Sage’s Background

Sage walked quietly along the barely discernable path the woods offered, tossing an apple up into the air and catching it.  Her soft leather boots made almost no noise as she trod across the fallen leaves, but even if they had, her companion’s careless scampering would have drowned out any noise she was making. 

“Crikey, Gruk, think you could possibly make any more noise?” She grumbled, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. 

“Gruk bored,” the goblin answered. 

“You’re not gonna be bored for long, you don’t keep quiet.  How much further to the Moot?” the half-elf asked, dropping the apple in the satchel at her hip, and running her fingers through her short black hair.   

“Three whores.”  Gruk replied in common. 

Sage chuckled.  “You mean hours.”   

“Hours, whores, what difference?” Gruk asked, looking genuinely confused. 

“Hours are time, whores are ah… females who er… like to ah…” 

She crinkled her nose and finished the explanation in Nyemetz. 

“Har!!”  The goblin laughed loudly, snorting and carrying on until Sage thumped him on the head with her sheathed dagger.

“Will you shut your trap?!” she hissed, but not menacingly, as she and Gruk had been pals for a long while. 

“Gruk sorry,” he replied, rubbing his head.  “You tell Gruk story?  Gruk be quiet you tell Gruk story.” 

Sage sighed.  Anything to keep him quiet, she reckoned.  “All right, what story do you want to hear?” 

Gruk grinned, looking very comical with his row of sharp teeth that would be a dentist’s worst nightmare. 

“Tell when Gruk and Sage meet.” 

Sage laughed.  “Okay.” 

Pulling the apple back out, she tossed it to Gruk, and began the story. 

“I was 12 years old, and I was running through the woods…” 

“And Gruk jumped out and tried scare Sage!” the goblin interrupted. 

Sage smiled.  “Yes, you jumped out and tried to scare me.  And you did, at first.” 

“Gruk very scary goblin.” 

“Yes, you can be,” Sage agreed, chuckling.  It wasn’t entirely untrue.   

“Tell how you thought Gruk was monkey.”  Gruk sniggered, and pieces of apple flew out and landed on Sage’s black tunic. 

“Cut it out, will you?” she said, wiping away the pieces of apple and spittle with a disgusted look.  “And you’re getting ahead of me.” 

“You jumped out and tried to scare me.  You did, a bit, at first, but then, the slaver who was chasing me started to catch up, and that scared me more, so I ran and hid behind a tree.” 

“That when Gruk help Sage!” 

“Right.  He scared you, and you bit his ear off.”  She giggled. 

Gruk snorted again, laughing in that obnoxious way only goblins can.  Gruk was sweet, but rather stupid – not a very good combination for a goblin.   He could take care of himself, though, otherwise, Sage would have been leery of his having to make the two-day trek back to his village by himself. 

“And Gruk save Sage, and big man hit Gruk on head, and Sage save Gruk!” 

Sage laughed softly.  “You know, you should be telling me stories, you know it better than I!  But anyway… I felt bad because he’d hurt you, and you were so cute…” 

Gruk blushed, turning a shade of green something akin to algae.  “And you thought Gruk was monkey.” 

“And I thought Gruk was a monkey.”  

She smiled, and thought back to the years before… 

She was still very much a child, then, although she’d never had much of a childhood to speak of.  She was half-elven, of course.  That was explanation enough in her book.  Her story seemed typical of those she’d grown up with – elven mother, human father, taken from her home by the League of Elven Purity, put into slavery, blah-de-blah.  She was five at the time – lucky in one way.  She was old enough to work.  A lot of her kind hadn’t made it; in fact, it had been dumb luck that they hadn’t finished her off as well.   

She’d arrived kicking and sobbing pathetically at the League camp, along with several others.  She didn’t know what had happened to her parents; she’d been sleeping with her captors had come, and all she’d remembered was being tossed into a sack like someone’s dirty laundry, and a long and bumpy ride to the camp.  She’d woken to the sound of voices, and someone had opened the sack, and jerked her out roughly… 

“This one?” The big man had said.  He’d been dressed in metal, and Sage had crinkled up her little nose at his stench.  Of course, she wasn’t being called “Sage” then.  She was Elisabeth Merindil – Lissy for short. 

