Clipping on the belt, Jane double-checked the pouches and sheathes it held. She always made sure that she carried the tools of her trade whenever she was on the job, and if her gut was right, then she had a lot of work to do.
She pulled one of her knives from its sheath, examining its sharp edge, then set it back in. Her thumbs danced along the throwing knives hidden behind her belt, already certain of the weapons she kept concealed elsewhere on her person. As she counted the caltrops stuffed into one of her pouches, she thought of the one she'd called "Watcher". The informant was relatively well-known around the Greatmanor underworld, acting not just as a useful source of information, but also as a decent fence and dealer in illicit goods and substances when it was required. Jane often suspected that he carried out even less savory jobs than he let on, and she wouldn't be the first to speculate that the shadowy figure was also heavily involved with the town watch as well, though whether as a snitch or simply a liaison between them and the local gangs, nobody was ever sure. Nobody had any proof, and that was just the way Watcher liked things.
Nobody knew Watcher's face. Even fewer knew Watcher's name. The man went to great lengths to conceal himself from anyone he bothered to speak with personally. Thinking back on it, Jane Drake couldn't even be sure she had...
That was another popular rumor about Watcher. Many thought the man was secretly a gang unto himself, made up of many different informants, all bearing the same name, all hidden beneath the same cloaks. Jane had never seen him commit violence, but she was sure that Watcher held many blades beneath his cloak. None of these were nearly as effective as his greatest weapon.
Secrecy.
The thief was beginning to think that maybe it would be easier to follow another lead, or just trust the man and head directly to Little Silverhorne, but something didn't sit right with her. The information he'd given her had seemed shifty, even by Watcher's usual standards, and the whole thing smelled like a trap.
With her gear checked and set, Jane pulled her cloak off a wall hook and over her shoulders, striding with purpose out the door of her small, rented room.
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