Thief & Philanthropist
The demon had found himself in quite the pickle.
The City was hardly what most people could call a utopia, or even an example of a half decent city. The rich who held sovereignty over The City often imposed rules and laws to benefit themselves solely, which were presented randomly and without reason. One of these such rules being entirely random curfews, which were rarely announced in advanced, and were brutally enforced.
Aamon had figured out this fact when City Guards wanted to put him in jail for the dastardly offense of being outside at night with a few books. He didn't agree to such an offense, and the Guards decided to change his sentence to death. He quickly rounded a corner, the guards still yelling and in hot pursuit. Aamon was more or less on the same level as these guardsmen physically, so he would need to outsmart them. He sighed as he realized he'd have to temporarily disable his glamour to make his escape. He simply hoped nobody would see his demonic form.
With his Glamour disabled, his stuck both his claws into a flimsy wall which lead to the rooftops of the City. It would make for a proper escape route. He stuck his fingers into the wall again and again, scaling the flat wall like a a cliff face. He eventually made his way to the top, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips as he flopped onto the wet and misused rooftops. His claws were covered in his own blood from his little stunt. He was tired and wounded, but it seems as though he had escaped the City Watch for the moment.
