The shadows of the columns were a refreshing relief from the heat and dust only a few steps away.

He was scouting for the entrance of the tomb he was lurking around, thankful for the opportunity that the festival of Bast had given him. Fingers trailing on the rough sandstone, he idly readjusted one of the many scarves wound around himself, delicately painted eyes scrunching at a sudden gust that scattered abrasive sand into his face.

It was a good disguise, he decided. The make-up hadn't been too hard - a few quick swipes and he easily looked the part of a dedicated worshiper to a cat goddess. Each of the scarves had wrapped around into an ostensibly-intricate belt. His hair had been tucked into a turban, though as soon as he had retreated to the shadows, the rough olivine fabric was loosened into a cowl.

He rather liked the red scrap, though. Reminded him a bit of the cloak he stowed some khets outside the city limits.

Fond nostalgia tugged at him, and for a moment he let it accompany him as his sandaled feet padded across the sandy stone floor of the temple he was lurking around. His fingers trailed along the wall as he contemplated the layout of his newest target. The writing was a pleasant sensation on his calloused hands, fingers dipping in the grooves of the letters and trailing like one would a lover's.

The prayers and praise were just barely legible to him. He had only learned a more advanced vocabulary than what was taught by the scribe whose workshop he peeked into from time to time.

(Thieves generally weren't allowed to learn how to read, anyway, even if he could have bribed the man with a year's wages. If he felt like it.)

Murmuring reached his ears, the singularly distinctive odor that was incense sneaking up to his nose. He wrinkled it in irritation. Anything priestly grated on his nerves, especially after… well.

It looked like they were just setting off to take a break - apparently even those groveling morons got sick of the populace. Snorting quietly in amusement, he slipped into one of the corridors, keeping to the shadows. This all had to be done under his own power, having noticed the spells engraving in the little corners of the entrances preventing summoning.

Perhaps another time, Diabound, he thought, hand stealing up to the simple pendant he had hidden under the ornate collar he had retrieved from his stores before setting out to this venture, engraved with its image. It wasn't that he couldn't do things without his spirit beast, not at all.

But being without his constant companion tugged at him in a way he would never admit to anyone.

Ducking into one storage room, the air heavy with the scent of ink and papyri, he waited out a retinue of apprentices that were straggling about gossiping. Get a move on already, he hissed at them mentally, I want to steal from you, dammit.

At any other time, the rambling of his thoughts would have amused him into at least a chuckle, if it weren't for a lifetime of thieving stamping the habit out.

His mental urging seemed to have an affect, for the boys left rather quickly. Perhaps it was because they were late for some class, but the reason mattered not to him, for it allowed him to venture onwards into the bowels of the temple.

Fortunately for him, the object of his quest was neatly stored in a cubby-hole, right where his informant told him where it would be. He snatched a couple extra scrolls that looked interesting before making his way back to the entrance he used.

One map down, hell knew how many more.