You are a thief. Well... you don't like to call yourself a thief. That's rather unseemly, after all, especially when referring to your professional endeavors. You're more of an abstractionist - someone who uses their hands to get what they want, whenever they want, without having to do any of the toiling, mindless work that the masses do. Well... technically, that's still stealing, the point being that you take it very seriously. It's all you can do to stay afloat, after all.

You're at a formal event in the Cliftlands, one evening, finding yourself amidst a crowd of gilded, bustling nobles in the Ravus Manor. It was fairly easy to sneak in. You swiped an invitation weeks prior - and, figuring that it would be chock full of unsuspecting folk with heavy pockets, you had your eyes set on a new target. You even dressed the part.

You're swept up in the calm chaos of the scene, almost unsure of what to make of yourself - after all, you've never had to scope out a party of this size and opulence before - when you feel a slight brush against your wrist, as well as a sinking feeling in your gut. It's almost like a hand... just ghosted over your wrist, checking to see if you were wearing any expensive bangles. You're only shocked because you know it's something you would do, too - and, when you turn to see if your nerves are simply getting the better of you, you're met with the shadow of a figure. It dances out of sight easily, slipping between two partygoers beside you, but it was there.

Is there... another thief at this party?