More of the thief for Croik’s Entangledverse! I’m beginning to think they deliberately resist having a name. I think they enjoy the mystique.
***
“How you feel about hunting for cursed treasures?” comes a burbling voice from behind Arthur as he heads in from the terrace.
He jumps and spins to find the thief, leaning their sevenish foot tall bulk up against the shadowed side of one of the beautifully enameled pillars propping up the second story of the terrace.
How the bastard got into one of the inner courtyards… Arthur squints through his surprise. Then the words catch up with him. “Cursed treasures?”
Read more: Malevoween Day 23: Carnivals & GamesThe thief shrugs the shoulder that isn’t up against the pillar. “Can’t do this one solo. Need a partner.”
They’re wearing less than they were last time the two of them met, Arthur notices. A kilt in overlapping panels of different bright colors clads their hips, held by a wide leather belt that glitters with what, knowing them, are probably real gold studs. A sheer cobalt blue shrug clings to their inhumanly bulky shoulders but covers nothing else of their solid torso or back. Sandals on their clawed, splayed feet with laces that wrap up around their calves, strung with beads of semi-precious stones, and otherwise they’re decked out with quite a lot of jewelry. Rings, armbands, circlets and chains around their head tentacles. Some of them are made of metals Arthur is fairly sure he’s never heard of before.
Arthur squints again when they step out into the light, because frankly they sparkle rather brightly in all that. An outfit to blend in around here, he supposes; they’re dressed as gaudy as any Carcosan.
He’s meant to be heading to a meeting right now, but what the hell. No one else around here is ever on time. He turns fully back from the door to cross the terrace to the thief. “And what do you plan to do with this cursed treasure when you find it, hm? Auction it to the highest bidder?”
The thief whistles – their way of laughing, Arthur has learned. “Not to the highest bidder, no. Always out to end a world or summon something, those ones.”
Arthur sighs and rubs his forehead. “And the curse? What is it, exactly?”
Another shrug and an airy wave of one hand. Their claws are wickedly long in the way of an arboreal creature’s, and painted in bright colors. “Enduring mystery. Probably channels dark divinities and drives mortals mad. Don’t they all?”
Arthur doesn’t even dignify that with a remark. In his experience, it’s not as if the thief is wrong. “And why do you need it?” The thief, Arthur has discovered, rarely steals things on their own lookout. Most often they’re hired, or sometimes—credit where it’s due—they’ve been known to ‘relocate’ items from the hands of someone dangerous into those of some more innocuous, if well-paying, art collector.
They claimed self-interest when Arthur accused them of nursing a hidden conscience. “I need the world to live in.” He has his eye on them.
Here and now, the thief whistle-laughs again—a multi-toned sound that reminds Arthur of a steam whistle—and rubs their fingers together in a motion that, from them, represents their greed for their favorite things. As far as Arthur can tell, those are curiosity and troublemaking. “Don’t you want to know what the curse is?”
***
“Why am I the one shackled to this thing?” Arthur hisses from where he’s strapped to the knife-throwing wheel. “This was your hare-brained quest!”
In answer, the thief twists and pitches a knife into the bullseye of a dartboard 50 feet away. They flash a mouth full of sharp teeth. “How good is your throw?”
“I hate you.”
“Lovely assistant is prepared for the show!” they carol to the ringmaster. They’re laughing at him, Arthur can tell.
Arthur curses under his breath as the fucking wheel is set to turning. Next time he’s going to ask about undercover assignments before he agrees to anything.