Growing up, my family was dirt poor. We were living paycheck to paycheck.
My father was a gambler. And my mother smelt of…nah just kidding, my mother was pretty normal.
Anyways, my father had a gambling addiction. And an alcohol addiction. And a numinoser(https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/numinos#German)(cigarettes) addiction. It’s probably where I get all my issues to be honest. But gambling was definitely his worst habit. Every night he’d go to the tavern and meet up with some questionable characters, and come home late at night reeking of booze and numinosers. Oh, and the distinct smell of “hey sorry I lost all our money”.
Anyways, we had a stretch of a couple of months that were especially bad. We only eat every couple of days. Dad was off work due to an injury, and we were getting desperate. The fellows Dad was caught up with offered him a deal of a lifetime.
One eight sided die. If he rolls a 2-8, they would give him a 5 years worth of food for his family. Roll a 1 however, and they would get his wife as a sex trader.
My dad thought it over. Of course he didn’t consult my Mother about this. She didn’t need to know, because of course, he wasn’t going to lose. My dad was a drunk, but he still understood basic math. 12.5%. That was the chance that this would go bad. Those were pretty low odds he thought.
Well he thought wrong.
I was sitting at home, doing god knows what — probably nawwing on some wood because I was so fucking hungry — when these slavers busted in, grabbed my mom, and left. I was too in shock about how fast it happened to do anything.
Oh, and before they left, one decided to take his lit numinoser and toss it on our thatched floor, setting our house ablaze. I tried to put it out to no avail. I ran out of the hose just as the flames were reaching chest height.
I took a couple of deep breaths to calm my nerves. When I came to my senses, I quickly ran to my Dad’s regular gambling spot to find it deserted. Well, besides my Dad lying there dead on the floor. In his hand was a single 8 sided die. I grabbed it, kissed him goodbye, and ran out. Eventually I found out that my Dad fought the slavers — almost as if he was trying to fight reality itself — and died when one slit his throat. Tragic really.
With no mother, nowhere to stay, and no Dad in sight, I became homeless. I wandered the streets, looking for shelter and food. I of course vowed that I would find the slavers that did this, murder them all, save my mother, and make the world a little less shit. Ya know, batman baggage.
===== The circus days ===
To put a long story short, I was picked up by a travelling circus. They felt bad for me, and really, I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. They laid the foundations of all my skills — they taught me rope work, acrobatics, card tricks, juggling, you name it. My years with them I would say were the only ones where I had any true friends. This lasted for about 10 or so years. I’m not going to get into detail, because there’s not much to say. We travelled all over the country of <INSERT COUNTRY HERE> performing. Unfortunately, like all good things, they have an unequal and lame ending. The travelling circus lost money, went bankrupt, and had to be disbanded. I was back on the street once more. But this time, with a little more skill.
== The Skilled Criminal ==
Back on the street, but a bit wiser, fully grown(at the age of 45), I became a organized criminal. My bread and buttery was burglary. I had no strong moral compass, but I would not do wrong just for the sake of it. Often I would steal from the rich and give to the…me. Of course. What did you think I was going to say, “the poor”?
Anyways, stealing was my go-to. Sometimes I would do other jobs though.
This one time, I saw a wanted ad for a horse thief. Apparently some schmuck decided running off with the High Prince Tha’lat Hushar’s noble steed was a good idea. The chief of police didn’t think so though. “A 1000G bounty for whoever returns the horse and the man dead or alive back within these gates”. Well, he wasn’t too hard to find. Using my network I was able to track him down in the matter of a few days.
It would have been easy to just have brought him back alive — he was a scrawny dude — but I wanted to have fun. I slit his throat — and that of the horse as well. Then I cut open the horse, stuffed the guy’s body in the horse, and brought the horse into the gates of the town under cover of darkness. I stapled a note to the horse “here’s a gift for you”.
I thought it was funny anyways. Get it? A trojan horse? I realize after the fact that payment was going to be an issue. But then that probably wasn’t going to happen anyways since I killed the horse. Oh well, it was funny.
Anyways, sorry I got a bit carried away. Back to Thieving.
One day I took my thieving too far. I was sneaking into one of the many houses owned by Ms.Margarine. She was off in another kingdom — the mushroom kingdom I believe — and her home was empty. Or so I thought anyways. Turns out, she was there. And not only was she there, but she was there fucking <INSERT SOME DUDE> on the side without her husband knowing. I saw her, I saw everything. I tried to escape, but one of her noble guards — again, what were they doing there? — caught me and stopped me.
She knew the situation she was in. While she did have my life in her hands, I had a bargaining chip. Being a noble and all, she wasn’t about to just off me. Instead, she offered to lessen my sentence. In exchange for not going to jail, I was to work for the NSA(National Spying Association). There I would pay back my debt from burglary — amongst other crimes I had committed. Really, she was the sister of the head of the NSA<CHECK WITH ANDREA ABOUT THIS>, so she knew she could keep a close eye on me there. SHe couldn’t let her secret be exposed.
Anyways, so I joined the NSA.
== NSA DAYS ==
Of course, being forced into this job, I got the shit position. They had me watch the high passes of the Low Mountains(note they are called the Low Mountains but they’re anything but low — some tower almost 20,000k. I like whoever named it’s style though). They wanted me to make sure no contraband was coming into or out of their borders.
I would spend the nights sleeping in my tent, then during the day pull out my binoculars and just watch the caravans going through the pass.
The work was boring at first. But then I realized, nobody’s watching me. Let’s have a bit of fun.
