Garseras

The fire crackles, casting long shadows against the rock walls. The old prospector leans in, his face half-lit by the glow, his voice low and gravelly.   "You boys ever hear the story of Jorran the Coin-Clever? A damn fool, that one—too smart for his own good. Ran with the Gilded Claw up in Westcrown. He was good—real good. Could pluck a purse off a nobleman without so much as a whisper, slip through a lock like the damn thing wasn't even there. And bold? Stars above, that man was fearless."   He spits into the fire, shaking his head.   "But lemme tell ya somethin’, boys… there are things worse than steel in the dark. And there are names you don't whisper, even when you're alone. Garseras."   A hush falls over the campfire, the name hanging in the air like smoke.   "See, Jorran got greedy. And greed ain't a sin among thieves—hell, it's damn near a virtue. But stealing from the Claw? That’s the kind of stupid that don’t leave room for second chances. Jorran figured he was clever enough to skim a little off the top, stash a fortune big enough to disappear, live out his days somewhere warm and distant. He even boasted about it—said he'd outfoxed the Benefactor himself."   The old prospector chuckles, but there's no humor in it.   "They found him three days later. His little hideaway was untouched, the gold all stacked exactly where he left it. Not a coin missing. Not a lock tampered with. But Jorran? His vault was empty."   A gust of wind whistles through the camp, sending embers swirling into the dark.   "Not dead, mind you. Empty. His eyes were wide open, breath still in his lungs, but there was nothin’ left inside. No thoughts, no memories, no soul—just a body sittin' there, fingers twitchin’ like they were still countin’ coins. You could whisper his name right in his ear, and he wouldn’t blink. Folk say he stared at that pile of gold 'til the day he died."   A long pause follows. The prospector looks each man in the eye before leaning back, letting the firelight flicker across his worn face.   "So if you ever find yourself thinkin’ you're smarter than the Claw, or that a few extra coins in your pocket ain't worth the price—remember Jorran. Because there ain't a man alive who can cheat the Gilded Claw and walk away whole. And if you think otherwise…"   He pulls his coat tight against the cold night air.   "Then maybe you're just another empty vault waitin' to be opened."