I’ve tried to explain it to other folk.  But, in earnest, so far; I have had no luck.  A culture I met in the Badlands believed in this peculiar idea that when someone dies, they take the form of another creature.  I would say, it’s something like that.  When I’m like everyone else, I can feel the beast in me – well, animal anyhow.  I wouldn’t call a cat a beast, exactly.  But, truth be told, the more primal of instincts are very difficult to banish.  There’s something pulling at the back of my mind constantly when I see a canine.  Run!  Of course, I don’t.  But, the Wise Ones know there’s nothing in the world I want to do more than make for the hills, in those moments.  And, don’t even get me started about bugs and mice.  It’s very similar to hunger… but, almost lustful.  That is, obviously, excluding my fine friend Patterfoot.  Most people that know about my “heritage,” so to speak, wonder why I bring a rodent with me everywhere.  The reasons are surprisingly many.

Patterfoot is an interesting creature, white as snow, with eerie crimson eyes – something akin to a snowball, most of the time.  But, I digress.  My motivation for traveling with him is the issue at hand.  My first reason is perhaps the most simple of the lot.  When I first met Patterfoot I was taken by my hunger.  I chased him for an entire moontime.  From sunsleep to dawn, I stalked him.  Yet, at each turn he eluded me.  Cleverest rodent I had ever encountered, I knew immediately.  Quick, too.  I waited for my next chance.  Sunsleep on the next evening, I was sniffing his trail again.  But, to no avail.  Never had I been more frustrated in my life.  My blood was burning with fury; I had to have him.  No prey had been so persistent or so frustratingly adept.  After a full week of the chase, I knew that I had met my match.  The next night, I came to him in peace, offering him cheese and breadcrumbs.  Reaching out with my mind, I asked him to join me as my companion.  I believe that he understood who and what I was, at this point.  At first, he seemed reluctant.  Anxious chatter filled my senses, and I felt no emotional response.  It seems that he had something of a hunger as well; because, the moment he was finished his cheese, I felt his response:  “Gladly, if I will get more of this cheese.”

In addition to his impressive skills and the willpower to resist me when I literally hunted him; he is a rodent.  This may sound strange to you, but it’s rather simple.  There is no way for me to fight my instincts beyond constantly confronting them.  And, with the bond he and I now share, it would be impossible for me to bring harm to him.  So far, it has worked out fairly well.  There’s also something visually comical about a mouse hobbling alongside me.  Confused a good number of folk, we have.

Ever since that night, he’s been a faithful companion, and on more than one occasion: a life-saver.  Not that I’m saying I needed my life saved, of course…  That would be ridiculous.

Yea, you’re right… So, maybe it’s not entirely ridiculous.

Now, that’s just unfair—Sure, I’ve been in some tight spots but, hasn’t everyone?

Well, I can tell you one time where I was particularly lucky, if you’re inclined to hear the story.  Well?  How’s that sit with you?  We have nothing better to do tonight.  Cerwyn won’t be here for another two days.

Very well, I’ll tell you about a little encounter I had a few years back, just a month off of when I set up shop in this town.

***

            “Good morning, Patterfoot” I yawned.  This was not altogether uncommon, but that may have been the only thing that day that wasn’t.  Patterfoot’s reply was along the lines of “I’m hungry.”  Or something to that effect, anyhow.  I obliged him with a few bits of old bread and some left-over sausage.  His favorite, I’m sure.  It was time for my morning walk.  Stupid habit, I realize.  Everyone has their vices.

            I called Patterfoot to my shoulder and threw on my new cloak.  A fancy elfin number, rather snazzy, that cloak.  I still have it, though it’s a bit on the ragged side now.  I left my apartment in the lower east quarter.  Not an entirely awful neighborhood.  Well, it could be worse.  There’s something charming about horse shit and mud streets.  And, that’s if you ignore the wonderful architecture – 30 year old plaster and rotten wood.  Can’t beat that now, can you?  I passed through a number of rather solemn looking alleys, where I’m sure it would not be prudent to spend much time loitering.  But, after living in the apartment for a month or so at this point, I’d become fairly accustomed to being fearful for my life.  It’s like breathing now, don’t even notice.

