Gatecrasher
As Moraine walked, he considered the city around him. A dreary place full of murder and theft, Northgate was still home to him, though that didn’t mean much. Nearby he saw a pair of large men beating up one of Northgate’s consulates who ceased their actions and bowed as he passed, as though he were the king of this gray and ugly place, which indeed he was. As the best thief in the city he was considered untouchable by law or otherwise, though he cultivated many enemies with his smug attitude and his almost blatantly false overconfidence, something he gleefully exhibited in front of the two muggers, nodding at them and gesturing in the Silent Cant to carry on.
He had business to attend to today, no time to gab with his subordinates. Lord Salisburg made a few snide comments regarding his prowess last night in private court to one of his so-called friends, who in truth was a spy for the Court of Night and needed to be taught a lesson. After an hour of uneventful travel through the unwatched dark alleys of Northgate he finally arrived at the mansion and gazed upon its crimson brick walls, a rarity in a city of grays and blacks and a garish testament to its owner’s arrogance, something that will be rectified this night.
He crept to the wall with a smile and pressed up against it, listening to the faint conversation being held on the other side between what he presumed were a pair of guards. The gruffer of the two voices complained loudly, “Why’re we guardin the walls? None’re stupid enough ta try ‘n break in.” while the less harsh voice responded, “Aye, ‘n that’s why ye’re a drunkard, come lets go back to the kitchens ta get ye sobered up a tad.” Moraine smiled grimly as he agreed with the sentiment, indeed if anyone could succeed at this heist it would be due to his brilliance.
Taking advantage of the absence of the pair of guards he caught his hook and rope neatly on a bit of the crenellations and began to silently climb upward, his animal like perceptions tuning out the night as he pulled himself over the top of the wall and collected his means of entry, stowing the black cord and collapsible hook in a leg pouch. A quick glance about assured him there was none who might ruin his chances at the object he intended to pilfer and spurred him to drop down over the other side, landing neatly on his feet in an almost feline fashion behind a hedge wall in the topiary garden, which was filled with distorted hellish shadows, malformed by the mixture of torch and moonlight. Despite its utter normalcy in design, Moraine was reminded of wizards who stocked their topiary gardens with ensorcelled topiary monsters whom devoured interlopers, a thought that forced him to remember that there was a law against sorcery in Northgate, something that didn’t give him much solace at all, prompting him to hurry through the gardens while flitting from shadow to shadow before he finally reached the mansion proper and a side entrance that he remembered was to the kitchens.
He doused both torches near the door and opened it, listening intently for anyone that might be nearby, and finding nothing he slipped inside and closed the door, crouching low and letting his eyes adjust to the absolute blackness of the hallway just outside of the kitchens and picking out the sounds coming from the kitchen and galley. Pressing his ear against the door he took out a bit of charcoal and some parchment and writing ‘Two guards and a single cook, possibly the guards from earlier, which means they’re likely drunk.’