Rose and Thorn: Prologue

Arabel is a sprawling city, and one of the major trade centers in Cormyr.  In age, second only to the capitol Suzail.  The citizens have historically had a rebellious nature, and the city was able to secede multiple times during her early history before being forcibly re-integrated.  The people consider themselves Arabellan first and Cormyrian second, and they made no effort to hide this fact.  In contrast with the rest of the kingdom, Arabellan citizens were allowed to own and openly wear weapons.

As is always the case wherever so much coin changes hands, there are those who live gilded lives and those who remain in abject poverty.  In the areas where wealthy merchants lived, they competed to have the most opulent house, most exotic dishes at feasts.  In the poorer areas, famine and disease were more common than rats.

On a day in early winter, several teens with worn and threadbare clothing had cornered a child no older than 9.  The child had several wounds, ranging from a black eye to a split lip. They all appeared half-healed.

The leader of the teens, overgrown and pox-marked, pulls his lips back over chipped teeth in what might have been a smile.

"I heard you had a little run in with the guards, but you had already stashed it before they pinched ya.  Lucky for you, that was the day you decided not to be a little bitch, for once.  Now you're gonna tell me where you hid it or the beating we give you will make the last one look like love taps."

The child's eyes dart back and forth. He’s looking for an escape route that doesn't exist.  A bead of sweat rolls down his temple, cutting a track through the grime.

"Real brave in front of the others, aren't ya?"

The teen laughs, but his smile had become a mere baring of the teeth.  He steps closer to the child.

"How about I make you shit out your own teeth?  Last chance Jerek, where'd you hide it?"

A flash of fear crosses the child's face, and for a moment he trembles.  Desperation finally motivates him to speak.

"I... I'll f-fight you for it Dax.  If you w-win, I'll show you. But if I win, you leave me alone!"

The child's fists are balled, shouting by the end. Like a cornered rat, fear left him.  Dax, in contrast, seemed only encouraged.  He turns to the others.

"You hear that men?  This pipsqueak wants to challenge me!
Tell you what Jerek, you put up a decent fight or I'll cut your balls off so you can keep that lovely high voice the rest of your life."

Mean-spirited laughter echos off of the walls of the alley, which only grows louder as Jerek shakes with anger.  He screams and throws a clumsy punch only to have Dax counter with a powerful strike to the midsection.  Jerek wheezes and turns only to be knocked to the ground with a vicious left hook to the face, re-splitting his lip

"Get up you bitch, and fight."

Jerek staggers to his feet and spits out some blood, half doubled over.  He lunges at Dax with another punch and Dax readies himself to catch it in his hand.  Bending an opponent’s hand back until the wrist broke was one of Dax's favorite techniques.

Suddenly there is a flash of red and 5 inches of crudely sharpened metal blooms through the back of Dax's hand.  Jerek releases the handle of the sharpened butter knife.  Dax roars in pain and grabs his wrist with his right hand while Jerek slips past him.

A smaller teen with the beginnings of a mustache attempts to grab Jerek, who savagely kicks the teen in the groin.  The teen is driven to his knees and lets out a whimper.  Jerek begins to sprint away while murderous threats are yelled after him.

He runs until his lungs burn and vision swam, and then stops.  Jerek draws a few ragged breaths and then dry heaves, but there was nothing in his stomach anyway.  The streets are empty, night had fallen as he ran.  Jerek painstakingly sneaks to a secluded spot just inside Arabel's fortified walls.  He pulls on a stone, and it comes free from the mortar.  Reaching inside, he draws out a small leather bag with cut purse-strings.

As he spills a handful of copper coins known as "thumbs" into his hand, the part of Jerek's face not swollen, cut, or bruised curls into a smile.

For the next week, maybe two, he wouldn't go hungry.  Longer, if he could steal something else.


