Jekarrin "Jak" Quickstep
Name: Jekarrin "Jak" Quickstep
Race: Halfling (Lightfoot)
Class: Rogue (thief)
Background: Criminal (Burglar)
Personality: I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me. I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds.
Ideal: I'm loyal to my friends, not to any ideals, and everyone else can take a trip down the Styx for all I care.
Bond: I’m trying to pay off an old debt I owe to a generous benefactor.
Flaw: An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. I’m okay with that.
It was a setup. That fact was apparent from the moment he crept in through the third story window. The thieves guild of Gradsul had let him have the tip, a bit too readily, now that he thought about it. Gareth had looked positively smug when he gave the details. But Jak needed the work, or more specifically, he needed the money, and lot's of it, so he hadn't picked up on what should have been obvious cues. Greed makes you blind, he reflected, as he watched members of the city guard close off the alleyway he had just vacated. Greed, and desperation. He was in hock to Marcus, his fence contact down by the docks, for... He closed his eyes. He didn't want to even consider the amount. Focus. Only way out is forward now. Panic gets you nothing.
The job was a simple break-in, in theory. A collection of gemstones in a wooden box, as well as some sort of pendant. Third floor, second door on the right, third drawer down in the wooden dressing table. The residents were away on a vacation at the resort palace of the duke in Sanduchar. In and out. Well, clearly not, he groused. The house was dark, so he crept along on tiptoe, mindful of any furniture in his path. The hall was narrow; spreading his short halfling arms he could touch both walls. At the second gap in the wall on the right, he felt for a knob. Unlocked. A twinge of unease at that. Was that a ragged breath he heard? Only way out is forward now. He turned the knob.
There were two. He couldn’t see them in the dark, but he heard two separate sets of breathing. The dressing table was straight ahead; in the light of the moon streaming in through the window he could see his faint reflection in the mirror set atop the fancy table. They were going to let him hang himself, he determined. So be it. He crept forward.
The room was a bedroom, a large canopied bed to his right, bookshelves to his left, and in the corners behind him, a large writing desk on his left and a canvas partition screen on his right. The one behind the desk had a wheeze when he breathed, and the one on the right wouldn’t stop shuffling his feet. Not thieves… more city guards? Irrelevant who they were, focus on the job, focus on the escape after. He crouched down before the drawer. Annoyingly, this lock would need to be picked. Just more of the game. Removing his thieves’ tools from a pouch in his jacket, he began to work the lock by feel alone. It was a snap to pick, even in the dark. He reached in to the drawer, and as he grabbed the box, the voice to his right said, “Get him.”
The good news was that the bed was in between Jak and the window. The bad news was the three-story drop. Jak darted to his right as the man from behind the desk sprinted toward him. Tucking the jewelry box into a pocket, he sprang onto the bed. The two men rounded toward the bed, arms clutching for him. Jak braced himself, and using the bed as a springboard, he dove headfirst through the window.
The first-floor awning was a welcome surprise that broke what could have otherwise been a nasty fall to the terrace below. He tumbled forward and hit the ground in a roll, springing to his feet. The alleyway window he had climbed into was on the side of the house; he was now on the rear side. Most of the city guards in the alley had not seen him, but the sound of shattering glass and shouts from the third-floor window alerted them. Hearing the stomping of feet and shouts moving toward him, Jak took off running.
It took a half hour of ducking through yards and scaling walls to elude the guards, but Jak eventually made his way down to the docks. His fence Marcus was based out of a warehouse down by the waterfront. For all anyone knew Marcus was a legitimate businessman, but he was an integral part of the thieves’ guild’s success in the city of Gradsul. The port city saw thousands of ships a year, and Marcus kept track of every one that dropped anchor. If you needed it moved, Marcus was your man. And he got a cut of all of it.
“Heard you might have had a little trouble tonight Jak,” Marcus muttered as Jak entered the secret entrance to Marcus’s office. Jak’s breath was a bit ragged from the exertion of evading the guards, and his muscles felt like rubber, but he was calm. ”Might have. You wouldn’t know anything about it now, would you Marcus?” The room was dimly lit with a couple oil lanterns, and cast a flickering glow on the massive oak desk that dominated the room. Dampness had curled the pages of the multiple shipping ledgers that littered the desktop. Marcus’s eyes gleamed. “Might be you weren’t meant to get away. Might be you were meant to end up in jail. Or dead. And might be I know why.” He grinned.
