Breaking and Entering
Gradapis, 3AM, 21st of Harvest’s Moot, 2 SE.
It’ll be over before you know it. 10 minutes, tops! You’ll barely remember it.
That’s what Jornar had told Evardin before he sent him off on a fool’s errand to burgle a house in the rich Southern District of Gradapis. Sometimes Evardin questioned why he even listened to him. The man had taken him in after his mother died, but too often did he send his youthful charge off on wild goose chases in pursuit of coin, almost always to no avail. Despite Evardin’s insistence, Jornar was convinced swordsmanship and running across rooftops in the dead of night were transferable skills. Evardin was in good shape, and his Namuri heritage granted him better vision in the dark, but he was beginning to learn that it was a lot more difficult than even he had thought to leap off of slippery spruce rooftops, over back alleys which seemed to be the size and depth of vast caverns that would lead right to the underworlds. He had nearly lost his footing more times than he could count, and barely landed a jump only by grabbing onto the edge more times than he’d care to admit.
Ten minutes had already passed by the time he’d got into the target’s house. It was larger than he’d expected; a dozen log pillars supported an imposing second and third floor. The signature terracotta walls of Gradapis seemed to suck in every bit of dying light from the rapidly disappearing sun. Evardin spied an open window on the top floor, leading onto the stairwell. He muttered a quick prayer to before running across the adjacent roof and vaulting inside through the window
All of his expectations having already been surpassed, Evardin grinned from ear to ear. What could possibly go wrong? All he had to do now was head downstairs and rob the place blind. His grin quickly evaporated, however, as he turned to see the occupant of the house in the master bedroom. The man was changing out of an oily black robe, with a strange mask already on the table, muttering something to himself, though Evardin had no idea what it was about. He thought about abandoning the operation, but before he could decide, his mind was made up for him; his arm had twitched and knocked over a vase. The cracking noise reverberated all over the house. The occupant tied his robe back up and made his way out to investigate. As he rounded the doorframe, his the last thing he saw was a tempered steel shortsword an inch away from his face, and a flash of regret in the eyes of his half-elf killer. His lifeless corpse dropped to its knees, then dropped to the ground, like a puppet without a puppeteer.
“Shit”, Evardin muttered to himself, stepping back to avoid the growing puddle of blood. It would be useless taking anything from the house now; no fence would take the items now that someone had been murdered. The best thing for him would be to run. He ducked through the window and lowered himself down into an alleyway, melting into the bleak shadows as he disappeared behind a wall.