Sinclair, Thief by Profession... Unlikely Hero

As the room comes into focus fading from black into light provided by oil lanterns and candlelight, the setting is a Tavern on the edge of the Southern Territories. It was the last day of Barnumavall's & Balieysnatch's Circus, in fact, the show was over and some of the performers were enjoying an ale or twenty sharing stories and laughter. It was the final performance for Sinclair, who had joined the circus through chance and good fortune (and perhaps a little misfortune as well).

Shelia "It's too bad you won't be joining us as we head back to the Eastern Territories. You're from there right?" She throws him a wink

Sin "Yeah, but I kind of put that past behind me. I'm not ready to return, however, the "flexibility" you taught me how to utilize I will be forever in your debt."

Shelia "Well, we can settle that debt tonight. You can ply your flexibility in satisfying my every whim" The invitation was bold and caused an uproar from the other members of the Circus followed by laughter

Sin "I will not disappoint, milady, for I am a gentleman and now in possession of your trade secrets of additional maneuvers."

Sinclair had fallen in with the group and picked up an additional ability. His natural grace and skills made him a valuable addition to the circus, however, it was long since time for him to leave. There were other adventures and experiences that awaited him. Specifically, in the southern territories. There he would meet with some gentleman or another and deliver the last parcel that he had dutifully carried for the Spice Merchant all these months. It might have been a bit late, and rumors of his death were abundant, however he was all about honoring his word once it was given.

Bartlet "Tell us how you came into our wandering band. You never did tell the story of how and why you stumbled into our camp battered and bleeding from a dozen wounds." After issuing the request a silence fell over the tavern

Sinclair considered what Bartlet said and was asking, then after a long dramatic pause, inhalation of air and letting it out he began.

"Ogres, Ogres, Here and There, Ogres, Ogres Everywhere"

I was traveling with a Spice Merchantess, we were lovers. We were departing from an area just on the borders of the Old Kingdom and heading toward the western territories. We were travelling in a caravan of traders and being escorted by a band of Men at Arms. Honestly, just so all of you are aware... (he pauses and considers his words as the burden of what occurred weighs upon him) This is my least enjoyable story to recount. I would much rather tell you about the time I saved the ship mates from the cannibalistic aborigines.

Bartlet "No, Sinclair, just tell us the damned story. We nursed you back to health and taught you a piece of our trade. Granted you taught us some things too..." As a man passes behind him he lifts his purse deftly and presents it to his friends "Sin, the drinks are on me!" Everyone explodes into laughter and so the drinks began pouring in.

Alright, so, we were traveling through some rocky terrain and came under attack by a large band of Ogres. Mind you, what follows is not necessarily an account of heroism, but more of an account of desperate people trying to stay alive. We ringed the wagons as the war party of Ogres approached and held fast for six days. They unrelentingly probed our defenses and bled us for SIX DAYS. What kept them coming, well I will get to in a moment. However, we had lost about 50% of the caravan and its wares on the sixth day. We were all tired, battered and growing hungry as most of our stores were either depleted or had been burned when three of the wagons were set ablaze. Water was running low and anyone who attempted to break from the caravan was picked off mercilessly.

There was a merchant, Biggrin or something, I think was his name. He had some kind of cursed bracer and it was responsible for luring the ogres into the camp becuase on the sixth day he transformed into one of them and slaughtered almost everyone else in the caravan. We had no idea he was even responsible until I killed him and he transformed back to his original form with the bracer glowing all the while. So, I cast the bracer out over the remnants of the wagons and the Ogres claimed their prize and let us be.

I'm a Thief, by trade, that much most of you already know or have figured out. I was separated from my mate during the fighting as I was guarding the western flank and she the Eastern. She was among the first to die at the hands of Biggrin, he transformed and ripped her apart. A few Ogre Stragglers checked on the wagons as I buried her, I killed them, more so I butchered them mercilessly with all the sheer hatred and spite that I could muster exploded into the fire that powered my blows. I left with what I stumbled into your camp with that evening. I surely would have died if you had not taken me in.

