I Put a Spell on You (Rylok)

[Black Cat]

"Maniac, damn sorcery what you're doin'," the half-elf pushed through her gritted teeth as her mentor dropped into the fall below without hesitation. This solidified her opinion of Simon having possession of some sort of potion or magical item that made him pull off the incredible stunts. The thought of having such an item herself clouded the brunette's mind with envy and greed.

Somewhat distracted, the thief tied the rope to the railing and coiled some of it around her hands, gripping it tightly before her legs went over the edge and down below. The elven heritage came in handy again. Cas' low-light sight allowed the young thief to peer through the shadows, discern shapes, and avoid crashing into a stack of crates and sacks piled up right next to her. A quick, yet thorough look for any guards, present or approaching, and upon finding none, the half-elf roped down further until the tips of her boots touched solid ground.

The floor was made of solid stone, eliminating the threat of creaky floorboards. Good. Cas slipped behind the large crates, knife in hand. As she had done with the window, she forced one of the crates open. Disappointment pulled down her eyebrows as the wooden crate contained lots of straw and among it metal gears of various shapes and sizes. Glancing at Simon over her shoulder, Caslawen closed the crate and spied the far end of the dark room. A door. The flickering light of a flame danced through the crack under its sturdy wooden frame.

Cas' breath stilled and she dropped into a crouch, eyes on the door in case anyone entered. Her lithe body remained close to the large crates, every muscle in her legs ready to dash into cover should the need arise.

[Rylok]

The dim light of the lumber mill was exactly the atmosphere that Simon was most comfortable in; the cool, dark, quiet space embraced the zombie and told him all of its secrets. Below, Cas had taken a perch atop a stack of crates. It was good. Anyone walking below would not see her, but she had a commanding view of the main pathways in and out of the office.

Speaking of which...

Someone was burning the midnight oil. Something told Simon that this was someone up to no good. A candle in the office, but no candles anywhere else? No guards outside of the office? The front door- He turned and looked. Yep. Chained and locked. Interesting. He scanned the windows around the mill and didn't notice anything amiss at first, but a second look showed that one of the ground floor windows had a nice, clean windowsill. Aha. Some other window entering thief, then...and a bad one, because that was a street facing window.

"Tch..."

His quiet click would not carry, but he knew Cas would hear it. When she looked, he would point out the window casement to her. They had competition, and there were several ways to handle it. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew which way she'd choose...

[Black Cat]

A curse escaped under her breath as she watched the light flicker and the occasional shadow pass over. Someone had beaten them to their score. A questioning glance was cast toward Simon and Cas stilled her breath. The dark room full of shadows made for a perfect ambush spot. Whoever was currently looting the office under the candlelight had to come out, into the darkness eventually.

Cas' and Simon's eyesight had already adjusted to the shadows and the element of surprise was on their side. A few well-aimed kicks and punches, followed by a quick scurry, and the thieving duo would be gone with another gang's bounty. There was no doubt in her mind the fight inside would be heard and the guards stationed outside would rush in, only to find a disoriented scoundrel or two who would serve as sacrificial lambs to the long arm of the law. 

A tempting idea.

In a normal situation and alone, Caslawen would have turned tail and fled the scene. She was a sneak thief, not a fighter. A physical confrontation spelled possible injury or worse and therefore had to be avoided. The current predicament was far from normal though. Given Simon's borderline miraculous physical feats, the teenage thief felt she didn't need to worry about losing any potential scuffle.

"Wanna ambush and beat them up here and leave them to take the blame for the break-in? Or tail them to their hideout?" The half-elven brunette said in a half-audible whisper and pressed her back against the unyielding side of the crate.

[Rylok]

Simon answered her by pointing to the floor. Ambushing here was going to be less of a risk. If this person was part of the Soot Wolves, following them to their hideout would just invite trouble. As it was, they outnumbered the one set of feet that cast the moving shadow on the floor.

The ghoul crept through the rafters and dropped down silently beside the office. As soon as the door opened and his target came out, his knife would end their days. They'd never need to worry about stealing again.

The handle moved and Simon heard someone puff a breath, extinguishing the light from the candle. The door pushed open and a half-orc came out of the office. Simon noted that he wore no uniform. Instead, a black cotton vest covered his chest and rough burlap pants his legs. He was barefoot, and he carried a bulging satchel. Bingo. The ghoul gripped his dagger in an ice-pick grip and planned his attack. He spun for momentum and slammed his dagger into the orc-man's chest where his heart should be, then leaped free of the reflexive grab from the flailing limbs. The orc didn't die easily...or quietly. Shit.

