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The Theif's Folly

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#1 MSurber90


    Okay, I'm lost, uh I'm angry, and I'm armed.

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Posted 07 April 2008 - 09:00 AM

I'm currently taking a short hiatus from this one, but will continue later on.

21st of Last Seed, 3E433

Nodding to the gate guard as he passed, Owen Altivia recalled the last time he had been to the city of Cheydinhal in northeastern Cyrodiil. He had been hired by the citizens of Harlun's Watch, a small community just outside Cheydinhal's southern wall, to find and kill a few ogres who had been stealing the town's crops. He found a hunter in town who knew of the ogres and agreed to help, for a share of the rewards. They had tracked the ogres to their lair two miles south of Harlun's Watch, and with a little careful planning, ambushed them as they left for their next raid.
This time was different. He had been looking for work for the past week with no luck. Perhaps someone in town would need escort to another city? Or a mage would need alchemical ingredients and couldn't take time from his experiements to collect them? Either way, Owen needed work.
He entered the inn closest to the city's west gate, and took a seat at the bar.
"Welcome to the Newlands Lodge!" The Dunmer hostess said in a half cheery voice. "This is a Dark Elf bar. Cursing, spitting, screaming, and fighting are fine with me. But the Guard won't be so enthusiastic about it."
"Don't worry about that," Owen said. "I'm too tired for fighting right now." He had had a long trip from Bruma and he wanted nothing more right now than a bed. "How much for a room?" he asked.
"Ten septims a night," the elf replied, to which Owen then took ten of the golden coins from the pouch on his belt and set them on the counter. The Dunmer counted the coins and dropped them into her own pouch.
"Just up the stairs there," she said pointed into the room behind him. "It's the room on the right."
"Thank you." And with that he got up and headed to his room. It was small, with a dresser to the right of the door and a chair in the corner next to the bed. He set his cloak, pack, and armor on the chair, and his bow and quiver on the floor leaning against it. he slipped his dagger from his boot and stashed it under the pillow and hung his sword on the bed post before settling down for the night.

In his green camouflage clothing, the thief blended well with his surroundings. Even without it, he doubted any of the merchants would have spotted him in the darkness outside the light of their campfire. He had been tracking the caravan ever since they left Bravil, and he was sure the haul from this job would get him another few months of leisure. He was good at what he did, and he saw no reason to stop now. He had never been caught, and only once in his eight years of thievery had he been seen. And even then, the Count of Kvatch had been too shocked to do anything before the thief made his escape.
He waited until the merchants all retired to their respective tents, and then he begun his work. There were three guards, two if which were sleeping around the campfire in the center of the ring of tents. The remaining guard had finished his fifth bottle of wine about an hour after the merchants fell asleep, but the cunning thief decided to help him along a bit. He crept up behind the guard so silently a dog wouldn't have heard him, and used a paralysis spell to render him helpless.
Once that was done, he moved to the side of his target's tent and poked a small hole with his dagger so as to see inside. By the candle light inside, he could see a small jewelry box next to the merchant's bedroll. Judging from the slow and steady breathing the merchant was in a deep sleep. As good a time as ever, the thief thought. He slipped into the tent, lockpick in hand, and easily picked the lock on the jewelry box, which had no less than five pins, and observed his prize. Several valuable gems ranging from emeralds and rubies to topaz and sapphires, and a few gold and silver rings.
After dumping the rings and gems into his bag, the thief took a quick scan for anything else of value. Only one thing caught his eye. The merchant's amulet. It was gold with a silver chain and the most flawlessly cut sapphire he had ever seen. Experience told him not to risk slipping the amulet off its owners neck, but he couldn't resist such a tempting prize. Carefully he unclasped the amulet, slipped it into his pocket and left.
The guard was right were the thief had left him. He didn't worry about the guard seeing his face. The stupid Nord most likely wouldn't even remember what transpired after several bottles of wine. And even if he did, very few people knew Foromil the Wood Elf, much less what he looked like.

Making his way through the woods, it was almost sunrise when Foromil arrived at the grove where he stashed his gear. It was several leagues north of the Blue Road where he robbed the merchants, though he preferred the term burgled. To him it sounded more civilized. He set up his tent and stashed his gear inside a stump he had hollowed out and covered with leaves, then went about the perimeter of his camp setting small traps intended to delay an intruder long enough for him to escape. Finally, at midday, he went to sleep.

