CALLING ALL THIEVES

[The Outcast Sarchus]

LOT -The League of Thieves- beckons...

There is a class among us. A caste. A certain lot in the populace of fair Britannia. We are those who make our own way, regardless of the petty moralities fed to us by wigs sitting in the high towers of Britain. We do not ask for the shelter of order. Nor do we look to chaos for freedom. We exist below this battle-line, in the space between civilized life and the cold, raging wilds. A place where anything is law, if you are smart enough to see it through. Our lot has many names. They call us rude, unsavory, scoundrels, even outcasts. But there is one name that rises above all others, above station and world view. Our lot needs only one title. We are Thieves.

Too long have we remained scattered, divided, only to unite around some brilliant personality or some great score. Too long have we rejected each other, prayed upon one another, as if each one of us felt set upon by all the world, friendless. We say, let us be done with this exhausting waste of talent, this lone-wolf madness that destroys our true potential. We say, rise now ye Hyenas, and with your numbers overwhelm the Lions.

We call all those of our lot, all thieves, to join a league devoid of any hindering policy besides honor among our own. There will be those who seek to snatch purses with a Gentleman's grace, giving to the poor what they wrench from the fingers of the rich. So too will there be some who think only of themselves, their coffers, their legacy. Those who could pluck a dog's eye from its head without the beast noticing, and those who can barely pocket their own belongings, let alone a mark's. All of these are brothers. All of these are welcome. If you would strike a claim in the deepest dungeon, or reach for the odd coin around a crowded bank, it matters not. Join. Our lot will be one.

Seek our discretely titled organizer, "some guy", who roams the streets of Britain with an eye for like-minded fellows. Accept your lot's calling. Join the League Of Thieves. We are 18 strong now, each day richer and more exciting than the last.

[The Outcast Sarchus]

Already our number has grown to 25. We welcome you to be the 26th!

[The Outcast Sarchus]

The lot reaches deeper into Britannia's coin purse. There are 37 of us now. 37 filchers, swindlers, pilferers and larcenists walking the weary world. We draw ever closer to the manpower of Ali Baba's fabled 40. Soon enough, you workers of the bank crowds, you won't be able to compete unless you join with us. And join you should. We're waiting for you.

Know this as well: I have been honored by our Godfather and founder, as he's named me the next Guildmaster. I wear this mantle proudly. Message me if you would be brought into the fold. I will arrange it.

[chumbucket]

What is this? Like a guild for elves or something?

[The Outcast Sarchus]

Now that we are 40 strong we turn our eye toward another aspect of thievedom. Men to plague the towns, we have. What we need is more backbone, those with an eye for beating down any who oppose them.

As always, we call all thieves to our League. But if you are a thief who fights, you should hear our call the clearest. And know that if you are experienced in this way, you'll find yourself among our elite, as we have no hierarchy but what is made from day to day. The League of Thieves is broadening: one army to case the cobblestones, another to case the world outside the protection of the guards we loathe and love.

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What is this? Like a guild for elves or something?

All thieves are welcome, whether they pretend to be fey creatures, or make fun of people by accusing them of pretending to be fey creatures.

[chainsoar]

Yup, it's an elf guild.