Idiot… wretched idiot! Can't you do anything right?! The young man scolded himself, as he walked through the forest known as the Golden Grove. He had a limp in his step, his body aching and bruised from the fight he had dragged himself out of just yesterday.
He had been running since the previous afternoon, hoping that he hid his tracks well enough so those rough-necked guards would be unable to find a trace of him.
Not that he did anything wrong… unless they were after him for the supplies he had 'borrowed'.
Being no older than 19, possibly 20 in a few good months, the young vagabond had been hoping to be on top of the world by now- introducing foreign lands to the technology of his own empire, becoming a legend in the mechanical arts. Ever since he was 13, which happened to be the 'coming of age' time of every boy's life in his country, he had been dreaming of changing the world…
But, he had spent most of his years helping his little brother. The two were hardly inseparable- drawing blue-prints together, practicing their combat skills, and sharing ideas on what they could do for their kingdom. His little brother was the prodigy of the family- having mastered spells at a young age, always in the library learning all about magicka until his brother asked if he wanted to get out of the palace for a while.
Of course, his brother was so powerful, he didn't need his older brother looking out for him anymore.
And he had to find his own place in the empire.
He decided to leave Hamelin and see the world, perhaps finding something to bring back to their city, as well as show the rest of the kingdoms and villages a bit of Hamelin culture.
Yet the task grew to be difficult. For one thing, Hamelin was mostly known for its warlike realm and weaponry; the rest of the world didn't exactly care for things such as firearms, tanks or airships. He tried to convince everyone that carrying a handgun would help them save magicka, showing them methods in 'enhancing' the bullets to pull tricks they could use with wands- which he referred to as 'Trick Shots'.
But his effort was in vain. Some people believed his gun was useless- as long as people could use magic (or knew someone who could) and had a good familiar to fight with, such a weapon was unneeded; others thought it would be too dangerous, worried that their children could hurt themselves if handling one, or some lowlife would buy one to harm others. He tried introducing it to soldiers, but they claimed they had enough weaponry- though he could tell the real reason was because they thought of him as some shady con-man.
He ended up having to take up various jobs in order to feed himself. Sometimes he would try his luck at hunting bounties, figuring he could use his gun to take a beast down and prove how affective his talent was… but the tasks proved greater than he thought, and he ended up spending the money he earned (from tasks he didn't abandon) on healing items.
Eventually, he resorted to stealing.
It started out with him grabbing an item out of desperation- food when he had hit a starving point, or medicine when he was ill or wounded- only to pay the merchant back out of good conscience, the shopkeeper stunned as he didn't realize anything was missing. When he realized he had quite a bit of stealth, he began snagging items- only when he was low on guilders, or if the situation was critical.
Before long, he made it his hobby… though only kept to food, medicines, clothing, or items he needed to repair/upgrade his pistol.
Hell, he managed to install a grappling-hook into his gun, making it to where it could snatch something out of anyone's pocket without them realizing it, or items off attacking creatures. At another point, he added a 'pick-lock' trigger that helped open chests from a great distance, after noticing a few 'hidden' around a town or two.
He felt pride, being crafty in this line of work… but at the same time shame weighed heavily on his shoulders. This was not the kind of life he wanted to lead- not the kind of reputation he wanted to bring home. He could practically see his brother's disappointed look now…
He wanted a way out.
He almost found one…
It was wonderful- for once he wasn't living on the streets, was making an honest living, feeling like he found his place in the world…
But, just his luck, he fouled it up. His reputation as a thief preceded him, and everything shot to hell, throwing him back to square one.
Who was I kidding…? He continued to scold himself. I screwed up years ago… I shouldn't have left home… Marcassin must be sitting high on the throne, leading Hamelin to a great future- and I'm living in the gutter as a thief…
He looked at his gun- currently broken, the barrel dismantled and the grappling-hook bent, the cartridge empty. It was made of bronze metal, having a bit of green in its design- just like the first gun he had seen that man carrying when he was 13.
He shook his head, holding in a delusional chuckle. I should have known better… my future was staring at me in the face, and I didn't realize it until I had to change my name. he thought, somewhat bitter with himself. The truth had dawned on him a while ago- after he first used the gun to steal from a chest, receiving a common green jacket.
He stopped by a clear pond to rest, looking at his reflection. His hair was still too short to end up in a tangled mess, yet he had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his skin had grown pale, and he had grown stubble after missing a few days of shaving.
He sighed, sitting down. He wondered how long it would be until he'd meet his 'companions'…
Though, at this rate, it would be a miracle if time didn't alter and make it to where he never met them, dying in the streets...
