The rain in Duskwall isn't water. It's the city weeping rust and forgotten prayers. It slicks the cobblestones with iridescent oil, and it smells like burnt wiring and regret. You're crouched on a gargoyle's shoulder, ten stories above the street, because the job went wrong. Of course it did. In Duskwall, they always do.

The electro-lanterns below paint the fog in sickly oranges and blues. You can still hear the alarm klaxon from the Grand Repository wailing two districts over. In your gloved hand, the prize: a smooth, black data-sliver, still warm. It hums a minor key against your palm. You were hired to steal it by a woman with mirrored eyes. She didn't say what was on it. You didn't ask. Professional courtesy.

That courtesy just expired.

A shadow detaches from the neighboring spire. Not a man—the silhouette is wrong, too many joints, its outline fuzzed by static. It lands on your gargoyle without a sound, the stone under its feet cracking with sudden frost. Its face is a smooth, blank oval of polished obsidian, reflecting your own startled expression back at you.

A voice, like glass grinding on glass, emanates from it. "The Cipher. You will relinquish it. The Silent Concordat does not tolerate thievery." It extends a hand, fingers too long, tipped with needle-like points.

You have exactly three heartbeats to decide.

1. Fight. This thing is between you and your escape. !roll 1d20+[Your Combat Bonus]
2. Flee. Jump across the chasm to the rickety fire-escape on the tenement opposite. !roll 1d20+[Your Dexterity/Acrobatics]
3. Talk. Maybe the Concordat can be reasoned with, or bribed, or distracted. !roll 1d20+[Your Charisma/Persuasion]

But remember the first rule of Duskwall: Everything has a price. The second rule: The price is never what you think.

(OOC: Welcome to Duskwall, a city of grit, ghost-tech, and grand betrayals. Describe your character. Who are you in this rain-slicked hellscape? A cyber-augmented thief? A magic-touched guttermage? A washed-up detective with a phantom limb? Give me a name, a look, and what you're good at. Then, make your choice and roll the dice. I will not fudge them. The world will react. Consequences are permanent. Let's begin.)