The Fine Art of Thievery

(3:00 PM)

Dace leaped back again, letting the easterner's katana swing past, nearly grazing the mercenary's leather armour. The foreigner was well trained, that much was certain; he moved like an expert soldier, keeping Dace on the defensive. Every attack he made was controlled and fluid, a far cry from the multitude of inept brawler types Dace had clashed with earlier. Compared to the Kara-Turian, their fighting styles had all the coordination of drunk goblins swinging heavy bars of lead.

The Kara-Tur warrior pressed his attack, forcing Dace to back away into the next room. They had only fought this one-sided battle for a few minutes, but Dace could already tell that he wouldn't win this fight with strength or speed. Whenever the easterner's blade went by, it would almost immediately double back, never affording Dace the opportunity to close within striking range with his own weapons. He barely even had time to deflect the katana with his daggers. No, this battle would take manipulation and cunning.

As the mercenary continued to evade the easterner's attacks, Dace began to chart out in his head the layout of the brothel. In his mind's eye, Dace could clearly recall every step of the building's floor plan in the areas that he passed through earlier. Without having to turn to see where he was going, Dace continued to step backward, confident that he could handle the Kara-Turian on his own.

(3:02)

Guild lieutenant Tomar glared out the office window, focusing his gaze at the Tower of Tyr while wondering just how collected his enemies were. Cerdan had departed alongside a yellow-robed woman on a marked warhorse. After consulting with a few of the guild's whisper-men, Tomar was convinced that the woman's markings identified her as an official of Tyr.

That sealed it. Cerdan was working with the faithmongers for some ulterior purpose. If the guildmaster was supplying them with information on the Shadow Thieves, it meant that Tomar was within his rights to supplant the wayward elf.

Someone knocked on the door, prompting Tomar to return to his desk. "Enter." Kretia came inside, accompanied by the now fully wakened guild officer, Seffron. Nodding to the pair, Tomar remarked, "Ah, good. Now all three of us lieutenants are here. How are you feeling?"

Seffron gave a half-smile and leaned on Kretia when she offered her arm to him for support. The pony-tailed man spoke, "Still weak. Our healer says I should rest, but how can I do that when there's still so much crime to commit and enemies to confound? I think I'm falling behind on my confounded enemy quota today."

Tomar sighed in impatience as Kretia placed a hand on Seffron's cheek and began whispering to the man with a playful look on her face. If anyone was going to supplant Cerdan, it certainly wouldn't be either of these disgustingly bedazzled buffoons.

Sitting down in the chair, Tomar began ruffling through Cerdan's papers again. "We have a new problem. Cerdan may be betraying us to the bucketheads of Tyr. Apparently he's met with some ranking official, an elf woman, at least twice today, and I'm convinced that he is acting in concert for today's attacks on the guild as well."

"Pshaw, that doesn't sound like him at all," said Seffron, making a backhanded wave at the man. "More likely he's just sweet on some pretty thing from the temple. Not everyone can be as dour and repulsive as you, y'know?"

Tomar noticed a knit brow appear on Kretia's face. Before Seffron could go on, she interrupted. "Seff, the guildmaster was the only other person who knew that we'd be at the tavern this morning. We never told anyone else, not even Tomar here." She started wringing her hands. "And the assassins that shot you were waiting for us…"

The smile evaporated from Seffron's face. "No, sorry, I don't buy that. Besides, he's not here right now, yeah? If he were behind some grandiose plot to take us down, wouldn't he set things up to hurt the guild the moment he was gone?"

At that moment, a young sandy-haired boy with a fuzzy gray cat tucked under his arm burst into the room. "Guildmaster! There's a huge problem coming this – oh, hello Mister Seffron! Glad to see you up!"

Tomar narrowed his eyes at the boy; it was the same kid who was running errands for Cerdan that morning… Bryn, or something. "What is the meaning of this?"

Bryn looked at each of the lieutenants in turn, then launched into a rapid explanation. "Cerdan told me to stay out of the guildhouse for the rest of the day and find a safehouse after I stopped by his house to get his cat – say hello, Jinx; I think the cat likes me – and then I was going to –"

"Shut up or get to the spiking point, will you?" Tomar growled. Gods, he hated children. "What's the 'huge problem' you mentioned?"

"On my way I noticed a huge party of knights and guards doing a sweep of all the buildings in the district. Not just that, they're arresting anyone, and I mean anyone, who looks suspicious too! I managed to slip by through the alley shortcuts, but I figured I should come back here and tell Cerdan before the sweep arrives here. Where is Cerdan, anyway?"

