| abstract | - To be frank, I don’t have many memories of my parents. Even though they didn’t sail off to war until I was 10, they were always busy. Both were ambitious officers in the Marines. My mother was cool to the point of being distant. My father just never showed much interest in Dao or myself. Still, Boralus was an exciting city to a boy. I found plenty of things to occupy myself with down at the docks, with ships coming and going day and night from Kul Tiras to points across the world. I even managed to steer clear of trouble … generally. I excelled in school and seemed to have a head for numbers. That changed when my parents were sent overseas in the build up to war with the Orcs in the First War; I think I was twelve. They sent us off to live with our uncle, who made his living fishing the sea in a small coastal village. As it was for many, times got hard. To make ends meet, feeding both the family and the government’s insatiable appetite for taxes to pay for the war effort, Dao and I joined my uncle on his fishing boat. I did my best to keep my studies up, but working on the deck of a fishing boat is back breaking, exhausting work. So, I did my work and learned the material but wasn’t able to earn the approval of the local school master … absent too many times, I suppose. As the war went on and dragged into the Second War, we were bombarded with stories of fierce battles and the grim accounts of heavy casualties. After the sixth year, we stopped getting even the occasional letter from our parents. We never talked about it, but after a while I think we all accepted the worse and assumed they were dead. The days slogged on as I grew into a man, hardened by lifting of heavily loaded fish baskets. Still we eked by, that is until the government increased taxes yet again. Dao and I talked and made a hard choice. It was time to move on and relieve our uncle of the burden we’d become. Though we were a help on the boat, you could only haul so many fish onto one boat in a day. Close to twenty years old, we left for Stormwind, a city eager to remake itself after the siege of the Horde. It was a city of opportunity and hope – or at least it was for some. The city attracted many able bodied souls, eager for work to rebuild the city. Still, few in Stormwind saw much use in a couple young fishermen. We struggled to make ends meet. Eventually, we fell in with the crowd in Old Town, raucous, bawdy, fun … and, as it turned out, not particularly inclined to earning an honest living. I learned new skills, a new trade. Where Dao was bold and cocky, I was calculating and crafty. He relied on his strength, while I depended on my quickness and agility. Together we did well, and started to enjoy some of the luxuries of life. But Dao was too cocky. One night, Dao went after the wrong man. He’d never liked this particular sergeant, who was smug and condescending in the Pig & Whistle. In an alley, Dao jumped the man, figuring the sergeant’s talk was all an act. It was a gross miscalculation. The officer beat Dao to within inches of his life. To this day, Dao still walks with a limp and I still don’t have a particular fondness for arrogant military brass. With Dao crippled, it fell on me to earn for both of us. Working alone, I focused my energies on perfecting my skills and my planning. I even managed to earn a bit of a local reputation, and became popular with the folks of Old Town. Maybe that’s why the goblins came to me to help rebuild the Tong. It’s always hard to tell with goblins; they keep their cards close to their chest. In the Tong, I’ve found a family and a place to focus my desires. I’ve had to learn a bit about working with others but I’m impressed by what a well coordinated team can accomplish, things I couldn’t dream of alone. It doesn’t hurt that we’ve been fairly successful, and I’ve acquired a taste for some of the finer things in life. That said, the phony lords and ladies of Stormwind can keep their mansions. I prefer the spices and scents of Old Town.
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