Did I ever tell you about the time I spent in Trerea? I was floating south towards the vein on a little trade boat because they were afraid the locals might make a grab for the goods. These things happen, and I tend to end up involved. So we're floating down the river and these damn lizardfolk came running loose from the trees. They were all over the deck, into all the crates and barrels, didn't even give us a straight look. So waited a moment, picked out the leader, and tackled the slimey devil right off the side of the boat, figurin' they'd protect their leader. It worked, little too well I might add, and ended up wrestling a dozen of them or so. Now, I'm a pretty strong swimmer, but I couldn't quite keep track of the lot of them and make sure I could breathe. I'm pretty sure I won, but I can't quite recall what else happened. I woke up a few days later, naked in the swamp. By time I caught up with the boat in Jarlsburg they'd already figured me dead. Needless to say, I was a bit put off.
I grew up in a whorehouse in Bel'Sira. They got this joke there that every kid running around is the son of Frank Binlan. I'll tell you right now, I'm neither dumb nor lucky enough to believe that I've got a trickle of that man's blood in me. I ran about the town for a few years looking for fun, but in a town that spooky quiet, there isn't much fun to be had. Spooky quiet. That part merits repeating. Anyway, as soon as I could twist my face up good enough to pass for human, I joined up with the North Haplan Trade Company and started reminding folk to respect a man's holdings. It's easy work and I get to play with sharp blades and sharp folk. Sure beats the face in the crowd life I would've had back home. Most folk like me like to blend in, disappear. I want people to remember my face, know my name. Nevermind the fact that this ain't my name or my face. It's the idea that counts.
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