Kretia frowned. "You say Cerdan ordered you to leave the guildhouse earlier today? And then he disappears shortly after, without reason…"

Tomar rapped his knuckles on the desk and was on his feet. "Enough talk. I am hereby taking control of guild operations. Kretia, order a few of your assassins to assume stealthy positions on the rooftops of the buildings surrounding the guildhall. Make sure they have a clear view of the street. Seffron, I want constant reports on the movement of the paladin sweep and their proximity to our base. And you!" He glowered at the boy. "Get that cat out of here!" Jinx mewled at him with displeasure.

The three exchanged nervous glances and then began to shuffle out of the office to carry on with their duties. After they were gone, Tomar looked down at the desk and pushed the papers aside. The matter with Cerdan would have to wait for now. If the knights discovered the guildhouse before the proper arrangements and defenses were set, it was all over.

"Damn you elf. You'd best be enjoying the time you have right now. Because when I find you…" Tomar let his words hang in the air as he turned and stared at the Tower of Tyr in the distance once more.

(3:09)

"I'm not enjoying this at all!" Cerdan sighed. He kept pushing, trying to wedge a metal spike into the thin, barely visible crack that separated the handle and the door.

"Good. Neither am I," muttered Norris, "Could you possibly work any slower?"

The elf snorted silently, but didn't let the comment distract him. Humans. So impatient, so sloppy. "You know, I have a friend who's a lot like you. Cranky, grouchy, maybe a bit of crotchety thrown in as well. He goes by 'Derrick'." Cerdan smiled to himself as the spike finally slid into the space. "Of course, I know what his problem is; he's just mad that his son went and joined my guild. You, on the other hand, just strike me as an utter ass. Why is that, good ranger?" Cerdan looked over his shoulder and smiled pleasantly.

Norris grimaced, but answered with a steady tone. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh? Well, if you're not keen on sharing one of your tales, I'll have to regale you with one of mine! Let me tell you about this one time that I was beaten up by a dozen skeletons, now that's a story. It all started with an angry gibberling…"

"Shut up," the ranger groaned. The elf went quiet, but he continued to stare at the man expectantly. After a few moments of silence, Norris finally caved in slightly. He turned his head away and murmured, "You keep calling me a ranger. But I lost my honour as a servant of the forest several years ago, among other things."

"Other things? Like what, a stellar personality?"

"Cordas took my unicorn pendant… my holy symbol of Mielikki, the patron of rangers. When I started working for him, he wanted some collateral to make sure I didn't just take the money and skip town without doing the work for him."

"Oh, I get it. You're blaming him for your mistakes. Typical human behaviour," said the elf, shaking his head as he turned back to the door.

"It wasn't like that at all! I lost my honour by carrying out Cordas' dirty work! In the end, he wouldn't give me back the pendant, even after my friends died. So I had to try and take it back by force... for all the good that did me." Norris absently touched his leg.

Bah, Cerdan thought, glancing at the ranger, more human tendencies... if it doesn't work, hit it! If you meet an obstacle, break it down! No style or subtlety. Barbaric.

"When I tried to grab my pendant back, it burned my hand. That's when I realized the truth; I had become a fallen one." Sighing aloud, Norris met Cerdan's gaze. "Some of Cordas' men caught me from behind while I was distracted, so one of them took a hammer to my leg, crippling me. Then they tossed me out with a few choice curses."

The ranger's hand reached for his neck, seemingly seeking out the pendant that was long gone. "And that's it. I settled in a remote shack just outside the city and decided to stay there after my leg healed on its own. Certainly wasn't going to let the blasted faithmongers have their way with it."

"Ooh. Melodrama," Cerdan said in a flat tone, "and here I am without a kerchief."

"Shut up, elf. You don't get it, do you? As a fallen, I can never return to my hometown in the wilderness. As an outsider, I can never settle in the 'civilized' culture that I've grown to hate." Norris waved a backhand in the elf's direction. "You've never made so fatal an error to earn the ire of so many. You're just a common thief!"

"You'd be surprised," Cerdan murmured, "Maybe I haven't lived your life, but I've seen enough tragedy to know that your lamenting won't help you." The elf shifted the metal spike around, checking the feel on the lock's internal mechanism. He went on, "You carried out a terrible crime, and yes, you suffered as a result. But so what? Do you think that suffering makes you special? You're not the first person in the Realms to fall from grace, so stop trying to gain our pity.

"That mercenary is right; you've been spending all your time wailing about your problems. Bah, anyone can do that. You want to show that you're different? Do something about it. And not just blind revenge, either." Cerdan returned the ranger's glare with a blank stare. "Maybe Cordas does deserve to die. Hells, it would certainly make my job easier. But that's not the way to recover. You need to let go of the past, ranger. Get over yourself."

