High Society

Terms:
Hin: Another term for a halfling, a common race in the D&D setting of Forgotten realms. About half the size of a normal human.
Amn: Western region on the Sword Coast.
Highmoon: A populated city found north of the Sea of Fallen stars in the Dalelands.
Faerun: The continent in which this all takes place


         Tavin was born into the high class society. Raised on the belief that anything could be bought, he grew up quickly in the prosperous city of Esmeltaran. The once small          town was booming from the ever-growing trade business of Amn, taking advantage of its place along the Gem Road. Sitting north of Lake Esmel, the city commands the largest group of hot springs west of the Sea of Fallen Stars; making it a popular tourist stop for travelers all around.

         Growing up was easy for Tavin, living off fine food, and associating with even finer people. He learned his way around conversations with his charm granting him the advantage. Nevertheless, he was as most hins, very mischievous. Reveling in the rush of danger, he always seemed to cross paths with trouble. Often called “sticky hands” in his younger years, he was fond of collecting oddities. Even though he likely could have bought anything he desired, stealing fed his craving for danger. Where he attained these items was quite obvious to anyone that took the moment to look them over. They might even find something familiar within his collection. However, given the fact his family was the second richest in Esmeltaran, not many questioned where these things came from; and by Amn standards, high living and riches meant everything.

         Yet there was something missing for Tavin, a void in his heart. Small at first, just an emptiness he felt, a longing for a parent’s love. Still, this emptiness would soon grow, with rumors giving a foreshadowing to the coming events. However, the hin was too young to understand the quickly spreading whispers around him. He would never forget that walk up to the door, the cold touch of the morning dew gathering on his ankles as he made his way along the grassy path. With the morning sun hiding behind the large roof of his family’s mansion he stepped up to the arched doorway. The wide, decorative door creaked open, the sound adding an eerie ambience as it filled the empty main chamber of the house. “Empty” he thought. The words ringing clear in his mind. Still, the naïve Tavin trotted up the spiraling staircase, echoing the words “Mum, dad?” Perhaps then, as he reached the second floor, it became clear. If asked to recall the event he wouldn’t be able to answer, the memory sifted to the back of his mind forever. It wasn’t a death, if it was, maybe it would have been better that way, at least death offered some bit of closure. But no, there was only emptiness. From room to room he searched, frantically, desperately, in hopes of maybe finding some kind of note. He found nothing though, except a single cot in the corner of his old room. The dipping folds of the hanging wallpaper evidence of the hasty departure.

         Cold and alone at an age where he still sought after his mother’s hand in the middle of the night, Tavin spent those first few days on that lonely cot; his mind tracking back through the memories of his vanished family. He awoke that third morning, hearing the rising chatter of a gathering crowd outside the house. Peering through the dust covered window, he watched as a stubby hin spoke to the group from atop his particularly tall podium. The stout hin waved a small, wooden gavel around, the only clue Tavin needed to understand the occasion. It was an auction, and not just any auction, an auction for this house. He had been to many of these in his years, although he was only at the young age of 12, these gatherings were common practice amongst the wealthy folk.

         He left then, sneaking out the backdoor of the extravagant mansion. Not sure where to go, he knew he was nothing more than a commoner now. With only the clothes on his back he made his way down the damp alleyways of the bustling city. However silly it may sound, he was actually embarrassed to be seen this way; dirt covered and not a bath in days. After all, he was the son of Thaniel Surefoot! “Thaniel” He thought... how low had his parents gone in abandoning him, their son. He could hear the rumors now, the whispers as heads turned when he passed by. How could his parents abandon him because of measly money struggles? It turns out they hadn’t been the second richest family in Esmeltaran for nearly two years. The Surefoot family had fallen into deep debt, more than likely due to his father’s unquenchable gambling habit; and perhaps a few bad investments along the way.  A single tear streaked down his dirty cheek as the thoughts raced through his mind. Any other tears that were welling up in those piercing blue eyes were quickly wiped away. He wasn’t ready to give up, and instead he reverted to what was once his favorite game of danger; stealing.

