Thatched Schemery : In 100 Words

My father fancied himself a master thief. Our ancestral home was a simple cottage hewn of rotting rafters and moldering stone. Within its drafty, narrow walls, a daring plan was cut and polished until it gleamed with perfected splendor. Shortly thereafter, our cottage lay far behind us as we booked passage on the Windy Gull and set sail across the Bairdwyn Sea to make our ill-gotten fortune in the wilds of Ryndoon, legendary home of the Gem Woods. The treasure there was surely ours for the taking, what with Pap’s foolproof schemes and my inexplicable gift for sleight of hand.