"Let go of the past... people keep telling me that," muttered Norris. "Maybe there is something to that, after – wait, did you hear that?"

Cerdan stopped working on the lock for a moment and listened. A series of dull crashing noises echoed through the wooden ceiling overhead. "What the filch is happening up there?"

(3:14)

Dace reached back, grabbed the wooden chair by the head, and swung it around in an arc as he drew the Kara-Turian through the doorway. The mercenary didn't have to look around to know that this was the same room where he tortured Tavros. With his other hand, Dace waved his dagger defensively, keeping the blade pointed up to protect his central area.

The foreigner angled his weapon and roughly pressed forth, easily batting the chair aside and knocking it away into the wall. The Kara-Turian's strikes were all aimed at the torso with trained precision; he did not intend to merely disable or disarm his opponent, it was defend or die.

The mercenary bent his head forward and down, and took another large stride backward. Dace felt his heel knock against the hard surface of the overturned table, and he immediately pitched himself backward, letting himself fall. He twitched his arms slightly to make it look as if he was surprised as he fell to the other side of the table, and the mercenary landed hard on his back. His dagger skittered across the floor and fell out of reach.

Closing in immediately, the easterner planted a foot atop the table's edge and pointed his katana blade at the prone mercenary's face. A line of syllables rolled off the foreigner's lips, and Dace guessed he was demanding surrender.

Staring up at the easterner, he nodded and raised his hands above his head. "I yield."

Then, in a blast of movement, Dace grabbed the tip of the blade with his right hand and yanked it toward him, angling the weapon so it just missed his head. At the same time, Dace reached back with his other hand and grabbed the mace that the elven cleric had earlier left on the floor of the room.

Reversing the weapon in his grip, Dace launched himself into an upright sitting position and rammed the mace forward into the warrior's knee with all his strength. The easterner released an angered cry as he collapsed forward and hit the ground, dropping his katana to clutch his crushed kneecap in his hands.

Tossing Selena's mace aside, Dace quickly took the foreigner's katana in his left hand and pressed the weapon against the underside of the warrior's chin. The mercenary glanced at the long, bloody gashes on his right hand and, ignoring the pain, made a fist to slow the blood loss for now.

"You are far too skilled in combat to risk leaving alive."

The warrior glowered at the mercenary, and Dace prepared to drive the blade into the man's throat.

"Hold it there!" Norris shouted as he rushed into the room. "What is going on in– Shen?"

Dace never took his eyes off the warrior. "This man attacked me. You know who he is?"

"He's just like me, blackheart, so hold back that weapon. Cordas is blackmailing him into servitude in exchange for his life."

"Indeed." Dace didn't move. "He is still a threat."

"No more a danger than you, I'll wager."

Dace gave an indignant snort and took a step back. "So be it. If you will not see his death, you will see him bound. There is some rope lying nearby, enough to tie his wrists and ankles." He raised the katana and eyed the workmanship of the steel blade. "I will consider how we can use this situation to our best advantage once you leave us."

"No. That winged man is right; you're a complete blackheart. I'm staying here to keep watch on you."

"And I am staying here to watch the foreigner. Even as a pessimist you are far too trusting, particularly for a warrior as skilled as this one." With a swift kick, Dace knocked Shen on the forehead, putting the easterner out cold. "Perhaps I am of blackest hearts; that is what makes me a survivor." He cocked his head toward Shen. "Now hurry and bind him. It is only a matter of time before he awakes."

(3:20)

"Hmm. Not too complicated underneath…" Cerdan mumbled to himself as he shifted the metal spike, probing the small gap he'd forced between the safe's handle and door. Picking locks was about more than randomly poking at the mechanism inside. Probing only revealed the general form of the security device; it was up to the thief's own experience and skill to defeat the lock.

It felt as though the door was held by a heavy internal latch, one that probably would be moved by a switch or lever hidden somewhere in the building. Cerdan pushed the spike further into the space, trying to hook the tool under the latch.

To a thief, it didn't matter if you used controlled or extreme amounts of force. The key factor was using that leverage in the right spot. Even through the slim crack, he found he could shift the latch upward partway if the spike was pressed in at the correct angle.

The elf held the spike in place and gave the handle a sharp turn. This time, the handle turned all the way, and a rough yank made the iron door come ajar amidst a metallic 'crunching' noise. Cerdan drew the door open slightly and saw that part of the exposed latch was now cracked and bent at a jutting angle, which would make it difficult to close the door completely.

