The thief moved slowly through the long stone hallway, not making a sound. He virtually clung to the grey walls, just another shadow in the darkness. He paused for a moment, stretching every inch of his six foot frame, eyes and ears straining in the blackness. There it was again, the sound of sandaled feet echoing through the hall. Dropping down and touching the floor, he felt vibrations reverberating through the stone. And they were coming closer. He swore softly to himself, and looked around quickly. Spotting a door, he hurriedly said a prayer to whatever God was willing to listen, and he stepped through it. He noted that he was in a large, empty candlelit room, but that was all he looked at for a moment. Breathing a sigh of relief, he wiped his brow and pushed back his shoulder length black hair, revealing a large, pointed ear. 

"You're getting to old for this, mate," he whispered to himself in the silence. Two hundred years. He was two hundred years old. That was really nothing but a pinch of salt in the life of a Faeling, but the constant pressures of his profession was starting to wear on him. Being a thief added a lot of stress to one's life. This job especially. Usually, he came out ahead, but not this time. His mouth quirked up in a cynical grin at the thought of the bounty of gold that he was getting for this job. Raiding the castle of the Paladin Lords was not his idea of sane, not even his idea of insanity. But, he had needed the money at the time. He shook his head angrily and looked up. A lapse like that could easily cost him. 

Finally, his head clear, he scanned the room. It was bigger than he had originally thought and, he smiled, it was the very room he was looking for: the armory. Cabinets were in numerous places along the floor, and numerous weapons were hanging along the walls. Reaching into his belt pouch, he drew out a scroll that the fence had given him. He'd been told that when he was finished reading it, the weapon that glowed would be the one to take. He looked at the scroll with revulsion. He never had liked magic very much, even though he'd always had a way with it. 

Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, a dagger loosed itself from the scabbard at his hip and has with deft speed materialized in his right hand. In a single, fluid motion, he cut the binding of the scroll and opened it up. Shoving the dagger absently into his scabbard, he looked over the words on the scroll. Licking his lips, he read them, "Ksshara tiliaan ferrala sciani." The sound of the words foreign off his tongue, he grimaced with disdain as he spoke them. However, as soon as he was finished speaking, the scroll burst into flames. Muttering a curse under his breath, he dropped it to the floor and watched as it turned to ashes on the spot. 

He stared at his burnt hands and grimaced. It would hurt like hell to hold onto anything for a little while. He looked up and scanned the weapons, discovering that not one, but two, were glowing with a faint amber radiance. One of them was a sheathed longsword with an ivory hilt carved into the likeness of a unicorn. The other was a plain looking dagger. Shrugging, he took both. He'd either keep the other one, or sell it to his employer for a bit more money. He reached again into his belt pouch, and pulled out a thick, black hood. Turning the hilt to face him, he wrapped the hood around it to mask the ivory so that it would not show up in the darkness. Once finished, he slung the longsword across his back, and pushed the dagger through his belt. 

He smiled to himself. He was finally finished. This job had taken forever to prepare for, and.... What was that? Footsteps, and not the soft tread he'd heard earlier, but the loud reverberations of booted feet. He froze when they stopped outside the doorway. He looked around hurriedly. There had to be a place to hide. He opened up one of the cabinets. It was filled with daggers, knives, and other small sharp tools which would be useful to a thief. He started to close it, but then, as he watched, the door handle started to turn.  He dove into the armory cabinet, cutting himself in numerous places, and shut the door almost all the way. He glanced out of the tiny crack just as the door opened and gasped. 

The figure who stepped into the room was a giant, Krokani almost eight feet tall! His shoulders were half again as wide as he when he was laying down, and his arms and legs bulged as if boulders were hidden within his clothes. This could only be one of the Highest ranking Paladin Lords, themselves, likely an armorsmith or quartermaster by the looks of the amount of weapons he had strapped upon various places on his body, and he knew at this instance he was in proper trouble.

The Lord took one look about the chamber at his innumerable weapons, and knew immediately that two of them were gone, and which two they were. He let out a roar of rage that shook the gigantic caste, and with a single blow from his mighty fist, he pulverized the door and the wall around it. With eyes red with rage he stared about the room, looking for any sign of the thief. In no time, he had discovered the pile of ashes. He crouched down over them and laughed maliciously. These ashes would lead him to who had done this. Reaching out one massive hand, he gently cradled a handful, stood up, and stalked from the room. At the hall, he turned right, and continued down the hallway for hundreds of feet before he came to a door. He placed his hand on it, and suddenly for the inside of the door could be heard numerous clicks of traps disarming. Once these noises stopped, the door remained closed for five heartbeats, and then swung open. He strode into his room quickly, and then stopped. Even after living here for so long, he couldn't help but look on with pride at the one room in the castle that he himself had built. First of all, it was hue, about one hundred and fifty feet long by fifty feet wide. On the walls were symbols and pictures that represented Paladin history, all of which he had painstakingly carved. Aside from these carvings, however, the room was bare, and it's only light source came from a large chandelier, which hung thirty feet above him. 

