Vruz Lore

Many believe the best thieves are humans. After all, it was humans who founded the Ebonhood, one of the most powerful thieves’ guilds in all of Praetoria. Others say it's the Venari, ratkin and mousekin with a knack for mischief. Perhaps an argument could be made for the light-fingered halflings or brownies, the furtive antoids, and various other races, as well.
But I have it on good authority that the best thieves are actually gremlins, a diminutive race of fey known for their mischievousness, cunning, and tendency to steal anything and everything that isn’t nailed down.
And if gremlins are the best thieves, then Vruz is the very best of them all.
Small even by gremlin standards, Vruz’s mastery of the art of thievery is without equal; they say there’s nothing he can’t steal. He’s stolen milk from the mouths of babies, leaves from the branches of the ancient redwood, mustaches from under the noses of wizards, and crowns from the heads of kings.
Nobody knows where Vruz came from or how he got there, but Davek Lorens, guildmaster of the Ebonhood, woke one morning to find a snotty heap at the foot of his bed. After he sacked his entire personal guard and sent their heads to the guildhall as an example, he tended to this irritating infant that couldn’t seem to keep its hands to itself. You see, even as babes, gremlins have a natural proclivity for pilfering, and Vruz was no exception.
Guildmaster Lorens soon grew fond of the little gremlin and raised him as his own, teaching Vruz everything he knew about the art of thievery. Practically before he was out of diapers, he was considered the best footpad in the entire guild.

Nowadays, Vruz only takes on the jobs that everyone else says are impossible, and he soon proves they’re not. His favorite ventures? Fulfilling contracts for dragons… which usually entails stealing some priceless artifact from another dragon. And with every success, his notoriety has grown.Today, stories of his heists and escapades have become the stuff of campfire tales and folklore. Perhaps you’ve heard one or two of them before.
How about the story about how Vruz stole the High Ring of Thanaloria from the ancient and terrible wyrm, Rage? The Ebonhood had been hired to retrieve it, but no one was volunteering for the job. They all said it was impossible.
Enter Vruz.

“Now you stay put, Jabir,” Vruz said, shaking a finger at the fat troll. The little gremlin stood less than half a meter tall, not even halfway to his friend’s knee, but Jabir took a step back all the same.
"Why don't ya use magic?" the troll asked, scratching his head.
Vruz sighed. "How many times do I have tell you? Not all gremlins can use magic."
But Jabir had already lost interest and was trying to dislodge something from up his nose. Vruz shook his head in dismay.
The two stood on a narrow path before a cave located high on the western slope of Mount Redwyrm. The frigid air howled as it whipped around them, and a light flurry of snow danced through the sky. Below them—far below—Blackmoor Basin stretched into the distance.
Vruz started toward the cave entrance. “You be careful digging around up there,” he called over his shoulder. “You might damage something if you prod too far."
The troll didn't reply, and Vruz entered the dark passageway alone.
The cave opened on a tunnel that sloped down into the depths of Mount Redwyrm. It was black as pitch, but with his infravision, Vruz had no problems navigating its twists and turns. When the tunnel split, he didn’t hesitate or stop to consider. He simply picked a direction at random and continued on.
In spite of the flight of dragons that inhabited Mount Redwyrm, he and Jabir had ascended it without encountering so much as a single whelp. Lady Luck had always favored Vruz, and his journey through the tunnels was no exception. After an indeterminable amount of time (and an equally indeterminable number of forks and branches in the maze-like passageway) a deep rumble echoed up from the depths. The air grew warmer. And the smell… well, Vruz hadn’t thought there could be a stench much worse than when Jabir ate cabbage, but this was something else. Everyone was always going on about the horde of treasure in a dragon’s lair, but no one ever mentioned the smell.

