I was in trouble again, but that was no surprise. When wasn’t I in trouble? What would have been surprising would be if I were not in trouble.

But why was I in trouble, you ask? I am not sure, I had the impression it had something to do with the ruby statute of the Boar clan’s high priest that was in my backpack, but I don’t see why. I mean, they weren’t using it, they just set it out and then left it there while they all ran off to put out the fire in the pavilion occupied by the high priest…

Perhaps I should explain…

My name is Marcel le Sale, and I am a Rodenten of the Rat clan (the mouse clan is smaller and cuter, but lets face it, they scurry about with no refinement or sense of purpose, it is the rats whose cunning plans shake the world). Of course, most of the other races underestimate both of the rodenten clans, because of our smaller size, but they do so at their own peril. Some consider me a ne’er do well, but a rat has to make a living somehow.

Once a year, the boars make a pilgrimage to their sacred city, to honor their high priest. This year, I followed the pilgrims.

There was lots of pomp and ceremony, lots of good food (let’s face it, boars can make pigs of themselves), and lots of gifts for the high priest. The most impressive one this year was a large statue of the priest made from a single ruby. It isn’t a huge statue, but it was worth a lot of money and would fit well into my backpack.

The loot… I mean “the tribute” was placed in front of a large pavilion where the high priest waited, feasting and getting ready for his appearance. If someone happened to take a bottle of alchemist fire and attach it to an arrow, and from a hidden location to fire that arrow into the pavilion, it would go up like a tinderbox, with the high priest trapped inside.

As it turned out, someone did happen to fire that arrow – me.

The result was chaos. It was amusing to watch as the guards scrambled to rescue the priest and put out the fire. Amusing, but unlike the rest of the crowd, I wasn’t distracted by the spectacle, I was more interested in that statue. Moving with the speed, grace, and intensity of purpose for which I was famous… well, at least in some circles, I took advantage of the distraction to grab the statue and stuff it in my pack.

Of course, I was seen. That was to be expected, I suppose, and six of the guards came running after me. I decided they needed the exercise and led them on a merry chase. Shortly, I came to a tall tower. Excellent! I love towers. The door was chained with only the smallest of cracks. But, rodents have hinged skeletons, and squeezing through tight spaces is not problem for us.

Behind me, I could hear the boars cursing as they hacked at the chains on the doors. They were already huffing and puffing by the time they got the door open and got to the staircase.

Boars are big and heavy, and climbing staircases is not something they can do quickly. So, I taunted them as I ran. “Come on! You guys are so slow! Too much rich food. If you guys don’t watch your diets, you’ll get gout!”

I could hear them panting behind me. They were straining, but they knew that there was only one staircase, and they were not going to let me come down past them. Their swords and tusks were ready for me.

I got to the top of the tower. They were behind me, slow, but they got there. There was nowhere for for me to go, but over the turrets, and that was a six story fall. They figured they had me.

As they burst through the door, I made a dramatic gesture and yelled, “Fireball!” They panicked and dove for cover, scrambling and pushing each other out of the way. It was quite an impressive sight.

Of course, it would have been more impressive if I had been a spell-caster.

Eventually, they realized that there would be no fireball. Angry, they ran at me, knowing that the door to the staircase was blocked, and my only way out was to jump off the roof and fall the six stories to my death.

But, you know what almost no one knows? It’s a simple matter of physics. Rats, when they fall, have enough wind resistance that we hit terminal velocity before we are falling fast enough to hurt ourselves. So, we don’t mind jumping from great heights. I leapt into the air and proceeded to plunge downward, and leaving the poor boars watching me. They were congratulating themselves on what they thought was my demise, and expected to take the statue from the backpack on my dead body. So, the exhausted boars slowly and carefully made their way down the staircase, giving me lot of time to escape.

But, I landed on my feet, and figuring that this was not a good time to be a tourist, I set off in a run out of town. But, I didn’t get very far before I saw what else they had had planned for the celebration.

There just behind the tower, was Harengon maiden chained to an alter like some sort of virgin sacrifice. You don’t have to tell me that there is no such thing as a virgin Harengon, but the boars did not seem to know or care.

I know what you are thinking, “It is one thing to steal…er… ‘rehome’ a statue, but to interfere with a major religious would be totally unforgivable!”

Yeah, you’re right. But, I will confess, being forgiven never seemed that important to me.

“Oh well,” I said to myself, “in for a copper, in for a karat!”

I ran full bore (no pun intended) at the sacrificial alter and leapt quickly onto the top of the alter. While the surprised priests fumbled to replace the knives that were reserved for sacrifice with ordinary daggers, I sliced the bonds holding the maiden. The innocent maiden turned out to be anything but. While I was slicing the bonds on her feet, I felt her grab one of my spare daggers with the dexterity of a master pickpocket and saw her throw it with deadly accuracy at the first of the two boar priests, who fell. The second priest, in his clumsy haste tripped over the first one and both were on the ground.

“Well done,” I said, quite impressed.

“Time for compliments later, right now, run!” she said, laughing gaily, kissing me on the cheek, hiking her skirts up, leaping to the ground and running with the speed and grace that harengon are famous for. I likewise took to my heels, leaving the wounded or dead (I did not stop to check) priests. No, it does no good to look back, it just slows you down. I know I am faster than a boar, but I could tell the maiden was slowing down to keep from leaving me behind.

Some time later, we stopped to rest. Well, I did, Harengon are built for speed and distance. Rodenten are fast, but not as fast, and while our distance capability is arguably better than a harengon’s if equally burdened, I was wearing armor and carrying a heavy statue. She graciously stopped when I did. While I was huffing and puffing to get my breath, she nimbly gathered some fruit from nearby trees for us to eat.

“How do you do,” she said, almost musically, “my name is Bramble. And what is the name of my charming hero?”

Mesmerized by her charm and grace, and grateful for the berries she’d given me, I responded, “Marcel le Sale, at your service milady.”

As for what happened next, that is a tale for another time.