FPQ Online

My father was royalty-in-exile. He met my mother while running from his evil cousin who had taken the crown and tried to have him killed. My mother hid my father from the royal guard who had now turned against him.

Then again, he was also a privateer. Eventually he broke his word to the Queen who then rescinded his Letter of Marque and turned him into an outlaw pirate on the high seas. My mother was a young passenger on his ship when the Queen removed her support, so the Captain took my mother as his bride, and I was born at sea.

My father was a spice merchant. He was away a lot when I was growing up, always sending lavish gifts home for me and my mother. He was rushing home to see us when his caravan was overtaken by bandits, and my father died defending the rest of his team.

I wouldn't say my mother lied, strictly speaking. In one way or another, any one of the stories could have been true. My mother had no idea who my father was... the men she met weren't exactly in the mood to talk. I grew up in one town or another - all over the Flanaess - and eventually found my way to Greyhawk. I've been here for a long time. After all, someone had to pick up where my mother left off.

I showed up with low expectations, and even those were soon shattered. This city isn't falling apart or anything like that... more like bursting at the seams. It can't hold the population, and more keep streaming in. I live tavern to tavern, sleeping in strange beds or the street. I entertain weary travelers, new townsfolk, and the occasional self-proclaimed noble. It keeps me fed most days. Crime is rampant, but that just serves to hide me better... life would be hard if I were the only criminal in town. I can't even really call myself a criminal by these standards. A little theft rarely hurts anyone, and my body is mine to sell as I see fit... so other than my singing, I'm not causing any damage.

My mom's been dead for awhile now... she was a half, so I'm a half too... you can't even tell really... most people think I'm human. My daughter had those delicate features, but that also left her with a delicate body. No one ever caught the man who raped her to death... she was even young by human standards... what was left of her. Like I said, crime is rampant here.

I hate this city, but it's been home too long to care. I may look young enough, but I've been too old for my age for as long as I can remember. Turns out, my mother was right... whether begging, crawling, servicing, or hiding... I'm destined to live my life on my knees.

Sally just finished with a half-elf client, complete with obvious pointy ears and trimmed goatee. He looked almost like an artist's illustration. He peered at her with one eyebrow slightly narrowed as she dressed. "You're not very good. Why do you do this?"

Sal flinched to keep her anger, and her urge to slap this cretin, under control. "You're not paying me enough for 'very good.' I was going to use my vast fortune to travel the world and meet interesting men," she looks poignantly at the client, "or perhaps try my hand at power and politics, but this seemed so much more... fulfilling,” she concluded sarcastically. "Got a better idea?" she asked.

The half-elf gave her an amused look. He started putting on his clothes with a smirk on his face. "You're funny," he said while slipping on his boots, "but that doesn't pay well either. How about a chance to meet interesting men now, and make some real money so you can travel the world later? And I promise, the job has opportunities in politics and power."

"Yeah, sure, I'm in. And my father's really a king,” she declared. "Fame, fortune... sounds great, but if you'd figured out this big f*@^&$ secret... you could've sprung for 'very good'... I can be pretty bendy and creative for the right price." She finished getting dressed. "People like me, we don't get these offers. Not from people like you... not without a price."

He burst out laughing, to the point of tears. "Look, Sally,” he chortled, “you've been moving around the slum quarter long enough to know some of the ins and outs...and not just like this. You know times are bad and the Guilds are prickling at each other. So, allow me to introduce myself. I'm called Ren, and work for a particular flavor of folk." He held up her belt pouch in one hand while in the other is his own coin purse which she thought she had just lifted. "My boss needs some capable bodies to fill a void and you," he eyed her up and down, "have quite a capable body."

Sal scoffed. “My body isn't in question here...I don't run into much trouble filling anything I need filled. And, my payment better be in that purse," she added, taking back her coinpouch, "along with everything else you may have taken." Sally sat on the edge of the bed. The distrust in her expression mingled with a bit of curiosity, and a clear desire to escape the boredom of her days. "So, Ren," she asked while flipping a copper back and forth across her fingers, "how creative and bendy does your boss need me to be?"

Ren smiles. "Dugan, my boss, needs you to be creative and bendy when it comes to, shall we say, diplomatic measures. Stealthy skinny people, big ugly brutes, and fancy weapon wielders can be found by tripping over the piles of them lying about the taverns. Silver tongued charlatans, like yourself, are a rare commodity. But, before the coppers in your eyes glow gold, your pay's the same since you aren't really good at sneaking, bashing, and stabbing."

"I can bash with the best of them... provided there's a good heavy skillet at hand." Sal sighed. "A girl's gotta learn some time, right? I'm in. But my own time remains my own... I'm not kicking anyone with money outta bed just because some half-elf offers me a promise of something better." She put away her purse. "So when do I get to meet these sneaky, bashing, stabbing types? I gotta make sure I make the right impression after all."

Ren shrugged and turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway. “Tomorrow evening. Head over to the herbalist shop and ask for an ounce of ground ipproot. If the proprietor comments that not many people ask for ipproot, say your aunt uses it to clean her pots.” He then vanished from view.

I promised myself that I would try to keep my word just one more time, and it almost killed me. That's it, I'm done.