Peeking inside, Cerdan's eyes were first drawn to a sparkling, blue crystal sphere at the very back of the vault. Various alchemical paraphernalia lay on the tables surrounding the centerpiece, making it clear that the vault was currently being used as a mage's lab.

Before he could even set foot inside, the blue crystal suddenly flared with a bright light and the elf felt an odd bite of chill in the air. More telling was the slight crackling sound that the sphere began to make. A voice in the back of Cerdan's mind shouted a single, clear word: Trap!

The thief instinctively tried to slam the metal door shut, but the bent latch caught against the doorframe, preventing him from sealing it completely and leaving the door ajar by a few centimetres. The elf flipped around, pressed his back flat against the outside of the door and braced his feet on the ground, straining to force the door shut.

A sudden, slamming force struck from behind, blasting the door open and knocking the elf forward off his feet. He fell hard on his front side a few feet away from the vault door, and the thin, rough carpet did little to soften the landing. He lay there for a few moments, clutching his nose as the crackling noise died down behind him. Gingerly checking his face to make sure he wasn't bleeding again, the elf then slowly rolled onto his back.

The elf looked down the hall at the vault and saw that the far end of the corridor was now completely covered in what appeared to be a thick layer of blue, sparkling ice. By the looks of it, the heavy metal door managed to deflect the angle of the magical blast, which explained why only a portion of the corridor was struck by the freezing energy. Unfortunately, the odd angle of the deflected blast created a concave wall of ice further down the hall, completely blocking the path to the stairs. Groaning slightly, Cerdan realized that he was now trapped in the dead end basement corridor.

The elf rose to his feet and stepped closer to the vault. There was too much thick ice covering the floor and the inside of the door for him to open or close it any time soon, but it was wide enough for him to step into the room. He poked his head inside the vault and waited a few moments. The elf breath dissipated into the cold air, and he presumed that the ice trap wouldn't immediately go off again.

If he didn't know any better, Cerdan would think that he was standing in the middle of a northern ice cave.

Almost every surface of the alchemical lab was now encased in the blue ice, rendering most of the objects within practically useless to the thief. The blast had apparently doused most of the torches outside in the hallway, so the only source of light was the crystal sphere itself, casting the room in a dim, blue glow.

Two things remained conspicuously untouched by the ice; one was the crystal sphere itself, still sparkling innocently atop its pedestal in the middle of the vault. The other was a pile of black, hoodless cloaks sitting on a table near the door.

Stepping sideways to keep the crystal sphere in view, Cerdan slowly touched one of the cloaks with his hand. The fabric felt a little cool, but it was certainly warmer than one would expect, given the temperature of the room. They were probably warded to provide Cordas' men with protection against the ice magic.

Feeling a shiver, the elf lifted one of the cloaks and draped it atop his shoulders, over his own traveling cloak. As he pulled it snugly over his shoulders, he found that the chill was dulled and felt much more bearable. His exposed head was still a bit cold, however.

Pausing a moment, the elf reached into his tunic pocket and removed his magical tracking crystal. The glowing yellow lights within the half-orb were still largely clumped together at a point far to the northwest of here, most likely the temple of Tyr. However, Cerdan now noticed that a significant number of the lights had migrated to the eastern parts of the city, in the direction of the merchant district where his guildhouse was located.

"Something's going on back at the base," he mused aloud, putting the artifact away. "Well, it's probably nothing they can't handle." At least the knights aren't on their way here. Still, Cerdan knew he had to find a way to escape as quickly as possible; Selena would be returning with a contingent of armed guards at any moment.

Cerdan glanced at the blue sphere and wondered what he could do to get past the ice wall outside. Time to get creative.

(3:33)

"Hurry up, you urchins. Move it!" Tomar bellowed at the crowd of junior members who were rushing around the guild's entry hall below. "If things aren't it place when the faithscreamers show up, we're all spiked for sure!"

The new guild leader felt a tap on his shoulder.

"This isn't going to work, you know." Kretia folded her arms and tapped her foot. "Don't the paladins have spells? Can't they sense evil?"

"Not all our guild members can be lumped under 'evil', and a paladin cannot arrest a person based on aura alone. We do not live under a tyranny; the only reason they have to arrest people, even in a sweep like this one, is if they are under suspicion of committing crime." Tomar began walking back toward Cerdan's office. "Besides, we all know that magical scrying can be fooled."

Kretia shook her head. "By all accounts, we already lost a good number of our agents to the sweep in the western districts."

"I don't care about them, our base is the main concern." He opened the door and stepped through, leading Kretia to the desk. "Are your agents in position atop the roofs?"