”You’re not the only one who knows a thing or two. The thieves guild betrayed me. Gareth finally found a way to remove me from the picture. His one mistake was trying to get me arrested. If he wanted it done right, he should have sent an assassin.” Marcus laughed, and got to his feet. “That he should have. Jak, we’ve got a problem. Or, I should be more specific, you’ve got a problem. The guards were tipped off, you’re right, but they also know to look for a brown haired halfling. I don’t know what you did to set the guild against you-“
”I do. They’re jealous because I’m the best thief in the city, and Gareth used to be top dog. I guess I should have seen this coming.”
“You’re quite right. It’s a shame to lose you; you brought in a lot of coin.”
”Not enough, unfortunately; I still owe you more than I care to think about.” A month earlier a heist had gone bad and ended in a ship full of goods bound for Irongate consumed by flames. That deal had been tied to Jak, even though he hadn’t even been onboard at that point, and he had been left responsible for recouping the loss in profit to Marcus. It was my deal, but I’d let Gareth handle the exchange. He cursed silently. He was trying to get me out of the picture even then. What a petty little man he is. He looked at Marcus. ”You said the guards know who I am?”
“They know everything but your name. I wouldn’t go home, not for anything. They know where you live. You were lucky enough to get away as it is. Did you get the jewels?” Jak patted his pocket. “Good. Give them to me.” Jak handed the box over, reflecting on what a miserable life being a thief could be sometimes. ”These should square my debt with you Marcus. At least something good came out of tonight.”
Marcus sighed. “Oh, Jak. How do you think Gareth knew so much about where these were? You think it was coincidence?” He opened the box, revealing what ended up being a handful of granite stones of various sizes. Rocks. He had stolen rocks. He chuckled. It was the perfect parting joke. “Do you know whose house you even broke into? Nobody told you?” Jak just stared. “The house belongs to the sister of Duchess Maressa, who you may have heard of. You should have. Her husband rules the city and controls the navy.” Marcus placed both hands square on his desk and stared intently down at Jak. “You can’t stay here anymore.”
”I wasn’t going to ask to stay in the warehouse.”
“I wasn’t talking about the warehouse. You wouldn’t have made it here alive if I thought they’d connected you to here. One of my men would have made sure of that. No, I was talking about Gradsul. You need to leave the city tonight.”
Jak just stared at him. This was a waking nightmare. ”Any ideas on how I can do that, what with the city guard on the lookout for a halfling that looks just like me ?” His voice was pure venom. But Marcus looked strangly calm.
“Turnips.”
”Turnips ? How are turnips going to get me out of the city?” Surely this was some sort of joke.
“Just listen. Todric Mudwallow, Fat Tod as he’s known as around here, he’s a farmer and a hobbit. He keeps a stall on the west end of the city. Well his son Bedric is about your age, looks passably like you. He runs a wagon between the city and the Mudwallow farm east of Oakroot. I may be able to put a little word in the ear of one of the guards that poor Bedric is the hobbit they’re looking for.”
The idea of setting some poor farmboy up as a patsy to save his own hide should have make Jak feel guilty, but his sense of self-preservation was strong, and he pushed the thought aside. ”You still haven’t explained the turnips.”
“Just listen. All of the unsold produce that doesn’t sell at the market stall gets donated to the Monastery of St. Cuthbert. Bedric makes the trip once a week. So if Bedric is going to play the part of Jak,…”
”…then I get to play Bedric the poor farmboy. And, what, deliver turnips to some monastery?”
“You don’t want to go anywhere near that monastery. You’d have to go through Oakroot to get there, and someone would surely notice you’re not the same hobbit when you go by the farm. You’re going to go southwest at the fork toward Daerwald and work your way around heading north toward Niole Dra. Once you’re there, one of my contacts has a job for you. It’s a…” He paused. “It’s a legitimate business opportunity. There’s an opening as a caravan guard. Well. Mostly you guard the shipments. From time to time, maybe you let one of my contacts in the city know of some particularly juicy shipments. Do you catch my meaning, Jak?”
Jak sighed. ”So I’m a mole now. I guess it’s better than prison. Do you have any clothes I can wear out of here? I don’t exactly look much like a farmer.”
