Razrat the Thief

This story takes place in the same universe as my "Amorous World of Asisai" series (A Scandal, A Prophecy, Etc.). However, you do not need to read it to enjoy this story. If you'd like, you can refer to my reader's guide If you want some foundational lore for this universe.

"The Golden Tit."

The cloaked woman let each word roll off her tongue. She stood in the road, looking up to the tavern's hanging sign. It was night, and was faintly illuminated by the changing lights. The name, in an elaborate golden font, signed beneath a small, round bird.

She looked down at the small piece of parchment in her hand. A drawing of the same bird was all that was on it. She stored the parchment inside her cloak.

"Irksome, little..." her voice trailed off in annoyance as she reluctantly moved to enter the tavern, iridescent lights pouring out as abundantly as music.

When she entered, she was immediately met with a warm body. A flailing, near-naked woman danced to the music. She nearly fell and spilled her drink on the cloaked woman, but ultimately danced on without skipping a beat.

The cloaked woman saw as the image was repeated dozens of men and women, strangely of all ages, across the tavern, numerous enough to completely obscure the floor. Against the far wall a band played, though the cloaked woman would describe it as violence with instruments in hand. Above the sea of people were floating candles, which changed color, spotlighting the dancers. On the left, a packed bar, and a shirtless centaur showing off, mixing drinks. The cloaked woman smirked, recognizing centaurs for their affinity with alcohol. On the right, a row boothes, all of them filled, aside from the furthest one, whose sole resident was a kobold.

She sighed as she entered the crowd of dancers. She was reluctant to bring up her hands to part the sea of flesh, but must, and in doing so, accidentally palmed the occasional breast, stomach, and pec. She felt a few hands wander her body as well, slipping under her cloak, but she quickly batted them away as she made her way to the furthest booth. The smells, the drink, the noise, the sweat, the bundle of lewd flesh and fashion. If the cloaked woman was only half as sane as she was, she'd still turn back.

But, to her eternal frustration, she needed to speak with the lone kobold.

It was agony but eventually she made it off the dance floor, stopping as she stood in front of the kobold's booth, where despite the lighting, she got a better look at him. A candle in the center of his table lit his pitch black scales and silvery hair, which hung in a mohawk in his face. Like the other patrons he wore very little, only a scarf adorned his top. She couldn't see his lower half, but she partially suspected he was bare underneath the table. He was looking up at him through a hazy cloud coming from his smoking pipe. Even still, she could see him looking up at her through half-lidded, golden eyes.

"No need to be shy of little ol' me," He said, his youthful, raspy voice somehow being heard above the party. "Why don't you take off the cloak, nd stay awhile?"

The cloaked woman shook her head. "I'm here on business," she said, reaching into her cloak. She pulled the drawing of the bird and threw onto the table, allowing the kobold to lean over and see.

The black kobold smoked a few more puffs. "Looking to commission?"

Finally, she removed her hood, revealing her pale face of sharp features, obscured by a brunette bob. The pointed ears of a nymphling parted her hair, whose earrings jingled as she sat down.

"Ah. Pernala, right?" the kobold said, shifting in his seat. The nymphling woman only nodded. "Sit closer and whisper into my ear, so people only think you're flirting with me."

Pernala scoffed. "Are you being serious?"

The kobold laughed and coughed through the smoke. "No, not at all," he said. He leaned forward over the table, holding out his clawed hand. "Razrat, in the flesh."

Pernala looked down and saw that the kobold was wearing pants. She took his clawed hand and shook it. When Razrat sat back down, he offered her his pipe, but she shook her head in refusal.

"A drink at least then?" Razrat asked.

"The more sober I am, the quicker this will be," Pernala replied, causing the kobold to groan. She reached into her cloak, and pulled out a small purse. She placed it on the table, and gold coins spilled out of it.

"Oh shit," Razrat coughed out. "Whoever you're working for must really, really like me."

The nymphling breathed out of her nose. "Unfortunately it's not up to me. My employer heard of your successes, your abilities. Magic unique to the kobolds that you've honed, it made you an unparalleled thief."

"You sure you're not flirting, Pernala?" Kobold said, once again shifting in his seat, his tail wagging back and forth happily.