Shelia, I think it's long past due that I exercised my body instead of my mind, let us begone from this rabble.

The two went off to pleasures the flesh leaving behind a much subdued and more sullen bunch of circus performers...

"Reflections, Who am I?"

Sinclair sits idly on the edge of an Inn floor his feet swinging over the edge almost touching the street to the side of the stairs leading to the front door. The Circus has already moved on.

Thoughts of people and places flood into his mind, choices and a profession he adhered to yet found was something he might have reconsidered had he known where he was now in his life. No, everything happens for a reason and his path of subtlety and stealth would be much appreciated by the right adventuring party.

They say people die, you move on but you never forget and you hold onto those good memories. "I have this hole inside right now... Who am I?" to no one in general

"You're a hero bud" an old man stated and came to sit beside him

Sinclair looked over at the man of at least 80 winters

"is that so? What makes me that hero?"

"Well sonny, you've got spirit. You have drive and determination and you champion the weak. No matter what your profession is, you could be a peasant and be a hero. You care about people, can see it in your eyes. You think about things, reflect and weigh your choices. You have courage when you need it and a good sword arm when that's needed to."

"How do you know this?" Sinclair asks

"I see people for what they are, call it a gift or a curse, I see who they are and straight to the heart. Console yourself in your path and stick to it, the world needs people like you. You CARE and that's what makes you a Hero." the man gets up wearily and leaves

Looking up Sinclair notices that the man has disappeared, was he even ever there? Mysteries...

Jumping off the ledge, Sin lands softly on the road and begins his journey to drop off that one last package...

"A Different Kind of Legacy"

Names. Names hold power in the mystical realms. Most people seek out treasures to call their own, to live beyond their mortality. Those items become intertwined with their fates and locked to their souls. In the land of the South, there is a man who seeks none of this. Yet, his NAME would become powerful.

Sinclair is finally reaching the last hill, over it he would find the man he was to deliver that fated package to. Smoke rises in billows from just beyond the hill, then cries of pain and sadness. Sinclair's pace quickens and he reaches the top of that hill. The sight before him, is one of horror. There is a battle full on in the valley below. The "House" in the small picture he had to deliver the parcel, was no house... It was a Fortress, one that was on fire in places. Sinclair saw civilians being herded up, in preparation of execution. Two armies were at war here. Nothing got his blood boiling like the slaughter of innocents. So, very much like him, he burst into a run. Coming up behind the first of the armored warriors preparing to cut the unarmed people down. Blades in his hands, running silent, he fell upon the man. Driving a gladius into each of the "Samurai's" armpits as he raised a No-Dachi above his head to strike down the first peasant.

Pulling the blades free suddenly, caused explosive fountains of blood to gush forth from the two wounds as the armored warrior died. Like a hunter Sinclair stalked his prey, he was outnumbered something like twenty to one. As he walked, he twisted each gladius. flicking the blood of the first careless warrior's death off of them. Pausing a moment, he took the stance of one of the sword forms he had learned in the east. Sighting down the blade of his sword, he picked his next opponent. For whatever reason, unknown to him these warriors attacked him, one at time. One after another, each man met his doom at Sinclair's blades. Until none remained. None of the twenty, but hundreds more to be certain.

The Damiyo looked down from his vantage point, at his burning holdings. The battle was finally wrapping up, only a couple hundred stragglers more. He looked on with interest at a man in the middle of his town. The man had killed his adversaries, Twenty Samurai dogs. Men whom he regarded to have little honor left, seeing as they would butcher hapless peasants. Whatever honor they had left, was reflected in the twenty single engagements as they went to their deaths at he hands of a skilled foreigner. A young man, who had nothing to do with this fight, save for championing the cause of the moment. Defense of the innocent. "Tayio Yuden, go and extract that foreigner over there. Do it before he gets himself killed. You see he is surrounded once more." He says to a subordinate

Yuden "But why, master, he is nothing."

