The fire burned low in the hearth, the visitors
to the Woo-Hoo tavern gathered closer for warmth, the cries of the
Troll Witch Doctor echoing through their bones.
Men cried out for more beer to out-drink their
female counterparts and serving wenches had their bottoms pinched on
numerous occasions. In a corner a young man sat barely eighteen years
of age, only just past his first full shave. He sat nursing a pint of
mead, his meagre rations only enough to buy one flagon for the night.
His head swam as he looked back on his first week in Moorgate.
A Halfling by birth he had sort to immerse
himself in the healing arts, all the better to save people of course.
But the shine of gold, the lure of a locked house was always there.
When he was tufted out of the village and told to seek his fortune he
headed for Moorgate, a place of 'great opportunity !' or so he had been
told.
His first week was a nightmare !
Too many people, too many monsters ! it was good
he could heal all the injured but the lure of the gold was too much. He
could only just stop himself from pick pocketing all the passers by.
Fortunately he had met a fellow conspirator by the name of Shoot sharp
who stuffed a manifesto in his hand and suggested he read it. It was a
Charter for the Rogues' Guild, Britannicus decided at that point that
he must join this guild, even though his former ideals as a Shaman may
be held against him and slow his learning progress. So it was that he
traversed the Catacombs and found the gift that allowed entry to the
guild. He had then met up with many other adventurers' mages and
guilds, monks and rangers enough to fill his time a plenty. He had even
spoken to his Mentor ! an honoured visit !
So it was that a tired week came to close,
Britannicus a lot wiser but not a lot richer trudged to the stables to
sleep in the hay.
Merlordd intercepts Brit before he reaches the
stables. "Ye are a part of the Rogue family now...come back tae the
guild house. I'll show ye to ye bunk there. Enjoy ye rest in your new
home."
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