“Take her,” his equally stinky, equally ugly, metal-skinned counterpart had replied, and the other one had jerked her up out of the sack. 

Sage had squealed and pounded his shoulders with her little fists.  “I want my Mommy!!” she’d cried, and stinky-ugly number two had squeezed her arms tightly, laughing.   

“Yer mommy’s dead, just like yer gonna be, ya little half-breed-“   

His taunt was cut short by a yelp of pain as Sage’s teeth embedded themselves into his unprotected jaw. 

“Why you little!”  He’d drawn back to hit her but was stopped by a tall female with cold blue eyes, who’d said, “Keep her.  She’ll make a good plaything in a few years.”  The woman had smiled down at her cruelly.  “In the meantime, put her in the mines.” 

Sage had spent almost eight years working the mines, lugging out her weight in silver a day.  Her size gave her a slight advantage over her fellow slaves – she was small, and limber, and could squeeze into tight places that were perfect for nestling a nice explosive device.  In turn for crawling through miles of tunnels, the amount of time swinging a pick and hauling a bucket was cut in half.  Of course, this had its disadvantages as well.  Some looked upon it as favoritism, and she got her ass kicked often enough that she learned to keep far away from the rest of the camp whenever possible. 

It was shortly before she’d met Gruk that she’d been hauled off for her “true” purpose.  Sage hadn’t forgotten those chilly blue eyes she’d seen when she was captured, and apparently, nor had their owner forgotten her. 

“Ah… the feisty one,” she’d said, those cold eye glowering down at her.  She’d run the backs of her fingertips over Sage’s cheek and smiled, and Sage had felt as if icicles were forming on her spine.  “I’ll train you… personally.” 

Sage’s fingernails dug into her palms as she remembered that particular training… the bitch had flogged her until she’d had to sleep standing up that night, as a sample of what would become her if she failed to satisfy the ‘customers’. 

She never got the opportunity to fail.  The next evening when she found herself staring at the hulking form of a very hairy, very smelly (didn’t these people ever BATHE?!), and very naked man, she’d sunk her teeth into the most protrusive portion of his anatomy, and run like hell. 

That’s when she’d found Gruk.  She’d followed him home, and realized rather quickly that he wasn’t a monkey.   

He’d still made a pretty good friend. 

“Gruk think two whor- hours to Moot.  You steal pretties – you bring one Gruk?”  The goblin grinned hopefully. 

“Sure,” Sage replied.  If this festival were anything like she’d heard – one great big druid lovefest, where everyone was high as a kite and more concerned about peace, love, and harmony then they were about watching their pocketbooks – then there would be plenty of gold and silver and pretties to last her a good long time.   

Not that this would make her criminal activity thereafter any less busy.  The fact was, when it came to stealing stuff, she just couldn’t help herself.  It didn’t matter what it was – if it was left unguarded, it was in her pocket, whether she needed it or not. She imagined it came from never knowing when she might next get a meal, or a warmer shirt, or whatever other necessity she might need.   

After following Gruk home, she’d been at a loss of what to do.  Running away had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the harsh reality was that she was alone, in the woods, with nothing to eat, no money, and only the clothes on her back.  She’d almost gone back, but she knew what would happen to her if she did, and defeated, she’d cried herself to sleep. 

When she awoke, she’d found the goblin staring at her from a short distance away.  Beside her was what appeared to be some sort of fruit.  It was the beginning of a rather odd friendship. 

It had turned out that there was a town not too far from the goblin encampment.  It wasn’t quite far enough away from the League for Sage’s comfort however, and the first thing she had stolen was a small paring knife, which she’d used to shear off her long hair.  She was thin, and hadn’t begun to develop yet, and with a pair of ‘borrowed’ trousers and tunic, she easily passed for an elven lad.  Even now, she looked much more elf than human, although with her pointed ears covered, she could pull of a human teenager well enough as well. 

