Sitting in front of his usual place on Hook Street, Notick rolled his dice again as another passerby fresh off a boat from the Harbor tried their luck with his dice game. He grins as his loaded dice win him his hand, “OH! So close my good friend! Perhaps next time Lady Desna will be on your side!
” The loser huffed and grumbled as they walked away from Sandport Harbor. He chuckled to himself as another unfortunate victim lost their coin purse to him to his almost unbeatable game. Notick’s smile disappeared from his face as he packed up his things, and immediately head towards the Fatman’s Feedbag. He hated swindling people of their money.
Turning the corner of Rum Street to Market Street, watching behind himself to ensure he isn’t being followed, he runs into someone and falls backwards to the ground. With a grunt, he retorts, “Watch where you’re going! You could have –” he stops when he notices Belor Hemlock, the sheriff of the city, looking down at him.
Belor stared daggers at the young half-elf, “Been swindling the newcomers again, have we Notick?”
The half-elf plants his hand upon the ground, standing from the dirt while dusting himself off. “I am afraid I haven’t any clue what you are talking about sheriff” doing his best to offer as vague and uncontrived of an answer as he could.
“Oh, of course you don’t” he sarcastically snorts. “Don’t think I’m not onto Vhiski. I know he’s up to no good here.”
“Why sheriff, I’m hurt! My uncle is an honorable business man of this fair town. He’s done nothing but to help it prosper!”
The boy flashed his usual sly grin, knowing the half-truths always saved his skin. Organized grime did help this town prosper, just not necessarily in the best of ways. He hated his uncle; there was no secret in it. He would never admit that to the sheriff, though. He’d probably just get used as a pawn on some scheme, and he’d rather just leave it alone. He was going to help bring Jubrayl Vhiski down in his own way.
That, in honest truth, was probably the only reason the sheriff never arrested him. He knew the boy was being forced into something outside of his own control. The Sheriff just crossed his arms across his broad chest and looked at the half-elf incredulously.
“Now if it is all the same, I must get about my errands Sheriff.”
The young man pushed past the Sheriff and continued down the street, almost in a run. He let out a sigh of relief.
After his mothers passing, he had no other family that he knew of other than his Uncle. That, unfortunately, wasn’t saying much. Everyone knows that Vhiski is the scum of Sandport – but no one could possibly pin it on him. He never knew his father, and his mother never talked of him much. Whenever he’d bring it up as a kid, she would always brush it off or smile and shake her head knowingly. She did, though, always talk about her Brother and his usual schemes.
Notick was a smart and charismatic person, but he was always so oblivious to the world. He used to be the bright smiled boy who’d charm all of the little girls. When his mother was murdered, he didn’t know what to do. All of that changed. When he found out that it could have possibly been one of his Uncles men… He had suspicions as to what he could have possibly gained by killing her, but it was the only logical answer he could ever come up with. That’s why he came here, after all. To, not only prove his Uncle’s hand in her death, but to put a stop to his crime ring. He’d been around the Sczarni too long, and it was time they be removed from any importance.
So, he set off to Sandpoint to join him… After all, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, right?!
Notick finally arrived at the Fatman’s Feedbag, and dropped his daily earnings in front of his uncle. “My earnings today, Uncle…” Before the man could say anything, Notick left and headed for his room. He sat on his bed and began reading one of the only things he had ever had from his father: his spellbook. He had learned many of the things himself, simply by following the spells. His mother had taught him sword craft as a boy – so it was only natural to him to utilize the two crafts together. He picked up the other heirloom, his father Flacata, and began to practice.
His determination for his goals driving each swing and spell infusion as he goes late into the night with his rigorous training regime.