Vani - Female Thief

"Dammit!" You petulantly kick the door, stalking back around the small perimeter of your cell. You did not like playing someone else's game and you hated being confined. Repressing the urge to scream, you slump against the wall, no point in giving your captors the satisfaction. You'd been in prison before, albeit briefly, and you'd sworn it would never happen again. Terrible things could happen to a girl like you in places like this. How had it even come to this? You'd been caught, obviously, but try as you might you can't remember the details through the pounding in your head.

You'd come to the southern kingdoms as part of a very lucrative job your fence had set up. "Easy money" he said, "Just don't get caught. If you do I can't help you and the southerners have 'special' ways of dealing with criminals." Well, now you knew what he meant: they threw them in a hole as part of some kind of sick game. Maybe it was a colosseum? You eye the door warily. There were probably lions, bears, and who knew what else out there. Once more you peer longingly up the shaft but other than a few openings not unlike your own, only darkness and slimy stone peer back. Calling out is useless, only the echoes of your own voice respond. Warily you turn back to the iron door.

As the minutes pass your head starts to clear and your mental focus returns. Breathing slowly to calm yourself, you take stock of your resources: You are still wearing the black cloth catsuit, the leather boots, and even the face mask that made up your "work" outfit, now that you were up and moving they helped insulate you against the freezing cell. You halfheartedly pat yourself down, checking the half-dozen utilities you'd hidden on your person. Predictably, they'd left you nothing but the clothes on your back. You were thankful of that much but somewhat confused: you were practically pristine other than your headache. You don't even think you'd been groped.

Some would call you jaded but past experience had taught you that people, men and women alike, would take advantage of you when you let your guard down. Most of the time you kept yourself covered, half the people you dealt with on a regular basis were only mostly sure you were a woman. Under the cloth and bindings you were quite attractive, a lean body and soft features made you "cute" and "petite", both problems for a girl living on her own. You cut your dark blonde hair short enough to keep it out of the way, your eyes are a storm-cloud grey, and a smattering of freckles dot your cheeks. Years of running, often for your life, made you exceptionally fit for a woman of your standing and you counted yourself lucky your figure hadn't filled out like most of the girls you grew up with. You were roughly an a-cup and you wanted to stay that way. You were nothing if not pragmatic.

The torch has been burning for quite some time now and it's flickering is making you nervous, "Nothing for it I guess. I'll play your game... for now." Bracing your shoulder on the iron door, you heave it open and peer into the hallway beyond. Your cautious nature almost spells your doom as the door abruptly kicks back, nearly crushing you as it slams shut. Steadying yourself on the wall, you raise the torch apprehensively.

Simple worn cobblestones stretch in both directions, the path to your left making a turn out of sight while the path on your right continues on into darkness. Listening intently, you can make out a faint trickling of water somewhere beyond the turn to your left. A distant CLANG makes you spin towards the darkness on your right and you almost bolt out of reflex. In your career, loud noises were usually bad news but you can't help but compare the sound to your own door closing. You listen for more but can make out nothing more from the right.