Games We Play

(This is from the viewpoint of Foley, a halfling thief, some years later.)

It isn’t hard for a motivated halfling to break into the import-export business in Baldur’s Gate. Just showing up and passing the interview is usually enough. I’ve heard some wild stories about schools and training that are cuthroat, like other people will cut your throat for a few copper. But in Baldur’s Gate, the movers of goods are treated with more respect and have to be more careful. The Flamers, who pass for a city guard, are everywhere. They must drain the coffers of the overtaxed city quite often and make it hard to move these goods.

Looking for goods, or information, is how I came across the raiding party. Every once and a while a bunch of insane pirates hit Baldur’s Gate and steal stuff from the docks or from the outskirts before the Flamers get a chance to figure out what’s going on. It’s a hit-and-run, but it’s effective.

But pirates are just common thieves and they know what to look for. It will be the last time I hide in shrub. I thought it would be the last time I’d ever see a shrub, with many promises that I would be rowing boats for the rest of my life, and the shackles were very strong.

I don’t know if they thought it was funny to seat me next to some dark elf but it wasn’t. The thing kept trying to talk to me and ask me questions, though he was smart enough not to talk to our jailer. See, every shift of rowers got their own keeper, some ugly heighty or other with names like Killer or Butch. Ours was a half-orc named Hafcriss who had about as much loyalty to his species as any half-breed. Hafcriss even had some joy in beating down another half-orc chained to an oar by himself. Some of the less lucky slaves had to row alone. But then, they didn’t have to chat it up with some dark-skinned mouthy elf.

No, no he wasn’t drow. Look, shut up, not every gods-damned dark-skinned elf in the world is drow. This elf was dark like bark. Drow are black and pretty nasty. Not that I care, but a lot of people don’t like drow. He just had dark skin and dark hair unlike any elf I’d ever seen. But he was smart enough to shut up when Hafcriss came around.

After a few weeks of rowing, though, anyone would talk to an elf. Or even the half-breeds. At first I thought the dwarf who had his own oar would be a good conspiritor for escape, but it didn’t take long for him to get beat stupid. Oh how I wished for one gnome to talk with.

After three weeks I was ready to conspire even with the half-elf. By this time we had all talked with one another just enough for introductions. I never thought I would be grateful for knowing a human, but among these races humans are the easiest to manipulate.

The half-elf, a creature with noble bearing and odd desert accent, seemed the most eager to escape. He introduced himself as Kumar. He was built like a human, strong by the look of his thighs, and had an oar all to himself. Hey, when you’re a halfling in a world of giants, you get to look at a lot of legs and it’s not pretty.

In spite of this, Kumar had the usual deceptive cunning of an elf. He talked glib of friends and allies but I didn’t trust him. That he said he was almost as interested in importing and exporting as I was, and that made me trust him even less. There’s honor among us, but not without a reason.

When he asked Hafcriss what the name of the boat is, the orc-spawn had a fit of creativity with a whip, so we never did find out.

The dark-skinned elf claimed his dark skin was from being of The Wood People. “The People” means elves, boy. Stop interrupting. He said his name was Dane Metrik and from the weeks he tried talking to me I learned he was a slave on a different ship, that the other ship was taken over by the one we were on and that he liked it better over there and other things I didn’t care to know. At first he would only tell us he liked the bow, but later we found he also had an interest in the mystical.

Though half-breeds make my skin crawl — because they’re so faithless and got faithless parents, and I know you lot were about to interrupt about that — I had to put up with them anyway. A half-orc, named Sully see, had another oar alone and Hafcrys kept harassing the creature with promises of fetching a high price for muscle and no brain, yet when talking to the giant half-orc he was quite violent but well-spoken about it.

The dwarf claimed fielty to the god Hoar, or maybe goddess. He said it had to do with justice. Justice! Would he call being beat ten ways to the Planes for opening his mouth justice? I suppose I’d better tell you his name while I’m telling you everyone else’s. Colwyn. There it is.

Finally we have Rokellen, Follower of the Dead God Kellemvor. He was very helpful whenever someone’s life was threatened and promised to help usher us into the afterlife. It’s the life I got that I’m worried about. I don’t need help getting there; I need help staying here.

I never thought I would be grateful for knowing a human, but among these races humans are the easiest to manipulate. I was hoping this was the case with this one.

There were some others, but they ended up dead anyway, washed overboard. And after rowing for four weeks, four long ugly disgusting thirsty weeks on the ocean, that’s exactly what happened.