"But I have heard of your failures," she said more sternly, leaning in. "Your inability to control your inhibitions. Every job, the disgusting little pervert in you -"

"Go on."

"- is tempted. I've heard rumors of the women you somehow conned into sleeping with you, in places you've once robbed. If you want the rest of that," she went on, pointing to the full purse. "You're going to swear that, for ONCE, you'll refuse the small voice in your head that compels you to stick your cock in every warm, vaguely female body."

Razrat watched the coin purse very closely as if it would move, then, looking at Pernala, took it off the table and stashed it away. All he did was nod. The nymphling woman sighed. It wasn't his word, but she felt it was the she'll get out this little whore. 

Pernala sat back in her seat, and was about to explain more, when she felt a hand land on her shoulder. She looked and saw what appeared to be a fox-man, smiling down at her with fanged teeth.

"Deal's going well, I hope?" he said, his voice silky smooth. As he stepped towards Razrat, she got a better look. He was standing a least half-foot taller than anyone else in the tavern, as well as the most dressed. He wore an intricately designed puffed suit, fur lining its collar, matching his own fiery coat. Beneath him his tail swished back and forth in interest. 

Pernala recognized one of these. A werebeast, men and women who, from some ancient magical heritage, unwittingly turned into animal people. She's heard stories of the few who've been able to control their transformations. And the even fewer who stayed in their transformations, more comfortable in fur than their own skin. As she watched him stand by the black-scaled kobold, the phrase "birds of a feather" rang in her head, appropriate considering the current setting. 

"You promised me this meeting was discreet," Pernala said.

"And it is," Razrat said, before turning to the fox-man and offering his pipe. "Genro, I've told you about sneaking up on people."

"Sorry," the fox-man said, taking the pipe and smoking it. "I think you're rubbing off on me."

"You wish," Razrat replied, causing Genro to chuckle.

"You haven't explained yourself, kobold," the nymphling said. "Who is he?"

"Call him, a benefactor," Razrat said, taking back his piper, "He gets me the tools I need for a job, and in turn he takes a cut. I would have told you, but his work, our work, requires some secrecy."

"Don't," Pernala said, slamming the table. "Don't you dare start to lecture me on secrecy, kobold."

Both Genro and Razrat studied her, causing the nymphling to look and see that a few dancers had escaped their reverie and were watching them. It was a few moments before they returned to the party, but being noticed was still not ideal for Pernala. 

She sat back. "I promised I would make this quick," she said, holding out her hand for Genro, who immediately shook it. 

"I can always appreciate a woman of business," the fox-man said. "What's the job?"

She nodded, and took out a piece of parchment, passing it to the pair on the table. On it was a drawing of a house crest. It depicted a spilling, golden goblet in the claws of a falcon in flight. Both Razrat and Genro look down at the emblem curiously.

"Oooh, a fellow artist!" Razrat said with a sly smile. "Love the inkwork, very professional."

"This," Pernala says, ignoring the kobold, "Is the crest of the Falkrum house. My employer is, shall we say, in a tenuous relationship with them."

Razrat in response leans back and blows smoke out of his nose. Nymphling politics, despite the constant insistence of their importance, tends to bore anyone but the nymphlings. The coal-scaled kobold was no exception.

"For the sake of brevity, my employer and the Falkrums have a treaty which prevents them from sending soldiers beyond a certain point of their territory. But scouts have spotted them moving their men past those borders. My employer wants to sue them for breaking the treaty, but eye witness accounts won't be enough to convict them. That's where you come in."

"About time," Razrat says, causing Genro to slap his shoulder playfully.

Pernala rolled her eyes and produced another parchment onto the table, which appeared to be a map of a small city. Genro and Razrat looked down as she pointed at certain points.

 "This is the palace of the baroness Valrona Falkrum. I need you to infiltrate it and find evidence of an order to send those soldiers beyond their territory, and steal it for me."

Razrat looks up at her through smoke with a skeptical look. "That's it?" he asks.

"That's it," she answers simply.

"What makes you sure that they didn't destroy the evidence?" Genro asks, enraptured by her description of the job.