Finally, the tunnel opened on a massive chamber, and Vruz found himself at its edge.
The dragon’s lair was vast indeed and filled with all manner of coins, gems, crystals, goblets, chalices, jewelry, and crowns. It was enough wealth to last several elven lifetimes and then some.
The rumbling he had heard earlier were the snores of the ancient wyrm, Rage. The beast was curled upon itself atop the chamber’s largest pile of gold coins. It was massive even for a dragon, its thick scales covered in countless scars from countless battles over countless centuries.
Buried somewhere among all those riches was a single ring, the High Ring of Thanaloria, and Vruz had to find it without waking the dragon.
No problem.
The little gremlin started forward, humming softly under his breath as he peered about, searching for the ring. He’d made it halfway up a mountain of gold when the coins shifted beneath his feet with a clink. They slid down the slope, more and more joining the cascade until it turned into an avalanche. Vruz was swept off his feet and carried down the pile in an awful clatter of coins and trinkets. He came to rest at the bottom alongside a wooden chest, and the coins continued their landslide, burying him beneath them.
Vruz clawed his way to the surface. Treasure cascaded from his bald head as he emerged, barely suppressing a whoop of laughter. What a rush.
And there, not a meter from the tip of his nose, sat a golden ring inscribed with elvish script and set with the biggest ruby he’d ever seen. The High Ring of Thanaloria. He grinned. Lady Luck had favored him once more.
“I can smell you, little gremlin,” The deep voice of the ancient wyrm, Rage, rumbled through the cavern. “What are you doing in my lair?”
Vruz was tempted to refute the insinuation that he smelled, especially considering that Rage was in no position to comment on such a thing but held his tongue. Mostly buried in treasure, with the wooden chest between him and the dragon, he snatched up the ring. Now he just needed to plan his escape.
The clatter of coins and jewels echoed through the cavern as Rage shifted on his bed of treasure. “I could fill this hall with such a heat that you’d be nothing but a crispy morsel. But you’ve piqued my curiosity. How did you find your way into my lair? You could have skulked about the entrance and taken enough treasure to last your short little lifetime. Instead, you ventured inside and risked my wrath—which you will face, you can be sure. But first, tell me what you’re searching for, little gremlin.”
A loud belch sounded from the cavern’s entrance. Vruz giggled. It was Jabir.
“You dare bring a filthy troll into my lair?” Rage roared.
The little gremlin scrambled out of his shallow grave and, holding tight to the ring, leaped over the wooden chest and raced up a towering mound of treasure as he hurried toward Jabir and the exit.
Rage rose to his feet and extended his wings. His tail thrashed back and forth, sending a shower of coins, gems and trinkets raining down around him. Smoke billowed from his nostrils. “I’ll eat you both, and damn the indigestion.”
Vruz reached the top of the mound. A shield lay upon it. Running as fast as his little legs could carry him, he jumped onto the shield. It slid forward and tipped over the edge.
“Whooya!” he shouted with a laugh, arms spread wide for balance as he accelerated down the far side of the mound, toward the exit and Jabir, who stood frozen with wide eyes and an open mouth. The shield crashed into the bottom of the slope in a spray of treasure as Vruz leaped off it and sprinted for the exit. He glanced over his shoulder. Rage’s eyes were filled with… well, with rage as he lumbered toward Jabir.
“I think it’s time to go!” Vruz hollered.
Jabir blinked and looked from the little gremlin to the massive wyrm. Then he turned and ran. It was the fastest Vruz had ever seen the troll move, gangly arms flailing through the air as he worked himself up to a sprint.
Vruz was right behind him. The two vanished through the cavern’s entrance and, huffing and puffing, hurried up the winding slope. Orange flames whooshed and licked the walls behind them. The heat was intense. It stole the breath from Vruz’s lungs. Still, he and Jabir ran.
Behind them, the ancient wyrm roared in frustration. The tunnel through which they’d escaped was too small for the dragon to follow them. The walls shook, and rock and silt sifted down from the ceiling. It was as if the mountain was about to erupt, the fury of Rage barely contained within.
After a time, the two slowed to a jog, then a walk.
“Ya never told me there was a dragon down there!” Jabir managed between gasps for breath.
“I did,” Vruz said. “A number of times. Just like I told you not to follow me. But I’m glad you didn’t listen.” Vruz beamed up at his friend. “I think you just saved my life.”
Jabir gave a toothy grin. “You get what you came for?” he asked, looking down at the little gremlin, and Vruz held up the ring and twirled it in his hand.
“But of course. More importantly, I rode down a giant mountain of treasure on a shield. Guess I can cross that one off my bucket list.”
Jabir frowned. “Yeah, but that dragon gonna be looking for us. Probably bring its friends. Be impossible to get off this rock without them spotting us.”
Vruz winked and clapped Jabir on the shin. “With Lady Luck at our side, brother, nothing is impossible.”

And that is the story of how Vruz stole the High Ring of Thanaloria from the ancient and terrible wyrm, Rage.
A tall tale? No one is that lucky?
Perhaps. And perhaps the boasts that there is nothing Vruz can’t steal are simply propaganda spread by the Ebonhood to drum up business for ourselves.
It’s far-fetched, I hear you say. Impossible even. There are simply some things that Vruz can’t steal. Well then, why don’t you tell me this: where did your pants go?