            Apparently, I caught the attention of a fellow who I suspect was in a bit of a bad way.  You see, I went through his alley.  Not that it had his name on it or anything.  So, being the dimwit that I am, I protested.

            “Ah, well… You see, we seem to have a conflict of interests.  For, if you would be so kind as to notice, I wish to pass through your alley, and something very large seems to be blocking my path.”

            “Who ye callin’ large, Halfling!”  He responded, in a must firm voice.

            “I’ll have you know, sir, that I am not a Halfling—But, generally, small folk like I have a tendency to conceive everything as large.  I meant no offense.”  Really, I just didn’t know he’d be such a bullhead.  Guess I should think before I speak more often.  In truth, he was indeed a behemoth of a human; large should’ve been taken as a compliment.

            “Hmmm… I s’pose you’re right.  Even a mutt” — God, why does he have to bring up dogs.  I am already on my toes here. — “would seem like a horse to you, eh?”

            “You’d be amused to know that on multiple occasions I have, in fact, ridden a dog.” Hopefully, he’ll laugh at that; even though it is a blatant lie.

“Haha!  I would pay to see that.”  He was laughing as a ruse, I noticed almost immediately.  He was reaching for a wicked looking knife at his belt.  If I had to guess, I would wager that this fellow is going to ask to exact a “toll” for passage.  Much as I had suspected from the beginning.  I had a dagger in my hand, under my cloak, ever since I left my front door.  No sense in walking around these parts without some foresight.

“Well, smallfolk, funny as you are; you’re still in my alley.  I don’t take kindly to people in my alley.  I’ll take your purse or your life!”  Spot on, this lug has fixings on my coin.

            “I’d be happy to give you my purse; but, you see, I’ve left it at home.”  I lied again, another bad habit of mine.

            “Then I’ll have your life!”  He lumbered towards me, the cold steel catching the first rays of morning light.  I stood there watching him practically waddle towards me.  It was rather pathetic.  It made me a bit ashamed of my profession.  Amateurs like this out on the streets make us burglars look like no-talent misfits.

            “I’m sorry, friend,” I said, as he closed on me. “But, I’m rather attached to my life.”  My dagger was out of my cloak, before his came close enough to me for worrying.  One quick nip at his sword-hand was enough to discourage the lummox.  He reigned back, stumbling.  The sound that escaped his mouth was entirely unexpected.  I’d describe it as something like the wail of a ben sídhe.  Certainly not worthy of the injury, I had not even cut deeply.  But, somehow, I seemed to make him whine like a little baby.  Something was going on here, probably calling for help.  I turned to flee; but, it appeared that I had committed three errors so far this morning.  First, I decided to go out for a stroll.  Second, I went through the alleys.  Third, I didn’t make sure there wasn’t someone right behind me before I started to run.

            “Well, well.  Look-y-here.  This little one thinks he can just go along cutting people up in back alleys,” the voice behind me mocked as I was lifted into the air by my collar.  Damn, I’ve always hated that.  After getting significantly flustered for a moment, as my attacker rolled on the ground moaning, I peered behind me.  My stomach sank.  The Wise Ones hold no love for me on this day.  I was being suspended in the air by a certain warden whom I had a bit of an argument with a night or two past.

            “What exactly do you think you are doing?  It would seem that you are trying to pilfer some coin from this fine citizen.”  His regal tone made me sick.  He smelled like sex, also making me sick, probably was just finished with a prostitute a moment beforehand.  I guess someone’s having a good day.  Too bad it’s not me.

            “It would appear so, warden.  But, you are mistaken.  While in truth, I was defending myself from the assault of this highwayman.  He came for my coin, barring that from him he deemed my life was a suitable alternative,” I replied, still dangling.

            “Oh-ho.  Very good, that must be it.  Well, citizen, is this true?  Did you attack this outsider?”  Oh, wonderful!  No matter what I say, I’m going to get a night in jail for this.  Racist bastard.

            “Ohhh… my hand…” he sobbed.  “The Halfling tried to cut me purse, but I caught him good.  Tried to grab him and ship him off to the jailor, but he slashed me up good’n!”  I’m done for, I thought.  And, do I really look all that much like a Halfling?  That’s rather upsetting.  Hairy lot, they are.

