As the final departures were being made from the cloister, Morgan had allowed himself to dream a little. To imagine the expulsion as new-found freedom. A moment of stepping from the cave and seeing the real world outside.
The reality of the world outside was work.
The craftsman was a kind enough man. Not cruel, not vindictive, but not interested in his apprentice for anything but labor. And his labor required equal parts torturous dexterity and crushing strength. Metal and coal needed to be hauled to the furnace, where the metallurgist would pound it into the right shapes, then as it was still hot, strong lungs were needed to shape glasses and deft hands required to set the metal with glass and gems. Sometimes weaving threads of fine make into the countours of each. For the first few days, Morgan's hands often shook after the exertion of hauling and it could take several goes before the craftsman would accept his work. When it was done and the iron cooled, he was expected to place it for storage and come back with more iron and more coal.
He had a wife, who cooked well but spoke rarely, and several daughters ranging from barely walking to near-adults. The first night, Morgan had been made to eat apart from the family, but as he became more of a normal fixture, the looks the young girls kept sending his way seemed to incense the father. Even knowing the nature of Morgan's vow of chastity, he seemed not to trust it, seemed to resent his daughters even considering trying to circumvent it, and the newcomer who didn't do his work as fast or as well as the craftsman would like would of course only be too willing to soil their virtue.
Perhaps then it becomes obvious why Morgan didn't even dare inquire as to being released from his vow. He waited for the craftsman's mood to improve, then when he broached the subject, it was as a matter of how much Morgan would owe him to buy his way out of the contract.
"A few years at standard wages, though the harder the seasons the longer it could take."
Of course it was easy to explain for the craftsman that all the money he made was direct from their sales, and that payment for Morgan had to live downstream of feeding and sheltering his family. This was reasonable, insidiously hard to argue against without forcing oneself into the role of the villain. So Morgan turned to his work harder, strove for excellence where he could and strove to eliminate mistakes where excellence was impossible. The results showed quickly, and the craftsman grew richer in short time. His mood toward Morgan changed, laughing with him, welcoming him as a son. And as the craftsman grew warmer to him, so to did his family.
But kindness does not buy loyalty.
Even as the craftsman and his family flourished, Morgan's pay did not improve. Surely, more of it was going into his contract, but when money is not in one's hand, it can be hard to believe it exists at all. Morgan's sin, if he could be said to have committed one in these days, was that he lost faith. But he did have very little to go off of.
And as quickly as kindness turns one way, it can turn another. The eldest daughter of the craftsman began to grow comfortable around Morgan. It started small at first, eyes catching, excuses to come visit her father at work. But the craftsman noticed it before Morgan did. If she knew about his vow of chastity, it was impossible to say. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Her father did what he could to snuff it. He stopped Morgan during work one day and made a show of taking the cage key from his pocket, only to string it around his neck and tuck it into his shirt.
"If you even think about touching her, remember that this never leaves my person. Lay a hand on her, and I'll see that it gets broken beyond repair."
Protest was worthless, it was trying to defend himself against a crime he hadn't even committed, couldn't even commit. Morgan sulked, his work slowed, and the craftsman's mood only worsened. Morgan started to wake at night and walk quietly into the craftsman's room, staring at the key rising and falling on his chest, thinking about how easily he could reach out and take it, breaking into a run and abandoning his post. But each time, he didn't. Perhaps it was some notion that if he simply kept his head down and worked well enough, simply bore it for as long as it took, then he would have salvation.
And then one day, the craftsman's daughter fell pregnant, and he handed Morgan a lump of smelted gold and brass.
***
There was an obvious sign hanging above an otherwise anonymous door that identified it as the entrance to the Thieves' Guild. Something about that just put an odd taste in Morgan's mouth.
He didn't know what he'd expected. If he had really been pressed on what his concept was when he thought of the phrase "a guild for thieves" then his answer would have been some hidden passageway behind an exceptionally hard to pick lock or a sewer catacomb or something. He didn't think a plain, well-furnished building sitting between a baker's and a moneylender's. He wondered if maybe it was a false front, some kind of trap. After all, when he had asked around earlier where to find it, most people had been vague and evasive.
But when he stepped in, he entered a room with a reception, a row of chairs along the wall with some people already waiting, and a pretty young woman behind the front desk. An unmarked door to either side of her. The tops of her long elven ears formed an almost perfectly flat line, cutting out from her head into the air on either side of her like branches. She had a small pair of wire spectacles yellowed by years of use and her pale skin almost perfectly matched the color of the glass. When he stepped toward her desk, she looked up at him and gave him a smile somewhere between bored and amused. She had on a loose, flowery dress over a full-body leather catsuit, only ending in stiff cuffs around her wrists and neck. It was like she was trying to mix cute casual wear with thieving gear, a look which probably detracted from the effect of both parts.
"Cute, young, but cute." Her mind mused while her expression remained flat.
"Hello," Morgan nodded to her.
