In the mystical realm of Rivenholm, where dark enchantments and treacherous intrigue rule, a young half-blood thief known as Mirk lives a life of cunning and survival on the shadowy streets. His nimble fingers have never failed him, and he's stolen...
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Mirk was supposed to be dead, the fact that the twins had left him alive was perhaps one of the biggest mistakes someone could ever do in their line of work. The next time he would see them, he would murder them in cold blood.
However, he needed to push those murderous thoughts aside since numerous angry dwarves were hammering away in his head. The headache was blinding, the swirling colors of an oncoming migraine mocking him from behind his closed eyelids.
Amid the pounding in his skull, he sensed the vibrations of carriages and horses, and slowly the numbness in his limbs made itself known. Someone was crouching over him, and despite the coldness and pain that coursed through him, his nails shifted into sharp claws in seconds and he forced his eyes open, raising his hand to defend himself. Strong, warm fingers caught his wrist, a pair of dark eyes peering down at him.
He relaxed upon recognizing the mind reader from The Hare's Hair.
"Fucks sake, don't scare me like that. I'm already stripped of everything valuable, don't have anything to give you." he mumbled, laying back down against the filthy ground in the hopes of alleviating his pounding headache.
No such luck.
A loud slap against his face made him snap his eyes open. He hadn't realized he'd closed them in the first place.
"Oy!" he flinched, raising his shaking hand to rub the bruising cheek. He was shaking all over, that's how cold he was.
The mind reader stood up, holding out his calloused hand, his face was void of any emotions so Mirk couldn't read him well.
"I take it if I keep on laying in your cosy back alley you're gonna slap me again like an angry barmaid?" he said bitterly, staring up into the man's dark eyes. He scowled, but like always, said nothing.
When the man made no move to leave, Mirk sighed and grabbed the scarred hand, allowing himself to be pulled off the ground. His knee was hurting painfully, but it was nothing compared to the blinding pain in his head. His clothes were soaked through, and it took a moment for him to realize the mind reader was looking at him expectantly.
"What? I said I'm robbed of everything." the man rolled his eyes and gave him a heavy push towards the lively streets.
"Ohhh, well, sorry for occupying your precious hideout." he muttered, limping away from the dark alley, he was close behind, as if making sure he would actually get out. For a moment, Mirk wondered if the man might take pity on him and give him the thick, woolen cloak, but the harsh look he gave Mirk made him raise his hands in surrender.
"Ah, sorry, just looks extra warm. And if you haven't noticed, I've been soaking wet since last night." he crumbled, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of wet clothes against his skin. Even his precious leather boots were soaked!
Once Mirk made it out of the hidden alley, the mind reader disappeared. The people gave him wide berth, scrunching their noses at the filthy man as he slowly limped up the streets towards his closest hideout. It was way passed midday and his stomach was making dangerously loud noises. The heavy abundance of people annoyed him greatly this time, usually, he would make great use of his nimble fingers and snatch a coin pouch or two, but he was too disappointed in himself to focus on coins.