"Well, they are, but I think they're took visible in the places you wanted them. Anyone walking along the streets will spot them."

"That won't be a problem. I'm more concerned with what Cerdan may have told the knights beforehand."

"If he did tell them anything, he couldn't have been very specific. They're doing a step-by-step check of every building in the local districts, so they don't actually know where we are."

Tomar's eyes fell to the latched drawers in Cerdan's wooden desk. "Are you skilled enough to pick these locks?" The elf might have left behind some evidence, or proof of his affairs."

"Oh, there's nothing of note in here," Kretia replied, rapping her knuckles on the front of the desk. "He keeps the important materials in his safe."

Tomar glanced around, but saw no visible sign of such a thing on the bare walls of the office. In response to his puzzlement, the blonde lieutenant stepped around the desk and gestured for Tomar to vacate the chair. She then moved the chair aside and kneeled on the ground to pry up the floorboard beneath.

"Tricky blighter, isn't he?" Tomar mumbled as Kretia revealed the hidden compartment below. "How did you know it was here?"

"Hold, look at this!" Kretia removed a fresh parchment from the floor safe and silently looked over the words written upon it. "A correspondence of some sort..."

The new guild leader took the sheet from the woman and read it himself: 'We agree to your terms. You will be spared and left unharmed by my associates if you internally cripple your guild's operations on the agreed date. Remember that we require our target alive, and without suspicion. I will contact you on the date of execution, once this has been accomplished. – Lenthyrr'

"Finally, some hard material against the elf," Tomar said, a grin creeping onto his face. "This 'Lenthyrr' must be the elf woman he ran off with. Sounds like an elvish name, at least."

He snapped his fingers in Kretia's direction. "Whatever you do, don't tell Seffron about this. Of the three of us, he's the most loyal to the elf."

"But I–"

"I don't care how trustworthy you think he is, he's liable to tip Cerdan off if the elf ever shows his face again. Understand? This is a strict order!"

She frowned, but slowly nodded in assent. "But what are you planning?"

"Not now," he said, folding the parchment and putting it away in his vest. "First we need to finish pulling the blinders over the faithmongers' eyes."

The door behind them creaked open, and Bryn stuck his head into the office. "Hey, mister Tomar! The paladins just showed up, and they want to speak to the person in charge of this place."

"Earlier than I expected. Have them wait in the training room and tell Seffron to stall them until I arrive." Choosing not to bother scolding the boy for his audacity, Tomar tugged on the edge of his tunic and brushed away a spot of dirt. "Show time."

(3:38)

The way a person lives defines how they act in a given situation, Cerdan thought as he laid a hand upon the concave ice wall blocking his way out. A warrior would take the direct solution and try to break though this barrier with their strength. A wizard would take the indirect choice and use their magic to melt or remove the ice completely. But a thief finds a way to evade the problem entirely through cunning.

He removed his palm from the ice and felt the moisture that remained on his hand. So it is real ice. The sphere's blast creates a concussive force, but also freezes the water in the air, he thought, glancing back at the vault door. Water expands when it freezes, doesn't it?

The elf looked around at the wooden walls and ceiling. It was difficult to see through the ice, but Cerdan could make out one of the vertical support beams on the side of the corridor. Sure enough, the wooden support had been cracked and bent slightly under the combined force from the initial blast and pressure from the ice.

Hurrying back to the vault, Cerdan returned to the enchanted sphere and the center of the room and crouched before the pedestal. Behind it was a box of cheap medallions, apparently designed to resemble the insignia for officials of the city Dukes. Unfortunately, the box was frozen over, making it impossible to retrieve them.

The elf turned his attention back to the sphere and leaned forward, keeping the artifact at eye level. Perhaps the sphere was a magical source for placing enchantments upon the medallions. Even at arm's length, he could feel the frigid aura on his face.

Evidently, Cordas knew someone might find this wizard's lab and set the orb to activate when the door opened. But perhaps the sphere was something more important than a simple trap; maybe it was used as an arcane source for copying enchantments on other artifacts. If Cordas had a skilled wizard, he could have the magic of the ice sphere transferred to smaller objects like the medallions in the box.

Unwilling to risk touching the orb, he retrieved another protective cloak from the table by the vault door and tossed the garment over the sphere like a blanket. Handling it carefully through the fabric, Cerdan lifted the artifact from its pedestal and slowly upended the cloak so he could hold it by the corners, carrying it like a sack. On his way out the door, Cerdan picked up a few more of the protective cloaks and tossed them over a shoulder.

