The nightfall had brought a comforting breeze to Kollem's fingertips. He was nestled in the brush away from the raods, crouching on his sinewy legs. The house was empty, had been for hours, and according to his informant would remain so until the weeks end. He knew better than to trust the word of the local snitch, but reckoned the man too much of a coward to lie directly to him. The house owner, some Rohirric sellsword by all accounts, will be gone for the next hour atleast. That was all the time he needed afterall.
The lock was simple enough. Fitted by a local locksmith, using the Thistlewell method. Childs play.. Kollem remembered his time in the south where locks of such calibre would be suited to the safekeeping of sheds, not houses. Almost good to be back amongst simple folk. It took him a matter of seconds to find the correct leverage for the lock, and with a faint clunk the door was open. He slipped inside, like something out of the breeze.
The room had a whispy smell to it, a sour sort of musk. Kollem's eyes sprang from object to object with a practiced eye for detail, however no trinkets jumped out at him. A shoddy wooden table, ladne with a half dozen books. Amongst them a journal, perhaps. Blackmail.. Good for coin, poor for friends.. He shook his head, eyes darting onto the next object.
His finger tips curled around the trunks fastenings, and eased them open. The breeze took on a new kind of must, and he knew the contents before his eyes lay upon them. Clothes. In the trunk, not the dresser.. Curious.. He pulled a olive set of breeches from the container. Sturdy, but poor.. Like the owner, I fear.. His fingers thrust through more clothes, cotton and leather alike until something cool and metallic brushed his fingertip. What have we here? His fist gripped around a wooden sheath, small and crudely inscribed with a bear symbol. A knife. A knob of bronze was fixed to the hilt, hammered and bruised from misuse. He drew the blade from it's sheath, and wasn't surprised. Dull as a downer.. He took the knife, and tucked it into his satchel. He dug alittle deeper through the clothes, but found nothing else of note. Unless you count odd socks, of course.
Kollem's eye picked out a dresser, two drawers and a half foot pigeon hole. The first of the drawers opened with ease, but he found only a selection of papers. Trade routes, perhaps. Shame I'm not a highwayman.. The second drawer was locked, unlocking his interest in turn. He felt a familiar crooked smile rise onto his face and his lockpick slide from his pouch. Another Bree lock. Better than the last.. Click But not good enough.. He smiled at the familiar sound, the favoured sound of any competent thief in trade. A coin purse looked up at him, tied in a loose knot with leathery cord. Small, but adequetly filled. My favourite item to move..
His hand fished its way to the back of the drawer, he could already smell a profit. His skin brushed against something, soft and hard. Not metal. His hand clasped around it, and drew it forth. "Ahh.." He whispered, that smile ever more present on his crooked lips. A white horn. A large one too, with some gilding to signify it's allegiance to the crown of Rohan. A pretty penny for a specialist, perhaps. He smiled, He closed the drawer once more.
