The frantic call had no trouble piercing the din of the marketplace. Everyone within earshot swiveled around to locate the source of the disturbance. And with a forced calm that was throttling the part of her that wanted to run, so did Tenfingers.
She could see the guilty party, a grimy street urchin, flying over the cobblestones, zigzagging to evade capture by both guards and the concerned citizenry. He made it quite a ways before a red faced glassblower extended her arm and clotheslined him. Then the urchin was hoisted above the crowd and began to travel in the direction of the nearest guardhouse. People in the Gate Quarter took the uninterrupted flow of commerce seriously.
Tenfingers breathed a gigantic sigh of relief, but knew that it wouldn't be long before the cry of thief would go up again when a few in the crowd discovered their purses were lighter and their counters unexpectedly more bare. The best idea was to leave now before it came to a chase. She sighed again as she admitted to herself that her body was becoming increasingly ill suited for quick escapes. And apparently, slow ones too. Her bulging profile made wedging her way through the tightly packed masses awkward and painfully slow.
So in between muttering apologies to scandalized ladies, and casting withering gazes at those men that seemed a little too pleased to be brushing up against her, she had plenty of time to think. Mainly she was worried that her thieving days were numbered. It didn't seem that she could steal enough to live comfortably for the rest of her days without being immobilized by her swelling rack.
To make matters worse, Jalah was wrong about the curse's effects corresponding to the value of the item. To test this, she stole things like coin purses that had a quantifiable value. Taking twenty five gold and seven silver from a spice merchant barely budged her bust, while thirteen silver and four copper from a woodcarver produced the largest surge she had experienced so far.
Talking to her about it would mean Jalah would find out about her broken promise to not steal, but the answers would be worth any potential disappointment. That, and she wanted to run her plan by someone she could trust. Tenfingers was squeezing past a rather handsome fishmonger when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a foreign man following her. It was the same copper skinned one from yesterday, and this time, he was flanked by bodyguards.
heh looks great, I see how the curse works, the curse works by the amount of value the thing she steals to the owner of the item, IE if she stole an item that the person felt was extremly valuable to them(like an amulet that belonged to a dead relative) it would be seen as alot more valuable and make her grow more than say stealing a pair of diamond encrusted candle sticks from an exeedingly wealthy person
I just realized: Why don't people in these settings ever notice thieves? They're the only ones that EVER wear cloaks. And the thieves ALWAYS wear them.
The frantic call had no trouble piercing the din of the marketplace. Everyone within earshot swiveled around to locate the source of the disturbance. And with a forced calm that was throttling the part of her that wanted to run, so did Tenfingers.
She could see the guilty party, a grimy street urchin, flying over the cobblestones, zigzagging to evade capture by both guards and the concerned citizenry. He made it quite a ways before a red faced glassblower extended her arm and clotheslined him. Then the urchin was hoisted above the crowd and began to travel in the direction of the nearest guardhouse. People in the Gate Quarter took the uninterrupted flow of commerce seriously.
Tenfingers breathed a gigantic sigh of relief, but knew that it wouldn't be long before the cry of thief would go up again when a few in the crowd discovered their purses were lighter and their counters unexpectedly more bare. The best idea was to leave now before it came to a chase. She sighed again as she admitted to herself that her body was becoming increasingly ill suited for quick escapes. And apparently, slow ones too. Her bulging profile made wedging her way through the tightly packed masses awkward and painfully slow.
So in between muttering apologies to scandalized ladies, and casting withering gazes at those men that seemed a little too pleased to be brushing up against her, she had plenty of time to think. Mainly she was worried that her thieving days were numbered. It didn't seem that she could steal enough to live comfortably for the rest of her days without being immobilized by her swelling rack.
To make matters worse, Jalah was wrong about the curse's effects corresponding to the value of the item. To test this, she stole things like coin purses that had a quantifiable value. Taking twenty five gold and seven silver from a spice merchant barely budged her bust, while thirteen silver and four copper from a woodcarver produced the largest surge she had experienced so far.
Talking to her about it would mean Jalah would find out about her broken promise to not steal, but the answers would be worth any potential disappointment. That, and she wanted to run her plan by someone she could trust. Tenfingers was squeezing past a rather handsome fishmonger when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a foreign man following her. It was the same copper skinned one from yesterday, and this time, he was flanked by bodyguards.