Now, a lot of rogues will tell you that every day is another fight for survival, or some other such bullshit. I say that if you have to live hand-to-mouth that way, all the time, you're a pretty pathetic excuse for a rogue. Everybody needs to take a day off.
And on one crisp autumn day in Bhairoset- the luckiest day of my life, I'll remind you- I was doing just that. There I was, sitting atop a low adobe roof, and enjoying the watching of the populace just for pleasure's sake, instead of looking for purses to snag or houses to rob.
This day, there was a strange, light blue-skinned woman that attracted my attention as she danced in center of town; I hadn't seen her, nor any creature like her, anywhere before. Around her, some weary Human farmers had set down their woven bushels, clean wool, and fruit provisions in order to clap their hands in time as she danced. They were sights to behold themselves, for the exact opposite reason- clothes that had more patches than original cloth, filthy hair, battered bodies. There arose from them a collective smell of field, cow or sheep manure, sweaty Human stench, and rotting fruit. Amazingly enough, though, most of the children that danced and played around the knees of the gathered adults were clean and healthy. Though they seemed to almost all be barefoot and poorly clothed, they weren't missing toes or fingers like those of the older generation. Soaking in their happiness, I allowed myself to play at figuring out the various stories of each one of the families.
In the center of this ring of musty peasants spun the light blue skinned woman, her platinum silver waist length hair shimmering in the early morning sun as she turned again and again. Her long skirt flared around her, and her blouse flapped freely around her bodice.
I was genuinely amazed that she could dance at all in a bodice. Perhaps she could dance in plate mail, as well, I thought to myself- and I discovered that wasn't displeased with the idea.
There were no instruments playing, but there seemed to be music in her every step. Each dip, each careful toe touch was so absolutely perfect that it was as though she were the result of some master wizard's spell. I was irresistibly drawn to her- so much so that I left my perch to watch from a closer vantage point. When I did, I noticed something slightly disturbing- the dancer seemed to take absolutely no pleasure at all in her own talent. Her face was a still as a stone, and I could not see her eyes at all, since the lids were lowered.
A few minutes after I first noticed this, some middle class merchants, flanked by awkward, shambling guards, began to make their way toward the town center. They had to pass by the dancer to get to the market, and the common people began picking up their things to move in that direction as well. As soon as the rented muscle got too close to me, I slipped away and scaled a tree to get to the top of an abandoned building a little ways away. Once settled there, I looked for the blue skinned woman again.
She, now surrounded by a different clientele, actually picked up her head and opened her eyes all the way. While her face was still a stoic mask, her brilliant, silver eyes were stunning, even from my distance. I put my head on my arms, as I laid there on the roof, and watched her lithe body, her quick feet- and her sneaky hands. I was amazed at the ease with which she caught a trader's eyes, swirled past them and dropped loose coin into her sleeves. Even my trained eyes only caught her in the act once or twice, so those poor, fat saps didn't have a chance. She was so good, I felt like applauding her vicious pickpocket work instead of her dancing.
A few traders moved on into the market place, and I suppose it took them a few sales before some of them found their purses light. I managed to tear my attention from the dancer to watch as a few merchants began to holler at a few peasant traders who were suddenly suspected as thieves. Soon, trained town guards began to roll in to the scene. They were armed with bludgeons and coated in either plate armor or chain mail, and easily shuffled the supposed "thieves" out of the area- most with their goods, but some without. A few shouts of protest rang out from those latter folks, but they went ignored. I watched as other peasants picked up the abandoned goods, and wondered briefly whether it was to simply take them for themselves, or to reunite them with their rightful owners.
When I turned my attentions back to the dancer, who had been left without audience, I noticed that she'd sat down on the bare dirt ground at some point. She bowed her head, as if in perpetual deference to an invisible master, but when the mistreated peasants stopped to speak with her, she looked up at each one and briefly took their hands in her own. They each seemed to speak a few words to her, then let her go; when they went away, she would lower her head again. Only once, after some time of squinting and straining, did I notice the gleam of gold passing between herself and her visitors. Neither party seemed overly emotional about the transaction, which was more than strange, to me. As I wedged myself into a shady, broken down part of the roof for a nap, my mind worked at creating an explanation why the dancer would simply give away coin that she'd worked so hard to steal.
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