Vanilla- The Expert Thief

The shadows seemed to dance around her as she made her way through the dense forest. The only sound was the rustling of leaves underfoot and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. She walked on, her heart pounding in her chest.

There were no others; Vanilla Lightfoot worked alone.

The map Sulivar had sold her better have been worth it; otherwise she’d be back to picking pockets in the markets of Agrazza and Novilla.

Pushing through a particularly thick patch of undergrowth, she finally emerged into a small clearing. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting an ethereal glow on the scene before her.

In the centre of the clearing stood an ancient stone archway, covered in intricate runes that seemed to pulse with a faint blue light. None of it meant anything to her; it all seemed like gibberish.

She approached the archway cautiously, her hand brushing against the rough surface of the stones. As she studied the runes and glyphs, a sense of unease crept over her. Sulivar had been adamant that this was the entrance to the fabled Undercity, but something about the place felt wrong.

Little was known about the place; rumours were that it held the greatest treasures of Octoton. Other rumours said it was guarded by magic, or some sort of monstrous guardians. Sulivar seemed to think otherwise. Did she trust him? Well, he hadn’t got her killed so far.

This wasn’t going to be much of a heist; she couldn’t carry much alone after all. She’d fill her pockets and her bag, but this was more of a reconnaissance job; she’d keep what she found, and Sulivar would move in for the rest.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Vanilla stepped through the archway and into the darkness beyond. The air was thick and musty, and she could hear the distant sound of dripping water echoing through the tunnel ahead.

With a determined set to her jaw, Vanilla lit a torch and began to make her way deeper into the ruins.

Her pace quickened, the urgency of her mission weighing heavy on her mind. The path ahead twisted and turned through the ancient trees, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers in the moonlight. She clutched the map tightly in her hand, its parchment worn and faded from age. It smelled particularly foul, like pipesmoke and rotten food.

As she approached a clearing, a faint glimmer caught her eye. She crouched low, carefully inching closer to get a better look. There, nestled among the roots of a massive oak tree, was the entrance to the hidden tomb she had been searching for.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Vanilla Lightfoot crept forward, her nimble fingers tracing the intricate carvings on the stone doorway.

She headed inside, finding nothing.

Nothing except a hole in the ground in the centre of the room.