"If that bastard, Jick, gave me shit information again, I will cut out his tongue," Surks muttered under his breath. The man in question, Jick, had a track record of giving out information that was not entirely correct. Jick had a tendency to get over excited and sell his information prematurely. It does not bode well for Jick's continued existence. This was the fifth mark that he had pointed Surks, two of which had gone sour because of bad information. Luckily Surks was fairly tolerant, even though after either of them he could have killed the man, and no one from the slums would have even batted an eye. That still leaves getting caught by the authorities, but they tend to have issues gathering information when no on will snitch. The Code is followed fairly strictly, because when you don't you tend to have trouble staying not dead.
The apartment wasn't anything special, but according to Jick this guy was making decent money. An amount that his living conditions didn't reflect. It wasn't a shit hole, Surks knew that for sure, he lived in one of those, but it wasn't the type of place that was his usual target. Jumping up and latching onto one of the clapboards, Surks climbed his way up to a locked window. He nudges the locking pin on the inside open gently with a brief magical push and slowly slid the window open. Making no more sound than a particularly light cat Surks swung himself inside. As he went through the window he unknowingly triggered an alarm, he did sense it magically, but it felt like a slight, easily ignorable itch on his neck, which he had no way of connecting to a magical alarm, the thing was subtle. What he did notice with his magic senses was a strange chest, it had some sort of magical... somethings in it. Magical knick knacks tend to be more valuable than mundane ones. Surks was drawn to the chest like a moth to a flame. Much like a moth and a flame the chest would be what burned him in this mission.
As he crept toward the chest, he noticed a glint on a side desk. Apparently whoever lived here left a bag of coins out, not a huge sum. It was something though, he could pocket it which was usually a good policy, if you get caught and have to make a quick escape, at least you get out with something. Which, speaking of getting caught... Dammit! I am a idiot! Surks berated himself, And Jick is a fucking dead man walking. Complaining mentally at the realization that a guy with a chest of magic shit would probably also be competent enough to set up a magic alarm. Hell, even Surks had one on his own little hovel. It wasn't a silent one, but that should be withing reach of someone with actual magic training, right? Surks bolted for the chest, I need to get some whatever is in there and get out. That is when this little operation went sideways.
OOC: I edited the name of Adam to Jick, because apparently there is a character named Adam, and that bugged me.
The apartment wasn't anything special, but according to Jick this guy was making decent money. An amount that his living conditions didn't reflect. It wasn't a shit hole, Surks knew that for sure, he lived in one of those, but it wasn't the type of place that was his usual target. Jumping up and latching onto one of the clapboards, Surks climbed his way up to a locked window. He nudges the locking pin on the inside open gently with a brief magical push and slowly slid the window open. Making no more sound than a particularly light cat Surks swung himself inside. As he went through the window he unknowingly triggered an alarm, he did sense it magically, but it felt like a slight, easily ignorable itch on his neck, which he had no way of connecting to a magical alarm, the thing was subtle. What he did notice with his magic senses was a strange chest, it had some sort of magical... somethings in it. Magical knick knacks tend to be more valuable than mundane ones. Surks was drawn to the chest like a moth to a flame. Much like a moth and a flame the chest would be what burned him in this mission.
As he crept toward the chest, he noticed a glint on a side desk. Apparently whoever lived here left a bag of coins out, not a huge sum. It was something though, he could pocket it which was usually a good policy, if you get caught and have to make a quick escape, at least you get out with something. Which, speaking of getting caught... Dammit! I am a idiot! Surks berated himself, And Jick is a fucking dead man walking. Complaining mentally at the realization that a guy with a chest of magic shit would probably also be competent enough to set up a magic alarm. Hell, even Surks had one on his own little hovel. It wasn't a silent one, but that should be withing reach of someone with actual magic training, right? Surks bolted for the chest, I need to get some whatever is in there and get out. That is when this little operation went sideways.
OOC: I edited the name of Adam to Jick, because apparently there is a character named Adam, and that bugged me.
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