Breakfast that morning was simple. A loaf of bread, a bowl of rice, and some jerky from his pack, washed down with a glass of beer. When he was finished, Owen went back to his room and donned his chainmail shirt, followed by his leather tunic and sword belt. Once fully dressed and equipped, he left the inn and decided to wander the city. After his tour in the Legions on Vvardenfell, Owen had turned to freelance adventuring as his career. After a few years he returned to Cyrodiil, where he established a network of contacts who always kept their ears open for any opportunities that may interest him. It had been several months since his last visit to Cheydinhal, but perhaps some still listened for anything interesting going on.
Finally, his luck paid off. As he was walking past the Fighters Guild chapter hall in the western half of town, a familiar voice called to him. "Oi! Owen!" He turned to see Fergius Cailin, a former legionnaire whom Owen had served with and befriended on Vvardenfell. Both men were well built from their years in the Legion, though Owen's muscle was more evenly distributed. Fergius' arms were much larger, most likely due to having carried a claymore his entire service, a habit he apparently found hard to to lose, for he still wore a large steel claymore on his back. He was several inches taller than Owen, he was about six feet and three inches tall, and had his rose blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail with a short beard to match. He was wearing brown trousers tucked into his leather boots, and an iron cuirass over a chainmail undershirt. Owen noticed he had several scars across his face that weren't there when they parted ways back in Vvardenfell.
"Good to see you're still breathing." Owen said as seriously as he could. "See you got some new scars. What have you been doing?"
"Ah, these?" the huge man said, rubbing his finger along the length of one scar running from his left ear to the right side of his nose. "Ran into a few trolls on one of my expeditions in the Jeralls a few months ago. Got my guide good. He lost an ear. But we got 'em all in the end."
"Well, you've never been one to back away from a fight," Owen said with a chuckle.
"So what about you?" Fergius asked, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the guildhall's support beams.
Owen shook his head and let out a sigh. "I've been looking for work. Contracts don't come easily when you're a freelancer."
"Why not join the guild?" Fergius asked, nodding to the building behind him.
"I like playing by my own rules for once, taking my own orders. It's the same reason I didn't reenlist." Owen answered. Fergius nodded understandingly. Having been a soldier for the better part of forty years, he was more used to following orders than giving them. Owen on the other hand always had to refrain from contesting his commander's orders. Knight Protector Jonus Trivalte had been a largely incompetent leader, and Owen couldn't help but feel relieved when Imsin the Dreamer took over.
"Well, I have a contract that requires my attention," Fergius said after a moment. "You're welcome to tag along if you want."
"Thanks. I've been hoping for some action," Owen said. "What's the mission?"

23rd Last Seed, 3E433

It was four in the evening when Owen, Fergius, and their Khajiit tracker found the remains of a campsite in a grove a couple miles east of the Silver Road. A merchant from Bravil had contracted the Fighters Guild to track down a thief who had stolen a family heirloom, among other treasures. A guard, whom had awoken to find another paralyzed and drunk, had witnessed a shadow running north. From this they were able to track the thief to this campsite.
"Do you think he got far?" asked Owen.
"Oh, definitely," the Suthay-raht answered. Ri'Jimar was a former scout and a veteran of Elsweyr's Five Year War with Valenwood. He had seen more than his fair share of combat from afar, and he had been in the thick of more than one battle. He could track a fox across Cyrodiil, or so people said. "He could be in Chorrol by now for all I know," he finished.
"Can you find his trail?" Fergius asked impatiently.
"Give me a moment," Ri'Jimar replied. He scanned the ground around the camp's perimeter and several times he set of into the woods, only to return. Finally, he found a trail that continued on northwards, and gestured for them to follow.

