An ill wind tore its way through the Joslen Market, leaving a trail of minor chaos in its wake. Leaping from one victim to the next, Jack Steamheel pilfered coin purses and severed pack straps with lithe, tapered fingers. A devilish grin split his porcelain mask.
Jack leaned back and spat a magnificent blue flame high into the air and left the crowd gawking at what it hadn't quite seen. Citizens clogged Magister's streets this evening, just how Jack preferred it. Needling through the throng, he stole whatever trinkets tempted his black eyes.
Jack clung to pant legs, dove beneath coats, and swept past pedestrians, a blur of frantic motion. Depending on how he twisted his ragged body, those who managed to catch a fleeting glimpse might mistake him for a costumed child or an impossibly thin harlequin, but the twin horns sprouting from his skull betrayed his true nature. Those unfortunate enough to brush against his oily skin would recall something wet and deathly cold. Once in a while, so