Meer's Story

by Graeme Williams

Our band was mainly human (including my mother), but there were several half elves, most notably my father. I take more after my mother, though I do have some elvish traits -- my night-sight's pretty good, for example. Any resemblance to an elf is somewhat overshadowed by the gypsy ancestry.

My early teachings were predominantly from my father. He used to joke that the first thing he taught me was to crawl silently, telling many wild, and wholly inaccurate stories of me sneaking off on my own without making a sound... Until recently, he'd taught me all my thieving abilities. In town we'd sometimes work as a team, dad would do the lifting and I would do the stashing -- I was only seven or eight at the time. It felt good too, living on the edge, the thrill of almost being caught, and the excitement of seeing what we'd got at the end of the day. Although my father was a rogue, he was an honest one. Everyone used to trust him, him and my mother stopped many an argument or brawl with their calm words. I suppose my father was the trail-boss, though we worked more as a co-operative.

Mother's trick in town was palmistry and the like. Not that she knew how to do it, other than to make the recipient happy (and to report a likely 'customers' to dad.) Everyone had to do something, on the road or in town. On the road, the animals needed looking after (my job), the carts needed driving, scouts, guards, etc. In town it was the same, everyone had to do something -- there is always some way to scheme some money somehow in town. Many people don't realise it, but trekking from one place to another costs money, what with the tolls, taxes, bribes, protection, not to mention the running repairs on the carts and animals, and food for us and the animals. All this was summed up by the phrase "You got to do something, in or out," meaning in or out of town.

And then one day the world ended. I don't remember anything about what happened, it's as though my life was broken in two and tied back together. I go back there sometimes, to sit and think, but there's nothing, nor wound, nor sore, nor ache. My mind simply wiped the whole event clean away.

Marjura found me, crying my eyes out under a bush, and took me home. She'd been out collecting a certain rare plant that only grows near where I was found. I was about ten at the time. Years later, Marge told me about what had happened, or what she thought must have happened. We were a day out from New Figon on our way to Sudanos. We'd set up camp for the night. Then bandits struck. Everyone had been slaughtered. All but me. What hadn't been taken was set alight. Marge built a pyre. All that remained of my life was a pile of ashes and me.

My life was certainly turned upside down, but Marge made me work hard, helped me to overcome the trauma -- I wouldn't have survived without her. Marge was horrified when she discovered that I couldn't read or write. With some determination, she set about teaching me. She taught me magic too. Marge also taught me herblore (Marge can identify any plant at 100yds, and tell you how healthy it is.) One of the routine tasks that I loved the most was going on walks collecting the various plants and fungi that she uses in her concoctions. Most of her concoctions aren't magical, she maintains that if you can do it without magic do it without magic, "saves resources" she says.

This is probably a suitable time to tell you a bit about Marge. She calls herself a witch rather than mage. The only other mages I've seen (with one exception) have been in New Figan -- they walk around as though stuffed with their own importance. Marge is a competent teacher, I have learned a great deal from her. Her researches tend towards nature, but don't call her a druid to her face -- she has no truck with religion, if she needs help she'll ask whoever or whatever's in the best position to help. Nature is not necessarily the best help for itself.

There's one character who pops in now and again, Jereen. Jereen's an old one, nutty as a fruit-cake at times -- calls herself an Arch-Witch. Jereen comes from New Figon, a thriving cosmopolitan port a couple of days walk away. When she comes round, Marge and her lock themselves away in the study for days. (Note: the study, unlike most abodes, leads off from the kitchen. The study has its own laboratory, however, some parts of a preparation need to be done in the kitchen -- or even outside.)

The people of Morlepp come to Marge in times of crisis. She gives her services for free, and the villagers don't abuse the privilege. They have a great deal of respect for her, and for good reason. Once, before I came here, she took on a whole bunch of marauders who thought that the village was an easy target. No-one's dared to have a go since. On the whole though, the problems are fairly minor.

I first went back to Pyre Glade, as I'd come to call the place, when I was about sixteen, collecting the same plant as Marge had done. It was just like any other glade. I'm not sure what I expected to feel, but all there was, was emptiness.

My knowledge of the local area is pretty much confined to the village and parts of the surrounding countryside. For a couple of years it's mainly been just me collecting Marge's plants and what-have-you. There are a few plants that Marge won't let me tackle; the magic is too strong in some of them. The town I know pretty well because of my activities with the guild, Marge rarely goes there.

That brings me back to the other side of my character. It was a couple of years ago, on one of Marge's visits to New Figon. On the road, our stays in towns were occasional and only for short periods. You had to take stock of what was going on pretty quick to make money fast so that we could leave before the guilds or the guards caught on. And, because old habits die hard, I fell back to the old ways. Unfortunately, being a bit rusty to say the lease, someone spotted me. I managed to get away, but got lost in the process. I ended up in a dead end alley, and just hid until I'd caught my breath.

When I'd got hold of myself, and all seemed quiet, I crawled out, only to discover a man, about 24-5, leaning against a wall watching me.

"Been up to no good then" he said.

"I got frightened 'cos I got lost" I said. It was all I could come up with.

"Not the sort of place for a girl your age to be lost. Especially a girl with a pouch of money in 'er 'and."

Guiltily, I glanced down at he pouch, with the all too obviously cut strings. Not much I could say really, apart from shrugging my shoulders. Magic-wise, I could only do a couple of cantrips, none of the, were going to help me out of this predicament.

"You'd better come with me, and you'd better give me that pouch."

I passed him the money, and followed him back out of the alley. He kept his eye on me, not giving me the chance to escape, and led me to a house nearby. This turned out to be an entrance into the thieves guild. Well, to cut a short story even shorted and to protect the guilty, I ended up joining the Sunrise Guild, one of the two guilds in New Figon. The other is the Guild of Leaves, an evil bunch that operates mainly in East Harbour.

I wasn't surprised to find Marge near the guild entrance. She had a go at me, but over the following weeks relented, and allowed me to go to town regularly. So now my current life is still split between two lives, Thief and Mage.

The man I met in the alley was Jack Luten. Jack, or Lootin, as he was called, became my guide. When a new thief goes on "the rounds," they have a more experienced guide to help them out. We've been friends ever since. We were lovers for a while, but it didn't really work out.

Now I realise how fragmented my life has become -- split between doing the rounds and the theory and practice of magic. Pyre Glade offers no solution to what happened -- the cause of the jigsaw that is my life at the moment. The time has come to use the crafts that I have been taught. To complete the jigsaw. And maybe to find the bastards that created it.

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