"Master," spoke a gravely voice behind him. 

The Lord turned. It was a broad Taurian man, the captain of his guards. Behind him stood ten well armed knights. 

"I came here as soon as I was able to form their ranks. Most nearly soiled themselves because of your yell, Master." The Lord could see the unspoken question in his captain's eyes. 

He motioned for the Captain to come to him. "Two of my weapons have been stolen." He spoke so the knights could not hear. 

The Captain gasped. "But who would dare, Master?! After the last time.." 

"The races have short memories Sir. It appears that I'll have to remind them once again." His eyes were glowing so brightly now that the knights were covering their eyes and gibbering in terror. "Take these to the armory and stand at it until I return." He leaned down and looked the shorter man in the yes. "And make sure that the ashes on the floor are not touched." the Captain bowed, turned, and gave the order for the knights to follow him as he marched off down the hall. 

Once they were gone, the Lord made his way to the eastern wall, and stood before a large mosaic of cerulean sea serpent who gazed down upon a city. He reached forward with his meaty palm and simultaneously pushed the creature and the relief of the city. A ten foot by ten foot section of the wall slid backwards and then sideways, raveling a large room lined with shelves upon shelves of books. He moved into the room and turned left searching for a book. With a smile of triumph he found it and pulled it down. The cover read an illegible ancient script. It was an old spellbook that had belonged to Ancient Lords of the Aquamancers of the Holy Celestine Empire. Moving along the wall, he stopped and stood in front of one of the smaller shelves of books. Smaller, but much heavier. He didn't care about the weight. Reaching out one huge arm, he grasped the shelf and yanked it forward, revealing a door. He walked into a room lined with beakers and strange tools, and even a fool could see that this was a most nefarious laboratory. In the center of the room was a great pedestal, and benches and shelves took up nearly the whole room. On some were beakers and vials. On others there were dissection tools and gloves, and on others there were spell components. Most were common things, like wool and bark. But others were rare: ruby dust, silkworm eggs. He walked over to them, searching until he found some bat guano and cat fur, just to get the spell started. 

Putting the components into a pocket the Lord walked over to the pedestal. He placed the book on it, and opened it up, skimming quickly through the old pages. Where was it? Ah, there. He read carefully through he description and the swore. The spell called for a pristine wyvern scale. That had been a common enough thing in ancient time, but not so in his. Even though he had one in his possession, he did not wish to use it. He went back to the shelves and sifted carefully through them until he found the scale. It's color was of the reddest ruby, and it was as large as his head. He went back to the pedestal, and threw the bat guano and cat fur together, intoning the first words of the spell. The casting was long and drawn out, with many words and gestures. At the end, the took the scale and hurled it into the air with the ashes that he had gathered in the armory. Speaking the final word, he waved his hands. The scale disappeared on the way down, as if it had never been there, and in it's place there appeared a portal. Through it, he could see a viscanti dressed in scarlet robes. A mage then, and most likely a powerful one. Also in the room, sitting upon a comfortable chair, was a blue robed creature that looked to be a miniature version of the larger mage. A furrikin perhaps? The Lord shivered at the thought of such a little nuisance creature becoming a mage. He stared to strain his ears. They were speaking. 

"So eager to join us," said the Viscanti

"Yup," replied the Furrikin getting in his chair. He looked down at his blue robes and smiled weakly at the mage. 

"What's wrong my friend." 

"Well," he answered, pulling at the collar of his robes. "I wasn't really expecting all this. Being a mage sounded fun at first, but all it is is sitting alone in a room and studying. Where's the adventure in that?" 

"Hmm." the mage considered, placing a finger on his lips. "Even so, I trust you are enjoying you're stay in Gaudiguch?" 

"Of course I am!" retorted the Furrikin indignantly. "Everyone's nice here. I can get food, clothes, and a bath just by ringing a bell. But, every time I go out to the city, people start shouting thief, and by the time I've turned around to see him, he's gone." 

This was enough for the Lord. With a wave of his hand, he closed the portal. The Furrikin was just a beginner, so the portal could not have settled on him. It had to be the Viscanti who had created the scroll which was now ashes. The Paladin Lord grasped the pedestal with such frustration that he left imprints in the stone. "A mage then", he thought aloud in a hoarse muttering, " ..in Gaudiguch." With a purse of his lips and an angered growl he began down to the Knight's quarters to rally his men, his thundering commands echoing through the keep, the sound of armoured boots marching out of the City and into the darkness of night, the battle cries of the rallied troops setting their march towards Gaudiguch.