Hail Sapience!

It was with some trepidation that I was called before Lord Hermes to
account for the words I posted here. And at His request, I post again:
first to apologise; for my disappointment led to disrespect, and it was
only through Lord Hermes intervention that I did not suffer the
consequences of disrespecting the Garden.

But Lord Hermes also asked that I post a brief summary of our discussion
on the Realm of Risk and Chance for we talked long into the day on the
nature of these elusive qualities and on the meaning of Rogueishness and
when we were done, I walked with His favour, if not perhaps with His
agreement.

We began by discussing the life of the thief: the risks inherent in that
most ancient of vocations. How Chance is the difference between success
and failure, life and death. I argued that the risks of theft go beyond
those experienced in any mere profession, that a thief lives and
breathes the realm of Risk more than any other. Theft, I claimed, was
the real gamble; more even than the throw of a dice or the fall of the
cards.

The Lord was not persuaded, agreeing that the life of the thief does
indeed bear great similarity to His realm, and yet it was not a risk or
chance that He would patron; that He did not condone theft for there was
a loss involved where in gambling there was none. And yet, I countered
there is always loser: behind the casino stands the House, and it does
not always win.

And there our audience was concluded, Lord Hermes giving me hope that
the definition of His realm was not fixed, that there may be a place for
a Rogue who lives in the shadows. And through His patience, I remain in
His clan and will continue to argue, as I hope others will that Risk and
Chance are not confined to the gambling table; that a Rogue may lead a
life of danger and dubious morality. I am a thief, and perhaps one day,
there will be a place in the Realms of Risk and Chance for those like
me. I will still hope.

And I will finish with a word for Antonius, who knows me not at all.
Antonius, who in his arrogance, believes it is his right and place to
speak on behalf of the Garden. Poor, plodding Antonius who arrives
always too late to save his citymates' precious gold. So leaden of foot,
and so mighty of ego. Tell your citizens to guard their packs, and
jewellery and the very shirts off their backs. Your petty insults will
give me even greater pleasure than usual in lightening their load.

In service to the Master of Suffering,
Tenebrus, Rogue of the Shadows.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Miraman, in the year 408 AF.