we-are-monk asked: What do you think really is the core of rogue? Ungentlemanly tactics? Affinity for the city? Willingness to do crime? Or is there something else that defines them, when you take away the daggers and sneak attack and leather?

At the end of the day
the Rogue is simply the one who strays.

Who ditches the straight highway and takes the crooked road,
who slips through the window and turns a back alley,
who veers off the path and hops over the fence,
descends to the gutter and climbs up the roof.

The stray sheep,
the wayward daughter,
the vagabond son.

They aren’t where you left them,
they aren’t where you assumed they’d be,
and they sure as fuck aren’t where they’re supposed to be.

Instead the lookout is ahead, the craven behind,
the daredevil above and the devil below,
while the rambler has fucked off to nowhere at all
but in their right place?
You can’t make them learn their place.

And maybe it’s for gold, maybe for the thrill,
maybe for the sweetness of forbidden fruits,
maybe it’s for love, or for lack of choice,
maybe it’s an itch, a desire, an ache.

But whatever it’s for and wherever they stray,
no matter how selfish or selfless they are,
all Rogues prove the same thing
simply by virtue of existing
on the same plane as you,
surrounded like you:

There’s another way.
There’s another path.
When the walls close in,
you can take the crooked road

and escape.

[original post]