I tried this a while back on the WotC boards, back when there was still a Greyhawk forum there. The thread is still there, currently in the Other Published Worlds forum, but it never really caught on like I had hoped. This strikes me as a better home for the thread, so I'm going to try it here.
The idea is that I'm going to start telling the story of a young fighter who has just come to the City of Greyhawk, and anyone is free to add to it. I'm going to start it out more or less the same way as it started out in its first iteration, but it certainly doesn't need to follow the other thread. Feel free to take it in your own direction - that's part of the fun.
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Wil Mitford dropped into the chair, eager to rest his sore feet. He had not realized that it was such a long walk from his father's farm to Greyhawk, nor that the city itself was so big. He doubted he had ever walked so much at once in his young life. He winced at a twinge in his shoulder that flared as he sat, and ruefully acknowledged to himself that sleeping on the ground last night did not help matters.
Around him, the other patrons of the Green Dragon Inn chattered and drank. A serving wench approached and he uncertainly asked for an ale. She nodded and, with a swirl of her skirt, strode to the bar.
Wil brushed his shaggy reddish-blonde hair out of his eyes, then rested his hand back on the well-worn scabbard that lay across his lap. He knew the quality of the sword was questionable, but it was the best he could afford - at least for now. When he had become a successful adventurer, he could afford a better one. But even this one was better than the tools he had used on his father's farm.
He remembered his father's anger at his decision to leave the farm to pursue what his father called "a dangerous and frivolous dream." But Wil was as stubborn as his father, and would not be swayed.
Now he just hoped he could find a way to make money before what he had ran out.
As he sat there, a small figure ran up to him. At first, Wil was surprised to see a child in the Green Dragon, but there was nothing childlike about the small figure’s face. He had not seen many halflings on his father’s farm, but he realized this must be one.
“You look like a kind fellow with a strong sword arm,” the halfling told him. “I need help from one such as you.”
“What sort of help do you need?” Wil asked. Then, thinking of the lightness of his coin purse, he added, “And what’s in it for me?”
The halfling looked around before speaking. Seeing the serving wench approaching, he waited until she had deposited Wil’s ale on the table and moved away. Then he said, “There’s someone after me.”
Even as he said that, the background noise in the Green Dragon abruptly changed. The rumble of discussion had suddenly broken into shouting and the cracking of breaking wood. Wil realized that the rowdiness in the Green Dragon had just developed into a brawl. He looked up and could only stare as a sprawling warrior flew toward him, limbs flailing. Beyond, he caught just a glimpse of the other man's fist finishing its arcing follow-through.
Wil braced for the impact, sure he was about to be leveled by the falling warrior. Just then, he felt a jerk on his tunic. He watched the warrior slam, unconscious, into the chair that he had been sitting in only a moment ago, sending Wil’s untouched ale skittering across his table in an amber spray.
The halfling let go of Wil’s tunic and said, “Now let’s see if you can do the same for me.”
Wil put up a hand, sparing a glance at the now-empty stein as it hit the floor. “Hold on, little man. I’ve got to repay someone for that ale.”
Wil lauched himself at the nearest brawler. He ducked a punch and sent his own fist back. He felt a satisfying crunch as he connected with the other man's nose. The other man stumbled back, blood flowing down his face.
Wil grinned, a wild glint in his eyes. This was more like it! This was what his father didn't understand. Wil never felt more alive than when he was fighting.
He swung again, connected again. The man staggered, knees weak. As the brawl raged around him, Wil gloated, “Ha! Is that all you’ve got?” Just then, Wil felt a heavy blow land on the back of his head, sending him headlong into the floorboards. Before he landed, darkness had swallowed him.
Wil had no idea how much time had passed when he woke. He became dimly aware of the voices first. A relatively few men were speaking, mostly too quiet or too far away to hear clearly, and they spoke with tones of authority. Then Wil felt a booted toe nudge his ribcage. He groaned.
“This one’s alive after all,” he heard a nearby voice report.
Wil opened his eyes, blinking them slowly into focus. He saw a man standing over him, wearing the insignia of the city watch. His head throbbing, Wil sat up and looked around.
Several members of the watch were spread around the Green Dragon Inn. Two of them had a grip on the man that Wil had seen throw the first punch. Another knelt next to a small form sprawled on the floor not far from Wil. That man looked up at the one standing beside Wil and said, “This one’s not.”
The man beside Wil shook his head. “Sometimes these brawls turn ugly,” he said, more to himself than to Wil. Then he turned back to Wil and said, “According to our witnesses, you weren’t one of the instigators, so you’re free to go. Just keep your nose clean while you’re here.”
