Blitzy — Roleplayer Guild

Tach Bammo
The Faded Lantern Inn, Guillan 
Late Evening
 The dark oak door of the Faded Lantern closed with a thud behind Tach as he stepped from the cool night air into the hearth-filled tavern. It was hardly buzzing, filled just enough to create a dull din but not enough that he would need to push past anyone any time soon. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of drunk men who hadn't had a proper wash in days and Tach couldn't decide whether it was the old sweat or the stale vomit that smelled worse. The warmth of the dancing fires had a strange of way of making a place that was notorious for accommodating criminals and lowlifes oddly welcoming. Not that Tach was in a position to judge any of them. He was one of them. Tach scanned the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner and face to face as he walked cautiously towards the bar, making sure that the people he was about to set himself among weren't likely to stick a knife in his belly and walk away with his hard-earned bits. Satisfied he wasn't in any immediate danger, Tach propped himself up on the bar on his elbows and threw down a few of the small silver coins in his pocket, gratefully collecting the flagon of ale and taking a long slurp before glancing around over his shoulder. 

Vargas was exactly where he always was, tucked away in a dimly lit corner where he could see everyone coming and going. He was busy talking to a man, balding and clad in dirty leathers that meant he was probably one of Vargas' lackeys, and from his facial expression it wasn't going the way he wanted it to. Nevertheless he had no doubt that Vargas had seen him come in. Tach swept his mop of greasy, mousy brown hair back from his eyes and drew another long gulp of ale, relishing the bitter chill that rushed down his throat to quench the thirst he had worked up. He'd had a busy day compared to most and had a suitable haul to show for it. It was hard to feel guilty when food would be worth so much more to Tach and his family than a few fancy plates and dishes were to the pompous fools who'd dared to leave their window wide open. When you really thought about it, it was their own fault. Who leaves a window open in Guillan if they aren't asking to be burgled? Those were always Tach's favourite jobs, the ones where he barely had to lift a finger to get his fill of the treasures. 

Tach waited patiently for Vargas to finish his conversation. If there was one thing he'd learned about his fence in the past few years, it was that if you wanted your fair share the last thing to do was piss him off. He had an uncanny ability to make life very, very difficult for anyone who upset him. Another ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed before the balding man stood, shaking Vargas' hand and then leaving through the door with great haste. Tach tracked him all the way out, scratching the short hairs that covered his jaw and wondering what they'd been talking about but knowing better than to ask. Tach looked back to the corner and found himself accidentally meeting Vargas' gaze, who gestured for him to come and sit. The young thief finished his ale to the bottom, placing the flagon quietly on the bar so as to not draw attention before standing from his barstool and sloping off towards Vargas' quiet corner. 

"Tach." Vargas was smiling and his greeting was warm. There was something almost unsettling about it. "Lord Vargas." Tach gave one last glance over his shoulder before taking a seat opposite the fence. It wasn't comfortable, but it didn't really need to be. He pulled a bag from his shoulder and lowered it gently onto the uneven floorboards. "It was a good take."

"I can see that," said Vargas, eyeing the bag and chuckling. His blonde hair had gotten longer, Tach noticed. "Show me."

Tach nodded, drawing a series of ornaments and trinkets from the bag and leaving them where Vargas could see them. "Someone left their window open. No one saw a thing." Tach finished unloading his stolen goods. "I managed to hit a couple houses, only took a few bits. Doubt they'll even notice anything's gone.""Impressive," Vargas leaned in, fingering a silver candlestick holder with a handful of small gems on it. He scratched at his tufty beard, mulling over the value. "30 bits for the lot."

Tach had to hold in a laugh, and ultimately failed. Vargas' face fell flat, unmoving, unamused. "You can't be serious?" Silence. "Vargas I've see-"

"Lord." 

"Lord Vargas," Tach gulped. He needed to be careful. Vargas held all the cards. "I've seen bits like these fetch 30 on their own on market stalls. I wasn't expecting you to make me rich for a few ornaments but surely?"

"I've got people to pay boy. Can't afford to be generous these days. I can't turn a profit if I overpay for what I'm selling."

"I'm not asking you to overpay. I'm just asking you to not underpay."

