Most Problems Start Small

"The answer is no." It was mid morning, I had been awake seeking to make a little coin before the day got going for a couple hours now (you have to start early to work a con, especially in war time).  I was dressed in my normal black slacks and short vest with red shirt underneath it. I also wore a long coat (well long for a shorty, about regular size for normals), that was mainly to conceal weaponry/lockpicks/spoils. This was around the time judging from how Trezlan recalls it of when he was exiled from Ronerawth the first time (before the final time, which he gets to later on, trust me its not as exciting as he makes it out to be).  The war was cutting into my business of stealing things, and I was really regretting running away from my family circus and coming up north to the Red Hand lands (there were arguments about stifling creativity and how they always under used me, blah blah blah, childish things but thats what normally happens with family). I'm rambling I'm sorry.

"Come on Nidget, this is a guarenteed money maker." The shorty following me was a chubby guy named Tripp (I think he was named after people falling over him as he was quite short, even for one of my kind).  He was a few years my younger and many leagues of experience away from myself, though he got in more trouble than people double his age.  We were walking through the big sections of the city we currently lived in (coastal one, still controlled by the Red Hand at this point, which meant more guards and even less chances of money).

"Tripp the only guarenteed thing about your plans is that they are guarenteed to get me in trouble with someone now leave me be no one will believe I'm a war veteran if you are following behind me like a lost puppy."

"You're a war veteran Nidget?"

"No you moron, but they don't know that." No shorty was willingly serving in the Red Hand's military.  I say willingly because they had been known to enslave/take thralls from shorties for dangerous/suicide missions, because honestly no one cared when one of us died.

"At least hear me out."

"No! Now leave Tripp before I make you leave." He looked like a scolded child when he turned to me and walked away.  I'll admit I felt bad about yelling at him, but in retrospect since I did eventually listen to him, this whole thing is his fault and I feel better about yelling and wish I'd yelled more! Thats the problem with remembering thing, it just highlights where you made mistakes.  Frankly I'm surprised Trezlan keeps this journal at all, its like a record of his failures to be a decent person throughout his whole miserable life.  Seems like the kind of thing you'd do right before you kill yourself.  All that aside, this was how things started, Tripp had a plan, and I was running out of money, and wouldn't you know it, those two things came together in one awful package.