Kobolds, colloquially known as ‘Ropers’ are a species of Half-Beast reptile created by the Nazarinthine Empire over three thousand years ago. They were originally kept as slave labour for the mines which were cramped, hot and humid – conditions which kobolds are well suited for. After the collapse of the Empire due to the Opening of the Veil, many of the smarter Kobolds took this as an opportunity to found their own empire using the stolen technologies of the old. This lead to the rise of an Empire built on slavery, only this time, the Kobolds were in charge.

-A Short Treatise on the Species of Erasis

By Kamzin Jooi

I froze.

I waited breathlessly for a dozen heartbeats, but the noise didn’t come again. I swiped at the bead of sweat that was making its way down my face, and pulled at the sweaty bindings wrapped around my breasts to let some air in. I hated ropers. Cursed reptiles liked turning their mansions into veritable saunas. The only good thing about it was that most of the house was constructed entirely from stone, apart from the spelled wooden furniture, to avoid the inevitable decay of any wooden furnishings. This in turn, made my job of sneaking and thieving that much easier. Marble and soft shoes make for a very quiet thief, I thought, smiling slightly.

I turned back to the intricately carved wooden chest in front of me, feeling with the smallest two of my lock picks for that final, sweet click. A heartbeat later, I grinned triumphantly when the lock finally snapped opened. I twirled the picks around my fingers in quiet celebration, placing them gently into the cloth lying next to the box. I flipped open the lid and efficiently sorted through the jewellery within, flicking the jewels into my little loot bag as I went through it. Finding what I had been contracted to acquire, I hurriedly placed it into one of the hidden pockets in my coat, rolled up my lock picks into their soft fabric, dropped it in an inside coat pocket and headed towards the exit point, which I had planned and scouted earlier, a quick glance around the lavishly appointed dressing room to ensure everything was as it had been and left. It was amazing how long it sometimes took before the rich discovered something was missing, and every second before the alarm rang was an extra second to make good on my escape.

I swiftly made my way through the large manor, sticking to the shadows between the hanging mage lamps. the magical lamps burned a bright, burning white that threw stark shadows everywhere. Perfect, as far as I was concerned. I was halfway down a short corridor lined with weird, free standing squat pillars lining it when I heard a door opening down the corridor. I hurriedly hid in the shadows behind one of the pillars. As I pressed against it to try and get into the darkest shadow possible I realised that the pillars had some sort of vents hidden in the carvings of vines, soft tendrils of steam rising out from it. My coat helped me blend further into the shadows as a human servant stepped out and stumbled blearily down the corridor and disappeared down a staircase. I waited a few heartbeats longer before moving again, not seeing another soul on my way across the estate as I reached the room I was looking for and slipped inside, having already unlocked and oiled the door hinges on my way in. Softly, I shut the door behind me and, after a quick glance around to make doubly sure the room was as empty as before, I strode across to the window and silently forced it upwards. The window frame was made of wood, lacquered to look like stone and spelled to protect it against the ever prevalent damp. The spell however, had either worn away or not been applied properly and because of this, the moisture in the air had warped the wood slightly, and while allowing me easy entry, had made me rub some oil on to the wood to keep it from screeching and attracting any unwanted attention. I disliked using anything that could be traced to me in even a small way. In my type of work, all the risks had to be minimised as far as possible. Thankfully for me, one of the enchanted pockets on my coat decided to be helpful for once and produced some sort of odourless oil that worked as I wanted it to.

The coat is perhaps one of the most useful tools I have, as well as being one of my favourite. It's been passed on down the generations from parent to firstborn, the thing that has elevated us above the rest of the thieves. The coat of many pockets. It was a simple looking thing, changing along with the whims of the wearer, though not particularly easily; a battered leather trench coat, with lots of pockets sewn on to it. The enchantments on it, however, were anything but simple. I wasn’t exactly aware of how my family had originally came by it, but it was an enchantment of the scale that even the Grand Council of Mages probably wouldn’t be able to produce on their own, from the little I know about magic. The enchantment somehow allowed the user to store an infinite (well, as far as I know) amount in the many pockets available. The only downside being that only the objects of the size of the pockets could fit inside, the biggest pocket being the pocket that wrapped around the bottom of the coat, which could handle a decent amount, and, of course, the odd sentience of the coat was a little bit off-putting and made it difficult to work with when it was feeling a little moody.

