Background Notes: I have this odd habit of writing FanFiction for my English class. Yes, I did it again; this FanFiction was written for AP English, which is taught by the same teacher who I wrote the Authurian tale for. We had to chose a last book to read and do a project on it, which could be anything we want. I wrote a six-page story with a two-page explanation on The Colour of Magic. I preserved the characters as much as I could (I even kept Death's way of speaking, though I'm afraid FanFiction doesn't like it, and hence it is underlined on here), along with the world, and then added elements that appear in the novel, hence Murun the Stereotypical Thief. There are also various references to other stuff, such as Neverwinter Nights and World of Warcraft, but they are subtle. I apologize for any errors -- I have only read one Discworld novel and did minimal research to write this. I also know there are typos, but I can't remember where all of them are and don't feel like reading through it to find them. So yeah... Enjoy :)

A Little Thievery

The Luggage was not happy. Deep within its pearwood structure, spinning and twirling within the contours of the texture, its brain -- if it could be called a brain -- registered that there was a problem. This had nothing to do with its location -- in the Great Nef, desert to rival all other deserts -- but rather with its company. Its master was gone. It expressed its distaste with a massive, tooth-baring yawn.

Rincewind glanced down at the Luggage, swallowed hoarsely, and returned to trying to figure out what exactly had happened. One second he had been sailing on the infamous Dehydrated Ocean, and doing pretty well for once. Perhaps that had been the problem, for the next thing he knew, he was stranded in the desert, blinking crusty eyelids open, but relatively safe… Except not really, because "safe" didn't exist where the Luggage was concerned, especially since Twoflower had inexplicably vanished.

He didn't know what happened. He didn't especially care, either. This was his life; things just happened, and he knew better than to question it, because then worse things may happen. It was best to just go with the flow, hope he didn't die, and stop hoping that life was going to become easier at some point. After all, it wasn't that these thoughts did anything but bring disappointment, misery, and reason to be pessimistic…

The Luggage didn't care much for enlightening thoughts. Twoflower was gone. Rincewind was to blame last time, and so he was to blame again. Rincewind then needed to do something before the great yawn became a nasty bite. Rincewind was aware of the fact, but there was really nothing he could do until he knew where, exactly, he was.

You can do one thing. It was a haunting voice, reminding him of the sudden creak of old trees in a graveyard. It was also the last voice he wanted to hear at the moment. Rincewind's skin rapidly turned to ice, but he only swallowed a groan and pretended to be in control of the situation.

"I'd rather not." Unfortunately, his reply happened to be meek, barely containing his panic. He weakly gazed across the landscape, but there wasn't much point to it, considering the scenery hadn't changed one iota.

Why not? Death didn't breath, but he might as well, considering Rincewind thought he felt a chilling breath on the back of his neck. His eyes turned to the side and he thought he just managed to see a dark-cloaked, scythe-bearing figure with brilliant lights for eyes coming up beside him.

"Well, I happen to prefer living--" Rincewind was interrupted by the Luggage snapping irritably at his robes. It did not see the point of talking with Death. In fact, it didn't see the point of talking in general, especially when Twoflower was gone. Rincewind grimaced, shuffling away from the Luggage.

With it? Death seemed to pick up on the tension; he was good at that.

Rincewind and Death together stared down at the Luggage, which opened its mouth to reveal a set of wooden white teeth. Its great red tongue hung out in a ridiculous pant before it rushed forward and snapped its mouth shut. Rincewind jumped away from it, then stumbled back again when he nearly brushed against Death.

"Maybe not, bu-- Wait, no!" He ducked just in time, as Death's scythe brushed through the air where his neck had once been present. Rincewind stared up meekly at Death, swearing he saw annoyance before coughing weakly. "That was cheating."

You will die sooner or later. Death needn't say that he preferred sooner. Rincewind had lost count of how many times Death had tried to take him so far. Every time he thought things couldn't get any worse, Death showed up and reminded him that actually, they could get far worse. He was better off not thinking about it, though, because then he would think about whom had caused all of these troubles, and he didn't want the Luggage to pick up on any remotely negative thoughts.

"I pick later." Rincewind scrambled backwards. The Luggage took this as a step in the right direction and rushed after him. When Death simply stood, bouncing his scythe on one shoulder as if he were on a daily routine, Rincewind whirled around and fled for the hills -- or rather the dunes.

