Crumpled papers

[Winter83]

Dear Diary,

Tymora smiled upon me this day truly.

First it started out as a nightmare, awakening in an unknown city. I thought it was one of the mischief of Pip and Twig of the Sea Bounty. Turned out I simply fell asleep on the deck of that ship I snuck on. The book which I stole from the library was terrifically boring.
And now, with only my rags on my body, I walk the streets of the city of marvel, Cordor. The people here are nice. Not a single time they pelted me with pebbles. A lack of beggars, and street urchins, unsavory folks. Place is tidy, clean.

And while I was running around for a job, searching the corners and alleys to find a place for the night, I ran right into the sergeant of the city guards. Lily even offered me an opportunity to join them. Hah! A recruit I am now.

I am the luckiest bastard, from the streets right into a comfortable bed. The amount of guards around me still makes me nervous. Keep forgetting I am on their side now, and should consider them comrades. Refreshing to be on the other side of the bars.

[Winter83]

Dear Diary,

Working for the guard is not as bad as I was thinking. Their presence still intimidates me, memories of the past.
I was speaking in length with a gnome „heroine” as she announced herself. The discussion about life and joy. Brought back memories.





A night at Athkatla. Sitting atop the rooftops with Pim and Pip the twins. They were as easily mistaken to a halfling as I was to a human child. But the twins were the humans’ spawn no more no less. Friends, likely the only friends I had. We made a good team.

The chill of the night air. The traffic below slows down. People are like tiny ants. The lamplighter’s bellows as he lumbers along the main street, illuminating the area in his wake.
Windows. Behind thin curtains silhouettes, shades shuddering and dancing in the candlelight. Babes add their crying to the nightly choir, wife and husband quarrel over the daily events.

One of my mentors told me. Every window is like a book. If you listen carefully a new tale unfolds. Tales of joy, tales of sorrow. But each one is unique.
And as the darkness regains her claim over the city, the nocturnal crawl out from their hidey-holes. Prostitutes of elves, humans, once I even saw a dwarf, the bouncers and thugs, yonder is a client.

While the ground is ruled by people of the night, the rooftops are claimed by fellows like us. Rooks, childlings and thieves. We stand from our sit and stride atop the tiles lightly, along the spines of the buildings. To hear the tales the windows tell us. To listen. And mark the ones which we deem interesting. Spinner of tales we will become.