Younger Life and fleeing Hornhill

I was orphaned at an age before I could remember, growing up in the "care" of Mrs Timmons Home for the Lost. The was hard and cruel, we were fed, but that was as much as I could say about the place - a salve labour camp would be a more accurate account of the home.
 
I was six before some kindness came to me; another lost soul was brought in. A gnome by the name of Dimbel Ningel joined out home - a rarity, an orphaned gnome in Hornhill. We became close, our days more bearable and we became bolder as a few years passed by. In my ninth year we escaped - in truth the home was not hard to run from, "just two less mouths to feed".
 
In those days, we made it on our wits and quick hands, but life may have been different than in the home, but no less difficult. We fell in and out of trouble, stealing what we had too and laying low when times became to hot for us. I grew up rough in the first couple of years, but a rhythm came into our lives; steal to eat, and steal to make coin.
 
The home had given me one good skill in life, I could read and it became my passion. Dimbel laughed at me, but every free night I would break into one of the great libraries for a while and read whatever I could. I fell in love with it, so much knowledge and a great excitement came upon me whenever I came across stories of the Fey wilds and it's inhabitants.

I knew of the Gods of the world, or my small part of it, but in my early teens I came across an almost unheard God of old, almost laying dormant in the world but he struck a cord with me. Mask - Lord of Shadows, taught an important lesson to me "..wealth rightfully belonged to those could acquire it. Honesty is for fools but apparently honesty is a valuable thing, and subtlety was everything." I took it to heart, wealth was for the taking but secrets could bring wealth beyond measure. I was thirteen when Mask first came to me.
 
I remember the sweet smell of the damp night air as Dimble and I ran the rooftop gauntlet to find a mark for the night. He gave the sign he would go east while I checked west for easy pickings. I lost my footing on a bit of moss and started to fall, barely grabbing hold of the edge of the roof with one hand, but I heard my should dislocate.
 
There was no where to go, the pain in my arm almost to much to bare and the drop too far to survive. I cried, I swore, and then I yelled to the Gods. "Mask, if you save me now; I am yours." It was from a fable of the first Clerics of Mask I had read once upon a time; a last ditch effort.
 
The limestone drainer cracked and my fingers slipped, I gripped tighter as it came off it mountings, but the drain never broke in two. Mounting after mounting cracked, the pipe getting lower to the ground with each sicking snap. After an age the ground was closer, which was just as well, as my shoulder gave out. I plummeted the last twenty feet.
 
As I lay, my shoulder aching, my ankle possibly broken, a wind licked up behind ear and whispered. "Remember your vow boy, and remember it well; I have plans for you."
 
For six years, I devoted my researches to Mask, finding tales of mischief, tales of his Maskarran Clergy, and his his elite clerics called Demarchs (deh-Marks (male)) and Demarchesses (deh-mar-kess-es (female)). I tried in vain to seel out my Brother and Sister Shadows or, without little hope, someone within the Circle of the Grey Ribbon. Despite my failed attempts, Mask granted me favours and skills as I showed my devotion. Occasionally, I would feel my eyes and hands drawn to certain books and without exception, there was something in it to expand my skills. I was in no doubt that I was now a pawn in a game that I didn't know the rules of, or even know the name of.
 
Twice more he spoke to me; once in a dream, once to save my sight. I dreamed of a long hall, black pillars upon a black marble floor. At the head of the hall, a black marble throne stood towering over the room and there sitting in the shadow of the pillars sat the Lord of Shadows. Stealthwhisper and Shadowblade, his two long swords stood upon their points, rotating magically two either side of the throne. His face was hidden behind a black porcelain mask. I knelt before him in awe, knowning without a doubt that I was within the throne room of the Shadow Keep on Niflheim, the Plane of Shadows (second layer of Hades).
There was no conversation, just a simple instruction - "Spread my name. Mock my peers."
 
I took his instruction to heart, Dimble concerned by my devotion kept a distance as I broke into temple and shrines of other Gods, disguising myself and putting Mask's symbol where ever possible. I like to think he smiled warmly behind his mask as I imitated his own mask upon the statue of the God of Justice, Tyr - Tyr's face had always been to sullen for my liking.
 
When I was nineteen, I broke into the Wizards quarter in Hornhill, a thought had come to me about somehow setting Mask's face into the sky. I knew the wizards had some spells to control the clouds, if only I could find the right scroll. As I rummaged through bookcases and chests something exploded from one of them. My eyes went on fire, I tore off my hood in agony, trying to use it to halt the fire that tore at them. I felt the hood burn and threw it aside. Heat started to surround me.
 
It was then he came to me again, "One is gone, the other is yours. Now flee." As he spoke his last words the pain went, I was off balance, I could see nothing from my left eye but my right was fine. I saw the fire raging and I stumbled as much as I ran from the Wizards quarter.
 
I left Hornhill hurriedly, the fires from the Wizard's quarter ran rampant as I did. I whispered a quick farewell to Dimble and turned my back on the only city I had know before it tried to take its revenge. I took a boat from Hornhill to Dale and cried to myself, as tears ran down my eye I felt something crawling over my hand. For some reason I did not draw back as I looked down. A black mouse sat upon its hind legs looking at me, with no fear it looked and I felt a light wind upon my face that I recalled from many years ago as I lay broken beneath limestone gutter. He spoke to me not but I lifted the mouse upon my shoulder and whispered his new name softly, "Shadow". The boat continued to rock itself towards the town of Dale for only the Mask knew what.