As he stepped back outside, he wondered why Norris and the others hadn't come downstairs to check on his progress. Humans. Probably arguing about some inconsequential matter again. Sighing aloud, the elf carefully set the orb on the ground for now and began to make the preparations for his escape.

(3:42)

"It's a complicated matter, Shen, but we're in the same situation," Norris said, sitting in a chair opposite the easterner. Shen was tied up in a seat by the wall, but remained silent even though they left him ungagged. The harsh glare in the man's eyes spoke volumes enough.

"Why are you talking at him when he cannot understand you?"

Norris snapped his gaze toward Dace. "It'll make me feel better, blackheart. If you're so disgusted, go bother the elf instead."

"No. The foreigner is a more immediate threat." Saying nothing else, Dace remained standing in the doorway and began to wrap a piece of cloth around the gash on his right hand, all the while watching Shen like a snake.

Turning back to the silent warrior, Norris pointed at the crusty green tinged gash exposed through the tear on the shoulder of Shen's tan-coloured clothing. "Ironic, isn't it? Back in the alley with the sergeant, I would have killed you outright if I didn't see that wound." The ranger shook his head, "The wound that threatens to kill you ended up saving your life… for a while, at least."

He glanced down and noticed a makeshift bandage over the easterner's foot, where Norris previously stabbed him with an arrow. Of course, now the easterner was probably too distracted by the pain from his bashed knee.

Pain. Norris was aware of the numbness running from his upper neck down to his mid-torso, a result of the pain-numbing enchantment placed upon him by Cyrael. Speaking of which, where was Cyrael? Downstairs with that elven thief, most likely.

Norris shook the thought from his mind and chose to focus on the present situation, for once. He reached up and began to remove the bandage from around his neck. "I wonder how you've managed to endure today's events with the constant pain from Cordas' poison." Norris shook his head again, "I guess that's not important. All that matters is which one of us will claim the cure from Cordas."

"If only one of you can receive this cure," said Dace, "Then you are a fool to let him live."

"You don't get it, do you? We're the same, he and I. Two men forced down the path of murderous deeds in exchange for our own lives. In a way, killing him would be like killing myself. Maybe the elf was right. I need to change…"

He turned back to Shen and turned his head slightly, pointing at the poisoned wound on his neck. The Kara-Tur warrior noticed the greenish gash and furrowed his brow, as if weighing this new information about Norris' relationship with Cordas. Norris nodded, "You understand now, don't you? We've been forced into the same position, easterner."

Even if they didn't speak the same language, Norris wondered if the warrior could be convinced to join him in the quest against the crimelord. The only problem, of course, was the matter of the cure. Dace was right about one thing; the ranger was painfully aware that one of them would not go on to see tomorrow. On the other hand, it was unlikely that Cordas would have revealed the antidote scarcity to Shen. Perhaps they would deal with that obstacle when they reached it.

"Hold." Dace suddenly raised a warning hand, leaning back and glancing down the hallway. "I heard a noise just now, from somewhere within the building."

(3:47)

"Are you the proprietor of this establishment?" demanded the armoured paladin. He carried his helmet under one arm, allowing him to direct his full, unobstructed gaze at Tomar. Two additional guards from the city barracks flanked the knight, adding to the sense of authority about the paladin.

Tomar put on his best fake smile as he bowed before the trio standing in front of the mantelpiece. "I am the operator, yes, mister…?"

"Sir Rennemar, foremost royal horseman of Tyr. Some of the locals around this region tell me this building is usually off limits to the public; I understand many shady-looking people tend to come and go."

"Ah, a common misconception." He waved a hand at the many occupants of the room. "This, good sirs, is an adventurers' club."

They were actually standing in the guild's training room for the burglary test, hastily refurnished in the past hour to resemble a casual lounge. Tomar had picked this room in particular to pull the con on the knights since it was already decorated to resemble a noble's home. He just hoped the faithmongers didn't look up and notice the tar nozzle traps hidden in the ceiling.

The guildmaster kept his smile frozen on his face, trying to keep his lips from twitching into a grimace. "As you can see, we are a very exclusive club, which is why the local ruffians and vagabonds may try to spread negative rumours about us," continued Tomar, pointing to the dozen or so thieves relaxing in padded chairs and milling about nearby.

The thieves were all in costume, dressed as mages and bards, having almost completely exhausted the guild's supply of disguises. The rest of the guild members were hiding down in the lower vaults of the building, where the paladins were less likely to check so long as they remained unsuspecting.

"Hmm. What about the armed men I observed on the rooftops outside? Rather peculiar arrangement."

"Ah, that is because we operate in the city's merchant district, not one of the wealthier regions of town. You of all people should know just how rough such areas could become. Protective measures are a necessity for the well-being of our clientele."