         The years passed by, and Tavin indeed survived. Yet he was nothing of his former self, nothing more than an agile street rat now. That would all change though, when he would pick the pocket of a very powerful halfling.

                      *************************************************************

         The sun peaked in through the moist clouds, its scattered rays shinning like spotlights on the parade’s performers.  The weather did little to suppress the rising cheers of the gathered spectators. The sidewalks filled with people from all around, after all this was the great annual Harvest Parade. Tavin was as excited as any for this time of year, although his motives a tad different than others. He slipped around, from one unsuspecting victim to the other. His hands working swiftly as they replaced the lifted gold crowns with replica ones made from wood and copper. The switch was rarely needed, however he took little chances in his work; for a missing hand, the common penalty for those caught stealing, practically meant death to one in his situation.

         His hands delicately spread open the now untied leather coin purse. His fingers, slithering their way into the filled sack, scooped up the gold crowns while the wooden replicas dripped down from his sleeve. He had never been caught with this technique, so methodically did he execute his approach.

         His fingertips rolled over the flat of a coin, stopping suddenly, realizing the situation. Before he could respond to the thought, he was spun forward by his free wrist. Now facing the dancing spectacle of the parade, a whisper, or perhaps more so a object poking his right rib, caught him off guard. “Enjoying tha parade, are ya?”

         Tavin’s eyes reached to the corner of their sockets, measuring the mustached hin beside him without turning his head in response. His left wrist was caught behind his back, and his right still stuck in the coin purse; which now he realized was filled with fake coins to begin with. These coins, far better replicas than his, were made out of some kind brittle substance. Perhaps fool’s gold he thought, but the man’s words brought his mind back to the present situation.

         “Be in your best interest ta take your hand out of there, mate. Unless you are hoping for the guards to cut it off…” The man teased with a smirk.

         Taken back by the turn of events, Tavin quickly pulled his hand from the coin purse, using the opportunity to also free himself from the man’s clutch. Retreating down the alleyway he took off in full flight, before turning the corner he glanced over his shoulder expecting to see the man right behind him. Yet, he saw nothing, just the thick crowd swarming around the street. As Tavin turned the corner, he barely caught a glimpse of the cane sticking out about chest height in front of him. He attempted to stop, but the loose dirt was hardly enough traction for him to even slow. He skidded, nearly full speed, into the cane, doing a half flip before tumbling to the ground. With a groan he forced his eyes open, the spinning vision nearly sending them back close. His eyes, fighting the spiraling image, focused in on a tapping boot.

“Now now.. tha’ wasn’t too smart. An’ here I thought you were a bit craftier than that.” The hin sighed. “Tryin’ ta out run me eh?” He retorted. Tavin could only listen as he racked his brain for an explanation of the man’s quickness.

“Well.. bes’ call the guards over..” The hin said dramatically. And with that, Tavin jumped to his feet, ready to take another attempt at an escape. Before he could even get a step forward though, the cane moved, quicker than his eyes could follow, between his legs; sending him sprawling back to the dirt.

“Your jus’ a stubborn one ain’t ya?” The hin laughed out.

After taking a pause to gather his courage, and to slip out a throwing dagger, Tavin shot out a response. “There’s a difference ba’tween stubbornness an’ survival.” His hand cocked back, ready to let the dagger fly.

“I’d be careful playin’ with knives, someone might get hurt.” The hin scowled at him, sending doubting thoughts through desperate Tavin’s mind. How far had he sunk in his pit for survival; so ready to kill an innocent man.

Easily reading Tavin’s inner battle, the hin seized the opportunity. “Well, you’re in luck mate; I got a proposition for ya!”