            “That sounds more like it.  Did the thief take any of your coin, sir?  I should have him return it to you, before we are off to the jailor.”  Perfect.  I get thrown in jail, and get pilfered from anyhow?  What a wonderful day.  I was so tempted to hex him then.  Just let the power go and double him over on the ground while I strolled away.  I was positive I couldn’t get away with it; but, I was tempted none the less.  There are few things less loved in this town than non-humans.  Unfortunately, faecraft is one of them.  An outsider using fae magics on a warden in broad daylight?  I might as well hang myself right here, because I’m positive I wont get better treatment when they catch me.

            “Yessir, he took my whole purse, right from me side!”  His smirk split his face in two.  Stained and twisted teeth complimented to most satisfied look I had ever seen.  I should’ve cut him deeper, while I had the chance.  There’s something wrong about selling out a fellow thief.  I’ll have a word with him, if we ever meet again.  But, for right now, I’ll just keep my mouth shut, so I don’t get into any more trouble.

            “Very well, you are within your right to retrieve it.  Step forward and take it from his person.  I must hold him steady, lest he wriggle away from me in my carelessness.” The warden chimed in that too-content-with-himself tone that he seemed to believe his birthright.  Not shortly after that, the oaf shambled to his feet and walked towards me, holding his sword-arm, where I had cut him.  He flung my cloak aside, to look at my belt.  He noticed my purse fairly quickly, and ripped it right off.  I scoffed at him, and then paid for it.  The lummox threw a mighty fist right into my stomach.  I lost all the breath in me, and coughed quite a few times.  I’m absolutely going to have a word with him later.

            “Got it!”  The mugger smiled, tipped his cap to the warden, and strolled off like a jolly idiot.  I suppose he’d decided his alley didn’t need a watchman any longer.  At least, it wouldn’t for the remainder of today.

            “You know, pygmy, I believe you have just made my day even better,” the warden chuckled, dragging me behind him off to the guard towers.  I knew he was having a good day.

            “I’m glad, sire.  Let me know if you need a bard, because I am a master of the jest as well,” I muttered as I was drawn across the ground in the middle of the street.  The crowd was watching and laughing along the whole way.  It would seem that I am a better jester than I had originally assumed.  Apparently, there’s nothing as funny as a person half your size being dragged around.  Personally, I think the bigger they are the more humorous it is; but, who am I to argue with a whole city?

            I made sure that Patterfoot was safe and sound on the way there, and that he didn’t get hurt riding in my pocket when they tossed me into the jail cell.  Yes, I know people often claim to have been “tossed” into jail, but in this case, I hit the back wall.  Like I said, the people in this town hold no pretensions of kindness to other races.  I bet they just wondered if they were strong enough to toss me that far.

            “What do you think Patterfoot, are they going to keep us here for a few days without feeding us?  Or, do you think they’ll be nice and proper and let us out tomorrow morning?”  He only squeaked and looked at me strangely.  “Fine, be that way.  Go off and find your own food, I’ll sit here and fend for myself.”  He jumped off and scurried around, until he found a hole suitable for his grandiose escape.

            I awoke the next morning cramped and alone in my cell.  Quite a dungeon it was, perfect combination of dank and darkness.  I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be incarcerated.  I waited for hours, I think.  Well, it was a long time.  That, I know for sure.  Finally, a guardsman walked to my cell and peered in, a cold and serious stare.

            “You will follow me,” he bellowed.  There was no question in his voice, only command.  Maybe I’m being taken to my fair trial, how delightful.  Or even better, I could be going to a dinner table.

            “You will hear the charges against you, before you are put to death” there was never a break in his tone as he told me that I was going to die.  This man is very frightening.  But, wait.  More importantly.

            “Wait!  Put to death!?  Why?  I am here for pick-pocketing, not for anything worthy of death!”  At this point I was nearly in hysterics.  A hard thing to be told, that you’re going to your execution and your last meal was a bowl of beef stew the night before.  Surely, this can’t be right.  “You must have me mistaken for someone else, Jailor.”

