There's a certain feeling that comes with preparing to break into another Lord's keep. There's a myriad of decisions that need to be made before hand, hours worth of advance planning, contingency and emergency backup plans and the appropriate instruments with which to implement them.

I typically wear the exact same outfit every time, already loaded up with small tricks and devices that I've found useful while out in the field. I assume most of them are pretty standard and don't require explanation.

The outfit itself is the most interesting thing, a three-piece affair made entirely of thought-cloth.

A modest sized bolt of the stuff is worth a small fortune, I know, but it's so bloody useful that I couldn't imagine not using it whenever the opportunity arises. The act of simply touching an article of clothing and thinking a color, the garment instantly matching the color of your thoughts, well, how the hell could you not consider that useful?

I have a pair of rather well designed trousers made from it, a shirt with a respectable hood capable of concealing my entire face when I need it to, and a three-quarter cloak that hangs to my mid-calf.

Usually, I keep them different colors so that I blend in with a crowd. If a sudden emergency change of color is required, I can change all three garments at once.

I pondered how grateful I was of my color-changing abilities as I watched one of Greybridge's guards slowly walk away from me.

He'd been literally right beside me a few moments before, causing me to go still and hold my breath for an uncomfortably long period of time. I let the air slowly emerge from my lungs as I watched his retreating form, taking a carefully silent breath of air in celebration.

Truly, that had been a little closer than I liked. If the large potted plant hadn't been sitting in that corner to provide partial cover, I would have stood out rather obviously.

I was near the center hallway inside of Greybridge keep, and my heart was pounding so loudly that it seemed as if a guard would be able to hear it thumping in my chest at thirty paces.

It had taken me well over an hour and a half to get in there quite that deep. My approach was slightly different than usual, because of the relative lack of setup time and preparation. Under the circumstances, it was a much better idea to wait an extra minute or two than to take unnecessary risks for the sake of expediency.

So, all things considered, I was doing pretty well at an hour and a half. The patrols were fairly regular, every ten minutes or so, and were mostly on the ground floor where I had started, thinning out once I got to the second floor. I hadn't yet used any of my specialty tools, or any climbing gear whatsoever actually, preferring to rely on simple elbow grease to climb up the back side where the stables met a nice sheet of wall about twenty feet high, which...

Well, those sorts of details are fairly unnecessary. Suffice it to say that I was now on the third floor inside the keep itself, and had just done a fine impression of the cream colored walls of the hallway from behind a large spiny plant, hiding myself well enough to satisfy a bored looking guard who clearly didn't wish to be awake at this late hour.

It was a few moments later that he disappeared around the corner at the far end of the hallway. I checked for guards in either direction of where I sat, and seeing none got up and bounded lightly towards the door situated near the middle of the hallway the guard had walked down moments before.

Upon arriving at the door, I wasted no time in shoving two skinny pieces of grey metal into the two bolt-lock chambers and sending a mental burst of energy down their length. Unseen to my eye, the metal expanded and took the shape of the space between tumblers inside, forming itself into a passable key of precisely the correct shape. I wouldn't spring them until I was ready to open the door up, as they could trigger some time-sensitive apparatus that I wasn't ready for.

I pulled them out while they were still soft and put them aside to dry, a process that would take three minutes or so.

Two down, an unknown quantity to go.

I inspected the door further, looking for some of the telltale signs belonging to the traps and alarms that were surely protecting it.

Reaching into a pocket located behind my cloak, I pulled out a small rod that had a selection of gems set into it. I waved it carefully over the door, looking for any flashes of light that would indicate the presence of a magical alarm.

One at the handle, one at the bolt. Both appeared to be the same type, causing the blue gem to glow softly as I waved it near. No thumb-plate, which was good. Standard protection, really - any sort of motion without disabling it would trip an alarm of some sort. I had ways of dealing with-

What the hell was that?

It seemed as though there had been a brief flash of green, almost too quick to see. I stared at the emerald gem on the rod I held.

There it was again.

Tricky. It appeared that the Lord Greybridge was fond of some cutting edge stuff. I timed the flashes, which appeared every five seconds. One of those new “pulse monitor” contraptions that periodically tested a circuit of metal surrounding a room to check for breaks, probably hooked up to an alarm. Probably a very loud one.

