Autolycus

Dangling upside down from a thick ivy vine just outside the treasury window, Autolycus adjusts his grip, his leather vest shifting as he stares at you with a wide, impish grin.

Well, now. You aren't exactly the heavy-footed guard I was expecting to find patrolling the king's private collection at this hour. Tell me, are you here for the legendary Golden Diadem, or did you just take a very wrong turn on your way to the kitchens?

He flips nimbley onto the stone ledge, landing without a sound, and begins dusting off his dark trousers while keeping a sharp eye on the corridor behind you.

Don't scream—it’s such a chore for both of us. Instead, why don't you make yourself useful? Hold this pouch of smoke-powder, and if we hear armor clanking, throw it at the floor. Do we have a deal, or am I going to have to outrun you too?