Presenting: Jam Sharp-Ears!

Once a refugee gone street-thug, Jam has always had quite the adventurous spirit. A few winters back, some of the other children, mostly humans, were particularly cruel to Jam, constantly mocking her elven bloodline until she couldn't take it anymore and ran off into the woods for the night. Little did she know at the time, her retreat had saved her life. Around what most would call the late night, and others, the early morn, from her temporary treetop dwelling, Jam awoke to a smell that reminded her of the blacksmith and a sound resembling crushing a page of parchment. It didn't take long for this little lady to realize what was really going on. A fire. Not here, no. Back home. She skittered down the trunk of the large yew she slept in, and let her elven instincts guide her through the labyrinth of forests. When she finally reached her town, she couldn't believe what she saw. "It must be an illusion," She thought, "A foul, foul, prank!" but it was not. Her village was one large blaze at this point, and standing amidst the black, endless smoke, a group, not large by any means, they didn't need many. They were war-wizards. She would never forget their alliance, their crest, or any of their faces. Ever.

Fast forwarding a few years, Jam is now a city dweller, her heritage now accepted and barely noticed. She's in league with the local cutpurses and burglars. It's not a great living, but she has them and they all have each other. Fortunately and unfortunately, she stole from the wrong person one day. While she was giving her usual high-noon musical performance in the the town square, one on-looker caught her eye. A pale, slender woman, unusual facial markings, and a large, hefty sword. Big swords, big wallets. After the show, Jam quickly packed up and blended into the crowd, following the woman into a local tavern, "The Eighteenth Kobold". The woman drank heavily and seemed to be having a merry time, totally distracted. Now was Jam's time to act. She kept close to the shadowed wall, unbeknownst to her, the shadows themselves are what gave her away. But as her small hand wriggled it's nimble fingers in nervous anticipation of the reward her stealth would earn her. A few more inches. Just a few more. In the blink of an eye, maybe even half the blink of an eye, the woman's hand grabbed the little thief's wrist, she knew this was no ordinary woman, and this woman knew this was no ordinary thief.