By H. Jonas Rhynedahll
Mar used to be a thief. now not a cutpurse – or, not less than, hardly – yet a real outlaw denizen of the rooftops. He stole from the wealthy, and occasionally from the no longer so wealthy, and, if fact have been to learn, even from the terrible if he used to be hungry adequate.
He had grown up at the streets of Khalar, the final urban of the fantastic Empire of the North, and thievery used to be easily the lifestyles that he were dealt.
He took massive delight within the undeniable fact that he was once a very good thief -- he nonetheless had his head.
But while an ill-advised robbery went horribly flawed and the complete urban rose as much as crucify him, he had no selection yet to escape into the nice Waste with an insane scrapper. There he spent his days, baking within the cruel solar as he dug for bits of steel in an historical sundered city.
And then he stumbled on a door.
And, being a thief, he unlocked it.