conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: sonofzeal: The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
  The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
  And the catburgler came stalking—
  Stalking— stalking—
  The catburgler came stalking, up to the mansion door.  
     
  The Cordwainer residence was not the most welcoming she had ever seen.  Nor did it make for the easiest target.  Nor, as a matter of fact, was it particularly convenient to get to.  Claudia was going to have to give her feet a good soak after this one.  Still, it was always wise to spread out her depredations as much as possible.  And she was sorely lacking a suitable necklace to go with the regal gown she'd pulled on the last heist, and wouldn't you know but a little birdy had suggested there might be just such a piece here.
  
  Of course, there were certain risks to working off intel a dozen years old.
  
  Old Mr Almoner may have died with little enough money, barely managing a half-decent plot two rows down from Claudia's mausoleum, but he had once been a wealthy man, and blamed his downfall on Ms Cordwainer, the better part of a century ago when she'd been  Miss  Cordwainer.  He'd never gone into the details, but he'd talked on and on and  on  about a diamond necklace he'd given her.  The dead could be interminable like that.  He'd been utterly insistent about getting the necklace out of Ms Cordwainer's hands, though, and Claudia was more than happy to oblige.
  
  The necklace might still be there, or it might not.  For that matter, Ms Cordwainer herself might be long in her grave or not; she'd be over a hundred if she was this was far beyond Claudia's usual range.  Certainly the house showed signs of disrepair, though light still flowed through one window.  Someone was home.  And the local constabulary were housed not a five minute walk away - a vigorous scream could cover that distance easily enough.
  
  Caution would be required.  But that's fine.  You don't get to assemble the most exquisite outfit in the entire county without taking a few risks.  And if grand larceny was what it would take for Mr Almoner to stop talking about that blasted necklace, well then, grand larceny it would be.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  The house is as pictured.  Stone construction dominates, with some small sections of brickwork right at the top.  The whole house is raised, a two-story sheer stone wall encircling it except for a single bifurcating staircase at the front.  Climbing it would be manageable for someone of your skill, though not swift without a rope.
  
  The time of day is dusk.  The light is on in the left side of the second floor.
   
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: DaniL: Claudia approaches the house, staying in the shadows as much as possible.  So far there are no signs of dogs or guards outside so she makes her way to the window and peers in, trying to catch a glimpse of the occupant. or occupants.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: DaniL: Stealth  (1d20+15)[ 27 ] 
  Perception  (1d20+11)[ 28 ] 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: sonofzeal: Narry a leaf stirs under her feet as she ascends.  The light is on the second floor; the first looks empty and largely disused.  Several of the rooms seem to have been closed off for some time.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: DaniL: Claudia approaches one of the unused rooms, checking to see how well sealed the windows are.
  
  Perception  (1d20+11)[ 28 ] 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: sonofzeal: The window is stiff, but can be opened without too much effort.  As you pry open the window, the smell of musty old books is almost overpowering.  The room beyond is lined with book-cases, everything from florid novels to old diaries to trades manuals, but whatever furniture is draped in dust-laden sheets.