“I’m sure I’ve got something around here in one of these boxes. Now one more thing, my contact in Niole Dra is a half-elf named Hammett. Just tell him you had been messaged about a job opportunity; he’ll be expecting you. I have riders bringing shipments and information up and down the River Road every day. With you taking the long way around to the city, the rider I send today will beat you there by days.” Marcus whistled, and a beautiful woman came in. “This is Nell. She’ll set you up with a horse and wagon cart. When I know you’re out of the city safely, Nell will put a little bird in the ear of one of the guards to check the Mudwallow market stall for the hobbit they’re looking for.”
Jak stood there quietly for a moment. ”Why are you doing all this Marcus? Why not just wash your hands of me and let the guard take me? What’s in it for you?”
Marcus just chuckled. “The money. You still owe me for that ship and its cargo. This way you can still work for me, and I can rest easy knowing you’re safe.”
Jak was under no illusions that Marcus truly cared about him beyond his ability to generate revenue. ”When do we leave?” Jak asked, addressing the dark-skinned Nell.
“We leave now,” she replied in a heavy accent.
“Chin up, Jak, a fortnight from now, you’ll be resting comfortably in Niole Dra. A whole new opportunity is ahead of you now.” He nodded to Nell and returned to his seat.
Newly clad in garb that made him look like a fish out of water farmer, Jak followed Nell out through the secret entrance. As he trudged behind her trying to keep up with her longer strides toward the turnip cart that would lead him to escape, he thought, This new opportunity smells like a cowpie.
The job was practically over before it began.
Marcus had called it a 'whole new opportunity.' After fleeing from Gradsul in the early morning dressed as a farmer, he had ridden what felt like a month along roads that devolved to rutted trails. The mule had died a half day's ride from Watershead. He had abandoned the cart and continued on foot for a time, but footsore and weary, he stole a pony. He avoided the roads for several miles, until a river outside of Laketowne forced him to rejoin the road. He had never been an especially hairy halfling, but weeks on the road had turned his head into a mop of matted brown tangles. He needed a bath and a drink. This journey couldn't end soon enough.
He let the pony run free two miles outside of Niole Dra, hoping its discovery wouldn't be linked back to him. His clothing reeked; thanks to the guards who had been watching his home, he had been unable to bring any other changes of clothes. He washed up on the bank of a river running parallel to the road, and let the sun dry him as he walked. The city guards looked at him with suspicion, a halfling walking alone with no seeming purpose. Thankfully, Jak could be quite charming when he put his mind to it, and his small stature did much to make him appear nonthreatening. When he stated he was there for a guard job opportunity with a local trade caravan, the two seemed amused, but they let him pass. It didn't matter; they could have laughed themselves silly, but they let him pass, and that was what mattered.
It was not long before he met up with Hammett, Marcus' contact in the city. The man was a sniveling toad, but it didn't matter – he was just the middleman. “You're late by a week, hobbit.” He sneered. “Did you lose your way?”
”Mule died. I made it here as quickly as I could. Where's a comfortable inn? I could sleep for a month.” Hammett directed him to a run-down hostel that charged too much and had roaches on the floor. It was a palace in Jak's eyes; he slept for fourteen hours.
After waking, Jak made his way to a pub and bought a mug of ale and a bowl of stew. That done, he evaluated his current savings. He had enough to buy a new pair of shoes and a new outfit, and meals for a week. He was able to haggle the price down on some new clothing, but the shoemaker was a stodgy old man who seemed to harbor resentment toward non-humans and refused to budge on price. Jak knew better than to push the issue; he wasn't in a position to generate too much ill-will toward himself, having just arrived.
Newly attired, and with his belly full, Jak went to meet the caravan driver Hammett had directed him toward. The captain seemed like a nervous sort, with shifty eyes and trembling hands. Jak didn't know how he had ended up as captain of the caravan guards; it seemed as though a stiff breeze would blow him over.
This is going to be a cinch, Jak mused.
Hopefully the caravans will be worth a good amount; I can't imagine what sorts of guards this weak fool keeps in his employ.
Unfortunately, the best laid plans are soon waylaid. Upon meeting the other three caravan guards, Jak knew the plan was anything but a cinch. The other three guards were tough, surprisingly so, and Jak knew that any attempts to assault a caravan guarded by this crew would be a real challenge for Marcus's men. His only hope was to wait and to watch, and hope that one of these shipments would be worth the risk of assault. He couldn't wait too long, however. Marcus had set him up with the position as a means to settle his debt, and working the guard job was a perfect cover.
