A scream cut the air, a tortured blast of visceral noise and emotion. But that’s nothing new. Someone was always screaming here. Pain filled wails, angry bellows, shrill shrieks. All were common companions to the damp clinging night air of this city. So Avery didn’t even pause his work on the cursed lock that was keeping him from being rich.

Being a thief in a town like this was a mixed blessing. Sure, the guards are all corrupt or lazy, and moving ‘second-hand’ goods was slick as snot. But the bloody locksmiths here were masters of their craft.

*I suppose I should just be happy it’s not a gnomish lock.* Avery thought to himself, as he contorted his body even further, seeking a better angle for his lucky lockpicks. Gnomish locksmiths were renowned for the ridiculous array of traps they could cram into such a small piece of metal. From curses and wards, to poisons and paralytics, and all manner of mechanical bladed horrors.

There was a reason the First Gnome Bank was an institution in the kingdom. Nobody had ever successfully robbed it. Dozens had tried, and all had died. Death being one of those career ending afflictions that seemed to plague thieves. Well, with this score he could hang up his cloak and dagger, and Avery very much wanted to retire intact. So he thanked the lazy landlord for buying sub-par human made locks, and redoubled his efforts in bypassing them.

When the lock gave that lovely little 'click' and he thought of his prize just inside. A satisfied smirk grew under his cowl. Now he just had to get the goods, and get out. Moving like a shadow cast by a whisper, Avery made his way into the dark room beyond the lock. Shadows seemed to congregate here. A gloaming flock of silent sinister shade. Just what any good thief loves to see. Avery sliced silently through the dark. Slipping through doors and down hallways.

*Quickly now, quietly now, almost there.* He could already taste that sweet victory mead. Maybe tonight he’d finally ask Emery to dance with him. She’d been eyeing him, the newest Shadow in the Culls, but he hadn’t managed to work up the confidence to make a move. But after a score like this? Any man would feel confident.

Avery could picture it now. He’d returned, triumphant and loaded. His storys of the score had her hanging on his every word. Then he’d ask her to dance. She’d blush, but shyly nod. Enthused to be spending some time with her new hero. He could already feel her against him, dancing, and then- 'SHLUCHK'

Averys daydreams were ended forever. By a half seen sliver of silver. The last thing he ever saw, was his own body. Still connected at the shoulders to the cruel crescent of an axe blade.

In the damp night of Ramsom, yet another young thief met his end. The city moves on, unperturbed by the loss. His life unknown by most, forgotten by the callous, and remembered by the precious few who give a damn.