Squeak wasn’t her real name. As far as the tiny twelve year old half elf knew, she had never been given one. Someone at the orphanage where she had been dropped off as a newborn pinned it on her and it stuck. At age ten she was on her own.
The raggedy, barefoot street urchin, pickpocket and thief was deep in the bowels of the ancient crypt, hoping to pocket enough overlooked coin and jewelry to buy a ride far away from the local guard. It wasn’t safe to walk. Getting robbed wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a small girl alone on the road. Squeak was fast on her feet but not fast enough to outrun an arrow or a bandit’s hound.
Dusty glass prisms embedded in the walls of the crumbling ruin gave her just enough light to see and move silently. Stealth was what she was good at but this wasn’t a candle maker’s shop in the hours before dawn. The undead tomb guardians were silent now; maybe their given abilities had long since faded away but the bones littering the floor served as a solemn warning and she stepped carefully through them without a sound.
Tears of disappointment filled her eyes. Previous looting seemed complete. Retracing her steps towards the hidden entrance, she spotted something beneath a skeleton; a fat coin purse! As she pulled it from beneath the bones and picked it up it fell apart in her hand, gold jingling to the stone floor followed by a shuffling sound from the next chamber---her only path out. Maybe she had frightened a rat. It didn’t sound like a rat! Heart pounding, she scooped up what coins she could and ran.
As she rounded a corner the wight raised its axe and the last thing Squeak saw in this life was the headlights of a speeding vehicle. No hitting the F9 key in hardcore mode.
Poor Squeak. She didn't make it, but that's okay---she's not real. The picture above IS real and illustrates just how fast we and our friends and loved ones can lose the "ride" that we were born with. But, fast or slow, sooner or later it's time to either level up or face the ultimate fail.
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