Damiyo "No, he is everything we are not. He is honor, he is justice, and he fights like a wounded and dangerous wolf. As he bleeds, dozens more die, in a cause of the Heart. In something we have forgotten, rapt up in the tides of war."

Yuden "As you wish, master"

Damiyo "Go now, before it is too late. He is beginning to falter, from dozens of wounds." And so he was right, each soldier Sinclair killed brought him a little closer to his own grave.

Later, Sinclair's name would begin to grow in recognition, in the southern lands. A foreigner, with honor no less...

"A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing"

Five years earlier in the Eastern territories a small town sat on the edge of the Disputed Lands. Sinclair's Family were indentured to servitude of the local self proclaimed royalty. It was a life of service. However it was life no longer, as he had run away from his family after a series of severe beatings dealt by his father. He had turned to a life in the streets.

Only two things remained that he cared for in his home. His Mother and sister, Milly. He frequently would return in the night to deliver sweets to his sister and a purse of the coin he could spare to his mother.

It was just another day, but on this day the Ogres raided his town...

He could hear the blood curdling screams in the twilight. having just returned from a meeting with the local guild representative. Running from the alleyway, he saw the fires in his part of town.

He ran, and he ran, the closer he got the more he realized that the area being focused on by the Ogres was very likely his exact block.

The fighting was brutal, most of the humans had been mercilessly butchered. Most likely a reprisal for the human incursion into their lands or the series of raids that the militia had been staging on the Ogres and Wolfen of late.

Climbing through his window, he witnessed the carnage left by the Ogre trundling out the shattered front door. His mother and father lay dead. Looking about frantically he spotted a small leg sticking out from behind a barrel in the kitchen. Rounding it, he gagged, witnessing the shattered body of his sister Milly who was still clinging to an Aco doll...

Aco was supposed to protect people from this kind of thing. But not this time... Was his sister not good enough for the Goddess. Damn her! Where were the gods! How could this happen! He thought to himself. He gingerly closed her eyes, then did the same for his mother and father. Regardless of his foul treatment, his father deserved some manner of respect. Placing them all on his parents bed, he kicked the embers from the fireplace into the room and tossed the oil lantern onto the floor.

Tears streaming from his eyes he emerged form the burning house.

"I AM SINCLAIR!!! YOU PIGS!!!" Announcing himself at the top of his 13 year old lungs. Drawing a shortsword he charged the first Ogre. To his credit he got a couple well placed hits in, nothing monumental. Then he was battered aside.

Broken and bleeding he stood again, and closed. A couple more strikes and the beast fell, having been wounded by his father and a series of other weapons from villagers and militia. Then he was launched into the air and all went black.

When he awoke, he was in a Wolfen camp.

Apparently, the Wolfen war leader had been tracking the same band of Ogres for assaulting one of their holdings as well. His honor and spirit had impressed the war party leader and they had taken him back with them after butchering the Ogres and shattering the town for its relentless invasion of their lands.

He was a slave, and over the next two years he won his freedom from them. Learned the Wolfen language and left with a Gladius they had given to him.

They called him a "wolf in sheep's clothing". The slave part didn't bother him. Because people of the East had been hunting the Wolfen and Coyles and all other monster races relentlessly for generations. The fact that they taught him how to fight, how to survive and a part of their language and culture showed him something about them he would have never seen before. He would never forget the silver maned Wolfen Leader, Garrax.

Perhaps, one day, he might return and have a friend or two in the ranks of the Wolfen. Perhaps, if the Eastern armies didn't kill them all first...

The question of gods rarely plagued him, save for his thoughts and disgust/distrust of Aco. One day perhaps, he would find the deity for him. Or, rather, a deity would find him because of his choices and his evolution into a warrior and a champion of justice.