"The scouts spotted the soldiers only a few days ago," she explained, "My employer believes that she has yet to relay the movement to the head of Falkrum house, and thus is holding onto the report of said movement. But to your point, she would most likely destroy it soon, and thus it is required of you that you must steal it within the next three days."

Razrat looked down at the parchments once more, holding his pipe in his mouth as he examined them. Looking at the palace on the map, from a glance it didn't seem too difficult for the kobold, and he would certainly be in his element. That's not what made him uneasy though.

"Doesn't seem like your employer doesn't have much of a choice," Razrat said, "Such short notice, hiring me, he seems desperate. If you can't get me to do it, simply put, you're fucked." Pernala straightened up, glaring down at Razrat but remaining silent, allowing the kobold to continue. "Lucky for you though, those types of clients get my best work. So I'll take the job, so long as you toss in two more of these bags of course." He indicated what he meant by holding up the small purse of gold coins.

Pernala looked at the kobold, then looked up to Genro, whose face told her that these were his terms as well. Razrat at this point had his clawed feet on the table, lounging deeper in the chair. In a moment of vulnerability, she ran her hands through her hair, the stress of this job and the depravity - not to mention volume - of the party finally getting to her. For her and her employer's sake, she had to get out of there.

"Fine," she said. 

"Wonderful," Genro said with a smile, holding out a paw to shake. Pernala shook it, but refused Razrat when he did the same, and got up to leave. 

"Report back here once the job is done," she said, giving the pair one last piece of parchment, a torn piece of a map indicating a rendezvous point. It was her last statement before she turned around and left, begrudgingly reentering the sea of sweat and flesh.

Behind her, Razrat took an immaculate gold coin in his claw and wore a Cheshire grin, clearly planning to spend his earnings early as he looked over towards the bar.

An armored carriage passed slowly through the barony as it bathed in night, a sleepy town consisting of tightly spaced buildings of stone, allowing for very few streets, surrounded by towering pines, many stories taller than even the tallest buildings. And though there were a few stragglers, they were empty with the sole exception of the carriage, and its half-dozen mounted escorts. 

Razrat watched the escort from the branches of one of the pines.

He let his gaze turn from the carriage down the road to its destination, and thus, his prize. The palace of the baroness stood opulent within the whole barony, an intricate wooden facade for its entrance. Not many buildings in the town had lights, so the bright lights and lanterns stood in great contrast to the rest of the barony.

Opulent and imperial, it was his prize, and he smiled.

He crawled carefully on all fours along a branch, farther away from the tree's bark. If one were to look up towards him, they would be hard-pressed to make out the kobold against the inky night sky. He wore a full body stocking, cloak, and sash, all completely black, complete with a hood to cover his white hair. Various tools hung from his waist, as well as a bow and a few arrows over his shoulder. From his waist he pulled thin twine, which he tied to the tail of an arrow. He removed his bow from his back, notched the arrow, and aimed towards the palace.

Razrat breathed deeply through his nostrils, feeling as thoughts grew quieter, all noises surrounding him muffled, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. With absolute certainty, he loosed the arrow, and in an instant, he saw as it lodged itself into the palace roof. Using his claw, he cut an end for the twine, and pulled it taut, leaving a thin, almost transparent wire leading from the tree to the palace.

Stowing the bow on his back, he took a deep breath as he fell forward down onto his claws, balancing on the branch. He took a look forward out to the twine, then he glanced down at the carriage as it slowly approached the palace's gates. He had little time.

Time to earn some coin, he thought to himself.

He began to crawl forward, delicately placing a claw on the twine. It wobbled terribly, cutting into his palm. Still, he crawled forward onto the makeship tightrope, as he began to speak an incantation to himself:

" Mind over blood. Blood over Flesh. Flesh over Truth."

He spoke the words in an ancient language, letting its magic wash over him. He heard his heartbeat begin to beat faster, and felt as his veins were filled with fire, yet as he crawled onto the wire, he felt no fear. The tightrope wobbled less and less as a new reality fell over his body, which began to weigh less.

" Mind over blood," he spoke to himself. "Blood over Flesh. Flesh over Truth."

