3.2 Bhalaene- Ghoere
The frost was thick on the rooftops as the thief picked their way over the tiles and gutters, moving far slower to compensate for the slippery ice that clung to every surface and the mist that hung in the air, obscuring vision in every direction. Never an easy thing, the ice and cold had made these forays far more dangerous, which is why the few denizens of the night who spotted the thief wondered why they’d grown more active instead of less these past few weeks. Those on the dodgy path usually took to their homes and taverns when the weather turned, but for some reason this one had grown bolder.
Three thefts in as many weeks, and the prizes kept getting richer. No one knew who the thief was, or how they were moving their ill gotten gains, but the cities underbelly was ripe with gossip and guesses.
The wind picked up just as the black clad figure made the final leap to their destination, the gust nearly carrying them past the narrow ledge. Catching hold with one flailing hand, the thief hung for a long, painful moment before managing to gain a better hold and swinging themselves back up onto solid footing, and froze like a statue. Down in the yard below a guard moved from his post at the gate, attracted by the faint sounds of the thief’s botched landing. Finally the guard returned to his post, unable to see anything in the mist shrouded darkness.
With a near silent prayer of thanks to Eloele, the thief made their way to a small window near the servant’s quarters and began working it open, sliding inside the moment the gap was wide enough. The Count of Tireste may have had increased the guards in his absence, but it wasn’t going to be enough to stop this burglar.
Not ten minutes later the shadow was back to the rooftops, their footsteps clear in the gleaming frost as they retreated back the way they had come. By morning though the mist and ice had done their job, leaving no sign for the Justicar or his men to follow.