Approaching the garrison is so easy it's pathetic. All the residents of the nearby mining encampment have gone to bed or inside for the night to avoid the encroaching storm. The gates are shut and there hasn't been anyone in or out of the garrison for hours. The swirling desert sands blotted out the stars and the howling winds made the few lit torches flicker dubiously. Still, staying outside of their coronas seemed best. He'd be a laughing stock if he were spotted under these conditions. The outer wall of the garrison is a paltry fifteen feet. "Why even put it up?" he chuckled to himself. Slipping on his climbing claws, he scales the wall at the pace a man might briskly walk down a newly made city street. Nearing the top, he is careful to avoid the slotted archer's windows. The last thing he needs is for some restless grunt on his way to the piss pot to see a shadow pass over the window and go raising an alarm. Peeping over the brink of the wall, he sees no one in the immediate area, so he slips over the battlements near a corner of the garrison. Crouching on the pathway on the other side, he is returning his climbing claws to their belt-loops when he hears them. Guards stood a stone's throw away down the ramparts, but closer to the corner in which he now stood than any other. He would not have been able to hear them over the rushing wind had they not been talking so boorishly loud. It seemed they were discussing the important business of which one of them was the greater servant to some bloated baron. Typical. Warriors are always comparing swords or breaking their backs bowing to their masters. These two were doing both at once. He smiles to himself, glad of the increased level of challenge now presented him. It's been a while since he's been able to do this, what with the nasty business back home. But he can't think about that now. He has to get in, find some loot, get out, and move on before anyone even knows anything is missing. He casts one last look at the boastful guards just as he turns to slink down the stairs at the corner of the ramparts when he sees something glinting on the hip of the larger of the two watchmen. The wind was whipping the man's cloak around too furiously to get an idea of what it might be, but his imagination danced at the thought of what a trophy he could make of something plucked from the belt of a guard on duty. An excitement churned in him that almost bubbled over into laughter. There were still many hours of night left. The stairs could wait. Silent as a shadow without an owner, he swooped toward his prey. Squatting behind a crate of armaments, he observed the shimmering item to be an axe of fine making hanging from a thick leather loop in the guard's belt. Sizing up the gigantic, fierce-looking warrior and considering his options, he resolves to surrender this prize for something more easily attainable. Turning to leave, his tail disturbs a quiver of arrows he had not seen. The sound is audible in the awkward silence between the two guards. He tenses immediately, listening for signs that the guards are aware something is amiss....