Arda leaned back against the warm comfort of the crooked chimney and
adjusted his position slightly, finding a more comfortable position
sitting on the blue baked clay roof tiles of one of the northern
cornices of old Lord Ren's Hold. This was one of his favorite places
to come and think in the entire city… not only did it offer an
impressive view, the old hold being a tall castle sitting on top of a
promontory in the Artisans quarters, but being home to the premier art
gallery in the Flanaess it was always a challenge to sneak up to the
roof.

Not that Arda would ever steal from the Gallery. True, some daring
and skilled rogues had managed to break into the Gallery proper and
make off with some treasure, but the legendary mage Otto was one of
the hall's patrons and had a habit of tracking down and recovering any
missing objects of art and making the thief regret the inconvenience
they had put him to. Plus doing a job that big would certainly bring
him to the attention of the Thieves guild who were not known for their
tolerance of freelancers like himself. No, he just loved coming up
here for the solitude and view.

Wrapping his mottled grayish green cloak tighter around his slender
form to ward off the chilly evening, late autumn air he pulled out a
honey cake he'd pilfered late this evening afternoon nibbled at the
corner. The slanting roofs, gables, and turrets of the Guildhall of
the Performing arts (for when Lord Ren died he bequest his castle to
that organization) blocked Arda's view south towards Clerksburg and
the Northern tower prevented his seeing parts of City Arena, some of
the temples of the Gardens, and the Grand Citadel itself.

Looking west, to his left he could watch the barges and riverships ply
the Selintan, which looked in parts like a ribbon of silver in the
light of the setting sun. Down in the city was the Petite Market,
still bustling with shoppers, merchants, adventures, and thieves.
Slowly looking north Arda looked over the chaos that was the City of
Greyhawk, hundreds of buildings within its walls, all of different
sizes and styles. Arda exhaled softly and contently, his breath
turning to brief fog in the rapidly chilling air. He wasn't a lord or
even anyone important, but this was his city, he knew its rooftops,
alleys, and sewers. He knew he didn't know even a fraction of
secrets, and that she'd kill him in a heartbeat if he didn't live by
her rules, but he loved her just the same.

His roving eyes came to the classical gray granite architecture of
Grey College and the tall three-sided pyramid of the University of
Magical Arts and he momentarily stopped chewing his honeycake as a
flash of jealousy and longing raced through him. If only he could
have attended one or both of those famous schools. He knew, he knew
deep within his soul that he could be more than he was except that his
status, his social standing, had always barred his way. After the
initial, brief moment the feeling rapidly past, it was a familiar ache
and easily suppressed now. Arda knew better than to linger on it, it
did no more good than constantly worrying an aching tooth.

His lifted his gaze slightly to the grand buildings and homes High and
Garden quarters and felt… well he didn't quite know how he felt… a
vague emptiness? He had been to those parts of the city before but
found them cold, soulless, and unwelcoming. The city's elite in their
manors had private guards that made sure that an urchin made as
unwelcome as possible. The grand temples along High street were
equally unwelcoming to one without money to donate. Arda didn't have
much truk with the gods and knew they didn't have much concern for him
either. The only temple he didn't feel completely uncomfortable in
was the temple of Boccob, who at least didn't give the false pretense
of caring about mortals.

Finally, slowly, he lifted violet colored eyes further up, over the
city walls, and north, where in the distance three ruined towers
jutted above the forested rolling hills. Castle Greyhawk. His father
and mother were both adventures and had explored deep into the famous
castle of Zagig Yragerne. Four times they went in with their band of
fellow adventures, returning with gold, magic, and fabulous stories
that would keep Arda awake at nights in wonder and awe. Life was
wonderful, and comfortable with loving, daring parents living lives of
legends. A fifth time his parents and their friends plumbed the deeps
of the magical fortress, and this last time they never returned or
were heard from again.

His parents' friends, hurt, confused, and swallowed by their own grief
missed the suffering of the Quendi's only child. His tutor, a
talented and intelligent old man disappeared at the same time (Arda
had later discovered that this was just the gods mocking him, the
kindly man had been killed in a mugging with nothing to do with his
parent's overdue return). Corrupt city bureaucrats were quick to
seize his family's modest home, leaving Arda orphaned, desperate and
alone on the streets. Arda suffered but survived, his quick wit and
natural charm gaining him a home among one of Greyhawk's pack of
urchins and a small circle of mentors and friends that taught him to
survive in the shadows of the towers of the city known as the Gem of
the Flanaess.

Arda huddled further into the warmth of the chimney and watched the
towers of Zagig's Castle, the building that had claimed his parents
and his future, as it faded into the deepening twilight, slowly
replaced by a sky filled with the glimmering of cold uncaring stars.
When his parents disappeared eight decades ago he was barely more than
an infant, a long time even for the elf that had now grown into a
young man. Watching the darkness were his parents had disappeared
from his life Arda once more dreamed of following them, finding what
had become of them. He dreamed and slowly drowsed into a wary sleep.

((OOC: This is the intro of Arda Quendi, my elven rogue, I'm making
for the Greyhawk ruins plotarc.))