The Nord Theif

[amullinix]

I initially was going to keep this to myself, until I had much more written. However, as it stands, it's done (barring editing by others). I have other short stories in this series that I am working on that will eventually mold into one large story. Some will be short and sweet (such as this one) whiles others will not be.

 

I honestly hope you enjoy it.

 

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The Nord Thief

-A. Nix

 

I’m not sure I could be any more tired than I was while walking back from a full days work at the iron ore mine. The walk back took more out of me then usual that night. The camp fire was still smoldering from my early morning attempts at putting it out. The cruddy looking yet comfortable pup tent off to the side, and two wood logs I drug from the out edges of the camp to surround the fire (these days my legs can’t take sitting on the ground anymore), all made for a very relaxing atmosphere.

 

That and the cart’s worth of bottles full of mead I had laying around. Need to keep what little Nordic heritage I have left in my age, you understand.

 

First stop was the tent to drop most of my things off to which I then decided to dress in the most comfortable thing I had with me: an old pair of lucky trousers. I looked myself over for critters, or anything that might have followed me home. Every time I did this, it always made me remember my younger days. Scars lined my chest and arms, all from near fatal fights with, uh, name it. I don’t think there was one thing I hadn’t fought against when I was in my prime.

 

To anyone paying attention to me, I worked at the mine. To anyone who knew me (which wasn’t a lot, that I made sure of) it wasn’t the actual reason for being there. My handler passed some information to me that I found useful: some type of artifact or, religious icon or, whatever it was (such things weren’t my problem, just the amount they were worth) had been hidden away in the deeper parts of the Jerrolls. Once he passed that to me, reminded me of his usual cut, and sent me on my way. I wasn’t going to argue. Things like this usually happen to someone about to leave my particular trade.

 

This was going to set me straight for the rest of what little existence I had left. Wait for the chance, then grab it and go. Everything had been arranged from the Foreman of the mine being paid off (during my time here I learned the exact amount paid to him and laughed myself into a coughing fit; my handler wasn’t the brightest. Damned Scales didn’t have a bargaining bone in their body) to a back story as to why a random ‘drunk’ shows up to work. That, by the way, was my own doing. One of the best stories I ever told in truth.

 

That walk back, somehow, felt different. Felt as though I was almost to, whatever it was I almost to.

 

I sat on one of those wood logs and popped open a bottle of mead. Threw a couple, smaller pieces of wood into the fire pit and watched; swigging mead at my usual pace. Only took a few minutes for the fire to spruce up. Satisfied with what I had remade, I set my spit up. A stake on either end of the pit, and one solid rod topping both of them. I went back to my tent and rummaged through the bag I dropped earlier. I heard a rustling noise in the brushes just outside of the light cast by the fire. I shivered at the breeze and remembered where I was. Most Nords won’t admit this: we may enjoy the cold, and prefer it over heat, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get chills. I chuckled to myself and grabbed my wolfskin shirt. No reason to freeze to death. After sliding that on, I grabbed one of the rats out my pack (caught the bugger from the mine) and walked back over to the fire pit.

 

I never thought it was that hard to catch these oversized vermin. They kind of make it easy for you, ya’know? Launching themselves at you as if they had no fear at all. Easy enough to kill so long as you aren’t one of them lighter skinned, short elves. A few years ago, on a job with one of the wood elves, I was woken up to screaming. Seems the little elf didn’t like the rat that woke him up. By the divines, I nearly soiled myself. Haven’t honestly laughed that hard since (nearly though, when I found out the amount of Septims my handler was out by).

 

I pushed the spit through the rat and placed it back on the stakes. The fire leaping up and lapping at the fur made it sizzle, and the cooking skin began to smell like sweat honey to me. I sat back down, facing the fire, and reached at my mead bottle. I tipped my head back and opened up to drink it down, only to have the bottle stop cold just before it reaches my lips. Seemed to be hitting something. I looked at the bottle for just a second before realizing that I couldn’t close my mouth. I reached up with my hand and felt around my mouth, cutting myself on the tip of a dagger. My mouth was forced open from the width of the blade. This is odd, I thought to myself, how in the hell did a dagger end up in my mouth?