In all likelihood I would find something inside that was designed to trip me up should I attempt to open, enter, and close the door all within five seconds. I didn't think much of my chances. What's more, I hate being hurried. Better to eliminate the need for rushing in altogether.

I marked the approximate centre of the magical alarms around the bolt and door handle with a small pin-sized grey dot. Then, I focused my attention on the pulse alarm.

Green flashes meant silver. I pulled out a silver-tuned compass from one of the pockets on my left leg, pulling it out from the collection of small cube-shaped containers. Each was filled with water and small specks of specially attuned metal that were allowed to float freely.

I put the small silver-tuned cube up near the top of the door and slowly slid it down, making a note of when I saw the metal flakes twitch and leap towards the door. I did a couple of checks in a couple of different spots to ensure there was no other silver that might contaminate my reading. There didn't appear to be any, and it seemed as though the silver was approximately three inches below the top of the door, and located four inches deep behind the doorframe.

Tricky, but not impossible.

I marked the spot that was exactly level with the silver as best as I could figure, putting my rod and compass away and pulling out two six-inch long silver strips and a small bottle of adhesive. I also pulled a small hammer from my sling-pouch and held it momentarily in my teeth.

Opening the bottle, I put the two strips of silver together and poured adhesive on either side of them, holding them up and gently tapping them into the crack of the door with my hammer until they were flush with the surface, barely noticeable. A quick test indicated that both silver strips were now wedged between the silver inside the room, and were pulsing as though part of the circuit.

I briefly inspected the area around the floor for any sort of additional signs of things to be concerned about, just to be cautious. There didn't appear to be any, so I retreated to the camouflaged safety of the wall corner, located behind the spiny plant. The whole thing had taken maybe six minutes.

Four and a half minutes later, the guard walked within several feet of me once more, making a left turn and continuing down the hallway past the door I had been working on. I held my breath as he walked by it, but he did not appear to see anything unusual regarding the door itself, stopping only to scratch himself in a way he might not have had he realized he was being watched.

He disappeared around the corner. I had ten minutes and one shot to do this. A familiar excitement crept up into my arms and shoulders.

I walked quickly towards the door, pulling out a very sinister looking steel bar and a small loop of wire that had been fashioned into a loose coil, like a spring. It was maybe four inches long, at least for the moment.

Locating my silver strips, I very carefully wedged the steel bar below it and pried the door away from the wall, widening the crack ever so slightly. The small sliver of metal split into two before my eyes, and I pinched the claw-like clips of the coil onto each of the two ends before relaxing the pressure I was applying against the door.

Pulling two small glass vials from another pocket, I held the first up to the doorknob in my gloved hand and applied enough pressure to crack it, causing a fine mist to appear. I repeated the process for the second spot I’d marked, dropping the empty vials into a pocket.

So far, so good. I popped the bolts with my pre-formed keys, took a breath, turned the handle and swung the door open very slowly.

The silver coil stretched its way between the door and the wall, remaining connected to the two strips of silver I had wedged there, maintaining the circuit.

My eyes quickly scouted the interior of the room.

“Oh, damn.”

I leaped towards the door, which was still swinging away from me, and stepped lightly onto the handle while clinging to the side of the wooden door as it opened. I managed to avoid touching the floor, which was covered by a rug with a pattern I recognized.

One toe touching that thing, no matter how lightly, would produce a screech that could wake the dead.

I also recognized two small foot-high copper pillars, one in each of the opposite corners. Double-damn.

Performing a second leap from my perch, I jumped almost straight up and into the room, arms reaching for a ceiling beam, clicking my boots together as I did so. My fingers found enough of a groove to grab on to, and as I pulled myself up I allowed momentum to swing my legs up towards that same wooden beam, slamming my feet forcefully against it with the insides of my footwear.

The sharp spikes that now lined the inside of my boots tore into the wood with a thunk, securing themselves firmly to the beam. My hands released their grip, my right hand reaching my inside vest pocket to retrieve a small marble-sized piece of ammunition as I swung backwards, suspended by my boots.

At the apex of my swing, I loaded the marble into my wrist sling and took aim very carefully at one of the copper pillars, firing the marble at it during that terribly brief moment where everything was still. As I swung back, already reaching for a second marble, I heard the ‘pffffffsssht’ noise of the marble exploding into a fine, mossy powder that would be sucked into and disable the pillar, an alarm system that monitored air currents.