To add to the joy, some halfling's hanging around now, which wouldn't be that big of a deal except he's irritating and now my life may have to depend on him too. Because I didn't have enough total strangers in my life. Don't even get my started on wizard boy... he's just a delight.

Now, I'm at a winery, and half of us are bleeding... again. Profit is grand and all, but not at the expense of my life.

I'd like to believe that tomorrow will bring a better day, but it never has before. Just more of the same.

Maybe we'll even survive it.

Dugan's faith in us would be darn right heart-warming if it weren't so likely to get us all killed. I have no delusions that he has actual faith in anything about us, including our survival, but at this point we're at least a business investment. Chances are he'd prefer if we're not dead. Or in jail.

The halfling stayed behind with Dren to learn about wine... I was just starting to like him... as much as anyone. Barrin's proving himself useful, which helps. Oh yeah, and he's the only one who's not missing. The other 3 are either dead or they've been locked up, and Barrin and I are in lockdown. I can't deal with this if they're dead.

Then again if they're dead, chances are I won't be far behind.

I got to be important for awhile. People treated me like they actually cared who I was. If it wasn’t such a load of manure, I coulda gotten used to the kindness and respect, false platitudes and all. Not the corsets though – that shit had to go. But still, there’s something nice about not having to worry where your next meal will be coming from, where you’ll sleep… at least for a few days.

Tenstone’s family is nothing like I expected. I hadn’t spent a lot of time north of the wall before, but I was surprised that his… um… how did he put it… ‘birth defect’ was so accepted.

Dern picked up Tenser’s daughter, but I suppose I should have expected nothing less. Somehow, it just wasn’t that shocking. Turns out Tenser is a pretty normal father. Now that was shocking.

Generally, things were as quiet as they get for us – meaning that no one died. Not any of us at least. We did however get a new person assigned. Aramil’s actually a thief, so I’m pretty happy about that. We’ll have to warn him to duck when fruit gets thrown, but otherwise he seems fine. I think he’s exactly as happy to be here as is Barrin, and that’s saying something.

Now, we’re playing lumberjack. Yes, lumberjack. Everyone except me of course… women don’t do that sort of thing apparently. Spectacular.

I haven’t seen my daughter in days. I never thought I’d miss the slums of Greyhawk.

I had an oh-so-brief respite in my duties, thanks to Aramil. It was all so clear - I could hang around with the guys for awhile, work for the Guild, put in my time until I retired into a quiet little business all my own. No reason to break ties with everyone, just stay off my feet. I could set up shop, take care of the girls - treat them well for a job well done. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is indeed too much. Aramil, despite being an actual thief and thereby perfect for the job, gets to use his thiefy connections to worm his way out of it. And how does it happen? Ren stops by and says that Org Neshen said Aramil isn't in charge anymore. Org freakin' Neshen. Great.

Does it matter that it was the Big Boss Man himself who told me that I was free of it? Apparently not. Unless of course Ren was lying, but it doesn't make much difference when Aramil was nowhere to be found. And now Ren's on the move. And previously, Org left a subtle hint that my continued involvement as de facto leader might require a career change on my part. I wonder if he'll push the issue... and if he does, I wonder if I'll still be able to set up a quiet little shop someday...

If I'm still alive.

Every day brings it's own little fetid stinking surprise.

Sally sat near a small stone marker. "I'm sorry I haven't been around," she muttered. "We've been away from the city for too long... for every day here, we spend weeks outside." Sal brushed aside the dust and dried grass. "A priest followed us home from the south, and he seems an decent enough person. That's not going to go well for him."

The sun was creeping towards the horizon, but a couple of hours of daylight remained.

"Oma was a brief bright spot in our latest trip, and now he's at the bathhouse. The place is coming along nicely, and hopefully even Dern can't run it into the ground." Sally laughed at the thought of Oma writing a ballad in Dern's honor. "Besides, the bard will likely work hard to keep the place going. Anything for Dern, right?"

How is it that such a gullible man drew so much attention?

"We have to find Fagan soon, or I'll never be rid of this life. We're probably heading out soon." Sally sighed deeply and then rose to leave. "I wish you could be here Emily. I hope I make it back to you, but I don't know anymore. Then again, I never expected to last this long."

With another sigh, Sal made her way back to the road. Soon it would be time to leave Greyhawk yet again. She didn't want to leave, but the sacrifice would be well worth making... if only she could put all of this ugly business behind her.

I just want it all to end, but there's a new pile of crap around every corner. Where's Cordell when I need him? He may have been a bit off, but I can forgive his eccentricities. He would've known how to talk to our latest gig... protecting harbingers of evil.

The Scarlet Brotherhood could've sent someone a bit more durable, couldn't they? One little crossbow bolt, and it nearly killed him. Sure, it went through his neck, but who among us hasn't survived worse... And his guards are still on my suspect list. There's something shifty about those guys, and I don't just mean the demon masks and willingness to slaughter en masse.

I'm getting tired. All the time, I'm tired. This job, this place... it's all sucking the life out of me. Every time I turn around there's another horrible assignment, another near-death experience for at least one of us. I barely even think of this little band as 'us' anymore - we will eventually follow separate paths, and it might be worth getting started down them.

There is, however, one thing I've learned. From way back when that wine-making halfling joined our ranks to this gnome who owes me money, I've now come to one indisputable conclusion: never trust anyone shorter than me.