            “No.  I mustn’t, now hush,” there was no pity in his quick response.  I kept quiet, sweating and terrified.  I called out in my mind for Patterfoot, but I felt no response.  He’s probably sleeping; of course, he’s sleeping when I need him most.  I really don’t want to use my powers to escape, but I may be at the end of my ability to refrain.  At least I have a chance of escaping death if I run.  A moment or two later, he pushed me into a large room filled to the brim with courtiers on the balconies, with half again as many peasants crowded in a semi-circle around a gallows.  Oh, and a chopping block, it’s my lucky day.

            The jailor pushed me to my knees in front of the lawyer.  He looked straight into my eyes. 

Worst mistake he possibly could’ve made. 

I unleashed my power, and felt the hair on the back of my neck raise while my face grew hot.  I stared into his soul and wrapped the tendrils of my magic around his mind, wrestling for control.  He resisted my power, but I redoubled my efforts pulling more and more power from within me.  Pressing harder, wrapping my magic tighter and tighter until I finally felt him crumble.  He’s mine now.

            It had only taken less than a few seconds to capture the lawyer’s mind, yet I felt as if I had been fighting him for nearly an hour.  Time is very curious in the mind, doubly so when there’s magic involved.  I looked him over and he smiled down at me warmly.  Mine indeed.

            “Under the king divine and the Twin Lords above, state your true and full name,” the lawyer called into the hall.  He was talking to the crowd as much as he was to me.

            “I have no true name, under the Twin Lords,” I repeated, boldly.  There were a number of gasps in the crowd, mostly from the highborn ladies in the room.

            “Very well, then.  What are you called?”  Not even an inkling of irritation in his voice, unfitting of the words.

            “Most know me as Greytail, your highness.”

            “Whence have you come to this fair kingdom?”  He called.  Again he was addressing the crowd more so than I.

            “I come here from the plains-lands to the north, from the territory of Korwood, east of Firdholm,” I didn’t feel like lying, I did too much of that yesterday; so, I bent the truth.  I was from the plainslands, and even east of Firdholm; but, there’s no territory of Korwood on any map.

            “Very well, Greytail of Korwood, you have been brought here today to face the accusations of murder on three accounts, and of burglary on four accounts.  What do you say to these charges brought against you?”  I let the lawyer have control for now; I would exert my power on him after we had put on a good show for the lovely nobles.

            “I am innocent, your highness,” I replied, in as loud of a voice as I could muster.  I was rather thirsty, you must remember.

            “You were picked up in the area of the murders yesterday.  You were caught attempting to pickpocket a man.  The other three murdered and stripped of coin within but five streets of where you were apprehended,” he called, to the response of another set of gasps.  “Your proximity to the murders places blame upon you.  No further murders were committed after your arrest, confirming our suspicions of your guilt.  How do you support your claims of innocence?”  Shoddy evidence, that’s certain.  But, courts are curious all across the lands.  At least it’s better than the plains-lands; I would have already been hung.

            I’m going to need my magic for this one, not much I could say to fight this.  I pressed harder with the power, sequestering him within his own mind, leaving only me left inside. 

“While I may have been in the area, the accusation of my guilt on all charges assumes that I was guilty in the first case of burglary,” I contended.  “This is false.  Also, I had no loot on me upon entering the jailhouse yesterday morning, or blood for that matter.  If the murders were all discovered within a short period of time, then they were most likely committed within a similarly short period of time.  Then, how, do you propose I relieved myself of the clothing in which I would’ve committed the crimes.  It seems impossible that I could walk away from not one but three murders unsoiled.”  Actually, that was a pretty sound argument as far as defenses against impossible charges go.  But, that’s what I have magic for: filling in the margins.

            When the mutters around the courtroom subsided, the lawyer stood; and I spoke.  “By the reason in your words, I can see that you do not have any fear of my judgment.  You are correct that the murders were discovered within but an hour of each other, the last of which only moments before your own arrest.”  That probably wasn’t true, but coming from the lips of a lawyer, people will believe anything.  “It is apparent that, by the absence of blood and coin upon your person, that you are indeed innocent of the charges levied against you.  Therefore, having served the one night’s sentence for attempted burglary; you are free to go.  Now be gone!”  I thought that last bit was a nice touch.  I don’t want to ruin the lawyer’s reputation, after all.

