Dear readers, tonight with me are an acrobat turned burglar and a jaded former mercenary. They have been thrown together into an unexpected adventure involving deadly blades, subtle schemes, glittering treasures, dark sorceries and fell servants of forgotten gods. They are here to tell us about it, and of Fate’s sense of humour.
Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like
there?
Trilisean: I grew up as a slave. I don’t know who my parents were, whether I was taken in a raid or sold as an infant or born to slaves. I have no idea what a normal childhood should have been. Eventually I learned I was being prepared to be sold as a concubine or to a brothel. So I escaped. I knew how to smile and put men at their ease, which was useful, and I knew dancing and etiquette, which would come in handy. I managed to join some traveling performers, learned to tumble and do sleight of hand and throw knives. When we made it to the big city, one of the leaders of the troupe got…presumptuous, so I ran away again. Knowing a bit about disguises and a lot about knives made it challenging for them to find me again. And made my living on the edges of polite society.
Conn: I
grew up on a farm until the Jarvings invaded. I fought my first battle at
thirteen. Then I spent a few years as a rebel until they finally beat us. I ran
off to join a mercenary company, until I realized that I was just fighting for
the glory and gain of the men at the top. Figured if we weren’t going back to
liberate my homeland, I may as well fight for my own.
What do you do now?
Trilisean: I’m
a thief. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. I like the word “thief.” It’s
honest. I’m a very good thief, and it’s hard to take pride in your profession
if you won’t even say the word. Euphemisms make my eyes roll. “Acquisitions
expert” sound like someone who works in a bank.
Conn: You’ve
done some work in banks.
Trilisean: But
never for banks. There are limits to my
villainy.
Anyway, I can support myself picking pockets, but the bulk of my work is contract burglary. If somebody wants something stolen, word will come to me, and I’ll plan and execute the job. Quite a few come from a fence I know. People will talk to him about a thing they want, and he’ll pass that on to me, taking a cut for his services that he will lie to both me and the client about.
Conn: I’m along to carry heavy things, act as a lookout, and to deal with any guards she might have underestimated, including bloody demonic temple guardians that bleed fire. Just standard soldiering stuff, really.
Trilisean: That
made us a lot of money, and you figured a way to defeat it. I had faith in you.
Conn: Aye,
well, the prospect of a hideous death if I didn’t was quite the incentive to
get creative.
Trilisean: You see? You get to expand your skills and challenge yourself an get paid for the privilege. I really think you should show a bit more gratitude for these experiences I’m opening for you.
Conn: I
know I seldom lie awake in fear that I may die peacefully in my old age.
Trilisean: There
you go.
Conn: And
in between this one trying to get me killed, I run a fencing studio. Teaching
swordsmanship and self defense in a city where that’s like to come in handy.
What can you tell us about your latest adventure?
Trilisean: It’s…embarrassing.
Conn: We
did save the city.
Trilisean: Working
at the request of the Watch.
Conn: Not
the Watch officially. Just one sergeant.
Trilisean: But
it’s still the law. And we didn’t get paid.
Conn: True
enough. But at least we didn’t get any credit, either.
Trilisean: Well,
that was a relief. And I got my lip split. I’m sure we agreed taking punches is
your job.
Conn: But
you did get to match wits with a criminal mastermind and come out on top.
Expanding your skills and – what was it – challenging yourself and all.
Trilisean: That
was nice.
Conn: And
you managed to only give the good sergeant half of what he wanted and survived.
Trilisean: That was even nicer. What kind of criminal would I be if I let the Watch dictate terms? If I’m going to do that I may as well just get an honest job. That was just a lesson he had to learn. Still can’t buy much with gratitude. Even less with grudging gratitude.
Continue reading “Trilisean Conn (of Broken Crossroads, by Patrick LeClerc)” →
The Protagonist Speaks 
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