Death watched with a distinct air of agitation. It didn't help that there was nothing in close proximity to kill instead; at least last time Rincewind had rudely run away, there were things around that needed to be sent away. He settled for turning and sweeping elsewhere through the desert. Maybe those nomads were still around…

---

"Rincewind! There you are! Isn't this spectacular?"

Rincewind wasn't quite sure whether that voice meant things were going to improve and become disastrous. As he turned toward it, he quickly decided. Racing over the sand, flailing his arms, iconograph in one hand -- Rincewind could almost hear the imp inside swearing as his paint splashed everywhere -- was none other than Twoflower, the cause of most of his problems as of late. The tourist was, unsurprisingly, entirely unaware of this. He dashed over to Rincewind and shoved the iconograph up at his nose. Rincewind could definitely hear the imp cursing, and his eyes narrowed.

"Here! You must take a picture. This is fantastic!"

With a face of pure disgust, Rincewind plucked the iconograph from the tourist. Twoflower turned around, mumbling softly as he looked around for the best dune for the photograph. Rincewind peeked into the iconograph, then quickly wished he hadn't, as he noticed everything was coated in paint, the salamanders glowing through one layer, the easel in disarray, and the imp staring up at him with a face red from more than paint.

"You had better not want a picture from me," the imp hissed before resuming his race to bring everything back to order.

"I don't, but he does," Rincewind admitted. The imp peeked out of the machine to view Twoflower preparing his pose in front of his chosen location – a lopsided dune.

"Bloody..." The imp disappeared back into the iconograph. "Well, if he wants a picture, he'll get a bloody picture."

That sounded like anything but encouraging. Carefully closing the iconograph, Rincewind pointed it at Twoflower's command, and shortly thereafter a flash of light came from the "machine". However, being it was during the day, light should not have been necessary; furthermore, the light looked duller than normal, a prelude to what the picture looked like. It was dark, fuzzy, and only consisted of a few colors. Twoflower stared dumbfounded at what could have been an amazing scrapbook photograph before looking down at the iconograph. He scratched his head, but swiftly brushed it aside.

"Oh well. There will be other pictures," he concluded cheerily, before pointing in a clearly random direction. "That way!"

There didn't seem to be anywhere else to go.

---

Murun was hopelessly lost. He had been following a group of heroes traveling through the desert, in hopes of stealing some of their treasure, being declared a traitor, and perhaps gaining a step up on Stren Withel. The only problem was that they somehow caught wind of his plans. Perhaps it was that wizard with them; he always gave him suspicious sidelong glances, and wizards had an annoying habit of knowing everything. In any case, they had left him behind, and he was in the desert with absolutely nothing but clothes, a dagger, some pickpockets, and a lot of coins that weren't his. None of those were particularly helpful in the desert, as Murun was rapidly discovering.

"Stupid heroes," he muttered angrily as he stumbled up another of the countless dunes in the area. "Have to search for glory in the most ridiculous of places."

He had a feeling people had made that complaint before, but didn't especially care. Thieves didn't claim to be creative, especially when they were left on their own and in an especially foul mood. There was absolutely nothing he could do at that moment except wander aimlessly and hope he found someone as unfortunate as himself. As it turned out, that happened. As Murun cursed his way up and over the next dune, he saw two other figures and some thing traveling in the desert. For a few moments one figure looked distinctly like the wizard he had been traveling with before, and he was so shocked to have found his companions that he immediately tripped over himself and slid gracelessly down the dune. It wasn't very thief-like, and Murun grumbled before letting it pass. After all, it wasn't like he was trying to be a rogue.

The thief pried himself from the sand, brushing it off in droves, before finally taking another look at the trio. They had stopped, as apparently his graceful fall was completely obvious. Murun squinted into the distance, trying to see what exactly the thing following them was. Then, suddenly, the gears turned and a light bulb lit in his head, causing a brief but swiftly forgotten migraine. For that Thing was most definitely a wooden chest, and wooden chests always equaled money. His companions must have found something truly spectacular in the desert; it would be his for leaving him behind.

Granted, Murun wasn't exactly sure what he could do with money in the middle of a desert, but logic didn't last for long; money had a habit of overriding it in anyone's head, especially a thief's. He had been gypped out of getting money shamelessly once, and he wasn't going to be gypped out of it again. So, brushing the last of the sand off of his outfit, Murun tried to look as innocent as possible, and strode toward the trio.