            I let my magic fade away slowly, as I was walking to the door.  I relinquished control to him, and he’d never even know that it wasn’t his decision to let me free.  When I was escaped, I made haste towards my apartment.  I could feel Patterfoot in my mind; he’d awoken sometime during the trial.  I called out to him and asked him to return to me.  I had to make sure to feed him, lest he go diving into rubbish.  I prefer not to have a smelly rat following me around, if I must have a rat.

            Upon placing my hand on the front door, the beast within me cried out; uh… well, meowed, anyhow.  Something is wrong, I can smell it.  Great, what now? I thought.  Maybe, if I was lucky, it would be that ogre from yesterday; I would very much like my coin back.  The jailors took my daggers at the guard tower.  Perfect.  Despite some of my other flaws, I am proud to say that I am paranoid enough to protect myself from perilous situations such as someone waiting in my apartment for me.  This protection has a name: Patterfoot.  Okay, so maybe I’m not all that prepared.  But, from this point on I will be!  I didn’t think I had made that many enemies in the month I’ve been here.

            Patterfoot, there’s food inside.  Oh, and maybe someone with a knife.  Mind having a look?  I’m fairly sure he was more convinced by the food than by the prospect of giving me a hand.  He scurried to one of his favorite holes and took to searching for his food.  After a moment or two – presumably just enough time to eat – I could feel his confusion in his mind.  His fear.  Well, that’s just wonderful, I couldn’t help but moan to myself.  Patterfoot, keep an eye on him.  Let me know if he leaves.

            I made my way back to the market street, which happened to be conveniently close to my apartment.  I walked briskly to the smithy once reaching the market, hoping that there wasn’t more than just one person after me.  I was fairly certain at this point that no one else was after me, because I made it to the blacksmith’s without incident.  The wares were displayed in a shop next to the forge, the smithy standing behind the table, making claims of the superiority of his craftsmanship.  I needed a dagger but, because my purse was stolen yesterday; I was forced to improvise.  Not something new for me, of course.  In fact, it’s rather simple to fix a problem like this.  Follow these simple steps if you want something displayed on a table, but don’t have the money for it.  It’s as simple as making the shopkeeper blind to what you’re doing.  With a bit of acting and some subtle sleight of hand, you will never need to pay for another apple at market ever again. 

First, line yourself up with the shop keeper.  Look at him at eye level, making sure that you stare him in the eyes if he turns towards you, while walking straight towards him in his peripheral vision; this is important.  Next, cross your eyes.  Yes, cross your eyes.  Within a moment, the shopkeeper should notice you and look at you.  If he doesn’t notice, stumble a little bit; wave left and right.  That will guarantee he spots you.  Keep your eyes cross, but look him straight in the face.  Pick up the pace once he notices you, but don’t speak until you’re very close to the booth, and speak with a mumble.  Try stuttering, too.  Lean upon the table with your palms flat and your fingers grasping the table.  Make sure your hand is close to what you are interested in grabbing.  Ask about a ware of the shopkeeper’s, and make small-talk.  I suggest talking about a friend recommending the store to you.  Maintain eye contact at all costs, but slowly flip your hand around so that your fingers are on top of the table.  Move your arm as slowly as possible and grab the item.  Move your hands slowly to your pockets.  Around this time, get frustrated with the shopkeeper, claiming that he doesn’t understand you. At the same time, make a hand gesture with the hand not grabbing the loot.  Try drawing what you’re talking about in the air.  Put the spoils in your pocket, and pull your hand out slowly, adding it seamlessly into your drawing.  After that, get even more frustrated; accuse him of playing a trick on you.  Stop the argument, and stomp off for a moment, then start walking normally.  Blend into a crowd if you can.

So, I walked away with a new dagger in my pocket and a confused blacksmith in my wake.  I normally don’t buy my knives from that smith, luckily, because I made it a point to avoid that area for a while.  But, I had bigger problems to think about.  Reaching out for Patterfoot in my mind brought feelings of curiosity and fear.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t feel any relief.  No hunger either; that was a really bad sign.