In truth, the merchant sector was becoming one of the safest areas in town, largely due to that gutless elf's attempts to turn the guild into a non-violent organization. Tomar gambled that the knight wouldn't be aware of that fact, however. Sir Rennemar's armour bore a crest that identified him as a knight of Athkatla's Order of Tyr. Probably on a short visit to Baldur's Gate for whatever reason.

Tomar noticed that the paladin was beginning to eye the other occupants with suspicion. Thinking quickly, the guildmaster spoke, "You are free to question our patrons, of course, but it may take a while to get any coherent answers out of them. They're well into their cups already, and some are more likely to launch into dirty limericks or off-colour anecdotes in their current state."

At that point, Seffron meandered by, giggling incoherently and cradling a bottle in his hands. He pretended to stumble, and crashed directly into the knight. It wasn't enough to even budge the heavily armoured paladin, however.

"Ugh," muttered Rennemar as he watched the guard shove the man away. "This is a waste of our time. Officers, move on to the next building. I'll meet you back at the Tower of Tyr later." As his men filed out, the paladin turned to Tomar and prodded the man in the chest. "I don't know what sort of hedonistic traditions pass as 'culture' in this city, but I can say that I despise such businesses that turn men into drunken louts."

The knight turned and hoisted Seffron up off the ground, and gave him a rough shake. "Look, this man is clearly inebriated, and it is not even sunset!"

As he shook the guild lieutenant, a small coinpurse slipped from the thief's hand and landed on the ground at the paladin's feet.

The knight stared down at the pouch. "Wait… that's mine!"

Seffron's drunken grin suddenly disappeared, and he looked toward Tomar. "Sorry, boss. Couldn't help myself."

Furrowing his brow, a look of anger flashed across Sir Rennemar's face and he shoved Seffron away. "What in blazes is this! What are you–"

"Blast it! Tar him, now!" Tomar suddenly shouted.

"What?" The paladin stood dumbfounded for a moment and let his hand fall toward his sword.

Then a wet noise sounded from above, prompting both Seffron and Tomar to take a few steps back. The guildmaster watched as the trap nozzles in the ceiling sprayed several thick streams of sticky, black tar down over the knight. Sir Rennemar swore and dropped his helmet in surprise as the tar coated him. He raised his arms and tried to move away, but some of the gooey black substance had already seeped into the joints of his armour, making it difficult for him to move fluidly.

Immediately, the other thieves in the room rushed to their leader's aid, pouncing on the knight and exploiting his momentary lack of coordination.

"You fiends! I swear that you'll all pay for this!"

Tomar stepped forward as the knight was wrestled to the ground under the collective weight of several guild members. The guildmaster crouched down and smeared some of the tar down over the knight's eyes. "Take him down to the lower dungeon for now. We'll have to decide on how to deal with him soon."

As Sir Rennemar was dragged off, kicking and screaming, by the squadron of thieves, Seffron stepped away from the group and faced Tomar. "Er, sorry about that. Old habits, y'know? Didn't mean to cause a new problem. In a few hours, the temple higher-ups are going to realize he's gone missing…"

"That won't be a problem; we can probably set it up to look like one of the Southside Row gangs are responsible." Tomar wiped some of the tar from his fingers. "When the remaining paladins have finished sweeping through the rest of the region, have a few of your scouts start patrolling the south and western district gates. Order them to stay alert for Cerdan.

"When he learns that his plot against us failed, he'll come investigating himself. The fool just loves to personally stick his nose into other people's business." The guildmaster aimed his full gaze at Seffron. "Tell your agents that he is to be brought in alive, but they are authorized to use whatever force is needed, should he refuse to comply. It's past time for the elf to face the consequences of his betrayal…"

(3:52)

Cerdan wrapped the extra cloak around his head and tugged at the front, creating a small gap so he could see. Taking a deep breath, he crouched in the corner of the hallway and raised the crystal sphere to eye level at arm's length. Focusing his aim at one of the support beams, the elf glanced up at the ceiling and locked his eyes on his intended target.

Bracing himself, the elf lowered his arms for a moment, then pitched the crystal sphere toward the top of one of the wooden support beams that had been untouched by the first ice wave. When the artifact left his hands, the elf immediately turned around to face the wall and lowered his head. Pulling the protective cloak tight around his body, the elf held his breath as he felt a slight chill and a wave of force hit him from behind.

This time, however, the cold pressure was absorbed by the enchantment and he felt otherwise unharmed. As the blast subsided, Cerdan stood up and looked back at the support. The second blast had created a similar layer of ice, and now all the walls of the corridor were encased, save for a small Cerdan-shaped patch where the elf was crouched.

