As a drop of limpid water rolled down Vince’s forehead, he awoke. Vince, a solitary rogue, didn’t currently have the luxury of a comfortable abode; he was camped out in a nook within the vast network of sewers that ran under Alvaria. People seldom ventured into the sewers, and they were dark enough for him to remain unnoticed if anyone did.
Vince, regaining his senses, pulled himself up onto his feet. “Dang, I’m hungry,” he muttered. “Guess I’m going to have to pilfer some food.” He proceeded to the nearest ladder out of the sewer — the next left, followed by a right turn — without making a sound. All one could hear was the echoes of squabbling mice in the distance. Vince’s outfit was optimised for his trade: all black, to merge with the shadows, with shoes crafted for the express purpose of concealing his presence.
Once he reached the ladder, he climbed its slimy rungs and lifted the lid of the manhole cover to check that all was clear. The bright mid-day light poured in, and Vince resisted the urge to cover his eyes due to the pain. He saw no one, as expected — this manhole was on the outskirts of the forest adjacent to the town, after all.
Vince clambered out of the sewer and lowered the cover carefully back into place, and then he made his way towards the market.