In moments, Razrat knew that he weighed no more than a small purse of coins, the wire now completely stable with him on it. He crawled much faster, as he crossed above the palace gates. Within the court before the entrance, guards patrolled the grounds, yet Razrat was confident that, even if they looked up, they would not see him against the void of the night sky.

Eventually, he placed his claw onto the wooden roof of the palace. He slowly stood up on its edge, and breathed deeply through his nose. He willed his heart to beat slower, as the words of power, once echoing in his mind, faded away. His weight returned to him, and he began to walk forward across the roof. 

Due to its size, it would be a moment before he reached the other side, as what lied beyond came into view. Behind the palace was a sprawling garden, complete with stone walkways and several groves. Sprinkled throughout were some of the lanterns that decorated the palace, which, along with the moonlight, made the garden feel ethereal and sacred.

Though Razrat reminded himself he had little time to admire the estate. Reaching the edge, he produced a diamond-shaped knife from his waist, and like with the arrow, wrapped twine around its butt. He stabbed it into the roof, and, producing slack for the thin wire, wrapped it around his right leg.

Another deep breath, he repeated his incantation. Becoming nearly weightless once more, he tipped over the edge, and slowly, feeding the twine through his clawed fingers, he lowered himself down the wall of the palace. He stopped about when he was suspended two stories from the ground. Before him were a series of windows, some of which produced light. On his right, he saw a tall, stained window of an empty room, and figured it was the office. Grinning to himself, already imagining what he could spend his payment on, he carefully swung himself over to it. He grabbed onto the frame, only to find that it, nor the windows that flanked it, had no way to open them.

Dammit, he thought bitterly, allowing him to swing away from the window. He looked upon the rest, determining which one he could enter undetected. He saw one candidate, and was about to swing over to it, but when he heard a voice, he froze.

Below him, he saw a nymphing woman, dressed in a pale servant's dress, exit from the palace's back entrance. Flanking her, she held the hands of two very young children, a boy and girl, to whom she was speaking. She smiled as she did, bright and wide, and the children seemed utterly entranced with her.

Razrat was as well, as from his angle, he had a direct view down her blouse. The woman's pale cleavage seemed to go on for forever, framed perfectly by her long, curly black hair. She must be a wet nurse, Razrat surmised, as he watched her expansive bust bounce back and forth as she turned to talk to the children.

Absent-mindedly, he licked his muzzle with his long, slippery tongue. 

Giving in to temptation, he lowered himself further, only for the woman to start walking forward with the children.  He stopped after with another story to go to the ground. He went unnoticed as the trio walked forward towards the stone entrance of the garden. Though he missed his opportunity for a closer look, the compromise of seeing her swaying rear and wide hips as she walked away was just as pleasing. 

He watched for almost a little two long as guards greeted her at the entrance, feeling a satisfying heat wash over his body, towards his crotch. Even still, he forced himself upright and quickly climbed the twine before the guards could see him. In doing so, Pernala's words echoed in his mind, warning him against his baser instincts, lest he be refused payment. Even still, he thought longingly of her cleavage as he swung himself to the window he spotted earlier. He balanced himself on its edge. Pulling the thief's tools from his sash, he found the window's lock, and after a few attempts, successfully picked it. 

Delicately, he pushed it open, closed it behind him, and landed as soft as a cat in the room, now realising it was a bedchamber. It was empty, as he had determined earlier, though off to the side, there was an open door, light pouring from it. Listening closely, he heard the soft plashing of water coming from it. He walked forward on all fours, careful to avoid making a sound against the wood floor as the magic of his incantation faded away, and peeked inside to confirm it to be a bathing room. Through the crack, he caught a glimpse of a wet leg hanging over the side of an ivory bath, the woman it belonged to humming pleasantly to herself.

He did not dare to get closer, despite desperately wanting to, but before him, just beyond the door flame, were her discarded clothes. One piece in particular stood out amongst the pile; a thin pair of blood-red lingerie panties, adorned with a patterned frill.

Is this place secretly a brothel? Razrat thought pleasantly. Watching for the door, he carefully plucked the panties from the pile. Baser instincts compelled him to press them to his nostrils. The smell of a wet womanhood, though faint, was enough for his erection to begin growing in his pants. It seemed as though every corner of this place was designed to seduce him away from his true prize.