Tacet Rien AKA the Stumbling Questor
I grew up in an shitty Kaer. Well shitty for people like me. My family was one of the last ones in, didn’t have enough to pay for the nice quarters. You’d think that would change over generations right? Fat chance. We were poor so we had nothing. We were nothing . I was born into nothing, I grew to be nothing, and then when I finally left, I went to nothing.
My mother had died while I was young. I’m sure if someone would have stopped to help she would have been fine. There was medicine in the Kaer, but only for those that could pay.
I remember when I turned to the Passions and asked them to heal my mom. I prayed to them all. I was so little and just needed something to help me feel better. They didn’t help. I thought I must have done it wrong, using the wrong words, or providing the wrong offerings. Next time I would do it right and I learned all I could about them. And then I prayed again, not for my mother, but for myself and again they didn’t help.
So I was out in the wide world of Barsaive and I realized nobody will take care of you but you. With that lesson in hand I found my way to Travar. Ironic that little me should come to such a city of big riches.
I lived on the outskirts. Always lookin in at all that splendor. I taught myself to steal, what did those folk do to earn such easy lives? Did they ever fight? Serves them right. They don’t deserve the wealth. They don’t know how good they have it. To them I was nothing, hiding in the trash. So I took their pretty baubles to remind them that they weren’t so far away from nothing either.
At some point I stole from a Thief. He came to me from time to time, to show me his ways. But he never offered food or shelter. Part of my training was surviving on my own. He couldn’t help me more because then how could I help myself? He merely showed me the skills I could have and it was my job to take them from him.
One day I saw a wretched pathetic Name Giver mumbling to himself. Asking for a Passion’s kindness. I laughed at him, knowing that he would receive no assistance. Not a block later I saw one of Garlen’s Questors asking for donations to help the sick. He could even see the beggar but made no efforts to tend to him. It was at that moment I realized I had been doing it all wrong.
Over the next week I stole white robes and began posing as a Questor. As soon as I put those robes on I felt that I had something, that I was something. People just gave me money. No stealing, no threatening, just wearing the robes. They respected me for what they thought I was. Sure I had explain my way out of a corner and run from the law, but I was no longer a starving whelp.
Many weeks later, after a long night of drinking I saw that same poor beggar. I stumbled over to him, forgetting my current attire, and told him that he needed to get up and do things for himself. No one would help him. Shortly after that the tears started. A grown man, crying.
As I gazed upon him I saw him as a child, scared and alone. Shortly I lurched away from him. I must have had far too much to drink that night for I left my entire coin purse in his care.
I never saw him on that block again. Instead I saw him working, apparently some drunken questor had given him the start he needed. On certain rare occasions self reliance means understanding when to rely on others
For some reason I continued my inebriated escapades. Gold passing from the rich to poor by way of my hand. I am the Stumbling Questor and I am something.