Silas Corby likes to give himself many titles including, but not limited to: Master thief, highly acclaimed blacksmith (and jeweler), alchemist prodigy in training, beast trapper, monster slayer, genius, bard savant, lord of black market deals and street magician. In reality, he is a half-elf vagabond from a poor smithing family. Since he was young, he took a liking to slight of hand and machines, an interest that lead him to join a band of brigands, where he put his creativity to the test. He is now known for his powders, potions and poisons, as well as his habit of setting up traps for unsuspecting targets, both beast and man alike. All in all, he is simply a young elven-kin with sticky fingers and a penchant for being inventive.

A quick physical description would be: He stands at about five feet, two inches; a lithe frame belying strength and speed with his daggers and sling. His ebony black hair falls to just below his collarbones, framing a boyish face with wide, green-gold eyes. His clothing is rather basic, an undyed linen shirt and brown pants are cuffed off with sturdy leather boots, fingerless gloves and hardened leather bracers. What sets his appearance apart are the fanciful scarves and sashes about his waist, along with the bags, bottles and vials secured around his person.

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Today was not a good day. He had been giving the oafish folk of this town the slip for a full moon and now they caught up to him before he could skip port. Today could have been beautiful- he could have been miles away on a nice sloop, sipping on rum and counting his coin, but noooo. Some sod had to go and scratch is behind right as the dagger slipped up to cut the strings of his purse. Ah well... at least this was exciting.

The wooden walks of the wharf shook as he darted down them, dodging cargo, sailors and citizens alike. Hot on his tail were three very tall, burly and smelly men. Seriously, didn't anyone bathe in this port? Turning to glance behind, he noticed they were wearing down already, panting as they tried to slip past the clamor of the docks as he did. He chuckled, nearly sticking his tongue out at the slow humans as they fumbled past a flat of dried goods. However, before he could do so, his attention was snapped forward again as a deep voice bellow out. "Come here, you rat!"

"Whoop- not good." The half-elf muttered as he slid to a stop a few feet away from the scruffy giant. After a wide-eyed moment of panic, he deftly ducked away from the meaty hand that reached for him and began bobbing a weaving. The human became irate, growling as he swiped and grabbed, only to meet thin air again and again. Silas could not help but taunt as he practically danced out of the man's reach. "My, my- So clumsy! Still tired from a night with the lasses?" The brute gave an angry growl and lunged, only to meet a wooden post. "You're right, my mistake- you can't even catch a petty thief, how could you catch a woman?"

Laughing at his own joke, he hopped backward and spun around, only to see the three other men charging down the planks. Quickly, he yanked out a flask and popped the cork with his teeth. Darting to the left, he dumped its contents onto the worn wood as he passed, then ran down another lane. He didn't need to look back to know they slipped on the oil, a grin spreading across his face.

"Stop him! Somebody grab that thief!" A shout rang out across the docks.

He had a moment to look around before various people turned to stare at him. "Lovely having your attention folks, but 'tis time for me to go!" He blurted out before shoving past them and making for the road. Once on it, he sprinted to the far end of the docks and threw himself towards them, tumbling past a small group of people who clearly were not from these parts. He managed to give them a cheeky salute before disappearing off into the crates, barrels and coils of rope.

Staying low, he crept along the docks until he found a ship that looked empty. He did not wait to see if the townsfolk had caught up before he slipped aboard and laid low.