 

My body began to finally catch up to what my brain had been initially unable to tell it. As my body went numb, and my limbs limp, I felt myself being laid back, easily and ever so gently, by a pair of finger-like paws. Dirty blonde fur with patches of white; paled yellow eyes with vertical black slits in the center, met with mine. I could have sworn, with my last thoughts, I saw a sort of sympathy in its eyes.

 

“Sleep, dear Nord. Find the warmth I have given you and embrace it. You have lived a life that most cannot even begin to imagine. The things you have seen, the beasts that have been bested; I am honored to give you the rest you deserve.” The Khajiit quietly said as he positioned himself just above me, slowly removing the dagger from the base of my neck.

 

“May the Night Mother hold you in her cold dead arms. May she aid in your passing, so that you might find greater purpose in dedication to that of The Grey, The Nothing, and The Dread Father.” Were the last words I heard before he crossed my arms over chest, and I closed my eyes for the last time.

Edited June 4, 2011 by amullinix

[LordWushin]

Well that was good, I enjoyed it. Look foward to more.

[amullinix]

Here's another piece of the series. This is with The Khajiit in his earlier years. I wrote this a few months ago, and I don't believe it's been edited. Feel free.

 

 

A Minor Target - The Conjurer (Part One)

-A. Nix

 

 

He crouched behind a rock 30 yards from the Scamp, griped his dagger and waited. “Never rush the kill.” his mentor stated, “The faster you attempt it, the larger the room for error.” So he waited. The Scamp sniffed around, trying to find what it smelled a few minutes ago; following the scent as it crept closer to the rock.

 

20 yards now - The Khajiit closed his eyes and slowly removed the dagger from the small of his back.

 

15 yards now - He reached down in his side pouch and removed a vial. Opening it, he poured a small amount of viscous fluid into the beveled backside of his blade.

 

10 yards now - The poison slowly covered the small holes leading from the backside to the cutting edge.

 

5 yards - The Scamp hissed as the stench of its prey became stronger.

 

The Khajiit reached out as the Scamp entered his peripheral vision, and plunged the poisoned blade under the jaw line, forcing it up and into the Scamps brain. Quickly removing and sheathing the blade he grabbed his bow, removing an arrow from the quiver attached to his back. The Khajiit jumped from his hiding spot and perched atop the rock, his arrow already pulled back to its limit. Scamps never usually fight alone; attune to running away if no friends are around. His arrow flies through the air impacting the skull of another Scamp, sending it forcefully to the ground. The Khajiit jumps down from the rock unsheathing his blade and sprints towards his next target, slashing forward nearly severing the head of the Scamp directly behind his dead friend. He continues the sprint, sliding into a shadow created by the building just ahead of him. 40 yards covered in a matter of seconds, with three kills attached. His mentor would have been pleased.

 

The building itself housed his target. The assignment: a conjurer who had attempted to control too much from the realm of Oblivion. He called his creatures from the beyond in attempts to override the neighboring town. Any other time, this would not have alerted the Brotherhood. However, this man had taken too many steps past his due and had attempted to amass a small army of atronachs. They became too much for his control and nearly destroyed his small tower with him in it. The conjurer managed to send them back and despite not being able to control that which he called over, he still tried. Some of his attempts called for human sacrifices. To which he would use his Scamps to kidnap individuals and bring them back. Someone had enough, and called upon the Brotherhood for aid. Blood for blood was the price asked, along with a small financial incentive. After payment was received, the listener came to the Kvatch Sanctuary and alerted the Speaker. The Khajiit was then tasked. He was to end the conjurer’s life. As with nearly all contracts, there was a bonus objective: He was not to be noticed. The town did not need to be aware of who ended the individual. So far, despite his rather forceful entry to the tower’s courtyard, he had succeeded.