            I arrived at my street fairly quickly from the market.  Once I hit the street was a different story.  I ducked into the shadows and waited—invisible—for someone, or something to catch my attention.  I scanned for spotters.  They’re the kind of folk who wait outside for something to happen, or someone to show up.  Then it’s their job to muss them up, block their escape or some other sinister duty.  From what I could gather, there were no spotters outside.  Either that or they were already beginning the first stage of their aforementioned sinister duty.  I hoped desperately that it was the former.  But, knowing my luck; I was in for an interesting afternoon.

I waited a few hours, watching the crowds in the street and the sun creep across the sky.  Satisfied, I slipped out of the shadows as if it were completely natural that I was hiding there in the first place.  Patterfoot was come and gone from the apartment since I began watching it, but whoever anticipated my return remained.  He’s determined; that’s a bad sign.

I walked towards the entrance to my home as a flock of flutterwings tickled my bowels.  I clung to the dagger with as much strength as I could muster.  In a futile attempt to calm myself, I began taking deeper breaths.  That is, until I realized people were looking at me strangely.  I guess I’m a loud breather.  The door turned without my key; they wanted me to know they were there.  That’s the only explanation.  I could see candlelight from inside, as well (there are no windows in my apartment).  That put me at ease slightly.  But, only slightly.  I opened the door and walked inside.

Without looking around, I hung my cloak up upon the rack to the right of the door.  After making sure the door was secure behind me, I moved to my counter and picked up the leftovers of Patterfoot’s breakfast.  I turned, finally, to look upon the intruder as I took a bite out of the day-old loaf.

It’s a woman!?  Damn you, Patterfoot!  You should’ve said so.  “Good afternoon,” I said.  “Might I ask what you’re doing in my apartment?”

“You may.  And, in that regard I would answer that I have a message for you, if you were actually inclined to ask.”  She was very sassy.  Light brown hair to the shoulders, a style one did not find very commonly in this region.  She wore a shirt of mail, which I also found slightly disconcerting.  Over the mail was a crested tabard:  Argent, a chevron or, in fesse point a leaf-less tree proper.  I’d never seen it before, and couldn’t tell from which house she originated.

“Speak your peace, then,” I replied, as coldly as I could without sounding aggressive.

“We observed you tod—“

“Who are ‘we?’  You haven’t even introduced yourself.”

“Yes, this is true.  Perhaps you would prefer if I were to introduce myself, and then convey my message?  My name is Elendre of the great house Hragath.  I am a knight sworn to the Order of the Sun and Star.  I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Greytail of Korwood.”  For once, my lie actually seemed to be useful.  If she presumes that I am from Korwood, which we have established does not exist, then her experience with me extends only to this morning.  That’s preferable to any other situation I could imagine.

“Greetings, Elendre Hragath of the Sun and Star,” I gave her a bit of a bow, for politeness’ sake.  She was the one bound to chivalry here, after all.  “Well, now that I know who you are, you may continue with your message, though I am under the assumption that the antecedent of the previously mentioned ‘we’ is in fact the members of the Order of the Sun and Star.  Am I correct?”

“Yes, you are exactly correct, Greytail of Korwood.  I will continue with my message now, as you have asked me to do.  We, the Order, observed your trial this morning.  The message I have been sent here to deliver is as follows:

            Greytail of Korwood,

            Your performance this morning was impressive enough to

            attract our notice.  This is no small feat, and thus we would

            like to congratulate you.

            Our reason for contacting you is in hopes that you will attend

            an audience at the Temple of the Twins in the glass district this

            evening at sunsleep.  We shall provide more information at that

            time.  Suffice it to say, we shall ensure that the trip is well

            worth your time and effort; even if you decide to reject or

            proposal.

The letter is sealed with the official mark of the Sun and Star.  I would recommend accepting the invitation offered to you.  The Order does not forget; keep that in mind, Greytail.”

            “I will make time for the meeting.  Sunsleep at the Temple of the Twins?”  I asked, actually wondering if I had remembered correctly.

            “Yes, that is correct.  Good afternoon, sir.”  With a stiff salute, she walked out my front door and off to who knows where.  I had no idea what to make of that.  I thought about the invitation, and perhaps some research would be appropriate.  The Temple of the Twins and the Order of the Sun and Star?  This sounds like a knightly order devoted to the Twin Lords; that spells bad news for me.  Religious sects of that caliber generally take racism and the --- To Be Continued ---