Pandora and I grew up together on the streets of Old Krovosa and the rooftops of The Shingles. We were rivals first, then friends, and eventually partners and lovers. If Old Korvosa was our home, then The Shingles were our sanctuary. It wasn't an easy life, but it was ours and we made the best of it and eventually even profited off of it. There is a saying in Old Krovosa: "There is always work in Krovosa for those with quick feet and a brave heart." With an implication that said work would not be savory. Not only did we have nimble feet and no fear, we had a strong knowledge of the Shingles and its pathways. We delivered notes at first, nothing too important, but over time the local shops and gangs both trusted us with more valuable cargo. Packages, encrypted verbal messages, small animals, we picked it up and we dropped it off whatever it might be. We eventually saved up enough coin and bought a small apartment for the two of us. We decorated it with momentos awarded by our clients who had grown to rely on us and respect us.
We felt the King and Queen of the Shingles and nothing could have stopped us! Until the day Pandora picked up a package she refused to deliver. I don't know what it was, but what I do know is that it cost her her life. I was called to identify her body and I will never forget how dull her usually vibrant azure eyes were. Whoever killed her took the package, but not only that they took her ring, the ring that once belonged to my grandmother, the ring that I gave her with whispered vows of forever. Good ol' Chester has the ring for sale now. He never asks questions about where his goods come from. He won't part with it at a price I can afford, but my story did move his few emotions enough to get a name. A man we have had run ins with in the past. He will give me the name of who did this, or he will give me his life.