         Tavin quirked his brows and pushed himself up slowly; the throwing dagger still resting easy in his sweaty palm. He measured up the older Halfling, now that his vision had steadied. The man, a few inches taller than Tavin, leaned on a gem studded cane. The lavish design was belittled by the luxurious blue suite he wore. The finely sewn silk sparkled under the sun, which had finally fought its way through the wall of clouds. His mustache, curled tightly on each end, glinted with traces of grey hair. Again, Tavin couldn’t help but wonder how this obviously older hin was able to get around the corner before him.

Playing off of the pause, the older hin added in, “Ooor, we could call the guards over, if’n that’s more preferable fer ya.”

“No no..” Tavin sighed, “What’s it you want?” He shuddered at the thought of what the man could possibly be after, but he had no other choice.

         The man took a deep breath before beginning, “Well, first off tha names Fram, Fram Thorngage, and although it may surprise you, I ain’t gettin’ any younger!” Fram chuckled with his own joke, although Tavin didn’t even budge a grin. “Lighten’ up lad, this is gonna benefit ya too! You see, I was once as yerself; a lowlife purse lifter, no offense. Yet look at me now!” He flashed a shiny grin, his polished teeth glimmering in the sun. “Now, as I said, I’m gettin’ old. And, as you probably know, you need to be quick in my- our business. Quick and smart! And I see both those in ya! So you’re a bit rough around the edges! Nothing the right clothes can’t fix, well and perhaps a few decent meals… and a bath.” He dismissed the train of thought with the wave of his hand. “Anyways, that’s where I come in. You see, I can give ya all that and more! Not to mention forgetting about tha’ whole stealin’ incident we went through over at the parade.” Tavin’s eyes sparked at the thought, but narrowed as the older hin held up a finger. “But there’s a catch, of course.” He grinned, “With age comes wisdom, but also sluggishness. I ain’t as agile as I once was. But I got all the techniques up here!” He winked, tapping his head with the top of his cane.  “So-oo you getting my drift mate?”

Tavin looked him over, obviously slightly bewildered by the unexpected proposal. “Ya want meh ta work fer ya?”

“Blimey! He’s got it! Not as dim as ya look. Now straighten up…” The elder hin shouted out gleefully as he used his cane to poke Tavin’s side until he stood straight. 

“So, where’s it you live?” Tavin questioned, his curiosity itching.
“Athkatla, City o’ Coin! You’ll fit right in, lad. Just remember, ain’t no one higher up on the chain than you, if’n others know it or not. An’ if they doubt it, well then perhaps they will be missing their favorite ring in the morning. Possibly even a finger.” Fram winked jokingly.

         Tavin could only explain the run in with Fram that day as fate. They walked off together, fitting Tavin for a suitable outfit and a fine meal. Tavin, for once in a long while was able to be himself. The worries of tomorrow’s survival were now in the deepest afterthoughts of the back of his mind. It felt good, very good. And he decided then, as he sat eating in front of the most extraordinary Hin he had ever met, that he would never again be the scavenging street thief he was. He would pull himself up by his boots and bring the Surefoot name back its’ honor, one way or another.

                      *************************************************************

         The two shared many stories on that caravan ride west to Athkatla, the capitol of Amn. Tavin told of his parents abandoning him five years ago, and Fram told of his childhood in a poverty-stricken orphanage. They each took comfort in sharing their tragic tales, able to relate on a level beyond just thieving and trickery. Tavin still had much to learn from Fram though, for on that ride it became obvious to him that Fram was far beyond the simple pocket picking that was Tavin’s expertise.

         “Not to worry, mate. Thieving is a complicated art, an’ mixed with the trickery of disguise, it can be a deadly tool indeed!” Fram would often say, reassuring the sometimes skeptical Tavin.

         The two bonded quickly, and as the bumpy dirt road leveled out to become a smooth ride, they knew they were close to home. The always curious Tavin couldn’t stop himself from asking Fram how he had been quicker than him in getting around that alleyway corner. Fram answered with a laugh as he recalled the event; offering him only a single remark, “Magic can do wonders, mate, wonders.”

