PROLOGUE: RAVEN WINGS

The moon rose for the seventh time of the year. Overhead in the 'small' city of Balmora, small tip-taps of padded feet were heard. The sound carried no further than a few yards, so no attention was caught.

A figure clad in a small black leather uniform rushed like the wind across building-tops. As he reached the end of that district, he took a giant bound. Where a normal person would have fallen, the figure kept in the air.

No magic was involved. As he landed on the ground, raven-black rustled and closed, hiding behind his back. A mask with small slits for eyes peered into the darkness of the twilight. He stood on top of the mountains, all the way across Balmora.

"Good," he stated to no one, "I'm safe." He yawned and opened a small armored chest. A pair of black tiger-claws rested neatly on a velvet red cushion. The raven winged man with a somewhat antsy behavior admired the claws with a gleam of greed in his eyes.

It was clear this man was a thief, but not particularly calm. The claws inside the lacquer box were obviously expensive, and in the black market, might go for about four-hundred thousand or so gold sovereigns. Why, someone could buy a mansion with just those claws. But the man's intentions were different. While he was gawking at the treasure in his hands, he never noticed a person walking briskly behind him. They kicked his back, causing him to trip and drop his treasure.

A female voice bluntly said, none to softly, "You're under arrest for theft of a priceless weapon. You are going to jail, scum."