The Damsel and the Gentleman Thief

The fire crackled in the center of the camp at Stormarrow, casting long shadows across the gathered crowd of workmen, soldiers, and knights. The day's labors were done, and the camp settled into the easy camaraderie of shared stories and laughter. Marshal Braga sat at the edge of the firelight, her breastplate exchanged for a simple tunic, though she still radiated the same imposing authority. She nursed a tankard of ale, her sharp eyes softened by the flickering light and the evening’s calm.
“Marshal,” one of the younger soldiers said, leaning forward eagerly, “is it true you once rode with thieves and vagabonds in your adventuring days?”
A ripple of interest passed through the group, and all eyes turned to Braga. She smiled faintly, taking a deliberate sip of her drink.
“Thieves, no. Vagabonds…” She glanced across the fire at a tall, slim figure leaning casually against a supply cart. Fancy Korac, as impeccably dressed as ever despite the rugged surroundings, returned her gaze with a roguish grin.
“Only one,” she said. “And he’s still here, somehow.”
The soldiers laughed as Korac offered an exaggerated bow, flourishing his cloak. “A gentleman burglar, if you please.”
Braga shook her head, setting her tankard down. “Fine. Let me tell you about the last time we worked together. Maybe it’ll serve as a lesson—or a warning.”
The crowd leaned in, intrigued, as Braga began her tale.
“It was years ago, back when I still wandered the world as a dame-errant. We were in Westcreek, tracking a merchant accused of selling cursed relics. I was there to bring him to justice. Korac…” She gestured toward him. “He was there for his own reasons.”
“Purely altruistic,” Korac interrupted smoothly, earning groans from the crowd.
Braga smirked. “Sure. The plan was simple: I’d confront the merchant and his guards in the marketplace, while Korac slipped into the storehouse to find proof of his crimes. But nothing ever stays simple when he’s involved.”
“That’s unfair,” Korac protested with mock indignation. “I followed the plan perfectly.”
“You triggered an alchemical ward,” Braga said dryly. “The entire marketplace saw the burst of green smoke—and you running out of the storehouse with the merchant’s ledger under one arm and his purse under the other.”
“I call that improvisation,” Korac said, grinning. “Besides, who knew the man was paranoid enough to use a Shriekspell on his door?”
The crowd chuckled, and Braga continued. “The spell summoned a screeching imp that followed him through the market, yelling ‘Thief! Thief!’ loud enough to wake the dead. Meanwhile, I was left to deal with the merchant and his thugs *and* the town guard, who thought I was his accomplice.”
“What did you do, Marshal?” one of the knights asked, his eyes wide.
Braga leaned back, her expression unreadable. “What I always do. I stood my ground, shield up, fighting my way clear while *someone* hid in a flour mill.”
“Strategizing,” Korac corrected, to more laughter. “And it worked! I deciphered the ledger, found the names of the buyers, and we handed it over to the authorities.”
“After I bribed the guards to keep them from throwing you in the stocks,” Braga said, raising an eyebrow. “And let’s not forget the thirty gold you pocketed from the merchant’s purse.”
“Adventurer’s fee,” Korac said with a shrug. “I’m a businessman at heart.”
Braga shook her head, though her tone was more amused than annoyed. “The merchant was arrested, the relics confiscated, and the people of Westcreek were safe. But I’ll tell you this: if Korac hadn’t run faster than the wind that day, we’d both be rotting in a cell.”
The soldiers and workmen burst into laughter, some clapping Korac on the back as he sauntered closer to the fire. Braga raised her tankard, her smile fading into a thoughtful expression.
“You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges,” she said, her voice carrying just enough steel to make Korac pause. “If you pull a stunt like that here, Stormarrow’s cells won’t be nearly as forgiving.”
Korac bowed low, a hand over his heart. “Marshal, you wound me. My roguish days are behind me—at least while I’m in your service.”
Braga scoffed, but a flicker of a smile remained on her lips. The fire crackled on, the laughter and banter of the camp carrying into the night. As the others moved on to new stories, Braga caught Korac’s eye one last time. For all his vanity and mischief, she couldn’t quite deny it: he had his uses. But she’d never let him know that.