In The Cards

Basic training is the foundation upon which every aspiring rogue must build his or her future career. It doesn't do to be sloppy when you're learning fundamentals. For example, being able to pick the most devious of locks is going to be of little help if you get your fingers chopped off by a simple blade-trap. The training will also be facilitated by common sense, a trait sadly lacking in most students. Most of them are complete nitwits who will hear only what they want to hear, and then proceed to make utter fools of themselves. Clutching a drawn dagger between your teeth may make you think you look frightening, but the professional sees only an opportunity to take half your face off by slamming shut the door you're just about to walk through.

Also, don't take a name like 'Stealth Master', 'Bob the Bloody' or 'Death'. Nobody who matters will be impressed.

Excerpt from 'Interview With An Assassin'

Imoen was starting to get bored. It was the first night back in Nashkel and everybody except her seemed to be busy. Edwin and Dynaheir had shut themselves in their respective rooms, clearly intending to waste no time in preparing for that Wizard Duel thing. Minsc had of course gone along with Dynaheir. Khalid and Jaheira had retired to their room, giving each other some very fond looks before they did so. That left Rini, who was usually good for lots of fun. But the half-elf was completely preoccupied with that huge magical book she had found in the Ogre Mage's house. She was lying on her stomach in her bed, leaning her head in her left hand and stroking her familiar with her right as she read. The cat purred contentedly. From time to time, when the half-elf got too involved with her reading and the petting halted, Softpaws would rise and go sit in the middle of the page, refusing to budge until she got the attention she wanted.

"Rini?" Imoen asked. "D'you want to tell me a story?"

Zaerini looked up, her golden eyes slightly disoriented for a moment or two before she drifted back into reality. "Hm?" she said. "What's that? Oh. Sure. Just let me finish this chapter first…"

Imoen sighed. She didn't doubt that her friend meant what she said, but she also knew her very well. When Rini wanted to 'just finish this chapter' that usually meant that she would be in a trance all night until she had finished the entire book or fallen asleep with exhaustion. Nagging would do no good. She would just have to amuse herself. "I'm going out for a bit", she said, pulling on her pink jacket before she sprinkled herself liberally with her favorite scent. "I wanna check the town out, I saw there was a tavern down by the river."

"Uh-huh…" Zaerini said, already deep into the book again. Obviously she hadn't heard a word or she would have insisted on coming along rather than let her younger friend enter some strange tavern on her own.

Imoen slipped into the night, reveling in her freedom. All right! She struck a dramatic pose and then sneaked along the wall of the Nashkel Inn. The mysterious, shadowy lady rogue is abroad, prepared to strike! Nobody can match her! Nobody can catch her! Nobody can stop her in her quest for fortune, glory and a really cute boyfriend!

The girl chuckled quietly to herself before she pulled the door to the tavern open. There was light spilling out through the partly open window, as well as the loud sounds of drunken singing and raucous laughter. This was going to be great! The tavern turned out to be dark, smoky and crowded from one wall to the other. The tables Imoen could see were completely occupied, and there were plenty more people hanging around the bar or enjoying a game of darts on the other side of the room. Most of the guests were soldiers from the town barracks, others seemed to be miners or farmers. A fellow in a black beret and a puffy-sleeved shirt seemed to be some sort of bard and was telling the crowd about how the Captain of the town guard had supposedly gone crazy. Imoen decided to have a word with him later. Rini would be grateful if she found out something useful. But first she wanted something to drink. She'd seen pictures in books of multicolored drinks with fruit in. That seemed about right.

As Imoen slipped through the milling crowd and up to the bar she suddenly found herself face to face with the very last person she wanted to see. A large young man with dull blue eyes, greasy black hair and a mouth that constantly seemed to be half open with incomprehension and that made him slightly reminiscent of a goldfish. He had been shouting at the barman for serving him his beer in a regular cup rather than in one with handles at both sides.

"Oh no!" Imoen said. "Not Abduh!"