"My advice? Take what you can get, boy. Those sisters of yours can eat for 30 bits, they can't eat for nothing." Tach stared hard at Vargas but not a single feature on his face twitched. After a few long, long seconds of tense silence, Tach conceded. Vargas gestured to a man nearby to come over and collect Vargas' new haul, while Vargas himself dealt out the silver bits. "It's always a pleasure, Tach." Tach himself, of course, felt very differently but opted to hold his tongue. "Take care of yourself." He gestured for Tach to leave, the unsettling smile back on his face. Tach did as he was bid and left through the door even faster than the balding man had before him. 

The night air was colder than usual. Tach had formed a think film of clammy sweat over his skin, but couldn't decide whether it was the hearths or the confrontation with Vargas that had done the trick. Tach turned left, and left again almost immediately down an alley nearby. He unlaced his breeches to relieve his bladder while he counted the silver. 28 pieces. "And the bastard stiffed me anyway," Tach said to himself, annoyed beyond belief. He spat on the ground, wishing he would be able to spit at Vargas one day without risking having his eyes gouged out by some club-footed moron in his employ.

"Oi." Tach turned his head while he retied his breeches. At the alley entrance were three men, considerably taller and considerably wider than Tach. Looking the other way, Tach realised he'd cornered himself in a dead end alley. He cursed himself. A rookie mistake. One should always have at least two options for an exit. 

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" As they stepped closer Tach recognized the one in the middle as the balding man from before. On the left side of his face was a curved scar that he hadn't noticed before. They said nothing, just approaching silently. They reached Tach, standing over him by a few inches at least. "Whatever this is about, I'm sure we can talk it through." A thousand possibilities were racing through his mind. The city was quiet but Tach was deafened by the drumming of his own heartbeat in his ears.

"Vargas did tell you to take care, didn't he?" Before Tach could even process the betrayal, or possibly think of a reason for it, the balding man's hand shot out from behind his back. With surprising agility his arm came up, and Tach looked upwards to see an enormous meaty hand wrapped tightly around the handle of a crude club. Tach never even saw it come down. The Royal Complex Dungeons 
12 Days Later
 Tach had lost track of how long he'd been in this damned cell but it had to have been around two weeks. His head was still throbbing and the lump of swollen flesh on his forehead was still tender. His days sleeping on a straw mat had given him a terrible, constant ache in his neck and back. It was cold, damp and dark, with barely a single torch worth of light in the whole place. Tach had been slumped against the thick brick wall of his cell for the last couple of hours, staring at the massive iron bars and wishing he had the strength of an ox to rip them from their place and charge out. Instead, he was weak. He hadn't been sleeping well and his facial hair had grown out into a tangled mess that itched. He probably had some sort of lice by now if his itchy scalp was anything to go by. 

He couldn't stop thinking about his family. Without Tach to provide, he didn't know if they'd been eating, or if they'd been taken by Vargas or if they were even alive at all. He couldn't bear the thought of his sweet sisters starving, and the only part of his face that wasn't covered in a layer of thick grime and dirt were the tracks beneath his eyes where his tears had been rolling. Sad tears, and angry ones. The only other thought that entered his head was of Vargas. The bastard. Tach couldn't work out why he'd been sold out. Maybe he'd bargained Tach's freedom in exchange for his own. But it didn't make sense. Tach robbed a few houses for their pretty plates. Vargas ran a crime syndicate with ties all over Guillan and was a prominent operator on the black market. It was hardly a like for like swap. 

Tach wasn't alone down here, either. He had heard others whispering, testing the bars, hitting walls, even a few outbursts. None of them did any good. The guards came rarely and the cells were inescapable. It was nothing like Tach's last stint inside. These cells were heavy duty, serious stuff for serious criminals. Tach wasn't a serious criminal. There had been no trial, and now he was in a cell meant for someone far more dangerous than he was. It was an odd situation, and it was about to get even more so.

"Look lively you rotten mutts! Let's be on with it, on yer feet. Approach the doors and face the walls." The shouts cut through the silence like a knife. Tach did as he was bid, albeit slowly. There was no point in resisting. He assumed this was the part where he would stand before a twat in a wig who'd already made up his mind and then get his hands cut off for burglary. He cursed his back in his head as he stood, aching all over. He leaned back against the bars for support, facing the back wall of the cell as instructed. A guard came and unlocked his cell, attaching the shackles on his wrists to a long chain. Squinting through the murk he could see the other prisoners chained to the same chain. 

