Valley of Aram

The small figure didn't seem at all bothered by the crowd, despite being nearly trampled by it. In fact, the little being seemed to purposefully wedge himself into the thickest areas of foot traffic. Anyone watching closely may soon realize why.

Here and there, so many pockets that were conveniently at his eye level were being emptied by a few gold pieces at a time. Like an insect visiting flowers in a garden, the small pickpocket nabbed his share from anyone who failed to pay attention. The pickings were good today, the bazaar was busy and the crowd was too distracted to pay him mind.

One or two pieces taken at a time would hardly be noticed later anyway.

Now here was easy pickings!

A Duntra - for no self-respecting Majda would be caught dead in such a gathering - adorned in gray, neutral finery, but with an obscene amount of shining jewelry ringing his neck, belt and wrists.

Despite his apparent obliviousness to just how much of a mark he was, passerby appeared to tread a narrow path just out of his reach; whether from respect or from the utterly foreboding feeling some of the pieces exuded didn't seem to matter too much.

The wicked-looking trident dagger at his side didn't hurt, either.

Nevertheless, the elf continued to stride forth with a surefooted purpose and only a visibly tangential awareness of his surroundings - until he made a sudden grab at the interloper's wrist, without a break in his step. He remained staring straight ahead, gave no other indication the elf had spotted the little thief. Pupils and sclera a single swath of pale, faded blue within each socket made it difficult to tell if the being really saw Zeek at all.

Or if he was looking directly at the little goblin.

The pause, the flicker of recognition could have thus gone easily unnoticed, the "You..." that issued forth in a foreign tongue was a low hiss. Also easily missed in the hubbub.

Less easily missed was the moment the elf stopped and turned to look down at him. The grip tightened uncomfortably.

And as was the way of large crowds, the throng did a spectacular job of pretending not to notice, and continued on their way.

"We would not want to be making any rash decisions, would we?" The voice was soft and colored with a faint accent, but poison lurked, pooled in the corners.

The small being stiffened, eyes going wide. He gave his arm a few strong jerks, trying to free himself from the elf's grasp, but didn't cry out. A scene didn't have to be made, not yet, the crowd still hadn't quite noticed the goings on.

He growled in a voice that sounded too low to be his own. "Let go."

"Or what?"

His mild malice had an air of insincere performance about it, as if the role of the maligned mark was one in which he wasn't entirely immersed. The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was kept well in check, the voice continued with a flutey, singsong quality.

And yet, there was evident effort to remain as discreet as possible in such a situation. Reporting the crime was not at the forefront of the elf's mind.

"I caution you to look before you pluck, little one. Especially on this route. Any one of these men could be making an honest living moving dishonest goods. And any one of these pieces could dishonest you to death in an instant, if you are not careful."

"Yes, thank you, I am aware." The caught theif mumbled back with nervous sarcasm. He inwardly weighed options. To be sure, it would be easy enough to bite the hand that held him, but the dagger at the elf's side gave him pause.

"Unfortunately, I have to eat somehow."