Being out on the open road was thrilling for Sly, but his supplies were dwindling. When he had left the city, he had a pack laden with rations and water. After ten days on the road, he was fast running out. The unforgiving wastelands of the north were dangerous for anyone who did not have the proper supplies. Without them, the Morglith clan would not have to find him; the barren lands would be the death of Sly. He would have to find supplies as soon as possible.
South of where Sly was, right on the road he was shadowing, was a small fishing village. A merchant would have the supplies that Sly required. The only issue was that showing his face in a settlement may cause the Morglith clan to find him or determine the direction he was traveling. His hope, by using the portal, was that they would believe he may still be in the city. There was one flaw with this thought, though. If the noble had been angered enough, he may have employed divination magic in search of the rogue.
There was no avoiding magic, but Sly could limit the mundane ways of tracking him. He would have to steal into the village at night, absconding with the needed supplies. That would also save him the gems and coins he may need later. Who knew what dangers he may need to bribe his way out? Fortunately for the rogue, the moon was just new. The grey glow of its light barely illuminated the sky, perfect for those undertaking the larcenous arts. As Sly began to slink into the village outskirts, he mentally dampened his overconfidence. That was what got him into trouble in the first place.
Small villages such as this were often asleep with the setting sun. To reach the village, Sly came off the road; he could not know who may be making their way to the village as night was falling. Sly had crept through the trees of an orange orchard, making sure to remain on the outskirts. He had heard the baying of hounds and knew that they were keeping a watchful eye and nose for unwelcome lurkers. Sly could remain off the road while still being hidden from the canines.
The center of the village was a small square enclosed by four buildings. To the north was a small guard station, though Sly could not identify the emblem to which of the varishu clan it belonged. Across from it was what appeared to be a tavern, the only building with lights still streaming from its wooden shuttered windows. Sly knew that a random tavern guest may be his undoing, so he must be quick. Next to the tavern was his goal, a merchant shop.
The two-floored structure stood with a small yard behind it. In the yard was a tiny hut, possibly used for overflowing wares. That would be a good place for the rogue to start his misdeeds. He suspected that the shop's second floor was home to the merchant. While the hut may not contain everything Sly needed, he would be safer than breaking into the shop. The less chance he had of being spotted, the better. Of course, he would steal into the shop if he did not find what he needed.
Silence hung in the area, and that suited Sly perfectly. He would be able to hear if anyone emerged from the tavern. Moving to the shed door, he found an iron lock sealing the door. From a pouch on his belt, the rogue withdrew the tools of his trade. The small picks did not seem like much, but with Sly's deft fingers, they could overcome any lock.
The doors swung open to reveal the tiny storeroom. Two opposing walls had three long shelves from floor to ceiling. Each one had crates and barrels containing various supplies. Sly looked through them, stuffing the things he needed into the sack on his back. A quick prayer to the Spirit of luck and fortune came to his lips as he found all he needed.
"Why are you stealing my father's things?" a soft voice uttered from the shed entrance. A young varishu child, about 8 or 9 years old, looked suspiciously at Sly. For a moment, the rogue was impressed that the child had moved so stealthily. That feeling was quickly circumvented by the realization that he had been spotted.
Sly knew that leaving a witness behind would endanger him and the witness. If the Morglith discovered this young boy, they would torture him and his family to get information from him. Knowing what he must do, Sly began to draw his dragon-hilted dagger.
Fear sprang into the boys' eyes as he realized Sly's intentions. Before he could cry out, Sly wrapped him up in a vice lock. The rogue's hand covered the boy's mouth so no sound could issue forth. His dagger began to come up but stopped just short of the child's neck. Taking the life of a child was not something Sly could do easily. A solution came to his mind, but it would be a long shot.
Sly had learned a few spells from a local wizard in exchange for acquiring a rival's spell book. One of these spells was difficult, and he never truly mastered it. If he could do it properly, it could be exactly what Sly needed. Chanting the words, Sly tightened his grip on the struggling child. His will fell over the young boy's mind, and Sly knew he had been successful. He silently congratulated himself; enchantments were notoriously fickle on elves.
With the spell complete, he began to work its magic on the boy. The arcane energy allowed Sly to rework the memories of the child. Instead of seeing Sly looting the storehouse, he would remember a large cat tearing through the storeroom. It would "chase" him back to the shed's roof, where he would awaken. To perpetrate this ruse, Sly would tear into the sacks and crates. The merchant would find a chaotic mess and a sleeping son in the morning.
Sly slipped away into the night, hoping he had enough for the journey he was about to undertake. A part of him knew it would only get more dangerous as he proceeded south. Lone travelers were often at risk in the dangerous land of Daraan. As much as he did not want to, he would have to find a caravan to join up with. That would also be the best way for him to find the slavers who knew the way through the desert. It would be two weeks, give or take a few days, before he reached the fort of Karchrak.
