A whispering wind teases at your ear. As you start down the dank alley the breeze toys with your hair, softly wailing as it swirls down the darkened corridor, lifting detritus into an eddying dance. A shiver runs down your spine, looking back, you realize just how sharp the contrast is between the light of the square, and the dim of this narrow close.
Turning to go back, you sense shadowy figures flitting at the edge of your vision. Realizing that it is too late to return to the sunlit street beyond, you brace yourself for an encounter.
"What do you seek?" a voice rasps from the shadows, as a shady presence jostles you from behind. You whirl around, trying to discern where the voice comes from, how many people there are, what your odds are...
"Put down that rusty excuse for a table knife, youngster," the voice dryly chuckles in acerbic amusement. "You wouldn't want to have an accident now, would you?" The tone is soft, almost mocking, but you can hear a steely edge to it, as sharp and cutting as a finely honed blade.
"Brothers, escort our young friend here to a more comfortable seat!"
Before you can say a word, you find yourself briskly led deeper into the alley. Darkness envelops you, and a nauseating tang of filth and refuse hangs in the air. Laughing at your disgusted face, the leader of the band winks at you, before reaching down and uncovering a manhole, invisible in the gloom. "After you, youngster," he grins, with a teasing bow.
Gulping in a last breath of fresh air, you hesitantly step towards the sewer entrance. Roaring with laughter, a few of the rouges slap you on the back and watch in amusement as you topple downwards into the inky hole. Looking around, you try not to retch on the foul odours, but still cannot help but feel awed.
Softly gleaming in torchlight, a king's ransom lies scattered carelessly around you. Gems sparkle and wink in the wavering light, while precious metals cast a warm glow to the underground tunnel. The bandits grin at your wonder, idly fingering a few items before leering at you again.
"You know what you seek?" The harsh voice asks again. This time, its owner steps forward, and you are stunned to see the hawk like visage of Snowlock, one of the most famed thieves in Avalon's history. His eyes pierce you, and you sweat nervously under his intent stare. You try to stammer out an explanation, but he waves your words away.
"Let us tell you what you seek."
Another thief steps forward, and you recognize the twinkling eyes of Zollrender, the legendary thief. He clears his throat and begins to tell you of the importance of stealth for a thief.
"Cloaked in shadows, the thief operates under a cunning guise of invisibility. Their prey do not even suspect their presence, much less anticipate their attack. Once victory is achieved, the thief can then merge back into anonymity and hiding again. A master of the shadows makes a frightening foe, for you never know where and when he will attack."
As if to emphasize his point, another thief leans out of the gloom. Stunned, you realize this is Sturge, the master trapper. He raises an eyebrow at you, before leaning casually against a pillar.
"Traps are just as important, though," he stresses. "They ensnare your foes like a hunter would an animal. A successful thief is a master of this art." You step back a bit, slightly nervous, only to find yourself caught in the tangled rope of a binding trap. Writhing about frantically, the thieves watch laughing for a few seconds, before cutting you loose.
Zollrender winks at you again, before slipping a toxic smelling leaf into your hand. "Poison," he whispers, quirking his eyebrow meaningfully. They don't need to explain this aspect of thieves - the reputations of the deadly substances are word enough.
Snowlock frowns at you again, gesturing at the wealth surrounding you. "Thievery, of course, is something every thief strives for." He pauses at your intent nod. "However, what good is all this gain without trust in its security, without a band of fellows to share it with? To be a thief means to trust and give loyalty to a Guild, as if they were family."
He pauses meaningfully. "And those who break that trust are not looked upon kindly." Waving his hand casually, he gestures to the ladder leading back to the surface. "The choice is yours, youngster..."
Blinking in the sudden brightness of the square, you pat your pockets, frantically realizing your trinkets have been pilfered during the talk. You glance around in frustration, trying to peer down the darkened ally, shouting for the thieves to return, but the only answer your incessant cries receive is a mocking laugh, floating on the wind.