So I started stealing. Duh! I would steal a bit here and there from the caravans when they slept — a little gold, a little steak. Sometimes I’d do shit just for fun — I’d cut into their axles, but only enough that they’d break when they start moving. Then the next morning I would watch, cup of tea in hand, as they started their journey and their axles broke. Oh man, that shit was great.
While the NSA wasn’t obviously paying me a wage, this made me good money. All the stealing of gold. Oh and the steak. Salty salty steak. Occasionally I would go into town to resupply, make my reports, and sell the things I had stolen.
To pass the time I would practice climbing the mountains around me. Using my pitons, rope, and skills I learned in the circus, I would climb to various vantage points to watch the caravans. That at least gave me new angles, and kept things interesting. Plus, a few times I had been spotted, so people knew to look out for me at certain locations. If I was going to do my job correctly, and continue to steal, I had to change things up.
Now look, while I was doing all this, I was slowly getting stronger. I hadn’t forgotten about my mother — she was out there somewhere, being used by god knows who being told to do god knows what. I needed to save her. But I wasn’t strong enough yet. I couldn’t take on a whole clan of slavers on my own. But more importantly, I didn’t know where she was.
But of course, that changed. After a few years(I think it was around 3) of doing this watching, fate was on my side. One evening, as I was crouching behind one of the caravans stealing some delicious salty plantains, a bunch of the guys from the caravan were gathered around the fire just chit-chatting. One of the guys mentioned the slaver that my Father had lost the bet to — Thomas Shane of Dingleworth.
Holy shit man, what are the chances. But the chances didn’t matter, because *THIS* was my chance.
While his mates — there were three of them — weren’t looking, I quickly dropped some poison in each of their drinks. It was slow-acting, so they wouldn’t know they had drank it for a few minutes, giving me time so that they wouldn’t catch on. While they slowly choked and tried to figure out what was wrong, I captured the one who spoke of Dingleberry. Long story short, I was prepared to torture him for info about Dingleberry, but after a bit of persuasion gave it up. He told me straight — Dingleberry had died in a freak avalanche on a lesser pass up to the Low Mountains some 20 odd years ago. He said they had picked up a new elf in the town of <INSERT HOME TOWN HERE> and were preparing to sell her off to the slavers in <INSERT FOREIGN COUNTRY HERE>.
It took me a second to comprehend what he was saying. The day my mother was captured — or at least a few days after — she had died on her way to be transported into slavery.
She was not suffering.
She wasn’t even alive.
She had died the day my world had fallen apart.
I fell to my knees. I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she was gone. But on the other hand, all these years of me worrying that she was suffering — they had been unnecessary. She had never really suffered, albeit for maybe a few days during transports.
I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. I was doubled over laughing. What a cruel cruel world. It taketh everything, but tossed me a small bone — “Hey DASH”, it says, “AT LEAST SHE DIDN’T SUFFER. BUT YOU DID THINKING SHE DID FOR 20 YEARS! AHAHAHAH”.
While I was doubled over in laughter, the man I captured tried to get up and escape. He was still bleeding profusely from his sha-la-la(did I mention I cut it off to make him talk?, so he wasn’t fast on his feet. I quickly stopped that and stabbed him. Where? I stabbed him everywhere. And killed him.
And I tried his flesh. Ya know, cause I always had been curious and this seemed like as good of a time as any to be a cannibal. There was nobody else up here at 20k feet. I had killed the rest of his caravan.
Anyways, I decided my time with the NSA was up. There was no more point being here. Hell, there wasn’t a point to begin with, but now even more-so. There was nothing left to train for. My mother was dead. I thought of my next move.
Shit.
I didn’t know what to do. Life didn’t really have meaning you know? It was all just a joke. So if that’s the case, why not go for the funniest shit that life seemed to contain? I spent a couple days in the mountains. I wasn’t moping, I would say, rather I just didn’t know what to do. I was thinking of my next move. I thought if I listed the things that made me happy, I’d gain inspiration on what to do with my life. So I went through them. But it was all shallow stuff. Drugs. Sex. Alcohol. Numinosers. Alcohol again. More Numinosers. More sex. The occasional murder. Money. Alcoho-.
Hey, that reminded me.
During my time as a criminal in <BIG METROPOLITAN CITY> I had heard rumors of a Flasken of Booze. It was like the fountain of youth, but for alcohol. It was a flask that would never empty of whiskey. And it was rumored that only the most worthy — whatever the FUCK that means for a whiskey flask that never empties — would be able to discern its location, and use its power.
So that seemed like as good of a goal as any. And so I set off to The dwarven island of Blooshcat — the dwarven equivalent of “the golden city” — so called because their rivers run gold from the hops that they dump in the river. Others say it’s simply the golden city because of how much beer they brew. Whatever tickles your fancy.
But if there was any place that would know where I could find this “Flasken of Booze”, it was a whole ISLAND of alcoholics. And So I headed off.
Now of course I realized this would make me a wanted criminals, ditching my post like this. To be honest, if I’m braggings, I was already somewhat known in the thieving world for the terrible tragedy that happened to me. That, and the horse thing. Or horse-like incidents. I won’t go into them. Lets just say…I’m known.
But I digress. As I was journeying towards the city of Blooschat, the ship that left from the harbor of <MAJOR PORT CITY> got caught in a bad storm. It ended up capsizing. The last thing I remember was seeing the mast come crashing down on top of me as I floated in the water. Then I woke up here on this beach.
So who are you guys again?