Let me tell you, being a bastard sucks.

I mean, there you are: living in the Tors, in the Count's family.
Servants, good food, no hassles...  everything should be fine, right?  But
no.  Dad, the Count, had to fool around with some Galenese flipskirt, and
here you are -- or in my case, here I am.  Damn half-brother of mine had
the good fortune to be the son of the Countess.  So Dad nailed her instead,
what's the big deal?  Frederick is a stupid sonuvabitch, and everyone knows
it.  But no, he's the Heir with a capital H, and that's that.  Makes me
want to hit those stupid bards who come up with the "swapped at birth" or
"rightful heir" stories.  YOU MORONS EVERYONE KNOWS whose mom is whose.
Dude, you LOOK AT THE WOMAN and SEE WHO THE KID IS.  Dammit, some people.

So genius-boy Frederick is destined to be the next Count when Dad dies.
Only Frederick is not exactly the sharpest sword in the armory.  Look, ok,
sure, Dad is an alchemist and knows how to make sketchy stuff.  Why the
hell he taught Frederick that stuff is beyond me.  Sure, Dad used some of
that stuff on villagers, but only the ones that wouldn't be missed.  But
Frederick?  No, small-penis-boy Frederick has to PISS IN HIS OWN FRONT
YARD, and what happens?

Well, I don't care how good an alchemist you are, but when 30 angry
villagers mob your little castle, guess what happens?  Lots of people start
dying, and I'm not talking about torch-bearing, pitchfork-wielding serfs.
I was smart enough to run.  Frederick whipped his out and got run over.
Mom and Dad never had a chance.

Let me tell you, being an orphan sucks.

So then you (that'd be ME I'm talking about) start taking up the long road,
and man, your life sucks.  Another reason not to believe the bards: you
just don't walk into the next town, say "Hi, I'm an adVENturer!" and get
the chicks.  No, I don't THINK so.  You walk in, and everyone knows you're
a stranger.  First black mark against you.  Then you try to order food, and
your money is different.  CHIK goes the black mark quill.  So they screw
you in the money exchange.  Then they want to know who you are, and if
you're anywhere close to home -- and let me tell you, when you first start
walking away from a burning ruin that once was your home, everywhere is
close to home -- they want to know why you are alive.  They've heard the
goddamn stories about how the Count was a necromancer and terrorized the
village and that's why the Good and Upstanding People Threw Him Down.

And then, you're running for your life, in the dark, probably in the rain,
and you're hungry and cold.  Let me tell you, this sucks.  You feel like
walking into the next town and saying, "LOOK, I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM".

Let me tell you, being an amnesiac sucks.

Trust me, I tried this one.  "Oh, please, help me, I got hit on the head in
the middle of the night, and I don't know who I am, or anything, and--"
yeah, right.  First thing that happens: they rob you.  Not that I had that
much to steal, but if you have a bad memory, then you won't remember that
someone "borrowed" your meal knife, right?  Bastards, it's a CRAPPY LITTLE
KNIFE THAT I USE TO EAT, but no, they have to steal it.  Damn near got my
boots, too.  What is with these people?  OK, so I don't know you, but could
you cut a guy some slack?  Haven't you ever had some bad times?  Answer:
yes, they have, and they got back on their feet by pushing someone else's
head into the mud.

I tried being nice to these people, but really, why bother?  I'd go around
during the day being all nicey-nicey to people, and then at night, I'd
revert to form and be like, OK, look, _I_ am going to get some food, and if
YOU are in my way, well, that's just too damn bad.  Did that for two
months.

Let me tell you, having a split personality sucks.

Because you're constantly trying to remember: was I a saint or a bastard to
this guy?  Because if you were a saint and try to cut his throat, well, ok,
not a good idea.  And if you were a bastard and go all nice, well, let's
just say that when you're suddenly a Nice Guy to a thief, he thinks you've
gone to the Law and are going to turn him in.  I have the scars to prove
it, so don't give me any lip about it.

