Smoke was the unanimously accepted sign of civilization. A thin, wispy trail of smoke could mean a campfire, while a swirling pillar of black smog was a strong sign of a forge. The town of Brogwyn sported an impressive five forges. Brogwyn, while still being a “small town,” was a hub for the buying and selling of raw metals. Mechaneer caravans made their way through the town on the daily, collecting any scraps or ores they needed for their projects. Brogwyn was an ideal place to buy and sell metals because of its proximity to the Dwarf Pits, where Dwarves grew and cut the gems that powered most machines. However, this resulted in a not-so-friendly rivalry between the two peoples. “Don’t ye touch my flaming gems, boy.” A dark-skinned dwarf atop a Brass Steed said in his rolling dwarfish brogue. He faced a shifty-looking man in a hooded leather jacket cut in the style of the Thief's Guild. The man brushed his long, wispy black hair out of his eyes and looked up at the dwarf. “Why would I—” “I know where ye get them coats from, boy. I know yer people, and I know their craft. Stay the flame away from me. I don’t want a fight, and yer sorry face don’t want a beating from ‘ol Dys here.” “Sir, I am literally trying to get across the street to the forge. If you would let me—” The man said calmly, then in a flash, whipped out a knife and slashed the cords tying a sack of gems to the Brass Steed. Snatching the bag before it hit the ground, the hooded man bolted into the crowds, the dwarf named Dys bellowing all Hel as he turned around his Brass Steed to give chase through the crowded market. Dys touched a green gem on the Steed’s withers and the brass horse emitted a bass groan before launching forward, prompting bystanders to dive out of the way while an unlucky few were hit by the enraged dwarf’s vehicle. “GET BACK HERE, GEM THIEF!” Dys bellowed, his voice strengthened by years working in the Pits. The hooded man ducked and dodged through the crowds, leaping over crates and barrels and knocking over delicate displays of fruit. Dys and his vehicle plowed through entire stalls, scattering the ore, gears, and trinkets all over the ground. The agonized cries of shopkeepers and a trail of shattered boards were all Dys left in his wake as he gave chase. The thief was tired, but almost free. On instinct, the man took a sharp right turn into a thin, grimy alleyway, with nothing but one or two beggars in it. From Dys’ perspective, the thief had simply vanished. He distractedly looked for his newfound arch-nemesis while letting his Steed careen forward at full speed. “Where is that little bast—” He muttered, but was cut off as his Steed was suddenly no longer beneath him. Hurtling through the air, Dys found himself to be flying off a sheer drop into Brogwyn’s water reservoir. It was a long drop. [i]So this is how I die. How disappointing.[/i] Dys thought as he looked back at the mossy stone wall that consumed his view. He squeezed his eyes shut, and curled into a ball, bracing for the impact and the touch of wet death swirling around him. The thief exhaled as he watch the dwarf splash into the water, his heavy Brass Steed crashing into the water soon after. He turned, hefting the bag of gems in his hand and listening to the satisfying clink. The thief slipped back into the alley and handed the bag of gems to one of the beggars. The gray-haired beggar stood, and cast off his grimy rags to reveal a cloak in the same style as the thief’s, but with more ornate trim. “Well [i]done[/i],” the gray haired thief said. “Well done indeed, my Disciple.” [spoiler]Hope you enjoyed the reveal of two new characters, Dys and Disciple![/spoiler]