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.
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.