((The following is a recollection of a past journal entry which serves to enrich back story, nothing written in these pages has taken place recently))
Woes of poverty heard through the streets. A boy lunches on hard bread his eyes void of hope, an old man holed up in a damp alley tries to best the cold a bloodied cough stains his worn mitts, a father unable to feed his own glares menacingly at the world fist clenched with what little strength he owns. Brushing past these dismaying sights is someone with one last gleam of determination.
“The cold winds of that afternoon chilled me as I slowly walked towards the abandoned house; still feeling reluctant to go through with it. I thought of many scenarios and tried to draw conclusions on what this so called ‘proposition’ was about. Being approached the way I was by the stranger did not help in clearing up any of my uncertainties. Earlier that day I decided to purchase a simple dagger from an a blacksmith in the market quarter. The part of town I was suppose to head off to isn’t exactly welcoming, especially for a traveler such as myself. It was high noon when I made haste to that place.
So there I was my knife sheathed and my hand hovering over it constantly I recall. The abandoned house as its name suggests had seen better days, two men guarding the entrance. They looked rugged the class of men you rather not conflict with, their eyes darting around. I approached them and told them of my business. They simply looked at each other and nodded opening up the door to let me inside where I found myself in an open empty room. The interior was slightly better taken care of then the outside. There was no one inside but a flight of stairs on the other side of the room which seemed to lead to the basement caught my attention.
As I made my way down the stairs I could hear voices. The basement was lit with candle light and lined with some tables. I look around to see some men drinking and talking. My presence did not go unnoticed by some, but others paid no attention to me. The air was impregnated with the stench of mead and ale and the echoes of spoken words resounded through the lively cellar. There were about ten men, I remember wondering if the place wasn’t a tavern of sorts. Amidst my disorientation a bearded man from the other side of the room beckoned me over to him. He was standing in front of a door as if guarding it. As if he knew the reason of why I was there he opened the door and told me to go in and I did as I was told.
The door closed behind me as I stepped inside a dark, stuffy room. On the other side was a shadowy figure sitting behind a table. A dull dimmed light shown through from a barred basement window which, looked towards a sickly alley way. I clearly remember how little the dull light helped in discerning the details of the darkly figure only helped in making out the outlines of the silhouette. All of the sudden the person let out a chuckle and stepped out of the near pitch black shadows to reveal himself to be the same ragged fellow which I had met in the market quarter. He started approaching me with a pewter mug in hand I could notice the man had a certain stride about him, a drunkard’s stride no less at that time I realized the man was under the effects of alcohol.
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He approached me with an unsettling smile. All of the sudden he pulled out a blade… a knife. With the same smirk on his face he attempted to slash me. In my fear I stepped back luckily dodging the initial strike. The rest of the event was a blur since it happened all so fast. I remember unsheathing my own dagger since the door was locked from the outside his moves were sloppy yet quick. After parrying some ill aimed jabs I was starting to snap out of my fear and tried to reason with the drunkard. Before I could he started to laugh, he let down his blade and looked at me in the eyes his composure seemed to have returned to that of a sane man. I could still feel my heart pumping violently and I had not let down my own dagger as I was ready to defend myself at a moment’s notice.
The bastard simply sat back down on his chair and in a calm tone apologized for what he called “bad manners” even offered me a drink. He went on about how he noticed me since I arrived to the Swaying Cask and speaking to me in Westron as most in Lake Town do with a heavy Dalish accent. Seems my plight had caught his attention and he wanted to offer me to work with him. The small exchange was simply his way of testing me. Taking any chance he could to make me feel safe in his presence I made what seemed to be the bold question of what line of work he was referring to. Unsurprisingly it was banditry. This man who goes by the name of Cenric leads a group of thieves that “Try to best the sorry situation of life in town.” After promising me a way to keep myself fed finally I had to make a choice, whether to join them… stooping low to the level of outlaws and thieves or leave with the faint hope of finding work elsewhere.
I am tired of it all, I was an honest man and now I have been reduced to such a sorry state. This man is the only hope I have of staying off the streets begging and seeing as Hulund taught me a thing or two on burglary I didn’t see any reason to decline the man’s offer and accepted to join in. Once he heard my answer he stood up, gladly and firmly shook my hand and welcomed me into the “Hidden Cloaks". Looking back I find it hard to believe a once tavern cook is now member of an outlaw group." - Alewood