         Soon though, the young hin would learn things far beyond his imagination. Fram’s extensive library alone would tell the tales of a thousand dragons and knights, of magic, and swords, and forgotten kingdoms. Tavin was astonished by the historical artifacts that littered the halls of Fram’s nearly endless mansion. From room to room, each item told a story. His curiosity perked as he walked the webbed corridors of Fram’s home. Still, his curiosity hadn’t met its match until the day he laid eyes on the sealed vault, its magical ward glowing, pulsating, almost in an effort to tempt those who passed by. Tavin couldn’t help but be inquisitive. The thing was nearly grabbing at him! Tavin inched closer, beads of sweat gathering across his forehead. His hand reached out for the vault handle, his fingers twitching in anticipation of what lay behind its thick adamantine walls.

“STOP!” The startling shout paused Tavin’s motion for the handle; the sudden yell nearly causing him to topple over in fright.

“Unless you want to test my magic handiwork, you best steer clear of that vault. Its’ ward isn’t as friendly as it may appear.” Fram stated plainly.

         Tavin, again, couldn’t help but inquire as to what sat behind that sealed door. Fram offered a slight sigh before motioning to a nearby chair. As always, Fram wove a tale like no other. He told the story of an Ancient Shadow Dragon, an adventure he embarked on with several companions many years back. Tavin sat there speechless, caught in the fluid weave of Fram’s excellent storytelling. As the hours passed Tavin’s interest wasn’t diminished in the least. Fram ended his tale with the answer to Tavin’s original question.

“There lies behind it a book.” He held up a finger dramatically. “Now this ain’t jus’ any book! It is a book of shadows and manipulation. It teaches the art of bending your surroundings to your advantage. Or perhaps more importantly it teaches the reader how to bend the shadows to their advantage. It is sought after by many thieves, and many collectors. It sits there in safe keeping, until I can find the right hands to pass it on to. Or perhaps the right place to dispose of it, in case those hands never come my way.” He ended his tale in a somber tone.

         Tavin eyed the vault for one last time, deciding to never come in that room again; leaving the temptation to fade away with his memories.

                      *************************************************************

         The years passed, and Tavin worked many nights for Fram, slipping through the streets unseen and unheard. He wasn’t stealing petty coins or food from the market as he did back home. Instead he was breaching mansions and bringing back with him valuable artifacts. Sometimes as simple as a piece of art, other times a bit more complicated such as a siege weapon from a long forgotten war.

         In return Fram taught Tavin the art of disguise, an irreplaceable tool in the world of complex thievery. Tavin caught on quick, and was eager to learn each new lesson. Many times Fram would coordinate the lessons to coincide with the heist; allowing Tavin to learn through real experiences rather than just fake scenarios.

         The years passed by, and the two made quite the name for themselves amongst the Amn underworld. Accumulating a fare share of wealth by pawning off some of their loot, the rest found its way into decorating the labyrinth of hallways that made up Fram’s manor. However, with wealth brought unwanted attention. Something Tavin would soon come to realize.

                      *************************************************************

         It was an unusually warm night in the coastal city of Athkatla, the cold ocean breeze occasionally sweeping in through the hazy streets of the merchant city. There was an eerie sensation about this night; perhaps it was the thick blanket of fog that beset the tall mansions that filled this area of town.