"Huh?" Abduh said. "Wha…" Then a faint light of recognition dawned in his piggish eyes. "You! The pipsqueak! I'll get you good for what you and your little buddy did to me! Nobody crosses the great Abduh! Take this!" And he gave Imoen a mighty shove that sent her flying helplessly backwards through the room.

Imoen had fully expected to crash to the ground, maybe even go out the window. Abduh was strong when he was angry, even though he was clumsy, and now he was really angry. It therefore came as something of a pleasant surprise when she slid backwards along a table in one of the darkest corners to land in the lap of another customer. She sprawled in a rather undignified manner all over him as a matter of fact, her head resting against him as if she were some sort of mooning maiden fussing over her beau. "Uh…Hi!" Imoen said in a weak voice. "Sorry to bother ya…" She craned her neck backward to look up into the face of her unwilling pillow. A pair of unblinking black eyes steadily met her own above a sharp nose and she could see one of the man's eyebrows quirk slightly.

"Fascinating", the stranger said in a low and smooth voice that sounded pleasant, but also vaguely alarming. "When that barman persuaded me to try out the 'Sword Coast Delight' I expected it to be served in a glass and in a slightly less violent fashion. Local custom, perhaps?"

"Er…" Imoen said, and got to her feet as quickly as possible. "Sorry 'bout that." She tried to sneak a peek at the stranger. Not an easy feat since he had the hood of his black cloak up and it almost made him invisible in that shadowy corner. Imoen felt certain that he wasn't sitting there by coincidence and neither was she surprised that there was nobody else sitting at that particular table, despite the fact that all the others were crowded. Uneasily she wondered whether Abduh had landed her in worse trouble than she had been in from the beginning. Then Abduh himself came pushing through the crowd, waving his sword about, smiling triumphantly as a thin line of eager drool trickled down his chin. Imoen backed up against the wall, no longer the slightest bit worried about getting close to the intimidating stranger. Nobody could be worse than Abduh.

"Hey, pipsqueak!" The bully sounded very pleased with himself. "Trying to hide? No good! Time for you to die! I'm a great warrior, I'll kill you good. Unless maybe you get down on your knees and lick my boots. Then I might let you live."

"I beg your pardon", the black-cloaked stranger said in a mild voice. "Is it usual for 'great warriors' around these parts to start fights with little girls? Unless it is, I suggest you leave before you make even more of a fool of yourself. Try not to drag your knuckles too much along the floor, it is rather splintery."

Abduh mulled this over for a minute or so, and then his single brow drew together. "Stay out of this, scum", he said. "Before I kill you too! I'm very good at killing!" He waved his sword again.

"Wonderful", Imoen heard the stranger mutter to himself. "So much for the 'rustic country charm' it seems. If he gets any more rustic than this the straw will be creeping out through his ears and leave his skull completely void." Then he addressed Abduh once more. He still remained seated. Something about the way he spoke made Imoen decide that if she had been in Abduh's place she'd already be running for the hills. "You are quite certain you want to do this? You won't change your mind?"

"What about?"

"About wanting to kill us."

"Oh! Oh, yeah."

"Excellent. Then by all means, please go ahead." He leaned back even further in his chair and put his hands behind his neck, looking very relaxed.

Abduh didn't react at first. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go. People were either supposed to scream and run, beg and plead, or just plain fight. Not just sit there. It was all wrong somehow. Unfortunately for him his brain had a very limited number of available options to offer. And since it wasn't time for eating, sleeping or any other basic physical activity it made him raise his sword high above his head and give a bloodcurdling roar. Then the roar turned into a pained moan as a crossbow bolt hit him straight between the eyes, penetrating all the way to what passed for his brain. With a loud and pungent fart he dropped to the ground, dead before he hit the floor.

"Good", the stranger murmured as he stood and put the small crossbow away again, making it deftly disappear into some hidden pocket. Imoen blinked. He had drawn it fast enough that she had hardly been able to see the motion. "It's always such a nuisance when they do change their minds." He slipped approaching barman a few coins. "For the cleaning staff. I suggest making good use of the river, but of course that is entirely up to you. My sincere apologies for the inconvenience." He walked swiftly towards the door, the crowd parting rapidly before him. Imoen just stared after him for a moment. Then her normally cheerful face took on a very firm and determined look and she sprinted after him outside.