A quick look around the beautifully manicured garden outside showed no guards in the vicinity and I took the opportunity to scale up the wall to the roof. Once there I made my way along the crenulations, relishing the cool, night air cooling the sweat on my body. I made my way to the corner of the building, keeping low as I went, where I had strung a fine, thin, but strong durthian spider-silk rope. I slid down, my fingerless gloves warming slightly from the friction and landed behind a row of hedges in full bloom. The flowers were around the size of my head and produced both a strong scent and an odd crooning sound, which managed to hide me from sight, sound and smell, or more accurately, the dromithian bred hounds which prowled the grounds with their masters. Dromithians originate from a tribe from one of the great Western deserts, who specialise in breeding dogs. Originally they were part of the mighty ‘Dog Headed Empire’ but after the war the empire was split up, breaking into roving tribes and the dromithians now supply the world with specially bred hounds and guards. A few careful tugs later, and the loosened hook dropped down. I gently caught the metal hook before it hit anything and dropped it into one of my outer pockets.

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I crouched behind the hedge, waiting for the guards to come around again. I took the opportunity to tuck my heavy braid back into my cap and rubbed some of the soil into my face and nape, hopefully covering up any patches in the boot grease that the sweat may have rubbed off. I had counted off two minutes between which there were no guards patrolling this section of the gardens, and as the dromithian turned out of sight with his hound I hurried across the open stretch, crouching low unconsciously even though I was just as exposed if I hadn’t. I quickly made my way through an artfully placed stand of trees on the other side, across a beautiful but way too exposed bridge and into another patch of carefully positioned trees. Having memorised the guard’s routes I was extremely surprised to nearly run into the back of one. I froze, my heart racing, beating so hard that I was sure he had heard, but he carried on walking. He whistled softly and a bark answered him from ahead. I quickly ran up the slightly leaning tree next to me, my gorgeous, enchanted boots gripping effortlessly and huddled on a branch on top. A grin broke out across my face as the thrill of near capture gave me another shot of adrenalin, sending my heart racing and enhancing my awareness of the area.

As the dog came back to the master, I tried to be even quieter, hoping that my sweat didn't overpower the scent of the flowers. A memory arose of my mother telling me that women didn't sweat, they glistened. I pushed the memory away as the emotions towards my mother threatened to overcome my focus on the mission, even after all this time. I watched as the guard and his hound strode and frolicked off respectively thanking Luck that it hadn't been a dromothian. It seemed that even with his wealth, the Roper couldn’t afford to hire exclusively dromothian guards, and had, luckily for me, supplemented them with normal guards instead.

A quarter of an hourglass later and I climbed down the tree, listening carefully for any other unplanned guards. I carried on towards the wall with a little more care, seeing two more guards who were taking random walks across the grounds, and I realised that the guard captain must have been a lot cannier than I had realised, or maybe...maybe this was a trap. I almost froze at the thought, barely managing to avoid getting the thoughts to affect me.

I decided it may be best to stick to the trees in case a dog picked up my scent on the trail and hurried up the next nicely positioned tree I saw, my beautiful boots again, gripping brilliantly. I snuck along a branch and hopped to the next one, which was a mere foot away. I had nearly got to the wall in this manner when I heard a soft snuffling sound. Looking in the direction the noise was coming from I saw a canine shaped shadow appear, followed closely by it's master. Curses it was a dromithian! I froze and slowly put my hand in the interface pocket as grandpa called it. This pocket was a little bit alive, and responded to commands, but only when it felt like it. As far as I know, it had pretty much everything inside it that one of my ancestors had filched and then either forgot to get it out or just left in there, and then my great great uncle Fidd stole something of the Altar to the Chaos god in the Bern chapel, which now means that some extremely weird random things also appear, which can be interesting at times, but not so much in a life or death type situation that I seem to put myself into with alarming regularity.

As I tried to send commands to the pocket to get me something that could cover my scent, the guard looked up, straight at me. Curses, I hate dromithians, this sent me springing along the next few branches as the guard started shouting and the hound started howling in the excitement of the hunt. And my heart, the odd thing that it is, was thrilled at the excitement of the chase. I leapt across the gap from the branch to the wall which was thankfully very close by. From the wall I leapt onto one of the floating mage lights that illuminated the streets of the wealthy, my left boot slightly slipping on the oddly firm but squishy orb. My weight caused it to dip enough so that I could jump onto the paved road, rolling to my feet.

And then I ran. The thrill of the chase burning in my veins as the shouting of the guards and the barking of the dogs rose up behind me in the cool night air. I turned down an alley going away from the wealthy part of the city which was laid out in a nice grid pattern, and made my way towards the docks. I reached into the interface pocket again and my hand met a smooth wooden object. I tried to examine whatever it was at the same time as running, catching more detail as I went past the gas lamps used in the poorer section of the city. It appeared to be some sort of wooden container, and as the dogs got ever closer, I ripped the lid off whilst holding it in a way that anything inside wouldn't get onto me on the off chance it was something that could harm me. Some sort of brown flakes flew behind me and Luck was with me tonight as the dogs suddenly stopped and let out a pitiful whining and sneezing as the flakes got caught in their highly sensitive noses. I grinned in triumph, the euphoria of winning overwhelming the pain of my legs burning as I sped up.

I love winning.