Folks always ask me what my name is.
Today it's Desmond Ashby.
So, Desmond, you say. Where is it you come from? What brought you to where you are today? Who were your parents?
You know what? I'm sitting here waiting for a few things to come together so I have some time to kill. And I'm a little bored. So... I think I'll tell you.
I may even tell you the truth (but I wouldn't hold my breath).
I grew up in the back streets of the Jewel of Ansalon. Do you hear the sarcasm? Good. You see, Palanthas is all shiny and glorious if you're one of the rich nobles. But when you don't have two steel pieces to rub together and are starving four days out of seven the "shining jewel" looses some of its luster.
Now as to the "Who were your parents?" question... may the Abyss take me if I know. But if you see them, tell them I said hi. And that they owe me a LOT of back pay for allowances and birthday presents.
Wish I could tell you that this was a rags to riches story, that spunky little Desmond crawled out of the gutter and made something of himself.
But life isn't like that. It isn't one of those plays you see the bards performing in the theater.
It's cold and cruel and chalk full of disappointment.
I'd say I managed to talk myself out of more scrapes than I got into, and that I gave out more beatings than I took. I'd say I became fairly good at getting into things and relieving the poor souls of Palanthus's heavy coin purses.
I didn't make a name for myself though.
In our line of work if you've made a name for yourself you've screwed up.
Years passed and little Desmond became big Desmond. And now he's sitting here on this crate talking to you.
And quietly putting your coin purse into one of his pouches...