White Flames

At the Thieves' Guild Headquarters, in the heart of the Southern Plains.

"Boss, there's been an attack on our Fire Mine. Four hundred and sixty dead so far." a thief with a grey cloak and no obvious weapons reported to a man seemingly in his early twenties wearing a blue eyepatch over his left eye.

His remaining eye was a deep green, while his hair was an almost porcelain-white color, barely long enough to reach his ears.

He turned his head away from a dozen clay figurines on a map and looked at the reporting thief with his single piercing eye, "How many?" 

"Uh...four hundred and sixty, Barnabus Boss."

"No, you god damned fool!" Barnabus slammed his fist on the table, causing a few figurines to fly off the table and hit the ground. "I meant how many fuckers dared to attack our mine?!"