THE PARTY

Treasure hunter.

Wealth redistributor.

Renegade Hero.

You can't really put much other positive spins on being a thief.

Some people have the power of arcane swordplay in them, a monk's ki mastery, or a wizard's magical prowess. I have a knife that's been used for everything from bad haircuts to change appearance to carving up a goblin. That and my reflexes and wits.

My name is Thomas. I have a name other than "good for nothing", despite what some people would lead you to believe.

You might ask me, "How does one become a thief? Did you simply wake up one morning and decide, 'hey, why WORK for a living? I want to steal stuff!'?"

I can't answer for everyone, but mine is a tragic tale. Real tearjerker. Wanna hear it? It's 50 gil.

Ah, I'm just joshing ya... sorta. You gotta make a living somehow.

Here's how you become a thief.

First, be a kid. This is simple enough, you just gotta be born.

Next, watch as a tyrant takes, and takes, and takes via taxes and corrupt officials. Watch as your parents are hung publicly for failure to pay royal debts they never owed, and the house you were growing up in turned into a tavern for soldiers. It's best to have this happen when you're eight, and you have to have the local chemist explain that mommy and daddy aren't coming down from the ropes to cook dinner and tuck you into bed. Ever again.

Then find a knife. Feel the sharpness, the cold, sweet promise that a few cuts in the right places on your body and you see mommy and daddy again...

Then hear a little girl say "don't touch me there" to a guard who is far too old to be interested in women who still play with dolls and hold imaginary tea parties. Hear the guard slap her and say to hold still and keep quiet, and realize with that eight year old mind of yours that something very, very bad is about to happen.

Twitch. It's just a reflex.

And the next thing you know you're standing over the cooling corpse of the guard and there is something red, wet, and sticky on your hands, and the girl is looking at you with a mixture of terror and shock and gods know what else.

He was going to hurt her. I had to stop him. You understand, right? Right? It ain't murder, it's defending someone else. If I can't save myself, I gotta save someone right?

Gotta save everyone. No more sad goodbyes, no more taxes, no more tyrant.

Then you steal some poison- the kind chemist use to get rid of Goblin Infestations.

Then you somehow, by some blessing of some deity of revenge and dark justice, get this poison into the evening dinner of the tyrant responsible for your parent's death.

Now, pay attention, this part is important. Crucial for being a thief.

When the chemist understands what happened, and asks you "Oh dear gods, Thomas, what have you done?", look him square in the eye and say "What everyone else wanted to do."

Then run. Run out of town. Run until your legs hurt and finally you collapse and your chest feels like tiny little mages are casting fire over and over inside.

Or you could just decide you like stealing stuff. It's different for everyone.

Me, I developed a potent distaste for tyrants. "Law" was to me a bunch of words some fat guy with a crown made up so he could push people around and kill little kid's parents.

Go ahead. Call me a thief because I steal the local tax collector's purse and use its contents to fill my belly and give the rest to the widow with two starving kids. Better than calling me a tyrant.

So I stole. And stole. And stole some more. There's only so much satisfaction in seeing the local baron die, it's far more amusing to hear how he fainted when his prized treasures somehow grew legs and walked off whilst he was sleeping.

But people don't care why you steal, they only care that you steal.

Thief is still the mark of disgrace in communities. That's understandable- no one likes their stuff to disappear, so a thief, no matter how professional, is always going to have to deal with a lot of stigma.

Unless you're the adventuring type. Then, poof, bang, whizzo! You are no longer a cutpurse, you are the incarnate of the lawless hero. The fact you wander from town to town with people of other professions automatically dispels any stigma, because a lone thief is evil, steals from the good, and kills babies in 

their sleep for kicks, and adventurer thieves disarm traps and kill tyrants and eventually become mystical rangers or guardians of the commonfolk.

Or ninja. I like ninjas. A few like me. They told me after one big mess where me and my buds trashed a rather ill-tempered ogre mage that once I'd developed my mental muscles a bit to come back. Learn a bit.

You can go from society's worst to a paragon of heroism and bravery to a corpse in just one year in this business. That's life for you.

But there's always work for an adventuring thief. A lock needs picking on a treasure chest, something valuable is stolen and needs to get "unstolen", traps with acid baths and arrows and explosives need disarming, and occasionally a pedophile guard needs a new hole in his neck.

I've been at this... -what, five years now?- Ever since a Magic Knight asked for my help exploring (read: looting and clearing out monsters from) the crypt of a mage who sorta went insane and tried to cheat death.

We've picked up a white mage and a black mage who developed the hots for each other along the way, and now we're a solid group.

We've had tyrants put out bounties on our head and crazed fools with nothing to lose but their lives come after us to try and collect. They're all dead now.

I keep the smile and bad jokes flowing. Someone's gotta play comedian, lighten the mood. Help steer clear of discussing if that last person who tried to kill us was trying to earn money to feed his kids.

I have blood on my hands- blood that can never be washed away. So I pray at the temples for forgiveness. Hand out a few hundred gil I have to spare to the homeless. Gotta remember where I came from and why I can't go back.



I'm sorry mom, dad. I know you wanted better for me. But this is the best I can do. This is what I know how to do.

I'm sorry, chemist. I know the poison was expensive, but the tyrant won't be taxing you anymore. I hope that makes up for it.

I see Jacob and Hannah have fallen asleep, and I wonder if they dream of each other. The crew worker I'm playing cards with folds, mutters about investing in a luck charm.

I feel guilty about the cards hidden in my sleeve. Just a little.

Guy's gotta make a living somehow, and there are some skills you can't unlearn.

So, there's my story, sorry, but I don't have a hankie for you to blow your nose with. It was kinda rude of me to depress you with such a tearjerker. I know what'll take your mind off, though.

A little friendly gambling. Small wagers. Feel lucky?