"You seem down in spirits,"
He let out a gasp, turning around. Standing before him was a cloaked figure; however, he could barely make out their features, as the woods had grown dark all of a sudden. Yet he still had a bad feeling about this stranger… "What's it matter to you?" he replied.
"I'm hoping to help relieve a burden from your heart," the figure answered. "Your situation seemed to have hit a tragic point, did it not? It could have been avoided, had your thieving ways remained secretive,"
The thief arched an eyebrow. How did this man know about his situation? "What are you, some sort of stalker?" he sneered, crossing his arms. "Let me guess- someone hired you to track me down and haul me to jail, right?"
"Perish the thought. I came to help you become who you are meant to be…"
"Who I'm meant to…? What are you talking about? Who are you?!"
The figure began to float just then, holding up a staff. Before the vagabond could react, some sort of light shot out, hitting him in the chest- though he felt no pain. He looked up at the figure, backing away, before turning and sprinting. "Go on and run… that is the life you shall carry- considering you are, and always will be, a thief,"
Run he did. He did not know what that… that… demon did to him, but he felt it was best if he didn't find out.
He kept running, sprinting across the desert until he reached a safe-point behind a rock. That is when he collapsed, the nerves of fear and exhaustion getting the best of him.
0o0o0o0o0o0
When he came to, he found himself in a campsite. An old man and his wife seemed to be sitting by a fire, while the thief lay on a blanket. "Who do you suppose he is?" the woman asked.
"Some sort of streetrat, I'm guessing- wasn't carrying a travelling pack or anything, at least. Looks like he got out of a bad fight, we should take him to the authorities," the old man replied.
The thief flinched. If they took him to the authorities, chances are they would recognize his face and haul him into the nearest jail-cell. He didn't want to risk being behind bars again…
The first time he was given mercy, as he promised to work off his debt.
The second time, he made the alibi that he had been framed, managing to get out.
The third time, the guards were starting to catch on, sending out reports that if the thief were caught again, he was to remain in custody for the appointed penalty of 20 years… while they were doing that, he managed to break out.
But he couldn't get caught again, especially since they were near Al-Mamoon- having heard the penalty for stealing in that town involved his hands getting chopped off.
Best to make a break for it.
He remained still, pretending to be unconscious until the old couple had their backs turned- the woman climbing into the tent while the man put out the fire.
The thief then hurried and hid behind their cart, careful not to wake the sleeping ulk used to pull it; he saw an oasis up ahead- if he were quiet enough, he could sneak there and keep out of sight.
Something caught his eye, just as he stood up to run.
In the back of the cart were a pair of dark blue pants, an orange shirt with a black belt, and black buckle-shoes; there was also baskets full of Drops, jugs of water, and loaves of bread; and in the back stood a few plates, cups, pots, pans, and cooking utensils.
Normally, the thief would only grab a loaf of bread and water- not just for survival but also because the couple had tended to him after he passed out- but… for some reason… everything else looked easy to grab…
In fact, it was too easy- an innocent couple, taking care of a thief without keeping their possessions covered or guarded? Either they had more trust in their fellow man than anyone else, or they forgot to pack their wits!
He began grabbing everything his arms could carry- clothes, bread, Drops, a water-jug… everything within reach!
He made a mistake of trying to grab a pot- only for it to hit the side of the cart with a *CLANG!*
"Who's there?!" came the old man's shout; from around the corner, the thief saw him summon a Gruffian-familiar!
"Yikes!" The vagabond yelped, and took off with what he had.
The Gruffian snarled, racing after him; in a desperate attempt, the thief threw the pot at it, dropping the bread and Drops as he did- though he managed to hit the hound on the head, stalling it long enough for him to dive into some bushes and hide.
He watched from afar as the old woman went up to her husband, asking what happened; the old man sadly told her that their hospitality was wasted on a no-good thief, though thankfully he didn't take anything too valuable. "Must've been some desperate bum, if all he took was a bit of bread and clothes," the old man commented.
The thief's shoulders slumped, looking at what he had stolen. Nothing valuable at all, or resourceful…
He watched as the couple packed up camp, deciding to head out before any other shady characters came along, heading toward the Golden Grove.
The thief himself sighed, taking what he had and heading deeper into the oasis.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Shadar watched the scene from the top of the cliffs; after stealing the thief's Restraint, he had to chuckle- the fool ended up robbing a kind old couple with no second-thoughts.
Though he could tell his heart was still strong. He seemed to sense… regret from the thief.
Yet he would forget about it in due time.
He would forget everything- from the promise to his brother to who he truly is.
"Yes, run away, young prince." The Dark Djinn narrated. "We shall see how strong you are… for the son of a Great Sage."
With that, Shadar vanished, deciding he had done enough to drive the ex-prince to ruin.
For now.