Halfway there, he realized that those weren't his companions. The wizard couldn't even spell his occupation right on his hat, first of all. The other companion bore no resemblance to a hero of any sort, to continue. Finally, they both were staring at him like they hadn't the faintest idea who he was. It was perfect; it was so much easier to steal stuff from people one didn't know, after all. Murun barely hid his grin.

Rincewind noticed him first -- Or rather, he noticed what he was first. Twoflower was too busy babbling nonsense about finally finding someone and seeing if they knew how to get out of the desert. There was just something about the man's walk, how immaculate he tried to make his outfit, his not quite grin, and then just his outfit in general. Black clothing, a cape, about fifty places to hide a blade, and of course the belt to hang thieves' tools from... Rincewind could spot a thief from miles away.

Twoflower could not.

"Hello there! Do you think you could help us? We're a bit lost," Twoflower called. Rincewind sighed and looked around for something more hopeful that a thief.

Murun only faltered for a moment. "Why of course. I was just heading out of here myself and I would love to help..." His voice was far too sweet and innocent to mean anything hopeful. Rincewind turned warily back to the conversation, sensing horror coming upon him.

"Wonderful! I have the money to pay, if you like." Before Rincewind could stop him, Twoflower plucked a few rhinu coins from his pocket.

Rincewind wondered if it was possible for someone's eyes to pop out of their sockets. It looked like Murun's were about to. The thief recognized pure gold when he saw it -- Any thief could. He didn't know who this stranger was, but they were richer than any hero was, and therefore he had to take the loot. Sure, they would quickly realize he was just as lost as they were, but he could just make up enough lies to get all of their money and skimp out, perhaps dragging that chest along with him. Yes, it was a perfect idea, and Murun squashed the feeble part of his mind that disagreed.

"Why, thank you. One coin is enough for now," Murun replied as smoothly as he could. He held out his hand and was pleased when the coin was in his hand. It felt real – another handy thief trait – and he stuffed it into one of his numerous pockets before pointing in a clearly random direction. "Shall we go?"

---

Unsurprisingly, after a few days, things were rapidly looking bad. They weren't any closer to being out of the desert. Twoflower, clueless as always, kept giving the thief money. The Luggage was getting steadily crankier. The iconograph was malfunctioning due to overexposure to light. And Rincewind couldn't convince Twoflower that any of this might be remotely bad. Twoflower never even showed any signs of being aggravated. Whenever Rincewind complained, Twoflower would ceaselessly argue back, saying that this was a grand opportunity and besides, Murun was just being a better guide than he was proving as of late, and Rincewind was probably just jealous.

Rincewind hadn't bothered figuring out where that argument had come from. He had just sighed heavily and gazed gloomily across the sand. A few hours later, after going in a few circles and taking a few dozen photographs, they were no closer to getting anywhere. Rincewind glanced over at Twoflower and Murun, who were having a wonderful conversation about the benefits of echo-gnomics, though Murun faltered in his words and kept glancing around as if plucking his lies out of the air. His lies hadn't distorted the continuum yet, but it was surely only a matter of time.

And yet, Twoflower didn't notice. Rincewind sighed again, ignoring the iconograph imp's mutterings about the earthquake, and wondered why he bothered being there.

Would you rather not?

The aggravation rapidly converted into pure worry at hearing the voice, and Rincewind realized that perhaps that thought had been quite idiotic. He carefully turned around, and found that Death had returned. There could be only one explanation for that, and fear converted to resignation.

"Now what?" he asked bitterly, looking around for any signs of doom.

You'll see. It'd be a shame to ruin the surprise.

"I'd rather have it be ruined," Rincewind murmured, but before he could get any farther with the conversation, he was interrupted. It was a quiet sound, unable to interrupt much of anything, but there was no way Rincewind could mistake it. Dice. He groaned; the last time he heard that noise…

Murun stopped walking, eyes darting around. Suddenly he had to attack his companions and take the Luggage for himself. Twoflower, he determined, was basically harmless. But wizards weren't harmless, even wizards that couldn't even get their occupation right and didn't know any spells. Whipping out his dagger, he launched himself toward Rincewind, who with a yelp ducked and rolled out of the way of the dagger. Scythe and blade both missed him, and Rincewind used the opportunity to roll out of the way and to his feet. He then fell back to the ground to dodge a whizzing throwing knife. He cursed as he scrambled to his feet, then hunched down to dodge another one. This was a thief; they would have a near infinite supply of the knives. If it kept going, he figured at an odd time as he rolled inexpertly out of the way of another knife, it would almost be a dance. Death, he imagined, would find this horribly amusing.

