What Lies Beneath the Rubble
Neema, half-orc (?) rogue
I’m Neema. A group of scavengers found me in the wastes.
There was a half-orc and human couple and they took me in.
My parents did not have a happy marriage. My father was half-orc, and my mother human. My father is an incredibly skilled salvager who is famous for never having lost his loot to marauders (who have learned by now to give my father’s flag a very very wide berth). Apparently a human couple owed him money, and instead of paying him back, they gave my father their daughter. My mother insists that father insisted on her as payment. My father…well he has more important things to talk about, such as how to avoid the monster pits, or how to sneak up on marauders and beat the living shit out of them. Maybe it was because I had been left alone as a child. I move more quietly and quickly then most half-orcs. My father, a great barbarian himself, decided to train me as a rogue instead. My mother, well, she stopped taking interest in me after my orc features became more prominent. I think deep inside, she had always hoped I was just a very ugly baby and not an actual half-orc. I don’t have any siblings. I’m not surprised. My parents have separate bedrooms.
I didn’t know that I had been found, not born, until I was 15. Father called me aside one day, away from mother’s eyes, and even from fellow salvagers, to show me a golden amulet. He told me I had been found with that locket and that he trusted I was strong and resourceful enough now to protect my own valuables. There was a hint of some symbol on the amulet, but it was mostly rubbed out, and in any case, I don’t really care. Father didn’t say anything beyond that, but he acted anxious, as if I would abandon him in a stupid quest for my birth parents. We salvagers don’t say every wussy emotions. Unlike my mother, we feel rather then say. I gave father a hug, and tucked the locket away where neither of us would have to see it.
For some reason, I don’t feel like selling the damned thing or even like throwing it away. I guess it’s because Father posed the amulet as if it was a test. Could I keep a golden artifact safe in a city full of thieves? Well, I prove that to my father every day that I keep the stupid amulet. And no, I don’t take it out and stare and wonder every once in a while. I only did that maybe…three times…probably not much more than that and definitely ONLY when I’m pissed off at the nancy-pansy I have to call my mother.
Now that I’m 17, I sneak down into the sewers at least once a week. We’ve never been robbed by marauders, but a small portion of our loot still goes missing every once in a while. Knowing my father and his crew, there is no way they would ever actually lose anything. I maintain there is something to this rumor about gangs of thieves hiding out in the sewers. I dream of the day I catch them, and bring the leader’s neck and fingers as well as our missing loot to Father. Maybe then, him and his gang will stop treating me like the precious little baby they found in the deserts 17 years ago.
Neema: 6’0", has a huge x-shaped scar on forehead and a linear scar running along her side. She cuts her own hair and keeps it very short. She keeps identical plain white shirts and desert pants so that she’d never have to worry about what to wear. She has narrow, vicious looking eyes and a wide mouth. She also has a scar on her nostrils because she tore out her nose-ring during a fight. She’s since learned never to have accessories.