They were lead through what Tach had now deduced to be the Royal Complex, thanks to the ornate decoration and grandeur of it all. The journey was stop start and agonizingly slow, consisting of a shuffling pace and intermittent breaks to unlock various doors before they could proceed. Eventually they reached what was presumably the main level. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. The air was clean and sweet-smelling, a far cry from the squalor of the cell or the stench of the lower city. There were almost as many plate-clad guards as their were decorations, spaced among the pillars and ornaments and tapestries. The guards led them to the great hall, where servants were setting places. Each prisoner, seven in all, was stood behind a chair. Tach's belongings were neatly assembled, as well as food and drink unlike anything he'd ever seen or smelled. Tach didn't know where to look, what to say and especially not what to think. It was complete sensory overload for someone who was expecting to be seriously maimed if not outright dead within a few hours. The biggest shock was yet to come. 

"Please, sit." he said, his voice warm but strong. "Sit and eat. I am sorry for the delay but I wanted you all to be clearheaded. So eat and replenish yourselves as I speak." Tach looked up to the raised throne area, gawping in awe at the High King. And here was Tach, a man who'd been living in his own filth for the best part of two weeks, unshaven and unkempt. He was immediately overcome with a slight sense of shame, but it immediately vanished when he looked down at the food again. He didn't need to be told twice, taking his seat and shovelling food into his ravenous maw as quickly as his hands would let him. He hadn't eaten properly for a decent while even before he ended up in a cell, and this was undoubtedly the best food he had ever eaten. When he was done, Tach grabbed the horn on the table, sipping it nervously with his arms folded and looking around the hall.

Tach Bammo 
Level: 1 (Burglar, Novice)
Currency: 41 bits
Ammunition: 0
Armor: +1
Status: Healthy

Gender: Male
Age: 26
Race: Human
Origin: Guillan 
Attire: Simple inconspicuous clothes, devoid of notable features and in plain, drab colours that allow him to simply pull up his hood and fade into a crowd or alley.
Demeanour: Cautious, pleasant, reticent
Attributes:

Awareness:2Intelligence:2
Strength:1Wit:4
Dexterity:3Willpower:2
Charisma:3Luck:3
Skillsets

Lockpicking-3Stealth-3
Scaling-3Pilfering-2
Evasion-4Persuasion-3
Stealthy Blow-2
Flaws:

Tach is physically frail - he is conditioned enough to be able to scale walls or make a getaway but does not have the strength to deal much damage in a fight. A combination of his lack of strength and general unwillingness to be in a fight make him a poor fighter. Tach has also always been sickly and frequently contracts diseases like the flu. He grew up in the bubble of the city of Gullian and has never known anything but the dark alleys. This has made him naïve to the rest of the world and he has problems understanding other peoples' cultures and traditions, which can lead to confrontations when his questioning comes across as insulting.
Background:

Tach was born and raised in Guillan and has lived in the city for his entire life. He is the eldest by far of three siblings, with his oldest sister only 17. Tach's father was a dockworker, a humble and honest man who worked long hours all days of the week to scrape together enough money to feed his family. He died when Tach was a boy of 15, and with his mother grieving, Tach assumed the mantle of provider and took on the responsibility of ensuring the survival of himself, his mother and his two baby sisters. Initially he took over his father's dock work and found that he benefited nicely by slipping negligible portions of the goods or food that came through the docks under his supervision. His sticky fingers grew even more so, until after a few years he got greedy and was caught. Thrown in jail for just a few months as a deterrent, Tach fell in with some more serious criminals who saw promise in the young man. They gave him contacts on the outside, and he has since spent his time burgling houses and robbing people of their valuables to be sold on to fences or on the black market. Under the guidance of his pseudo-mentor criminal friends, Tach learned just how easy it is to slip away when caught. Despite being caught in the act several times in the years since, Tach has always managed to evade capture. Nowadays Tach works closely with Lord Vargas, through whom he fences his stolen wares.
Personal Effects:

Simple clothes with hood - plain, worn but sturdy, and hooded to allow Tach to conceal his face.
Sturdy boots - black leather boots, comfortable for the working man or the fervent thief.
Leather coin purse - simple leather purse containing most of Tach's currency.
Bag - Tach's bag is spacious and just waiting to be filled with someone else's stuff.
Dagger - A sharp dagger that Tach would rather avoid using but feels much better for having.
Lockpicking tools - an incredibly useful set of tools for picking all sorts of locks discreetly.
Twine - useful for all sorts of things. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

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