Phil

Born in one of the cave cities on the planet of Kigstow, my family was always out of place. Home to more of the rock dwelling people, like dwarves and the like. As I grew up in these caves I resented the life that my parents had subjected me to. Always the subject of some sort of teasing from the dwarves and the half-lings that lived there, I had had enough of the teasing and name calling. I left the caves to escape the life that I had known. I wanted to set out on my own adventures in the solemnity of the forests. As a youth I was an adventurer, someone who pretended to be fearless because I lived on the forests floor. I spent my time searching for valuables, items that had fallen from the tree-top cities that I lived beneath, or traps that had unknowingly caught the meal of the day for me.

On one of the colder winter days I was searching for valuables in an area that I had never been before. My eye was caught by the glint of something shiny in the distance. As I got closer to glint I noticed several tombstones in the immediate vicinity. This looked to be the home to the centuries old elves who had surely gotten praise from their peers and who had contributed to the society that my family was never a part of. The glint on the ground upon closer inspection was a shovel, one that belonged to the man inside the upturned grave it sat adjacent to. With the swift and silent movement that I had trained myself for while living on the forest floors, I inched my way closer to the man. Standing just close enough to the grave to see what the man in the hole was doing. I saw him taking ring, trinket, earring, necklace, and any other valuables that lay with the corpse that was unearthed. Those with valuables tend to want to be buried with some of their favorites, in hopes of having them in some sort of afterlife. My eyes were wide with greed at the possibility of obtaining these valuables that were otherwise just lost to the soil.

I must have forgotten to breath while standing and staring at the man in the grave because I took a gasp for air. With lightning quick speed he snapped up out of the hole he had dug. I moved toward the shovel lying on the ground, but was swiftly greeted with a fist. Stumbling back I fell to the cold damp cemetery ground and this man stood looming over me with a shovel in one hand, pointing at my throat, and his other hand clutching the sack of treasures I was gawking at just seconds before.

"A runt," the man grumbled a low and scornful sound. "Scared by a runty little elf," he laughed, lowering the shovel and examining the small frame that I was at the age of 33. "Who are you, and where are you from?" the man hissed.

"I... I..." Truthfully I had forgotten the name that my parents gave to me back in the cave so many years ago. Searching the tombstones for a name, I read only a word and tried to make it sound like a name. The tombstone was ornate and well kept, this elf must have been respected during his life. "Phil... lanthro.. pist, but you can call me Phil," I struggled to get through that lie, "and I am from right here in this forest." Another lie, but I'm sure he didn't want to know the whole story.

"Well it looks like you might be in more danger than its worth if you keep wandering around these parts alone."

"I am not alone," I lied, "I've got my pet wolf waiting for me to say the word."

"No need for falsehoods here boy, I'm not the one who will be causing you harm. But the animals in this part of the forest get gruesome and cruel this time a year." There was an uneasy silence where I couldn't think of any more lies to tell him. "Might as well come back to my house if you don't have one of your own," the invitation seemed genuine. "Don't want to get caught in these forests alone at night."

Encapsulated by the treasures that I knew were in the bag in his hand, I thought it could be an easy mark to make off in the night with the valuables. "Sure, I'm not really sure which direction is home now anyway."

The man tossed me the shovel and said, "But first, fill that grave back as to avoid suspicion around these parts."

As I dug he filled me in on the story of his grave digging. He worked at a mortuary where he was able to screen the bodies before he dug them up, ensuring that there was something of value in each casket that he spent time unearthing. Visiting some older cemeteries on occasion to see if he could get lucky with those blind digs. I was more interested in the grave robbing it turned out than in stealing the bag of treasure from the mans house that night. Plus, to be honest with myself he was quicker, stronger, and would probably feed me to a grue if he caught me trying to steal from him. So as the interest grew, he began to teach me the ways of grave robbing, I thought of him as a mentor and I learned valuable skills from him.

Through the many years we plundered for riches we got cocky and got into hordes of trouble. From angry families paying their respects while the casket had been unearthed from its resting place, to the animals native to the area smelling the deceased flesh as soon as the casket was cracked open. We fought countless fights, and escaped many tumultuous scenarios. It was all in the life of a grave robber. But all good things come to an end, even the best of grave robbers have a chance of being caught. The last grave we upturned soil for was of a well known elf, "Fëanáro Anwamanë" the tombstone read. As we lifted the caskets lid a great beacon was shot into the tops of the trees, and we were unable to silence the noise that it was creating. It was the signal that the guards were looking for. The tales of the grave robbers would be no more and they would be caught this time. As we started running and looking for a way out of the situation I had lost my mentor, my friend. In his old age it was about time for the orc to hang it up anyway, and he thought that one last job would be all that he needed. Unfortunately that was the last time I saw him, apprehended by the guards no doubt. I continued to run into the forest as far as my legs would take me. I ended up hiding in the hollow of an old tree for three days while I could hear the searching parties continue. Alas I was able to leave the tree, making my way to the orcs house, ransacked and broken, there was nothing left for me to remember him by. Cloaked, i took a journey to the tree top city that I was sure the guards came from looking for any sign that he was still alive. Plastered on the city walls were wanted posters with my face on them. I knew I had to leave, and I knew that I would never see Dretkag again. It was time to move on, to go to a new city, possibly a new planet if I could scrounge up the money to take the portal to Fa'Len. Who knows what kind of pilfering I could do on a foggy planet like that.