Delvin quietly woke. The day had already begun, and the mushroom-lights on the roof of the immense cavern glowed a deep, dull purple. People were noisily crossing the bridge that he had chosen to sleep under the night before, and the commotion was sending dust and moisture onto him, but Delvin pretended not to notice, as he was feigning sleep. To all the world, it looked as if he were still asleep, but he hid it well. As the drow lay upon the rock ground, a group of small children, somewhat younger than Delvin, silently crept up to him. Motioning among themselves the group produced one small runt of a dark elf, who was crudely shoved forward. The runt began to walk towards the sleeping drow, much to the enjoyment of those who had volunteered him, and, as he reached out to snatch Delvin’s bag, sitting some way away from his still form, a flurry of action sent him scurrying backwards. Delvin had, in one motion, managed to stand up, draw a small dirk from a battered sheath hidden in his cloak, and make a face he hoped was somewhat menacing, but, despite his intimidating efforts, he was somehow facing the wrong direction. By the time he got himself turned around and properly ready to ward of his would-be muggers, they were already gone, having spirited away his travel-sack and valuables, but they had left his blanket, which was much too nasty and ragged for street urchins of their standards. Grumbling to himself, Delvin collected the remainder of his things from the night before, including his stolen blanket, stolen pot, and his family heirloom, which was a small metal bowl--no, wait, that was stolen too. To the common drow passerby, the sight was normal; a small, homeless, usually young drow, collecting their meager possessions from a day of cold, wet, restless sleep. This sight was normal because most of the lesser population consisted of such; ever since the war between drow and human had started, all those years ago, dragging the entire realm into it, it had been as such. Fathers and mothers would join to fight the drow’s common enemy, and they would die in valiant battle, heedless of the children they had left behind to fend to themselves. Delvin was simply another sad consequence of dark elf heroics, and he knew as much, from the sad looks and free food he would get from the occasional, kind dark elf. I mean, he wasn’t complaining; free food was free food. As Delvin readied himself for another eventful day of stealing, eating, finding somewhere to sleep, stealing, and more eating, he found himself looking at his home in a new perspective. The ceiling, impossibly high above him, was shining with the glow of the purple luminescent mushrooms, and was dotted with the occasional stalactite. The ground level of the cave was covered in the sprawling city of the drow, filled with playing children of the lesser sort, and children much too old to play of the higher sort. It was filthy, the economy and social rankings were completely destroyed and unfair, and once inside the city one always had to watch one’s back, for the danger of being stabbed between the should blades was extremely great, more so than ever, as the need for food and money grew and grew in the too-small city. Delvin, having collected his things, made his way to his frequent spot in the bustling market. Despite the crashing economy, the market was stuffed full of dark elves haggling over prices of albino meat collected from the creatures of the underground, and quite a few pieces of magical armor and weapons. Delvin set his pack down beside the door of a tavern called “The Hunted Boar” and examined a large crowd around one specific stall nearby. The stall was huge, covered in a fabric that seemed exotic and rare. Delvin pushed his remaining possessions into the alley, hiding it behind an abandoned stall. Then he sprinted over to a nearby roof overlooking the commotion and climbed up, watching with a confused expression. The stall was over 8 feet tall, a pair of tired oxen resting nearby, having lugged the huge stall to the market. It was covered in bright fabric and vibrant colors, and seemed as if it drew the eye naturally. In front of the stall, a tall, lanky man stood and shouted out his wares, which he claimed were from lands ‘far away’ and that were worth fortunes, each. Delvin noticed a small pile of silver coins near the stall, and his eyes seemed to glitter, his fingers twitching. He jumped down from the roof, and made his way quietly over through the crowd, slipping behind the stall. As the stall owner directed the crowd’s attention towards a new product, Delvin grabbed a few handfuls of the coins and quietly scrambled backwards. Suddenly, someone in the crowd spotted Delvin running away with the coins, and he shouted out. The stall owner turned and dropped his product, shouting out to the nearby guards standing in the crowd. “Thief! It’s a thief, catch him!” Delvin cursed and sprinted off, his hands still filled with the silver coins, a few falling between his fingers. He could hear the guards running behind him, breathing heavily, getting steadily closer, and he picked up his pace, looking around for somewhere to hide. Delvin began to feel a curious wetness on his palms, as he was gripping the silver tightly, but he ignored it and kept frantically running. Seeing an alleyway to the left, he ducks into it and presses himself against the wall. As he heard the guards rush past him, he turned his head to survey his hiding spot. He saw he was in the alleyway of a furniture store, and pieces of wooden furniture were stacked around at the dead end, and he saw a cupboard leaning up against a huge oak dresser, and decided to squirm into it, leaning against the hard wooden side, and closing the door slightly. Delvin grinned inside the cupboard, his hands still filled with the silver coins. Then he looked down at his hands from the light in the holes on top of the cupboard, and saw the coins, and cursed silently. His hands were covered in silver dye, and a close inspection showed that the coins were really just normal, copper coins, merely dyed silver to appear more expensive. As he looked up, an eye appear above him, over one of the holes in the wood, and a deep, gruff voice spoke. “A quick one, eh? I think we’ll call you Silver-Hands.” And then a huge pair of hands reached inside the cupboard and yanked him out.