Clayr decides to sneak his way out, SILENTLY

Boldness was not his forte, a life as a rogue had taught him that to survive one cannot make themselves obvious. Clayr waits, a nervous tremor running through his spine. Each step, each clank of the guard's armor, echoes painfully in his head as Clayr remains in darkness. Not willing to raise his head even the slightest, he cannot see his pursuer nor they him.

The heavy leather boots are next to him. He senses a small hesitation in the cadence, regret rushing through his mind. Then as suddenly as he imagined it, the footfalls continue on toward the back. Almost too excited to believe it, Clayr slowly lifts the edge of his hood, peeking out. The watchman has their back to him, peering into the final fifteen feet into mound of garbage.

The familiar voice of a women calls out from under the guard's garb, "If yer in there, come out nows an I'll be gentle. Maybe only lose a hand or duece before comin' to the gallows." The woman draws out her weapon, a shortsword. "Come on now, don't make me slay ya on the spot."

Using her voice to cover his tracks, Clayr doesn't wait to start his escape. Crouches low, he shuffles silently along the wall, away from the woman. He was good with a knife, but no watch for a trained warrior.

Before he can reach the exit, another set of footsteps echoes just around the corner. Rearing up stock still, deer in the headlights, Clayr comes to a halt. This was probably it, he decided. As if to confirm, the colors of the night watch round the alley. A thickly built man with a mace and buckler stands in front of his escape. The thief had a choice to make.

Earlier, the young man had stolen some valuable artifacts from a supposed mage. The house had been relatively easy to infiltrate but when he had snatched his last prize, a loud ringing sounded from the rafters. He hadn't believed in sorcery of any type but Clayr couldn't fathom any other way he was found out. So in his possession, the thief had a short stick-like object with strange words burned into it, a small vial of pink fluid, and various valuables along with his tools of the trade.

If magic did exist and he had robbed a wizard, then he could take a gamble. Maybe one of the objects could get him out of this mess. With only a moment to spare, Clayr grabs the first thing in his pocket...