The Warforged Without a Name
Changeling For Hire
Life wasn’t easy for a shapeshifter growing up in the cogs. Well, actually, it wasn’t exactly hard. There was always a quick coin to be made going where others could not, being their eyes, ears, fingers… sword arms… other appendages or orifices… I sustained myself well enough through my lonely teen years.
I got by on the lessons my mother had taught me before she disappeared when I was ten: “Keep to the shadows,” you know? “Take from those undeserving of their lot,” or “Trust and faith are tools for manipulation…” that kind of thing. She had a brain in her head, I’ll give her that, though I don’t have much further praise for the woman.
A hundred fortnights; into adulthood I maintained virtual invisibility, acting proudly as an exemplar of what I assumed to be the virtues of my born clan, although I had never met one of them. Business relationships always seemed to be the only kind worth having in those days. I’ve begun to wonder about that as the years pass by, but old habits die hard. I know that people are things, and things are all small parts of a big game, but sometimes I wish one would notice me; I hope one could smile in warm recognition; I almost want to let slip my real name. But I know that’s silly fantasy.
The trials thus far have been ever more challenging as I’ve worked my way up the chain in the (assassin’s guild). I can’t give up now, not when I’m so close to the big payoff. My next mission surely will set me up for life—hell, I might even go legit when it’s done. But first, there are answers and items to acquire, and tracks to be covered…