After only two hours of sleep, Foromil had abandoned his camp and begun making his way north to Bruma. He had a friend there who could give him a safe place to sleep and keep his ears open for anyone coming after him. He didn't expect the merchants to track him all the way there, but he was only still alive by being cautious.
He waited until the guard's relief came to make his move. The two soldiers had struck up a conversation about how best to cook boar meat, and he was able to slip inside the city undetected. He entered Olav's Tap and Tack, an inn right next to Bruma's east gate. He rented his usual room, and had the best meal he'd eaten in the past three days. Afterwards, he went to his room, planning to wait for nightfall before heading out to meet his friend.
Suurootan, an Altmer, ran the store called Novaroma near Castle Bruma. He had known Foromil for several years and knew to expect him to arrive at his doorstep at any moment. Shortly before midnight there was a knock at his door.
"Get yourself into more trouble?" the High Elf asked teasingly as he opened the door.
"I was about to ask you that myself," Foromil replied, stepping over the threshold.
"Well, I have heard the Fighters Guild asked to retreive a merchant's family heirloom and to bring in the thief responsible. Is that you?" the elf inquired.
"Perhaps," the thief answered. He reached under his cloak and withdrew the amulet from one of his pockets. "Pretty, is it not?" And indeed it was. Suurootan stared at it for long seconds without blinking, and only when Foromil returned it to its place did he realize his eyes were dry.
"Sorry," he said. "It's late, I, uh, must be getting tired."
"Yes, yes," Foromil replied. "I just need you to come tell me if anyone comes to the city looking for me."
"I'm sure the one of the guards would be better for this task than I," Suurootan suggested. "They see everyone who comes through the gates." Foromil thought at length about this. A guard would be more reliable in relaying such information to him.
"Who would you suggest?" he asked.
"The day guard. Soren I think his name was. You can find him at Olav's eating breakfast in the morning before he goes on duty."
"Thank you my friend." Foromil said as he turned to leave. "Sleep well."

They set up camp shortly after nightfall, in a clearing just off the side of the Silver Road. They couldn't follow the trail in the darkness, and so would have to wait until morning to continue. They set up their bedrolls and Ra'Jimar started a small fire. Dinner consisted of bread and some blackberries Fergius found growing along the side of the road. Ra'Jimar made sure to check the berries before allowing his comrades to eat them. Afterwards, they agreed to each take turns standing watch, first would be Owen, and then around midnight Ra'Jimar would take his place, followed by Fergius.
After less the an hour of sleep, Owen woke up to Ra'Jimar shaking him.
"What is-" he started to ask, but the scout put a finger to his lips, telling him to keep quiet. He leaned closer so Owen could hear him.
"There something out there," he said in a whisper. Owen stood up, and as quickly and quietly as he could fastened his sword belt and drew his sword. Fergius was already in a crouching position holding his claymore in one hand. Ra'Jimar held his bow at the ready, an arrow already nocked, aimed into the darkness. Owen could hear heavy footfalls in the forest around them.

#2 Mercutio


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Posted 07 April 2008 - 02:55 PM

I said on TSSLF, but again, this is awesome. Really like where it's going biggrin.gif



#3 MSurber90


    Okay, I'm lost, uh I'm angry, and I'm armed.

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Posted 08 April 2008 - 12:37 AM

Thanks, Astral. Like I said I'm taking a short break from this one. I may get working on it again in a few days.

#4 Admiral Ackbar

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Posted 08 April 2008 - 02:28 AM

I...I... Love you.
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#5 MSurber90


    Okay, I'm lost, uh I'm angry, and I'm armed.

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Posted 08 April 2008 - 02:30 AM

I'm sorry. I don't swing that way. wink.gif

#6 Admiral Ackbar

Admiral Ackbar

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Posted 08 April 2008 - 02:51 AM

QUOTE (Monty the Boar @ Apr 7 2008, 12:33 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
I'm sorry. I don't swing that way. wink.gif

in all seriousness, this is great. I didn't think anyone but me loved Oblivion that much...

Personally I've clocked 250 hours.
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Any man would give his only begotten son for Democracy - Johnny Got His Gun
100% of Admiral Ackbars around the world disaprove of these 'if you are one of the 2% that...' sigs. If you disagree, GO CAP YOURSELF.

#7 MSurber90


    Okay, I'm lost, uh I'm angry, and I'm armed.

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Posted 08 April 2008 - 02:54 AM

I've only clocked 150-ish. Made it to level 34 with my Imperial Knight. I have yet to complete the MQ with that character.

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