         The silhouetted figure stepped through the bank of fog, crouched stealthily in the shadows set in by the bright, late-night moon. With his well practiced steps he made his way down the calm alleyways with a scroll case in hand. Holding close the valuable piece of art rolled up inside the ruby case, he started his way towards the hidden back entrance of the home. He gave a calculated knock; each tap hitting the door a precise number of seconds after the other. This was the code Tavin and Fram had come up with, keeping the security of the drop-off as tight as possible.
Oddly though, there was no answer to his accurate set of knocks. Tavin repeated the process, executing the code perfectly. Still, there was no response. Tavin sighed, thinking up a few reasons why the aging Fram wouldn’t be responding. Perhaps a few too many drinks he pondered with a shrug as he dug out his elaborate lock pick set and began working on the door. With a faint ‘click’ the door slid open; Tavin peered around the dark room before lighting the curled wick of a candle. Its’ dancing flame sending the darkness scrambling as it illuminated the small room.

         The candle went out as quickly as it was lit, giving a soft ‘thud’ as it fell to the floor; followed by Tavin’s gasp. He fumbled for the candle, relighting it as he kneeled over a thick puddle of blood; its’ source, a beaten body, laying feet away. Tavin fought to bring the flame forward, hardly wanting to verify the nightmare that surrounded him. There was no fighting it though, as the light unveiled the shadowed face of his dearest friend, Fram Thorngage. The devastating image forever locked into his memory. And as cliché as it may sound, Fram was like a father to him, the male figure that Tavin lacked in his younger years.

         There was little time for mourning though, as gruesome as the scene was. Tavin knew that Fram would be no easy adversary, and so neither would be his assassin. He left the candle lit there, the flame dancing next to the grotesque remains of the fallen hin.

         Stalking the hallways, Tavin knew he had the advantage over the intruders. He knew the maze-like corridors better than any burglar. As he stepped, silently, past room after room he couldn’t help but wonder what brought on the death of his friend. Perhaps a sour victim of Fram’s own burglaries, or maybe a thief who had heard of the artifacts that adorned the lavish mansion? It all became clear though as Tavin crept past the open door to the vault room. The vault door itself pried open through pure force, or possibly magical means. Tavin tiptoed closer, all his senses on edge as he peered into the open vault.

         His eyes widened in horror, the repulsive sight sending chills down his spine. Spikes jutted out in every direction. The protruding barbs interweaving like a stack of needles, with still twitching bodies impaled in-between. The nearest body collapsed as its last breath escaped through its torn lungs. The skewered corpses dripped blood which ran down a placed drain in the center. It was obvious what this room was meant for, a trap. It served as only a façade for the real Book of Shadows, which was hidden somewhere else amongst the extensive mansion; a secret that Tavin had been let in on only a few days prior, almost as if Fram had expected the visitors beforehand. Yet Fram had not told him where the book was truly at, leaving a riddle instead, as only Fram would do.

“Forlorn of darkness it forever sits, under the remains of past events.”

         Tavin nearly shouted out in pain as a deep pin pricked the center of his heel. With a swift tug he pulled the pendant out. The sight of the symbol a far more painful prospect than the prick it gave, a black silk domino mask impaled on a stiletto; the symbol of the Shadow Thieves of Amn. None of the thieves were wearing the pendants, for good reason. The shadow thieves were often taught to never openly wear the symbol, unless specifically ordered to. It must have fallen out of one the many pouches the thieves wore. This wasn’t a good sign at all, the Shadow Thieves were known as the largest and most prosperous thieves’ guild in all of Faerun, let alone their home turf: Amn.

         He sprinted for the door, scrambling as the hallway rug slid from under his feet. He was up in seconds and running full speed again down the torch lit corridor. The riddle looped through his mind, playing itself over and over. However, Fram had taught him well in the tricks of trickery. “Events” he thought to himself, and that’s when it triggered. The Event Hall!  The Event Hall was the room where Fram held all of his social events. It was a wide room with a large balcony that fully circled its tall crimson walls, and likely the only room in the mansion not to sport any stolen art as decoration.  He turned the corner that lead into the large event chamber, diving into the nearest shadows as he did. The room was in pieces, and the angered conversation he could hear above him gave insight into why. A group of three stood atop the balcony across the room from Tavin, obviously arguing over the decoding of the riddle. Tavin wasn’t in the least surprised that they knew the riddle. They were the Shadow Thieves of Amn after all, and everyone west of the sea knew they had their ways. However, they had not been the student of a true master of disguise.