For the next three years she’d learned to live on the streets, stealing to survive, and in her free time, hanging out with her only friend, Gruk.  It took a while for them to understand each other, but gradually, Sage, being the more intelligent of the two, learned Nyemetz well enough to converse with him, and he didn’t bother to learn any more common than he had to for a while. 

Sage got along well enough.  She was crafty enough to avoid being caught most of the time, and wise enough to take what she could find lying unguarded when she found an opportunity.  Most things could be traded for food, and other stuff… more often than not Sage could find some use for it… even if it was solely for decorating the little space beneath the stairs in the old Witchfinder’s building that she called her home.  It had long since been vacated by the Witchfinders themselves, and instead was used as a storage house for weapons.  Nobody knew she was holding up there, and nobody bothered her.   

It seemed that the more she stole, the more she had to steal.  Things made her happy, made her feel important, and she had to have more and more, just to feel as if she were somebody.  She wanted fine clothes, shiny jewelry – a proper room that someone else would clean, and her meals served at the inn, instead of on the run – literally.  Half of the time she got away with taking food by eating the evidence before they caught up to her.  She’d kept telling herself that one big heist, one big job, and she’d quit – she’d turn honest, get a job of some sort. 

The opportunity came in the form of a young elven ranger by the name of Nalen Starblood, who happened to be in town on market day at the same time that Sage was making her routine of ‘distract and pilfer’.  He was handsome, and she’d noticed him right away because he looked to be well off – and more interested in what was he was looking to buy than his purse. 

“Oops – I’m sorry,” she’d said, as she bumped him, and deposited his change purse into her pocket. 

He’d turned around, a look of irritation on his face until he saw her.  She’d dressed for innocence that day – long skirt and blouse, her short hair combed behind her ears in order to better blend in with the elven population that came through every month or so for market.  It was a dramatic difference from her normal, everyday attire of solid black – tunic and pants, cloak, boots… gloves – and had made her much less likely to be picked out as a thief. 

Then, a funny thing had happened.  He’d asked her to lunch, and for some reason she’d not been able to fathom, had accepted.  They’d gone to the Silver Boar, and lingered two hours over sandwiches and cider.  She could still remember the look on his face when the waitress had come to collect for their meal. 

“Uh…” he’d stammered, patting his shirt and pants, digging through his pack.  “I ah… seem to have lost my coin purse… somewhere.”  Of course he hadn’t.  It was in Sage’s pocket. 

Sage had blanched, but quickly recovered.  “Let me take care of it, then.” 

She’d reached quickly into her pocket to withdraw some coin from his pouch to pay – as that was currently the only coin she had – and in her haste and nervousness, and… infatuation, she’d pulled the pouch out with the silver piece she’d grabbed, and it had fallen to the floor.  Before she could grab it, he’d bent down to retrieve it for her. 

His eyes had popped open like a clam’s.  “That – that’s my pouch!” 

Sage had stammered for about three seconds, and then took off like a bat leaving the basement of the nine hells.  She’d run, and doubled back, and slipped through alleys and crawl spaces until she was certain she’d not been followed, and then, she’d gone home. 

About five minutes later, she’d looked up from her mat to find Nalen leaning against the carefully hidden door that lead to her small living quarters.  The only door, she recalled with a snort. 

“What the –“   

She’d been shocked, that was for sure.  Nobody had ever gotten this far. 

“Did I mention I’m a ranger?” he’d asked rather smugly, looking quite satisfied with himself.  “Best at tracking, though… even in cities.” 

Sage snorted inwardly.  He hadn’t been kidding.  That elf could sniff out a cunt hair in a barrel full of fish. 

She’d thought she was screwed, that she had finally picked the wrong guy to rob, but it turned out to be what could have been the opportunity of a lifetime.  Could have been, if she’d just been able to behave herself. 

He’d promised not to turn her in, if she would come home with him, to his village.  Apparently he thought she needed help or something.   

Sage rolled her eyes.  What did he know?   