"Hey!" she cried. "Hey! Wait for me!" The tall stranger made no sign of stopping. Not, that is, until Imoen caught up with him and yanked at his black cloak. Then he did stop and turn around, gifting her with a look that could have frozen a fire giant in its tracks.

"Is there a particular reason why you are following me around, or are you just being an annoying pest?" he asked.

"I just wanted to thank ya for rescuing me!" Imoen bubbled. "Wow, that was so great! Really, really, really great! Say, you're a thief aren't ya? Aren't ya?"

The man sighed wearily. "Tell me", he said, "do you always walk up to strange people and ask them things like that? And if so, how is it that you have managed to survive past the toddler age?"

"Oooh!" Imoen gushed. "You have that scary look down just right! You are a rogue! I knew it! Hey, I have a great idea! You can teach me!"

The stranger gave Imoen an extremely odd look at that, as if he was uncertain whether she was insane or not. "Teach you what exactly?" he asked, sounding wary.

"How to be a great thief! I'm pretty good at picking locks and figuring out traps, but my pickpocketing really sucks and I'm no good at all at sneaking and…"

The man held up a hand. "Even if I were a thief", he said, "which I to begin with would never admit in the middle of the street, I have better things to do with my time. In fact I am on my way to an appointment, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Oh, please", Imoen pleaded, still holding on to his cloak. "You've gotta help me! I'll be good and behave. Just a few little tips and tricks, pleeeeease? Pretty please with sugar and cream and a cherry on top?" She smiled and made her dimples show.

"Halfling blood", the stranger murmured. "There can be no other reason for such a high level of irritating cuteness. Oh, very well. I can spare ten minutes, I suppose. Professional courtesy will get you that much." He jerked his head irritably towards the deeper shadows beyond the river. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked. "I will take a look at you since I would think it a shame for a young colleague to get herself or her companions needlessly killed due to incompetence, but I will not have you wasting my time."

Once across the river and safely into the shadowy woods on the other side Imoen seated herself on a fallen log, her hands on her knees, and smiled eagerly at her new friend. "Thanks again for helping", she said. "My name's Imoen, by the way. What's your name?"

"And so we come directly to our first lesson", the man said in a dry voice. He had remained standing and was watching her as if she were an interesting puzzle. "I don't need to know your name. You most certainly don't need to know my name. This meeting never happened and you will tell nobody of it, is that perfectly clear?"

"Sure", Imoen agreed. "But I still need to call you something. I know! Why don't I make up a name? Er…how about 'the Shadow'?"

"No."

"'Bloodmaster'? Sounds scary enough."

"Absolutely not."

"What about 'Handsome'?"

"Forget it."

"Oh. I'll just call you 'Mr Black' then, OK? Kinda boring, but there you go."

Imoen heard 'Mr Black' whisper something that sounded like 'What did I do to deserve this?' Then he cleared his throat. "Second lesson", he said. "You said you have problems with your sneaking, and quite frankly that comes as no great surprise. That…outfit…almost glows in the dark."

"But I like pink!" Imoen protested, looking down at her hot pink jacket and equally pink tight pants. "Don't I look good in it?"

"That is not the point", 'Mr Black' said. "The point is that it attracts attention. Now that is all well and good if you're planning on a career as a public performer, but if you seriously want to pursue a career as a rogue I suggest you reconsider, at least when you're working. Or limit the pink to some smaller detail, something easily hidden. And another thing. That perfume. Vanilla, isn't it?"

"Uh huh!" Imoen nodded proudly.

"Lose it. While personal hygiene is certainly important my advice is for you to stick to keeping clean, and avoid putting on something that could make even a heavy smoker with a bad cold smell you from across the street. Now take off your boots."

"'Scuse me?"

"I said to take off your boots. I need to see how you move your feet. There are a few tricks to doing this properly…"

Two hours later Imoen was tired but very happy. She was still far from being a master prowler, but she was getting better.

