A Bleaker's Memoirs

[*TheorumOfNeutrality]

1: An Origin Story

        I was born an elf of no particular consequence or importance. Indeed, I was of so little consequence that my dear mother couldn’t keep her grasp on life long enough to raise me properly. She died of a pox when I was age 8 – and no, I wasn’t still practically a fetus. Elven children mature normally until around age 11, then they are preserved with smoke and salt and served spread out on crackers.

Silly elves.

        I was an orphan in the Hive at age 8. Before anyone draws any insane conclusions, I actually didn’t start out in the Gatehouse. I was a street rat. How I escaped the greedy hands of the Lobsters is still a mystery I have not the will to solve. I made my living through theft and sex – there are certain benefits to being a pretty elven boy. It was a good way to get fed, bathed, and clothed. You know, sugar daddies. It only occurred to me that I could play for money after a year and a half of living on the streets.

        Needless to say, that was a revolutionary discover for me. As a gift from my mother (who was a Sorlyn of incredible skill), I was a good singer without any training (much to the chagrin of all those Sensate hacks out there). I sang my little heart out to avoid the untimely fate of jink-shirting. It was this experience, over the course of weeks, that my bardic power started to slowly form. As with any natural spellcaster, my first spell was powerful and traumatizing, and I still chuckle about it loudly to this day.

        It was a cold day in the Lower Ward, and I had amassed a crowd of Godsmen near the Foundry by singing a rendition of Elofein’s Partition (which I had learned for three greens from a noble bard). It’s a great song that’s made specifically for a deeper elven tenor – I had my gravelly tone even then.  The song was going great, and the Godsmen had already tossed about 30 greens into my coin hat. However, I started to notice that the Godsmen were throwing larger amounts of greens in, and I was even starting to see silver, stingers (which is ELECTRUM, you berks) and gold clanking into the hat. I was good, but I knew I wasn’t that good.

        When I was finished (and had made three hundred gold), I hopped down from the box I was standing on, grabbed my hat, and made to dash away. This was fairly normal. I always made sure to vacate the premises before people decided they wanted their jink back. However, this day, I heard the sound of people clattering behind me. I turn my head, and notice half the bloody Foundry chasing my coat tails. The whole audience was completely enthralled. I couldn’t shake the bastards for four hours, and I did my damndest to give them the laugh mind you. The image of about six Godsmen following after a young me,doting and begging me to keep singing, through the Lower Ward gets real howls from the old Bleakers, let me tell you.

        So, that was my life for a long time. I played all day (and didn’t get near the gold I got that day), ate, slept at the house of whatever Ragpicker was feeling generous that day. This was my training; not only in the bardic arts, but also in Bleaker Philosophy. The Cabal’s funny that way. You can learn all you need to know about our ‘sophy in a day’s waltz through the Hive.