"Hi," She stood up and offered her hand, "Welcome to the thieves guild, how can we help you today?"
"This is the thieves guild?"
She gave Morgan a look like it was a question she got multiple times an hour.
"Yes, this is Tonnun's very own thieves guild, the one and only. Not what you expected? Not enough secret passageways and seclusion?"
Morgan bit his tongue, "Yeah, something like that."
"Well, see. What we offer here at the thieves guild is a very professional service. We don't take just any job, that's how we've kept government approval for so long. Most of what we do is security services, helping people to figure out where their blindspots may be."
"And the rest of it?"
"Well, so long as we don't step on any big official toes, most of the time the royal guard are more interested in why somebody would hire our services than in putting somebody in prison who is likely to just break right out again. That's why we warn people, none of our records are confidential."
"It sounds more like-"
"More like a honeypot than a thieves guild?" The girl behind the counter waved her hand, "You're not the first person to say so. Rest assured, most of the time the guards aren't involved. I think something like four-fifths of our business is just the incredibly wealthy stealing the same set of antiques back and forth. Why get the authorities involved and risk civil forfeiture of your valuable item when you could just pay the same thief to get it back?"
"You're awfully-"
"Awfully forthcoming? Best way to operate in the shadows is to keep them from moving."
Morgan started to respond again but stopped himself, waiting for her to start back up. She looked at him quizzically and her ears flicked again.
"So what are you here for?" She finally asked almost rhetorically.
"I'd like to join the guild."
Something complicated passed behind her eyes, but it was impossible for him to actually read. She tapped a ledger sitting below her on the desk and passed it along to him.
"Sign your name here and the boss will speak to you when he's available. It may be a while, so if you want to take a seat, you're welcome to. Bathroom is over there," She jerked her head toward a door on her left and then opened her palm, "And there's a twenty coin entry fee."
He signed the ledger, albeit making something up in the place of his family name, then fished twenty coins from his coin purse and slid them into her hand. His fingers brushed against her open palm for just a moment but her hand snapped closed around the coins before the moment had a chance to be awkward. Her eyes all but sparkled as she rolled the coins in her palm next to one of her ears and then slid them into a bulging coin purse of her own.
Morgan sat down in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs and looked around him. All of the chairs seemed to be made of the same cushionless, bare, splintering wood. Three other people were waiting, one, a worgen, was snoring quietly. So maybe only two actually waiting depending on how you wanted to count it. All but the sleeping one looked uncomfortable and all of them seemed bored beyond description. The waiting room itself was almost lavishly nice compared to the seats, there had to be some kind of point to that. The receptionist's desk was polished wood, spotted with flourishing indoor plants and small golden inkwells holding elaborately feathered pens. A set of tapestries decorated each of the four walls, the one behind the receptionist's desk the only one with a discernable pattern and the rest all mostly just abstract splashes of color. Even the one on the back wall was simple, meant to catch the eye and not to hold it like the rest of them. There was nothing to focus on in the room aside from each other, nothing to read on any desks near the seats and nothing to fix your mind on for more than a few seconds.
It took roughly fifteen seconds for him to get bored enough to start nodding off. Morgan steadied himself and reached out quietly with his mind. He felt out toward the receptionist, but found her mind to be decently guarded. Looking through her eyes, he could make out that she wasn't really writing as her pen scribbled back and forth on the page, instead doodling in an unfocused, meandering set of lines. Before he could figure out what it might have been supposed to be, she blinked and glanced toward him confusedly. He pulled his mind back, giving her a small innocent wave which seemed to be enough to placate her. He rolled his mind over to the sleeper, enjoying the formless nonsense of deep dreams for a moment before it started to cause waves of vertigo. He pulled back and rolled to a dark elf sitting perfectly still in the corner.
"Thirty three thousand eight hundred and fifteen... thirty three thousand eight hundred and sixteen..."
Morgan pulled his mind back in horror, squinting at the man and half-expecting to see a thick layer of dust caked over him. The dark elf seemed to feel Morgan's gaze and opened his eyes slowly, seeing the boy staring and scowling in disgust before closing them again. Morgan shook off the scowl and rolled his mind again, finally settling on the last person in the waiting room he hadn't before. A small green-skinned man, goblin or half-goblin by the look at him, staring ahead of him with an empty-headed pleasant smile.
When Morgan's mind made contact, he yanked it back again like he'd touched a hot stove.
The shorter man's mind was like an angry nest of hornets. Pure, fiery rage clinging like a thin sheet and covering the whole of his thoughts and perceptions. Looking through his eyes was like seeing the world covered in a red mist. And still, the goblin sat there, smiling blankly ahead.
The door to the lobby opened. The receptionist looked up from her desk and, when the man nodded she nodded back.
"The boss in?" He asked pleasantly.
"How would I know?" She responded with a smile.
The man nodded to her again and she smiled back before he stepped through the door to her right.