Jak watched and waited, and hoped. The first few shipments were mundane. Spices. Textiles. Fruits and vegetables. Some iron ore. Nothing worth risking life and limb. The fourth shipment was different. A mine rich with silver had struck a new vein, and along with some precious minerals, a wagon nearly full of silver ore was set to travel down to Gradsul. Jak was a touch uneasy – not about Gradsul; they had made the trek back to his former city thrice before, and as a guard with the caravan, he had bore no notice. What he was nervous about was the risk. It was one thing to be working a job himself, where he and his senses were pitted against whatever he was trying to accomplish. This was different. There were two different factions at play, and he was playing the role of infiltrator. Should Marcus's men be unable to subdue or kill the other four members of the caravan guards, there might be questions. Jak was also concerned about the idea of fighting against Marcus's men if push came to shove. He was deft with a blade and had no concerns of his own skill, but he would be walking a tight line trying to appear to defend himself while not going after Marcus's men too vigorously. It wouldn't do to be the one who killed them.
It ended up being a moot point. The attack came halfway between Gradsul and Sayre, just north of the Dreadwood and a few miles northwest of Oakroot. Jak reflected later that Oakroot was where the Mudwallow Farm was located. He wondered about the unfortunate Bedric Mudwallow. Last he had heard from one of Marcus's men, the unlucky hobbit was rotting in a cell in the Gradsul dungeon. He reminded himself it was hardly his fault.
There were five of them, and they had been hiding amongst the trees and thickets lining the road. When the attack came, it was swift, but the guards were prepared. The Dreadwood was notoriously dangerous, and the guards' senses were heightened as a result. It was over quickly. All five attackers were slain. The fifth had wounds which were not immediately fatal, but, sensing he would be questioned and might give up Hammett or Marcus as the orchestrator of the assault, Jak slit his throat to silence the man. Casualties on the guards' side included an arrow through a shoulder, a sword slash to an arm that cut nearly to the bone, and the captain's mental fortitude. The man was a blubbering mess, and upon eventually reaching Niole Dra, he up and quit his position, divvied up the proceeds from the job amongst the four of them, gifted them the horses and mules that had been part of the caravan, and fled to the monastery.
Probably a safer bet, Jak opined. The caravan job was through without ever having yielded a score for Marcus, or for putting any sort of dent into what Jak owed. The only bright spot was the fact that, a failure though the assault had been, Jak's involvement had not been revealed at alll. They would have killed him on the spot had they known it was Jak's intelligence that had prompted the attack. Luckily, that information would never be revealed.
So now, standing at a literal and figurative crossroads, Jak pondered his future. He knew nearly nothing of the city; his one employment opportunity had died on the vine, and aside from the weasel-faced Hammett, whom he didn't trust further than he could heave the man, he knew nobody in the city he could rely on. Well. With three obvious exceptions. He turned to the other three guards.
”Well now, looks like we're all in between opportunities. I don't suppose any of you have any ideas on where an out of work halfling could get a decent job in the city? Something with a little flair, perhaps?” One of the guards (he hadn't yet really learned their names, preferring to not get too close to people he might end up having to help kill) mentioned a woman offering 125 gold each to recover two fools who had gone into some ancient ruin. Jak didn't know anything about any ruins, and didn't care about finding some young fools with straw for brains, but the notion of 125 gold, with the possibility of 125 more should the two be found alive, appealed greatly to Jak's sensibilities. Jak pondered the adventurer life, and weighed the risks and benefits against turning back to his previous career as a burglar.
Adventuring through ancient ruins may not be the job for me, but until I find something else that pays better, it's the job I'm going with. ”Enter a cave to look for two fools and their signet rings? Sounds just up my alley. What do you think, gents?”
(Alignment note: Upon writing Jak's backstory, I was starting to question if his actions reflect more of a neutral evil alignment. I originally had him down as chaotic neutral. My goal with Jak, based on the background ideal I picked out was to have him eventually bond with the other three guards in the party. But yeah, I guess he ended up turning out to be a bit more of a jerk than I anticipated. It sure was fun to write though. )