On my second swing I repeated the process for the second one, then allowed myself a moment to inspect my work.

First try for both pillars, not bad. It would have taken several seconds for the air from the door to hit them, but I didn’t have that much time to fool around disarming them either.

Still swinging upside-down, it took me a good minute to close the still open door with the collapsible rod I carried, a handy little item about four inches long, which could extend up to seven feet. I had to be careful while doing so, ensuring that my silver coil remained inside the room once the door was closed so it wouldn’t be seen by the passing guard.

As the door clicked shut I allowed myself a sigh of relief, taking my first good appreciative look at the inside of the room itself, albeit an inverted one.

Whatever else he was, ruthless, calculating, vengeful, a tad belligerent, Lord Greybridge was certainly not without taste. The silver pulse alarm had been worked into the trim, the room made up of dark green walls and light warm wood paneling, some elegant furniture to match.

And, of course, that spiffy rug.

My legs were beginning to complain, so I scouted around the room for the large box I knew the rug would be attached to. There didn’t appear to be one. Grunting, I craned my neck and pulled my hair back out of my face, studying the pattern for some clue as to where the pressure sensitive fibers went.

They all led to the center of the rug, where there was nothing. He’d buried the alarm box in the floor. Cute.

Pulling a different marble from my pocket, I took careful aim and launched it directly at the center of the rug. It exploded into a shower of white foam, dousing the middle of the pattern almost instantly. I counted down from five before bending at the waist and yanking my feet away from the wood, falling soundlessly onto the carpet below. Continued silence greeted my ears.

Amongst dozens of other treasures I spied the second goblet, the twin of the priceless chalice that had been entrusted into my care, sitting on a finely crafted wooden stand against the wall near the back of the room.

I had hoped that the cup itself would not be in a position of relative prominence. There had been no time for a copy of the goblet to be crafted, which meant leaving an empty wooden stand behind. To make matters worse, there was definitely a pressure plate underneath it.

Well triple-damn. You’d think this fellow didn’t want to be robbed or something.

I spent several minutes attaching four small pressure clamps made of cheeni wood on each corner of the plate and slowly applied pressure, watching the gems at the top turn from blue to green as I tightened. Once all gems were a uniform shade of green, I held my breath and gently removed the cup from its resting place.

Nothing happened.

Wrapping the cup up in two cloths that I had brought with me, I put the bundle into the box that I had brought for the occasion, putting the box in my pack alongside my other tools.

The exit from the premises was not nearly as interesting. It is ridiculously more difficult to get from the ground floor to the third than it is to get from the third to the ground, provided you're not too fussy about the method of descent. Or the landing.

It had been about ten minutes since I'd entered the room, and so I waited another two minutes for the guard to have enough time to turn the corner and out of sight of the door. Then, I waited for an additional two minutes before opening the door and re-entering the empty hallway, yanking the silver wire from the door once it was closed.

I pulled out my break-rope and quickly walked down the way I had first come. I followed it to another hallway, which was connected to a stairway, which itself connected to a balcony overlooking the yard.

The ground below was not completely clear, but was littered with thorny bushes beside the walls of the keep, which I'd have to be careful of if I wanted to avoid getting pricked. You can't have everything go your way, I suppose.

Tying the looped end of the break-rope around a stone support on the balcony itself, I wasted no time in attaching the clip to the harness I was wearing under my tunic and stepping carefully off of the ledge, turning to face the walls of the keep. After several seconds of violent yanks pulling at my chest, numerous thin threads snapping one after the other, I fell to the right of a small, dangerous-looking bush, and was safely on the ground.

The used strands were already beginning to burn where they had broken. After cutting the remaining ropes in half, I unhooked the clasp from my harness and tossed the collection of string behind the nearby bush.

The stringy fibers were smoldering and burning away, now that the chemical buried deep in the middle of each string had been exposed. Soon the only traces of the rope would be a negligible amount of ash and the musty smell of flitleaf hanging in the air, a smell you might assume belonged to an employee or some other servant who had come outside for a smoke.

Taking a moment to inspect my surroundings, I assumed a dark green color in order to blend in with the grass and sprinted lightly to the nearest edge of the estate.

Once there, I took a quick breath and allowed myself to feel a little relieved.

“Damn, I'm good,” I whispered aloud.

A few seconds later I switched my clothing to a light-gray stone color and vaulted over the seven-foot wall with my prize.