So there you are, wandering the Tors, trying to remove your head from your
butt, trying to figure out what to do, trying not to crisscross and meet
the same people again, and it would work except for -- that's right, you
got it -- the travelling bards.

Because these damn people are everywhere.  What's up with them?  All they
do is spread stories about you, or people like you, and you have nothing
but trouble, trouble, trouble.  Take the last place I was in: I'm walking
down the damn road, trying to get in the town before dusk, and what do I
find but a dead dark elf on the road.  Damn fainted straight away -- those
guys are scary.

Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, having cold water splashed up
into my face, and there's my personal version of Death looking at me --
that's be a minstrel -- saying AreYouOKAreYouOKAreYouOK?  Death's Tits,
what is wrong with him, I'm LYING ON THE GROUND NEXT TO A DEAD DARK ELF and
he's asking if I'm ok.  Ladies and gentlemen, the Stupidest Bard on Areth,
and he's the one flipping water into my face.  I swear, I'm gonna drown
from this guy.  I get up -- well, ok, I crawl onto my hands and knees, and
get Areth's Most Incompetent Bard to help me into town.

Where I proceed to get piss drunk.  I do NOT want to know why there was a
dead dark elf in the road, I do NOT want to talk about it, I do NOT want to
THINK about it or hear the words DARK, ELF, or DEAD, ok?  I just want to
GET MY DRINK ON and GET PISS DRUNK.  Only, what is The Biggest Goofushead
In Areth doing?  Telling everyone how I personally slew -- get this --
FOURTEEN DARK ELVES.  FOURTEEN!  WHAT is he ON?  Makes me want to become a
spice dealer, because there's GOT to be some money in it, except for the
fact that I can't see how Areth's Top Moron gets the money for spice.
Well, I ignore him, crash, and set out to see if there's work in this town.

And what do I find: yes, everyone wants to hire a Famous Dark Elf Hunter.

Let me tell you, being a famous hunter sucks.

Because every stupid punk who can barely shave wants to know my secret.
Dumb chicks want to get knocked up by me so that I have to marry them.  DO
I LOOK STUPID?  NO, I don't want anything to do with you.  NO, I don't want
to chase off into some forsaken place on the offchance that there might
just possibly, hypothetically-speaking, be a slim margin of opportunity to
find a Dark Elf hoard.

OK, screw this, I am OUTTA here.  I skip town.  Make that many towns.  I
get away from these people.  I find a peaceful little town.  No one knows
me.  No bards -- I made sure of that.  I become a fisherman.  Help out on a
boat, go out on the water, catch some fish, come back, get paid.  That is
IT.  No one seems to mind.  Nice little place.

Was a nice little place, Gull's Point.  Emphasis on Was.  There I am, beer
in hand, feet dangling over the water, watching the stars, figuring I
should turn in soon, and this UNDEAD ARMY COMES STORMING IN.  Let me tell
you, this does NOT happen everyday.  Or shouldn't.  Me, I dive in the boat
and hide in the bottom.  Come sunrise, me and my wet pants start running.
No one left in town.  I am SO GONE, to the next town.  Look, it seemed like
a good idea at the time, ok?

Problem is, the next town has already heard about how the skeleton army
came crashing in like a boat full of pirates into the first bar-and-brothel
they could find, and they figure, hey, if I'm alive, I must CLEARLY be a
necromancer and a spy and I've come to scope out this town.

Well, I had had it by that point.  Mom getting pregnant by the wrong guy,
my family run over by petty villagers, my life ruined by a couple of bards,
people think I'm a necromancer...  screw this.  People want me to be
something I'm not?  Fine.

That's it.

I'm going to the Frontier.  Only the stupid and the desperate go there AND
DON'T ASK ME WHICH I AM.  I'm gonna become what all these people want me to
become.  I'm going to become a necromancer and give these people a brain.
I'll start by killing 'em all.  When they start doing what I want them to
do, trust me, they'll be a lot smarter.  Only, I'm just a punk on the
Frontier, and I have no idea how to do any of this.

But that's ok, I've been on the run for a long time.  This can't be that
different.

Let me tell you, being a bastard is gonna rule.

- dave