A slight 'cracking' noise drew his attention back to the support beam. As planned, a series of large cracks had formed in the wooden support, wide enough that they were visible even through the ice. The adjacent beams were also damaged, but the targeted support had taken the brunt of the concussive force. Interestingly enough, the enchanted sphere had apparently frozen itself in place on the ceiling, embedded in a particularly thick part of the blue ice wall, near the support.

With one of the extra cloaks open in his hands, Cerdan fished out his sword and carefully aimed it at a section of the ice on the ceiling. Keeping the cloak held wide like a blanket, the elf jabbed the sword into the ice, making sure he did not accidentally hit the magical sphere.

The force wasn't enough to break the ice, unfortunately. Instead, the cracking sounds from the support rapidly became louder, and the wooden beam suddenly collapsed with a loud 'snap' beneath the additional weight of the ice on the ceiling.

Cerdan's arms went out as the ice broke, and he deftly managed to catch the sphere as it fell from the ceiling. With the support gone, a section of the ceiling caved in, forcing the elf to fall away on his back amidst a spray of splintered wood and ice. A section of the floor from the level above crashed down into the corridor, just missing the thief and creating a large wooden incline leading into a room above.

The elf lay there for a few moments, coughing through the cloth that was wrapped around his face. "Ugh. Well, so much for cunning."

He heard a series of confused exclamations coming from the room overhead, no doubt from his comrades above. The elf glanced down and saw that the ice orb was still safely clutched in his arms. Wrapping it up in the protective garment, Cerdan took a moment to remove the other cloak he was wearing over his head.

"Well, fellows," he shouted up through the hole in the ceiling, "I managed to get into the vault down here."

Keeping his eyes on the collapsed flooring and the wrapped artifact in his hands, he carefully climbed the collapsed wooden floor, pulling himself up the incline and out of the basement. "And I seem to have found something that could be of use to us."

A series of loud clacking noises sounded from around the room, and Cerdan looked up as half a dozen armed men stepped into view, each pointing a heavy crossbow squarely in the elf's direction.

"Uh, hello…" the elf began, darting his eyes about the room. These men did not bear the armour of paladins. Their unkempt clothing actually looked more like ruffians from a local gang. Perhaps the thief and his comrades had lingered too long in Cordas' hideout…

"Hold your aim, men." A person wearing silk attire and a torn nobleman's sash stepped out from behind the ruffians, and pointed at the elf. "Keep your hands visible and slowly place that artifact on the ground, elf. That is the property of my lord, Cordas. You do not want to force us to harm your allies." He cocked his head to the left, and Cerdan glanced to the side into the next room.

Norris and Dace stood within sight, surrounded by a few other armed gang members. They both had their hands tied, and several daggers were pointed at their throats. Each hostage wore a disdainful expression on his face, and they were both glowering silently at the well-dressed leader of these ruffians.

Cerdan stood his ground and held the wrapped sphere high. "Those two? They're prepared to die, and I can't say I particularly like either of them, anyway. You don't want to try me. If I drop this, we all get to die together."

"Oh? And how do you feel about this one that we found outside on our way here?" The finely dressed 'nobleman' snapped his fingers, and another of his henchmen entered, shoving a struggling yellow-robed figure into the middle of the room.

Selena stumbled slightly, but managed to keep from falling over. Like the others, the red-haired woman had her hands bound behind her back. A white cloth was tied around her mouth, probably to keep her from shouting any spells. The priestess simply glared at Cerdan and made a few muffled words through the gag. Whatever she was saying, he doubted it was very flattering. The rogue clenched his jaw, and said nothing.

The 'nobleman' tugged a long-brimmed hat over his head, then gestured to his henchmen. "Take the artifact the elf is holding, and be careful with it. Tie his hands and round up all these intruders in the wagon out front. Cordas only wanted the easterner brought back, but we'll have to get his word on what to do with these others."

Cerdan was roughly grabbed by a few of the henchmen, and he looked toward Selena, Norris and Dace as they were shoved past him toward the exit.

(3:59)

The ranger looked back over his shoulder at someone trailing behind. "Damn you, Shen! You knew these men were coming, didn't you?" The Kara-Tur warrior gave no reply, and simply followed the group in a steady march, stoically staring ahead.

"Blast," Norris muttered under his breath. How could that foreigner appear so serene when working for the vile crimelord who poisoned them?

What could possibly be going through that man's head right now?

(4:00 PM)

Note: All author's notes will be posted in my forum from now on.