A boy of 11 walks into the market square and looks around.  Unlike most of the street urchins, he has bathed recently and his hair has been recently brushed.  He flashes an innocent smile as the regulars see and make note of him.  They grunt and move on with indifference.

From the south, a laborer moves with purpose through the market, heading home after a day’s work. He crashes into the boy, sending the boy sprawling.  After being picked up a gruff “You alright?” is returned with a meek “Yes sir, sorry for getting into your way.”  The laborer moves on, and Jerek watches him go.

Another scan of the marketplace doesn’t provide any easy marks, so he moves on.  One of Jerek’s rules was not to steal from shopkeepers or regulars if he could help it.  They had long memories and knew no one would ask questions if a street kid went missing.

After a few minutes of walking the sun set and Jerek arrived at a dilapidated shack with a green door, the home of Mr. “Falcon.” That door would haunt Jerek’s dreams for the next decade, though less often as time went on.  It was an open secret among the street urchins that if you showed up after sunset, you’d leave the next morning with a silver piece, or “falcon”.  Thus the pseudonym.  Reaching to knock on the door, Jerek saw his hand shake, and frowned.

He took a few breaths to steady himself, and knocked three times.  Mr. Silver opened the door, and the stench of old sweat and chicken grease swirled around Jerek.

“Go away! If it’s about the money I told them… Oh, it’s you!  I was wondering when you would show up on my doorstep.”


Mr. Falcon’s eyes gleamed and he smiled with small yellow teeth in a gummy mouth.  Jerek felt the urge  to vomit, but nodded instead.

“Well, come inside so we can get a good look at you.”

Jerek moves inside, it is uncomfortably warm and a table is covered with old food and refuse.

“Ah yes, a little old but [i]so handsome[/i].  You’ll certainly earn yourself a warm bed for the night.”

Mr. Falcon laughs, which loosens some phlegm that he spits on the floor.  Jerek’s eyes dart to the two heavy wooden doors that lead off of the main room.  Mr. Falcon opens one and gestures inside.

“Strip down so I can complete a more thorough inspection.  I’ll be but a moment.”


Jerek undresses and folds his tunic and breeches before stacking them neatly.  He faces the door and steels himself.

After a minute Mr. Falcon walks in, more cheerful and sweaty than he had been before.  Jerek forces his face into the innocent smile he’s practiced so many times before, and Falcon strokes Jerek’s face.  Bile rises in the back of Jerek’s throat.  Jerek pulls the on the man’s hand with his left, and strikes with all his strength with his right.

A sharpened tent spike is embedded in Mr. Falcon’s chest, angled up into his heart.  The man grunts, and a bubble of blood pops on his lips, spattering on Jerek.

His vison blurs and black spots appear.  Jerek leans on the wall for support until he can see clearly again, then rapidly dresses and searches the corpse,  He finds a keyring, a sheathed shortsword, and a coin purse.

Hurrying to the other door off the main room, he quickly unlocks the door.  Inside, he finds a child of 6 or 7, in an iron cage.  He begins trying keys on the lock as the child wakes up.

“…Jerek?  Is that you?  What are you doing here?”

“Yes Sam, it’s me.  I’m here to get you out.  Now shut up so I can find the key.”

“Key?  But Mr. Silv-- Oh by the gods Jerek, what have you done?  IS THAT BLOOD?”

Jerek manages to get the cage open but the child lunges out, screaming and scratching.

“YOU KILLED HIM!  YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!  I’LL KILL YOU!”


In a panic, bloody scratches down his face, Jerek manages to unsheathe the blade.

“Stop Sam!  I don’t want to-“

The child lunges again, it’s face a mask of hatred and making animal sounds of fury.  Jerek swings the blade, and it connects with the child’s temple with a sickening crunch.

“No… NO!”

Jerek pulls the blade free and looks at the dead body, which seems a lot smaller and less frightening than it seemed a moment ago.

He sheathes the blade and runs into the darkness.  Jerek finds a quiet place, and only then do the tears come.