“Gruk see Nalen,” the goblin said suddenly, and Sage nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“Where?!”  She looked all around, her stomach churning at the thought of running into her former lover. 

“Not here, at Gruk village!”  Gruk waved his gangly arm back the way they’d came. 

Sage breathed a sigh of relief, and then gave Gruk a brainduster with a palm to the back of his head.  What was he – turning psychic?  It unnerved her. 

“SAW, you nitwit!  If it’s not right now, then you SAW him.  Past tense.” 

“Gruk SAW Nalen,” the goblin corrected himself. 

“And?” Sage demanded. 

“Nalen not talk Gruk.”  The goblin shrugged. 

“So what was he doing, then?”  She asked, trying to seem disinterested at the same time. 

“Nalen talk Chief, Gruk not know.” 

Sage snorted.  She was somewhat disappointed that Nalen hadn’t at least asked about her, but you’d have to torture that admission out of her.   Sure, she’d hurt him.  Hell, she’d be the first to admit it.  But he could never just accept her for what she was – he was always trying to change her.   

Sage sighed.  She remembered their last night together quite well.  They were in town again… for the market.  It had been nearly two years since she’d gone to live in the village with him.   

“Busy tonight, eh?” he’d asked, squeezing her hand. 

She’d nodded, a somewhat glazed look in her eye at all the goodies she’d missed the past few months.  Those elves went to market far too rarely, she’d decided.  Her eyes were on a gorgeous turquoise and onyx pendant when Nalen pulled her towards a pile of furs. 

“Look at this – can you believe the waste?  Why they didn’t even use half the flank, and…” 

Nalen’s voice had droned on while Sage’s eyes had been hypnotically drawn to yet another goodie: a silvery dagger, with a rose emblazoned in copper on its hilt. 

“Yeah,” she said absently, “It’s paramedic.”  She was still staring at the dagger. 

“Paramedic?”  He turned to look at her, and she quickly unglued her eyes from the weapon and faced him, somewhat impatiently. 

“Commiserable, piteous, pitiable, poor, rueful,” she replied, raising an eyebrow, as if it should have been obvious. 

“You mean ‘pathetic’,” he said, understanding now. 

“Whatever!” she returned with irritation, trying to think of a way to get away from him just for a moment… just ONE thing… that’s all.  Her hands were starting to shake; such was her desire – her NEED – to pick up something… anything… even… Yes!  That silken handkerchief…. 

“Sage!”  His voice jolted her just as her fingertips touched upon the satiny fabric.  She nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“What?” she replied, heart pounding like bongo drums in her chest. 

“Are you even paying attention to me?” 

“Sure – of course!  Just been a while since I’ve been to market – I’m just ah… engrossed with the merchandise.”  It wasn’t a lie. 

She smiled disarmingly, and Nalen crooked his eyebrow, but smiled, and urged her on through the masses of merchants and customers.  After half an hour or so, Sage had managed to bulge her pocket with a few sneakily swiped items, and Nalen was rubbing his belly. 

“I’m starved – what say we get some lunch?”   

Sage hadn’t been particularly hungry, but she’d agreed anyway, and they’d stopped for lunch at the same little inn where they’d first met. 

Fate, it seemed, was as sneaky a little bitch as Sage could be herself.  She could still remember the look on Nalen’s face when he’d discovered what she’d been up to.  It was a look of disappointment… anger.  But it was the pity in his eyes that had disgusted Sage more than anything, and even if he’d not started on his rant about how she wasn’t ever setting foot in his village again, it wouldn’t have stopped her walking away from him that day.   

Sure, deep down, she’d always known he had that superiority complex, but she’d overlooked it.  It was something people did when they were in love with one another. 

“Hmph!” she grunted aloud, spitting on the ground. 

“Sage disappointed?”   

Gruk’s voice broke through her reminiscence.  “What?” 

The goblin pointed through the trees, where she could see the Moot in full swing.  All previous thoughts were forgotten.  Her eyes glazed over, and a wickedly pleased grin spread across her face. 

“Oh no, Gruk,” she clarified.  “It’s perfect.”

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