By Tim Turner
Thieves and Dark Elves
It was a night like any other night in Cutthroat the city of thieves, screaming in the alleys, the stench of death every where. But something seemed odd in one little house.
The most famed thief in all of Cutthroat was pacing a hole into his kitchen floor when a knock at the door made him jump so high he hit his head on the ceiling. When he recovered he drew his rapier faster than even the best drow fighters could see. He silently crept toward the door and spoke a command to his sword and within an instant it was bathed in a coat of flames. He carefully opened the door a crack then swung it all the way open then stood on guard for a fight that never came. Instead he saw a basket lying on the ground; he poked it with his rapier only to hear a faint wining come from the basket. He lifted the cover of the basket to find an ashy skinned elven child no more than a week old. He brought the child into his home not knowing what he was getting himself into.
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