Day 65, Winter 510 AV
arcing roof. The sliding double door entrance was shut with a thick
chain coiling loosely around each iron handle, secured by the general
type of lock that most citizens used to protect their property. Thin
streaks of light slipped thru rotted cracks, allowing some sunlight to
spill into the dark enclosure. The rogue's eyes were closed as he sat
in a wooden chair in the center of the large shed, his breathing was
slow and calm with a deep concentration.
piece. Strong slender arms were lowered behind him, encircling around
the strait back piece, pale wrists touching together and bound with a
thin brown rope. Booted feet were held close to the uneven legs of the
chair, tied in a similar manner with the same type of rope. He was
stripped of all possessions except for his pocket lined pants, which
had been gone through and emptied, and his buckled boots. Every had
been shoved into his pack and thrown in the corner of the cold
chamber. Alone... trapped... intoxicated...
small swell of his chest pressed down close to his knees, his corded
appendages sweeping down until his knuckles grazed the dirt floor. His
body tensed as he leaned forward, causing the back legs of the chair to
lift slightly off the ground. His arms painfully stretched pass full
extension, barely managing to slip his tied wrists beneath the legs. He
then sat back with applied force, rocking the unstable seat backward.
The flexible rogue fell back and the chair slammed down upon the dirt.
The maneuver caused a bit of pain, but it had allowed his tied hands to
slip out from beneath the last pair of legs.
eager fingers could curl around the back of his heel. A diminutive
indention was pushed inward and a tiny blade sprung forth from the sole
of his black boot. He slid the blade between the thin gap between his
wrists and easily sliced the tight material that had captured his hands.
The severed rope fell gently to the floor and his unclothed torso
performed a fluid crunch off the back of the fallen chair. The tenacious
muscles of his abdomen clenched with the movement and he held himself in
the difficult position long enough for his hands to release the bind upon
his boots.
projected in his hazy mind continued to count upward, keeping track of
how long it was taking him to escape. The fallen chair was kicked to the
side as he ran to the corner of the shadow filled shed, sliding upon his
knees when nearing his pack. Searching fingers rummaged through the
disorganized contents, quickly finding his teethed gauntlets which found
their home upon his slender forearms. He then produced a set of average
picks and took hold of his opened pack, giving it a firm toss so that it
landed next to the locked entrance.
tiny metallic pieces working with haste within the small hole of the lock.
After an unsuccessful moment the thief mouthed a silent curse and tried
to calm his actions, moving his fingertips more delicately then before. A
quiet 'click' sounded, the little tools finally completing their job as
the lock released it's hold upon the chain. His tools were then shoved back
into his pack and the length of the linked chain was quickly unraveled.
Anxious fingers gripped the inner edges of the double set door and he
slid either side forcefully apart, letting the sunlight pour into
the dark shed.
Syndre sat alone in the empty boat shed. It had been abandoned
long ago, it's neglected structure was completely enclosed with a low arcing roof. The sliding double door entrance was shut with a thick
chain coiling loosely around each iron handle, secured by the general
type of lock that most citizens used to protect their property. Thin
streaks of light slipped thru rotted cracks, allowing some sunlight to
spill into the dark enclosure. The rogue's eyes were closed as he sat
in a wooden chair in the center of the large shed, his breathing was
slow and calm with a deep concentration.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the naked extent of his upper
torso pressing against the hard wood of the chair's cushioned backpiece. Strong slender arms were lowered behind him, encircling around
the strait back piece, pale wrists touching together and bound with a
thin brown rope. Booted feet were held close to the uneven legs of the
chair, tied in a similar manner with the same type of rope. He was
stripped of all possessions except for his pocket lined pants, which
had been gone through and emptied, and his buckled boots. Every had
been shoved into his pack and thrown in the corner of the cold
chamber. Alone... trapped... intoxicated...
The thief began to count silently to himself and his bound figure
burst into motion. His bare torso quickly lowered down until the small swell of his chest pressed down close to his knees, his corded
appendages sweeping down until his knuckles grazed the dirt floor. His
body tensed as he leaned forward, causing the back legs of the chair to
lift slightly off the ground. His arms painfully stretched pass full
extension, barely managing to slip his tied wrists beneath the legs. He
then sat back with applied force, rocking the unstable seat backward.
The flexible rogue fell back and the chair slammed down upon the dirt.
The maneuver caused a bit of pain, but it had allowed his tied hands to
slip out from beneath the last pair of legs.
Lying on his back in a sitting position, the thief continued to swiftly
work. Freed arms immediately moved in unison to his right boot so that eager fingers could curl around the back of his heel. A diminutive
indention was pushed inward and a tiny blade sprung forth from the sole
of his black boot. He slid the blade between the thin gap between his
wrists and easily sliced the tight material that had captured his hands.
The severed rope fell gently to the floor and his unclothed torso
performed a fluid crunch off the back of the fallen chair. The tenacious
muscles of his abdomen clenched with the movement and he held himself in
the difficult position long enough for his hands to release the bind upon
his boots.
Falling backward once again but completely free, the rogue rolled with the
momentum and rose to his feet, lightly stumbling off balance. The numbersprojected in his hazy mind continued to count upward, keeping track of
how long it was taking him to escape. The fallen chair was kicked to the
side as he ran to the corner of the shadow filled shed, sliding upon his
knees when nearing his pack. Searching fingers rummaged through the
disorganized contents, quickly finding his teethed gauntlets which found
their home upon his slender forearms. He then produced a set of average
picks and took hold of his opened pack, giving it a firm toss so that it
landed next to the locked entrance.
Rushing to the double set doors, Syndre slid down once again to a single
knee. Both hands were now occupied with a pair of thieves' picks, the tiny metallic pieces working with haste within the small hole of the lock.
After an unsuccessful moment the thief mouthed a silent curse and tried
to calm his actions, moving his fingertips more delicately then before. A
quiet 'click' sounded, the little tools finally completing their job as
the lock released it's hold upon the chain. His tools were then shoved back
into his pack and the length of the linked chain was quickly unraveled.
Anxious fingers gripped the inner edges of the double set door and he
slid either side forcefully apart, letting the sunlight pour into
the dark shed.