Not really.

He ignored the comment, considered trying to trick the thief, and then decided otherwise. Thieves were impossible to trick; they knew every one that existed, and therefore could plan for them. Instead, he made a blind run toward Murun, hoping perhaps that he could manage a kick at just the right moment. Unfortunately for him, Murun still had throwing knives, and in the end Rincewind decided if he couldn't run, he definitely could crouch as low to the ground as possible. He flattened against the ground, covering his nose and mouth with his hand to keep from sneezing. It took a few moments for him to realize that this may be just as suffocating as sticking his face into the sand. Death would certainly find that amusing.

Again, not especially.

Murun was oblivious to the conversation. On the other hand, he noticed that the wizard had dropped to the ground and wasn't getting back up. It wasn't as nice as killing him, but terror and submission would have to do. Turning around, he noticed Twoflower looking between Rincewind and the Luggage, as if unable to decide which would be better to approach. That worked perfectly for the thief; he could snatch that chest of treasures before anyone could react. He approached the chest carefully, remembering vaguely how it could walk and seemed rather aggressive.

There was the softest rattle of dice. Rincewind was finding it hard to breathe, and listened carefully. No footsteps came after him, but he did hear the familiar shuffling of a hundred tiny legs. He dared take a peak at the situation, and ended up staring. For no rationale other than pure insanity, Murun had abandoned his homicidal mission and instead aimed for suicide. He had approached the Luggage, dagger held at ready in one hand, the other reaching out toward the chest. It just had to be suicide, unless the thief was an idiot; surely he saw the teeth on that thing when it threatened him an hour ago?

Twoflower became aware of the situation, and noticed the Luggage preparing to snap. With a spark of normal intelligence, he opened his mouth to sound a warning. Unfortunately, normal intelligence in his brain worked on a slower scale than average. The Luggage had already registered danger and snapped mercilessly at the thief's hand. Rincewind winced and decided that he couldn't wait for Twoflower to leave; he never wanted to hear the crunch of bones against wood ever again.

With a yelp of pain, Murun staggered backward, whipping his dagger away so he could clutch at his bloody hand. Two of his fingers disappeared inside the Luggage, which opened menacingly when the thief took a few moments to stare with horror. Even Death took a few steps forward, moving his scythe into position. However, Murun quickly realized that this was not a hapless pair of idiotic travelers. Perhaps the wizard couldn't spell and Twoflower was a babbling idiot, but the Luggage had the most efficient and painful anti-theft system he had ever seen.

He wasted no time turning around and running as quickly away as he could. Incidentally, when Rincewind turned warily to make sure he kept running, he promptly forgot about him in place of the horizon. It wasn't peaked by sand dunes; instead, it had a few outcroppings of normal trees. Twoflower, also watching Murun leave, soon brightened at seeing the situation. The Luggage let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a burp, but no one appeared to notice.

"Trees! That must be the way out." His confidence, while admirable, seemed positively ridiculous. He promptly forgot about his Luggage's new lunch as he walked over to Rincewind and hoisted the stunned wizard to his feet. "Well, let's go! There's still so much more to see. I can't wait to take some more pictures!"

Rincewind stared as Twoflower merrily headed on his way. The tourist was definitely the only person he met who could practically skip away from what could have become a slaughter and was instead a man getting his fingers bitten off. He couldn't decide whether it was unsettling or annoying. At the scramble of legs, he glanced down at the Luggage, which chose to open its mouth and lick its "lips" at that moment. Rincewind winced as he watched the Luggage trot off after its master. There was no doubt about it; pearwood was definitely the cruelest living thing on all of Discworld.

He trudged after them with no heart to argue or even say anything at all, or even to make sure Death wasn't still standing behind him. He just thought to himself that those trees had definitely not been there before.

Death watched the proceedings silently. He swept his scythe back to his shoulder as he heard the ending rattle of dice. His face gained the impression of eyes narrowing.

Sod you all. Someday, I won't be stood up by any of you. He then walked over to his steed and rode away, wondering if there was anything to be said about him holding a grudge, however short it may be.