         Tavin inched his way around the perimeter of the room, placing each step ever so carefully as he passed through the wreckage caused by the thieves’ thorough search. The large elegant rugs that once hung from the ceiling now lay in torn shreds, scattered around the room. Ironic enough, the debris of the destroyed room supplied Tavin with more than enough shadows to move about unseen. He sat there, hiding behind the flickering flames of the large fireplace, pondering on the rest of the riddle.

“Forlorn of darkness it forever sits, under the remains of past events.”

“The remains of past events…” Well, there was plenty remains left in the room now, he mused to himself. “Forlorn of darkness it forever sits…”  He thought over this line for several minutes, allowing the trio above him to disperse. His mind trailed off, his eyes caught in the spectacle of the dancing shadows produced by the large fire beside him. That was it! The fireplace! Yet, how could a book survive under the rigorous torture of the fire’s hot flame…

         Tavin shook his head, diminishing the doubting thoughts of the riddles solution. Fram, always the master of disguise, would of course hide a book in the one place it would be destroyed… a fire. Tavin took one last scan of the room just to be sure he was rid of those sly Shadow Thieves. As soon as he was convinced it was safe he scattered the charred logs till the fire was extinguished. He dug his hands deep into the ash, searing a few of his fingers on the hidden embers; still that did little to slow his search. His heart dropped as he felt nothing through the fresh ash. He fell back with a sigh, not understanding where he went wrong. “Past events…” he realized he had never once seen the ashes taken from the often used fireplace. He grabbed the small shovel from the nearby rack of fire tools and begun to scoop away the top ash. Embers flew as he continued to shovel. After a few moments he began digging again with his hands, soon feeling the soft touch of the velvet book. Holding it up in the faint light of the room, he could hardly make out the decorations along the spine and cover of the book. At about 8 inches in length, and 2 in thickness, the black velvet book seemed to give off a shadow of its’ own in all directions; making it impossible to get a good look at it in the dim lit area. He delicately folded away the book and turned to leave. However, there was a bit of a problem. The embers he carelessly threw over his shoulder were now turning into a fire at a quickening rate; the scattered debris of the torn room making wonderful kindling for the growing flames. He had no time to waste saving the valuable artifacts of the elaborate mansion, and had little reason to now with Fram dead. Sure they had their sentimental value, but Tavin realized that keeping the book out of the wrong hands would be Fram’s main concern.

         He ran through the twisting network of corridors towards a secret exit, one of the many hidden doors amongst the confusing manor. As he made his way out and through the dark streets of Athkatla, he couldn’t help but pause and look back at the flaming house. Too many thoughts ran though his mind at that moment, he felt vulnerable again with the realization of being homeless and alone. He shook away the skeptical thoughts. Fram had taught him all those lessons for a reason. He wanted to pass them down to someone he felt could continue on his legacy; perhaps not in the City of Coin, but somewhere else. Tavin continued his run in the direction of a rogue route through the cities’ wall. A secret escape Fram had shown him that wouldn’t alert the guards of his retreat.

                      *************************************************************

         As Tavin sat there, a mile outside the city, he watched the distant speck of flame that was once his home, he thought over the many lessons Fram had taught him. He searched them for a place to go… “Highmoon”, he remembered. The place Fram often referred to as his “Untapped gold mine of the north.” Unfolding a comprehensive map that showed most of Faerun, he slid his finger across it slowly until it reached Highmoon. “Highmoon it is” he whispered aloud to himself. And with that decision he brushed off his clothes, straightened his posture and headed towards his new home. He wasn’t going to let the memory of Fram fade away like the many in his past. No, instead he would keep Fram’s memory alive through his own actions, always keeping his mentor’s teachings fresh on his mind.