In a time where monarchs ruled magical kingdoms, fair maidens went on magnificent adventures, and handsome knights slew evil dragons, there lived a more notoriously known group.

A group, who, by all means, were no more evil than you or I. But time has a despicable way of portraying such characters. Their lot, placed far below the normal fairytale, is a tale of adventure, possible mutiny, and an ever present lack of good drink.

This is their story.

Simon, the Storyteller

Chapter 1

Lamplights dotted the streets of Port Canon, keeping the creeping darkness at bay. Waves gently washed against the beach; a lone seagull flew over the nearby houses. An ominous silence had settled.

During the midst of that fateful night, a small canoe was making its way through the lapping waves. In the stern sat, Thayet of Torten, a proud young woman; a white scar adorned the left side of her forehead, her mousy brown hair hung in wet locks, her ocean-blue eyes danced mischievously, and her mouth was curved in an impish smile. Her clothes had most definitely seen better days; her violet headband was nearly in shreds, her once-white shirt was almost thread-bare, and her breeches were pitiful and soaking.

Rori Dalor, heiress of the house of Cemblewood, restlessly laid on her bedroll.

Beads of sweat hung on her brow, as she restlessly threw the covers of her sticky body and got to her feet.

She needed a breath of fresh air.

As she stepped through the numerous rooms and hallways, Rori glanced wearily at the walls. Stern faces glanced back. Da had insisted on putting the paintings of every one of their ancestors on this particular wall. Every duke and duchess, count and countess, and lord and lady. Every one of them had been rich and respected, the two things she had been taught repeatedly to seek after.

Finally, the cool open air. A much sought after breeze flew by, ruffling her lacy nightdress. Rori smiled –

Then stiffened. Call her paranoid, but wasn't that a gun sticking in her left shoulder?

"Hello, love."

Rori stiffened.

"Foolish time to be out alone, isn't it, dearie?"

She scowled fiercely, "Seeing as this place will be swarming with guards in but a few moments, it would be highly advisable to let me go."

The thief pretended to ponder her words for a moment. "Let me think about it…" He stroked his chin. "No."

Then, "Come on, dearie. Just tell me where your daddy keeps the safe, and all will be well."

Rori scowled. She turned around and came face to face with him. The thief's twinkling eyes looked oh-so-annoyingly amused. Rori frowned, and then stomped down on his left foot, with all her might.

"Confound it, girl!" He yelped, clutching his ill-treated foot. But Rori didn't hear him because she was hurrying out of the yard, with all the speed her legs would give her.

Thayet sauntered past the rather corpulent man with the rather expensive-looking pocket watch, then did a double take.

Well, this was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

The Next Day

How did she get in this mess? Wasn't it just yesterday she was sailing the seas, free as a bird? Now she was in jail, soon to be hanged.

But that was no matter. She would escape this filthy prison. She would get back to the court. Luke wouldn't let her down.

Rori dejectedly sat at the docks, feet dangling of the edge and in serious danger of dipping into the deliciously cold water. Life was drab. She needed something to excite her, something to shake up this old, boring town. What she needed, Rori decided, was an adventure. But that was a foolish thought, because nothing out of the ordinary happened in Port Canon. People here considered adventures some sort of abomination. They disliked them so, preferring to stay at home, in their little town. Adventures were unquestionably frowned upon.

"Rori! That you?"

She turned around and spied a short, slightly plump figure hurrying toward her.

Rori squinted, then grinned, "Hello, Charlotte."

Charlotte was the daughter of the village grocer, and had lived her whole life in Port Canon. She was only four years older then Rori's twenty two, but, though no one knew it, she secretly fancied herself an old maternal woman.

Breathless from running, Charlotte scowled, panted, and looked excited all at once. "Did you hear about that escaped convict they caught last night?" Without stopping for an answer, she continued. "They say that there is a warrant for her arrest from every town from here to London!" And get this, some even say she is the Queen of Thieves!! There is to be a hanging later today, and Maude says she feels a bit sorry for her and doesn't want to go, but I do! That villain deserves everything she is going to get. Please say you'll go with me, Rori. Please!"

She tapped her feet impatiently against the cold floor of her cell. Where was Luke? Confound that boy! He knew she hated to be kept waiting, and yet, over and over again, he would wait till the last moment.

Minutes later, she heard the jingling of keys. Two guards warily made their way to her cell, and one of them carried shackles. She folded her hands and offered them her best smile, "Lads, I'd quite hoped we had gotten past that stage." No answer.

She half-heartedly thrust her wrists toward them, and pouted sullenly, "They're all alike. Guards never have a sense of humor."

When they reached the executioner's block, the silence from the assembled crowd was deafening. Both young and old desired a peek at the famed thief.

Someone began to drone on about her past crimes. The heat was almost unbearable. A fly buzzed around her nose, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to shoo it away.

A voice roused her from drowsiness, "Thayet of Torten, do you have any last words?" She sighed, "It's pronounced Thayet, dearie. With a stress on 'y'." A titter escaped from the audience.

The executioner's face loomed close. "God have mercy on your soul." He threw the rope over her head.

Hmm? :)