"There we are", said 'Mr Black'. He sounded rather pleased with himself. "That should at least keep you from getting yourself or anybody else killed by tripping over your own feet. And remember, there is no need to mention this to any of your friends. I prefer my privacy." Then he suddenly found himself getting tightly hugged by an exuberant pink-clad girl.

"Oh thank you!" Imoen gushed. "Thank you so much! You're the best! Say, do you by any chance happen to have a girlfriend? Just curious." She batted her eyelashes at him and displayed her dimples once more.

The tall man looked rather taken aback at this sudden display of emotion. "None of your affair", he said. "And I'm old enough to be your father anyway."

"I don't care."

"I do. Now, remember what I told you about spike traps?"

"Nail them before they nail you."

"Quite. Good bye then. You have some potential. It might just be enough to keep you alive if you practice your skills regularly." He raised his hand in a farewell gesture and stepped into the shadows by the roads. Then he was gone as if he had dissolved into smoke.

"Woooowwww…", Imoen sighed. Then she headed back towards Nashkel. That small general store seemed to be open at all hours and she'd seen something there that should help her improve her image without forcing her to give up her basic preferences.

Zaerini had fallen asleep across her book and was having a very pleasurable, if slightly naughty dream. Then she suddenly found herself shaken violently.

"Go 'way…", she muttered.

"Rini, wake up! You've got to see this!"

The half-elf wearily fought to get her eyes open. Once she succeeded she sat bolt upright in bed, staring at Imoen. Her friend was wearing an unfamiliar outfit, a black and yellow leather one that was rather snug around the hips. That wasn't what had caused Rini's shock though. Imoen's normally reddish-brown hair had been dyed a color that could only be called violently pink.

"Immy?" Zaerini gasped. "What did you do to yourself?"

"I just got inspired, that's all", Imoen proudly stated. "Don't I look great? Dark and sinister just like a proper rogue should be! Now I'll be much better at hiding and everybody'll really respect me."

Sinister wasn't exactly the word Zaerini would have chosen, but she didn't want to hurt her friend's feelings.

"I meant your hair", she said.

"Oh!" Imoen grinned a little sheepishly. "Well, I still love pink, and I can always hide my hair beneath a hood when I'm trying to be sneaky. So I bought some dye at the shop down the street. It's called 'Pink Passion'. The shopkeeper had plenty of bottles, he said this gnome from Athkatla had sold them to him last year and he hadn't been able to sell any of them yet. So naturally…"

"…you bought them all", Zaerini finished the sentence. She knew the way her friend's mind worked.

"Yeah! Now I won't run out of them for years and years! My hair will be pink and pretty like this forever and ever! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes. Wonderful." Rini closed her eyes so as not to have to look at her friend for the moment. She thought she had managed to lie convincingly. If I ever get my hands on that gnome I'm going to kill him, she thought. Slowly.

It doesn't look that bad to me, Softpaws said.

Of course not. Cats don't have the same kind of color-vision as half-elves do. Trust me. It's really bad.

The body of Abduh floated gently down-river. The barman had stripped it of sword and armor, and the large amount of beans Abduh had eaten earlier that evening helped keep him afloat. Eventually his corpse drifted ashore, now rather gray in the face and a little nibbled by the fish here and there. It didn't get to rest undisturbed for long, however. Curious hands grabbed it and dragged it onto solid ground while a pair of madly glowing eyes gazed at it eagerly.

"Yes!" a melodious voice said. "Oh, this is just perfect for my experiments!" A tattooed face bent closely over the corpse, sniffing at it. "You'll do just fine, my friend", Xzar hummed to himself. "You'll be a most lovely zombie, just you wait and see. And I'll introduce you to Monty too, you're going to like him I think. Don't feel hurt if he ignores you and doesn't speak to you, he can be a little strange at times." The necromancer gently patted the cheek of the corpse. "You know", he whispered in a conspiratorial voice, "sometimes I wonder if maybe Monty is a little crazy. He never seems to want to speak to my friends. Not even the dragons with feet like rabbits. Strange, isn't it?"