to help her with her request but was unable.  The halfling looking practically sick with worry.

"Now what?"

Free bread

The following takes place as Aras is walking to the Temple of Desna to speak with the Father.  He set out to the Temple in an effort to find out more about the crypt robbery and the skeletons they had faced the day before.  Aras believes that the goblin attack on the town and the crypt robbery are part of some bigger plot.  The rogue is trying to sort out his thoughts on this place, his new companions and what he might do to make the most of this fresh start.

"Boar hunting..."

"What an absolutely phenomenal waste of time."  

Aras wasn't sure what was more unbelievable, boar hunting with a noble or the fact that he was called to a meeting with a mayor.  It was almost impossible to reconcile how much his circumstances and fortune had changed in such a short time.

As he stood in a pool of the mage's blood, his mind racing for a way to extricate himself from the botched hit, he could have never imagined that within a month's time that he would be cheered as a town hero and called to meetings with the sheriff and mayor.

"Meeting with the sheriff" Aras let slip a wry smile as he thought on that for a moment.  

"Talk about asking the fox to guard the hen house"

Still, despite all of his cynicism, he had grown to appreciate the town of Sandpoint.  It was far from Magnimar and all of its baggage.  He had no history here, no obligations or reputation (for better or worse).  It was a fresh start.

Just the other day, he was offered free bread by a gracious citizen.  A simple gesture like that had shaken him to the core.  He had never been given anything for free before.  He had to earn every scrap of nothing he ever had....or take it.  Now, suddenly, he was faced with a community.  He wondered if his parents had grown up in a place like this?  They died when he was so young, he couldn't remember their faces or stories anymore.  Just passing wisps of memories and images that troubled him from time to time.

Even with his new found sense of appreciation for the town's more kindly aspects, he had wasted no time in finding the people and places he felt most comfortable.  The den of thieves on the waterfront reminded him of what he knew.  He understood these people.  He understood their motivations; greed and lust.  Those kind of impulses were predicable...comfortable.  He had grown up with so little exposure to kindness and charity that it unnerved him.  Down on the waterfront, negotiating with Jubril, he began to understand that he might have found a way to take a little bit of his former life and skills and still find a way to make a fresh start here.

"No jobs in the city," Aras vowed to himself.  Of course he had already slightly broken his own rule when he looted the merchant carts in the square, but then again when do thieves follow rules?  He gave the answer that his old mentor, Brim, had taught him:

"Thieves follow the rules when they are being watched.  When no one is watching there are no rules."

Aras smiled again as he though of Brim.  

"Hopefully the old scoundrel had found some other apprentice to run his numbers racket and collect his protection money for him," Aras thought to himself.

The idea of Brim heading out into the city and collecting himself made Aras chuckle.  Despite everything, he still remembered Brim fondly.  In an environment like the guild, there were never any true displays of kindness and yet Brim had done far more for Aras than he was obligated to do.  That is a close as you will get to having a friend in such a place.

"The cleric keeps bugging us for a story...an explanation." Aras mused.  In truth, he had avoided the topic because for once it was nice to not have a story, to not have a cover.  The other reason he had been avoiding it was because a shared cover would link him even more closely with this group of characters.  He had avoided such connections like the plague in his past life.

"No connections, no obligations, no one to rat you out to save themselves"  Brim had lectured him.

Brim's advice was correct, but it was advice relevant to a certain set of circumstances.  In order to make the most of this new life, he might have to go against some of the old lessons.  Aras finished that thought as he arrived at the door of the temple.  He knocked on the door slowly and softly.

"I'd like to speak to the Father, is he in?"

Sloppy

"Sloppy"  

That's what Aras had called the terrible deed he had helped finish just the other night.  Not tragic, unnecessary, nor even unavoidable.  He had simply said that it had been sloppy.  Garradin shook his head to clear the thoughts away and went back to serving drinks at the Rusty Dragon Inn.  

Garradin had been serving these rough and tumbled farmers and fishermen for the better part of the night.  They were simple folks living their normal lives and trying their best to forget a terrible past and move on with their lives.  Garradin could relate to that very well.  

Having been sold into slavery with his parents at a young age Garradin grasped the need and desperation at which the people of Sandpoint tried to forget the past and advance quickly beyond it.  Garradin shook his head again and smiled to himself as he thought of what his teacher, Gortek, would be saying to him right now.  

" People don't need to forget.  Forgettin' is tellin' the loved ones ye lost they don't mean a damn! And setting yurself up to meet the same vicious events later in life.  Learn from yur past but don't let it control ye or you'll be consumed."    

Garradin had been consumed by his past when he had fled into the cathedral of Cayden and begged for sanctuary.  Having been forced to murder to survive, watch his parents die in front of him, and live the life of a slave for so many years Garradin counted himself lucky to have survived at all.  Gortek the dwarven priest of Cayden who had taken him in had told him he was still in need of saving.  

Gortek had told him "Ye carry so much hate and anger and resentment ye can hardly call that living.  This life was thrown upon ye and I'll help lift it off yur shoulders if ye have the heart to let it go."  

It had taken several years and many a harsh lesson before Garradin had finally accepted Gortek's help and finally accepted his past as a foundation for his future.    During that time Garradin had also began to worship Cayden and even became a cleric of the Drunken Lord.  

Garradin felt himself slip and quickly caught himself before spilling too much of the customer's ale but still heard a customer reply "Careful - don't get sloppy!"  

A brief second is all it took to relive the previous nights terrible events once more.  First the plotting of the events to come, the inevitable deviation from the plans and then the fight to survive which lasted seconds and felt like years.  Then blood was running from the corpse and quickly finding cracks in the floor looking so much like rivers.  The four of them stood around the corpse - beaten, bloody, defiant, and triumphant.  The run from the tower guards, the escape into the sewers, the frantic packing of prized possessions and the nervous trip to Sandpoint their place of quiet, safety, and anonymity.  

It was going to take a long time before Garradin could hear that word again and not feel a cold chill across his spine. 

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...