Wil nodded. As the man turned and strode away, Wil’s eyes fell on the small, still form sprawled nearby. With a shock, he realized it was the halfling that had been asking for his help.
As Wil watched, the two watchmen began speaking to each other. “Find anything on this halfling?” asked the one who had spoken to Wil.
“He was carrying this knife and these thieves’ tools,” answered the other, holding up the items he mentioned. “He also had a sap, a garrote, and a vial of something – might be poison,” he continued, gesturing toward some items laid on the floor beside the dead halfling.
Wil stared. “Gods above . . . . This creature asked for my help,” he breathed.
Both watchmen suddenly turned their eyes on Wil again. “What did you say?” asked the nearer of the two.
Seeing their suspicious looks, Wil realized that he had just linked himself to a dead thief in the minds of the city watch. Speaking quickly, his words spilling over each other in his haste to explain, Wil told how the halfling had approached him, asking for his assistance.
“Must have made you out to be an easy mark,” the first watchman said. “You’ll have to be more careful if you’re going to remain in this city.”
Wil nodded.
“Look here,” said the other watchman, still kneeling by the dead halfling. “He had a key in his pocket.”
The first watchman leaned close. “Looks like a room key, probably an inn.”
“If it is, then we can match it to a room. Might even be nearby,” said the other.
“Nah, my money’s on someplace in the Thieves’ Quarter. Maybe the Gold Digger – lots of halflings frequent that place,” replied the first.
Still sitting on the floor, Wil cast a lingering glance at the thieves' tools, garrote, sap and poison and immediately decided that the Thieves' Quarter seemed the likeliest place to find information about this dead halfling. He opened his mouth to ask how to get to the Thieves' Quarter, then quickly shut it. Better to ask someone other than the city watch, he decided.
At that moment, the man who had started the brawl began struggling against the watchmen who held him. He jerked free.
"He's loose!" one of the other watchmen shouted.
The brawler started throwing punches at anyone he could reach, sending one of his guards crashing to the floor. The rest of the watchmen converged on him, some brandishing clubs.
As the two watchmen nearest the dead halfling rushed toward the fresh brawl, Wil's eyes fell on the halfing's key. It lay on the floor beside the body. As he stood up, Wil leaned toward the body and scooped up the key. He quickly tucked it into his belt and headed toward the door leading out to the street.
Wil's father had always taught him better than to resort to petty thievery, but this case was surely an exception to that rule, seeing as the former owner of the key had no use for it.
He slipped away quickly, the din of battle echoing off behind him. He quickly turned two, then three corners at random until sure that if any had seen him nick the key he could see them before they saw him.
He waited a few moments until he was sure there would be no pursuit of him, then he withdrew the small trinket and began to examine it. It was in no way remarkable; a simple piece of steel lacking any particularly uncanny features. Still, however, it was a far sight more interesting a prospect than any he had encountered thus far.
With a quick whistle he returned it to its hiding place and strolled out of the alley into the street.
He felt a very fine sense of satisfaction, barring his defeat in the inn just then, but still it had come out as a win in the end.
Wil had grown up far from the civility of the great city, so many of his impressions came from word of mouth tales passed on by adventurers who passed through his village on the way to their destinies. He knew that if a place was called the Thieves’ Quarter it was very likely that it was infested by thieves.
The youth sighed, thinking of what to do then, when his answer came to him in the most unlikely of forms. A small man, dressed in a cloak, shrugged into him in passing. Wil had heard of this trick before, pretending to dash into someone only to alleviate them of their purse. Wil waited a moment, then looked to see that, as he had anticipated, his paltry purse, as near-empty as it was, had been pilfered from him.
He smiled. He had just paid for a guide without having to negotiate the price.
He cracked his neck, waited for the man to pull away from him a bit more, then he walked after in pursuit, grinning ear to ear.
Wil followed his "guide" out into the Processional, the grand central avenue of the City of Greyhawk. Hard as it was to keep an eye on the shifty figure as he darted between people along the edges of the flow of traffic, Wil found it even more difficult because his eyes were continually drawn from one sight to another. On his left, he could see the buildings of Clerkburg - especially the Free City Arena, some distance off of the Processional, rising above the buildings around it. Ahead on his left he could see a large pyramid-shaped building and he wondered vaguely what it was.
As he returned his gaze to the thief ahead of him in the crowd, Wil felt a moment of panic. Where was he?
Then, relief, as he caught sight of the man entering a side street. Wil followed.
With his attention on the thief ahead of him, Wil failed to notice that he, too, was being followed - and that he had been since leaving the Green Dragon.
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