"Discarded Lords"

Lord Shin Amaguchi, once a man of prestige and power stood at the edge of a precipice that looked out onto the territory known as the Land of the South Winds. Five years ago he had been framed and had stood trial for crimes he did not commit. Five long years, his sentance in the trial was death. He recalled awating his fate in a cell in the main palace, his wards seemingly scattered or absorbed by other lords of the realm. His betrayl had been masterful and he had nothing left to live for, at least, until an unlikely man gave him back a piece of his soul.

He stood there, his garb whipping around him on the windswept plateu. He looked very different, these days. Outfitted in Eastern Territory clothing and armored like his companion who stepped up beside him.

Sinclair placed a hand on his shoulder. He was outfitted almost identically to the once Lord of the South Winds. Magically hardened leather armor and flowing robes completed with cloak and hood adorning both of them. Sinclair's signature weapons compliment, a gift from Shin himself, still worn in a cross brace on his back that could be drawn down and to his sides. They had fought together for five years now, starting over, not completely from scratch. As Sinclair had rounded up those loyal to the betrayed lord and left with all of them for the Eastern territories.

Five years of fighting, and building. They had carved out a small but efficient and stable territory for themselves in the Eastern territories. Using that time to build, gather resources and collect intelligence for their return here. They had come back to repudiate Shin's name. Having collected the requisite information and the unerworld contacts, this would be a tedious and dangerous quest. However, if things went anything like they hoped they would. Shin might once again be accounted among the lords and lands of his birthright.

Five years ago, three companions parted ways. It was over a disagreement concerning the lord himself. Sinclair wanted to know why they would abandon this innocent man to his fate. A man who never showed anything less than compassion to his vassals and awarded boons to those who were loyal in his service.

His unique skillset offered him the tools and abilities that his concience compelled him to to employ, in stealing the Lord from his stay for execution. Sinclair had infiltrated the prison, and come upon the lord in his cell, who was attempting to meditate to no avail.

"I recall a time, when I met a great and generous man. That time was not so long ago. I also recall swearing fealty to this man for those qualities, and I was not mistaken for having made that decision." Sinclair, a Man of barely eighteen years said to the lord behind the bars

Lord Shin Amaguchi looked up, noticing the incapicated guard by the door and the young man of honor at the door to his cell. He could hear the tumbler click and the door swung open. "I must stand and await my fate. It is a matter of honor. I thank you for your efforts, Sinclair, however, this is my fate. I must embrace it."

Sinclair steeled himself, knowing he didn't have the time to argue so his presentation had to be firm. Damn these Southerners... He responded in fluent southern "What you must embrace is the truth. In that truth we both know you were framed, deception leading the way and as such your trial was a sham." he let those words sink in and asaw a sparkle of light in the beaten man's eyes "Your death here and now is a meaningless end. However, if you were to die in battle by my side fighting to repudiate your name... Now, that would indeed have meaning. Your flight from here would mean exile, however, exile is not death. Exile allows you an opportunity you will not recieve at the hands of your executioner tomorrow, even if those are your own hands." Which was a customary means by which lords were slain for crimes here in the Land of the South Winds "By your own hands, and perhaps mine and those I have gathered you are offered the opportunity to remove this mark from your honor and name." Sincleair saw more light return to his eyes "Yes, I have gathered those loyal to you. They await your return on a ship just off the shore of this palace. They need you, and we need to hurry."

"How did you manage this?" Shin looked to the boy of 18 years

"It cost me everything I had and a couple favors to boot. I've made friends over the years and my travels and I just spent all of those favors in the effort to give us a chance, one chance to return here in time to see an unjustly accused man returned to his place of honor and birthright." Sinclair said

Shin stood, and stepped out of the cell "What are you waiting for, I will trust you then, most unlikely and loyal of my firends. You are no longer a vassal, assuming those words carry any weight at all seeing as I have been stripped of title. You are my friend and equal." he said

"There are three dozen people on that ship that have no regard for the decree that stripped your title, we have to move now." And then Sinclair and he were gone, Sinclair leading him out

Looking over the Land of South Winds on the precipice that he and Sinclair stood, "It is time, thank you friend." Shin said and then turned with Sinclair to rejoin their caravan.