The story begins on a warm summer morning in Dumpire. The slow, rising amber light floods the sodden streets of the town. Flecks of a chromatic spectrum fill people’s homes as the dew reflects the incoming sunrise. The dull ramblings of the prior night’s drunks echo through the empty streets, waking the nearby homes. A sudden chime of a bell rings through the town, signalling the beginning of a new day.
Light slowly creeps through alleys until it reaches the decrepit home of one Jet Glover. Jet’s hut, like any other in Dumpire, is a bundled mess of old wood, rusty nails and broken glass. The windows are a few more cracks away from being just another hole in the wall. As the light penetrates the cracked window, it falls upon Jet’s eyes, forcing him to rise from a deep slumber.
He wakes to find himself sprawled on spools of stolen cloth, as when he returned from an unprofitable day of stealing, all his furniture had been stolen. Of course, that isn’t a strange occurrence in this town, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t a considerable annoyance. The lack of craftsmen made it rather hard to get any furniture made, so everyone stuck to borrowing from their neighbours, with no intention of ever returning anything. There were only about two hundred beds, three hundred and fifty chairs and one hundred and eighty tables in a town of over two thousand residents. Sharing everything could certainly be an option anywhere else, but here everyone neglected to learn the first half of the phrase ‘All for one’.
He’d been lucky in managing to get one of the nicer huts in town; unlike most, it came with two rooms. It worked rather well. After all, Jet had to have somewhere for his brother Derek to stay. Or rather, somewhere he could hide and protect him. Derek wasn’t one of considerable stature, nor intelligence. He was a rather below-average-height man, and, well, rather below-average in every aspect as well. The only redeemable feature of Jet’s brother was his thick brown hair and sapphire eyes. These were so blue that most would agree they glowed.
Derek wasn’t actually Jet’s brother; both orphans from a young age, Jet had always felt he should protect the younger boy, otherwise he’d have been tossed out on the street or sold to slavers. Neither of these were great options for a child, even in Dumpire, but this was the state of a town of thieves. If it made someone money, you can be damn sure they’ll do it.
From the moment, long ago, that Jet decided to look after Derek, the two became inseparable. Jet would steal any bit of food he could to feed his new brother and take anything lying around in order to keep him warm. Over the years, this life of stealing to support his brother forged Jet into a top-tier thief, not that anyone else realised; indeed, he didn’t have much of a name for himself by this point, unless you counted ‘World’s Most Annoying Thief’, which Jet did not. Petty thievery was merely a part of the town’s nature; much in the way coming fifth in a race wouldn’t win you a medal, here petty thievery doesn’t make anyone take notice of you. So Jet remained in waiting for his chance to become one of the great thieves, to be recorded in history forever.
Today is the day for that opportunity to arise.
The faint clang of a bell echoes off wooden homes, filling the street with a loud, annoying, shrill noise.
Following shortly after, a shout rings through the street, piercing the shabby windows of Jet’s hut.
“Hey! Give that back!”
Hurried footsteps sound, each one making a hard impact on the thick mud of the ground. The bell, the shouting and the harsh sunlight have abruptly ended Jet’s rather uncomfortable sleep. Irritated by the abrupt wake-up call, Jet barges to the window and yells, “Keep it down, would… huh?”
Squinting his eyes, he glares down the street to see a short man darting up the street, brandishing a golden bell over his head. The short man’s snickers and chuckles sing with each ring of the bell, and each step of his boots.
It seems that someone has stolen the town crier’s bell again, though it would be weirder if he’d managed to go around the whole town without getting it stolen. The residents don’t want to sell the bell; they just find it funny watching the crier run around the town in his black breeches and smart shoes he always wore. It was that, and the fact that he runs in a rather funny manner, raising each leg to the side as opposed to ahead of himself.
But today, the smartly dressed crier doesn’t give chase, choosing instead to half-heartedly shout after the short man, “Give that back, you scoundrel!” He knows the bell is long gone. Shrugging, he simply shouts openly to the nearby homes, “The mayor is giving a speech in the town square shortly! He said to be there, or you’re all terrible thieves!”
The mayor sending the town crier around to call all the residents terrible thieves was sure to stir up a storm. If there’s one thing the residents of this town of thieves have, it’s pride; that and stolen furniture.
‘Mayor’s giving a speech? That should be interesting,’ Jet thinks to himself.
He hurriedly dresses in his usual outfit, before staring at himself in the mirror. After a few strong poses in the mirror, he nods in approval, decides it’s time to head out, and off he goes.
If we borrow the eyes of Jet’s mirror, we may see something like the following. A man of average height, but rather unaverage looks. If it wasn’t for the fact that he lives in a town of thieves, he probably could have been a rather well-paid model. His hair is as black as night, shaved on both sides with a long, wavy patch on top that falls effortlessly off to one side. His hair colour is where he got his name, as he never had one when he was a child. Being that he lived on the streets his whole life (until he came across his hut), he has cultured an athletic build; he could definitely beat anyone in an endurance race, but he wouldn’t be helping anyone move house, not that his strength is the problem here – it’s more to do with the fact he’d run off with half the possessions, valuable or not.
Poking his head through the torn, dark curtain to his brother’s room, Jet checks on Derek, only to find him sound asleep, unfazed by the rampant shouting and clanging of the bell. Content with the fact his brother is sleeping, Jet opens the sheet of wood he calls a door and steps out on to the sodden street. Considering that the only thing left in his hut is a cup and spools of sweat-covered cloth, Jet doesn’t bother to lock the door, and instead, makes his way to the town square. Not that his lock would make much of a difference anyway.