Magelights flared to life outside of the building. Simon looked for an escape route, but couldn't find one that led upwards. Instead, He grabbed the satchel and slipped into the canal that brought the unmilled logs into the factory. Once submerged he sank to the bottom of the canal and waited.

[Black Cat]

A small frown pulled at her eyebrows as she spotted the menacing glint of Simon's dagger. Then came a surprise stab in the chest, a thud of the body, and everything turned awful quick. Panicked like a startled deer, the half-elf glanced toward the windows as the night erupted with lights, then to the door as the thud of boots rushed closer. And finally, she looked Simon's way as her feet started toward the pooling blood. The madman had grabbed the stolen loot and jumped right into the canal. A death trap for sure. With countless frenzied thoughts racing through her head, the brunette gave the body a split-second scrutiny.

Despite the dim light, something twinkled on the half-orc's belt. Dainty fingers quickly undid the dying thief's belt buckle, gripping the leather, and stripping it and all its attachments in one swift yank. Cas slung the belt over her shoulder as Simon made his escape, letting her know the plan had gone out the window and she needed to flee the scene – and fast!

A pounce over to the closest crate gave the brunette a slight head-start on her climb back up, providing her with an increased height from which she threw herself up the dangling rope. Up and up she went, one hand after another, she snaked up with such speed even an experienced acrobat would have to acknowledge her skill. Fear hastened her climb. Panic, even, spasming through her entire body. Common knowledge said anyone found down there alongside the body would hang the following noon and Caslawen's survivor instinct fought tooth and nail to get the half-elf as far away from the crime scene as humanly possible.

Blood spelled trouble, as it invited more thorough investigations than ordinary burglaries, and these in turn meant increased patrols in the streets. After tonight, the building would be turned into an impregnable fortress closely watched over by both the factory workers and the local guards.

The door burst open just as Cas pulled herself up the same way she had entered. A brief pause in her escape came when she stopped mid-motion and cast a glance back toward the rope still tied to the railing. Alas, there was no time to retrieve it or pull it up. Fixing her sight straight ahead, Cas broke into a sprint and made the first jump with ease, every fiber of her body pumped with adrenaline. With no loot except the dead thief's belt to weigh her down, she raced the wind across the rooftops, completely foregoing caution or stealth until she knew for certain any potential pursuers had been lost multiple rooftops ago.

Cold sweat dripped down her brow and she panted heavily. At ease, taking deep, yet ragged breaths, she crept across the rooftops the way she remembered; back to the tavern. The young thief did not even entertain the idea of her new 'mentor' miraculously surviving his suicidal jump into the raging waters of the mill canals.

What a waste of loot.

With that in mind, she retrieved the leather belt from her shoulder. Upon it shined a set of lockpicks, a valuable friend if she ever learned how to use it. And a jagged, scary-looking dagger. Cas had attached all the items to her own belt and tossed the looted one away.

Once the thief's slender figure made it all the way down via the stables, she headed straight for the inn through the back entrance. The spot she had left empty had remained unoccupied, though the untouched mug of ale served as a reminder even the most experienced thief could kick the bucket during the most routine of gigs.

[Rylok]

As soon as Cas resumed her seat at the table, a stableboy approached and waited for her attention.

"Miss, I've been asked to tell you that your room is ready upstairs. Room two, on the left, at the top of the stairs. He's waiting."[/i] And with that, the boy disappeared into the crowd back to the stables.

-------------

The hardest part had been keeping the leather bag with its load of gold coins secure. He didn't need to breathe, time was meaningless before his ability to be patient, and the guards gave up as soon as it turned into a murder investigation. Once they were all involved with investigating the tusker, Simon began to carefully and slowly swim out of the canal and out of the warehouse. He gave himself three minutes of swimming, then came out of the water. It was a simple matter to run back to the inn, get a room, and have a fire started.

The grey cloak, mask, boots, shirt, and pants were hanging by the fire to dry. Simon had changed into a simple white peasant's shirt and black cotton pants. The fire's warmth was of no use to him, but the warm glow of the light was comfortable. He waited for Cas to receive his message and to arrive while he sat at the room's small table counting out the coins. The bright side of the swim was that the deathly perfume that normally plagued him was gone. Perhaps regular baths would be in order now that he was becoming a man of means.