Big cold world

My mother is a mage, my father is a mage, my brother became a warlock, so naturally I chose the path of the rogue. I mean, obviously, right.

Pa and Ma were a little bepuzzled by this. They thought, okay, so she likes wooden swords more, books less, but it's just childhood. Gnome, slashing throats open — not exactly everyday occurence. But what can I say. I am pretty special.

***

Jokes aside, I did not dig into magic that deep. I mean yes, it works wonders if you can handle it, but I found no particular pleasure in such handling. Things need to be more real than some arcane or elemental powers. Things like bombs and swords and tanks. They are not going to vanish the second I forget about them. They work as they should until breaking for some reasonable reason.

What I did dig in, was art of subtlety. At about 20 years old I saw myself as a swift predator in gnome form, hiding in the shadows of our house, waiting patiently for prey and striking fiercely, but silently.

First thing which I learnt to hunt down like this were pies. I remember putting a whole blueberry pie under my dress on Ma's one-hundredth birthday. Invisible warrior strikes again! And eats the pie all by herself.
Then there were books and stuff from Pa's cabinet. Things I hated to be lectured about seemed quite amusing in my very own hole by the lake in the Forlorn Cavern. But alas, not more than just amusing.

Taking book from a library and pie from a kitchen sound ironic by itself, I know, but I was twenty years old. However, it only went down from there.

On my fortieth, when I already felt like a Real Grownup, I wanted to seize something magnificent, something absolutely gorgeous and adorable. A sword, maybe.
I moved as a grey ghost among treasures of the Commons, gravely realizing that even the smallest sword would not fit under my clothes even if I came wearing a blanket. I immediately settled for a dagger and casually put my elbow on one especially shiny while my oh-so-experienced fingers ran along the blade of another one. Sigh a little louder than needed, «maybe some other time» look in my eyes and gracious departure. With the dagger's guard piercing between my ribs.

Well, I certainly did not see any beginner's luck there. Pa got a little mad, when I was brought to him being “a little mischievous”, as the dwarf merchant said. Pa insisted on buying the dagger, and after dwarf merchant was gone he asked what I did this for. I said I wanted to test my skills. He doubted that such skills would be of much use if I planned on staying part of the family. I said, great.

I didn't exactly slam the door. When Ma understood that I was really going to leave and not be home for dinner, she started offering help and “acquaintances”. Several understandings later I left for Anvilmar where recruits like me, useless in battle, were of some use. Pa gave me one more dagger to wield heroically and some gold not to die starving, but being the proud lass that I am I refused money.

For Gnomeregan! I guess.