 

The sun had risen high enough behind the tower to cast deep shadows on the ground for the Khajiit to travel quickly past the archway and further into the courtyard, following the outer wall. No other sentries were spotted, allowing him to take his time with the lock on the door. Crouching, he pulled his Security kit from his thigh, selected his tools and began on the lock. “A lock can be categorized by only a few key things” his mentor had told him. “The first is the physical condition. If it appears battered, chances are you can be through in a matter of seconds.” The Khajiit quickly scanned the lock noting the poor design. No more than three tumblers inside, he decided. “The second is the magical capability of the lock. This will not always be noticeable as magic can only be observed by those educated enough in the particular school used on the lock itself. A seemingly easy lock can hold the deadliest of magic, should you be able to pick it.” Nothing had radiated from the lock as far as the Khajiit could tell, so he continued. A few seconds later the lock gave way and the door became accessible. He quietly crept in and slowly closed the door behind him, concealing himself in the shadow of the poorly lit room.

 

“Every member of the Brotherhood is unique,” His mentor once said, “though trained in the same arts. We all have abilities born to us that can be used to our advantage. For instance, you can see in the dark as keenly as I can see in the light. Use this in your assignments as it will make moving in the darkness that much easier.” A quick scan revealed two separated pressure traps concealed as large smooth stones on the floor presumably linked to the small holes on opposite sides of the hallway just in front of the door. A single torch, lit at the end of the small hallway, allowed the common individual to see the wall cornering to the right. The conjurer relied too much on his Scamps to keep people away from his lair. The Khajiit silently moved past the pressure traps ensuring the bolts from inside the walls aren’t released. If he was to get his bonus, every trap must be avoided to maintain anonymity from the rest of the tower. He reached the end of the hallway, and relinquished the single torch of its fire, dousing the entire entryway in pure darkness.

 

He could hear voices echoing off the hallway walls. Within a few seconds he came upon a door leading into a small room. Light emanated from underneath as two individuals were heard inside.

 

“Have ya’ heard anything about this guy?” one of the two asked. Male, in a thick Nordish accent.

 

“Nope. And I’ll pretend not to neither. You should do the same.” responded another male, equal in accent. “It isn’t none of our business, so long’s we get paid.”

 

“Well, I did hear somethin ‘bout em. Seems he likes to take people up to his loft a few stairs up, and they never come down. You mean to say you hadn’t seen people come in here?”

 

His friend responded with a snort, “aint none of our business Roggar. Keep out of it, and keep your mouth shut. No reason to dig into something that’ll just as well kill you.”

 

Roggar dismissed him with a chuckle, “Always so timid. Like you got the blood of a pointy eared elf in ya’er somethin.”

 

The Khajiit smiled to himself. At least now he didn’t have to waste time scouting the place to find out where the conjurer might be. The next step would be to figure out exactly how many would be between him, and his target. So far, these two weren’t going to be an issue. So long as they stayed on this level, and kept at each other.

 

“Bah. Go on yer rounds ya fool. Keep yer mouth shut, and yer eyes’n ears open. Check Thornrim upstairs. Make sure he isn’t asleep again, the drunkard.” Roggar’s friend retorted. Roggar let out a hardy laugh. The Khajiit sighed quietly as he heard the sound of a chair on the stone floor, and the grunt of a Nord (presumably Roggar) getting up.

 

“It will not always be necessary to simply kill everything in your path. There will be occasions, which will arise more than once a contract, that simply removing someone or something from your path is more than sufficient. Be it a knockout blow, Stamina Penetrating Poison, or even a simple distraction alerting them in the opposite direction. Discretion and discipline will be your greatest allies young Assassin.” His mentor’s words ringing yet again in his ears. The Khajiit grabbed a little leather bag from his upper arm, and poured a small amount of its contents into a cupped hand. Pressing his back against the wall opposite the door the Khajiit raised his hand to his face and blew a bland colored dust into the air. Side-stepping out of the way and running towards the wall, he vaulted from it to the short ceiling rafters above and waited. Roggar open the door stilling laughing, and walked out into the hallway. Inhaling more of the knockout dust the Khajiit blew into the confined space than expected. Closing the door and turning, he began walking down the hallway in the opposite direction from the Khajiit’s perch. Without warning Roggar sneezes, then promptly drops to the floor with an audible grunt that echoes. Too soon!, the Khajiit thought to himself.

 

The sound of Roggar hitting the ground, combined with his grunt, alerted the other Nord inside the room. “Hey! Ya big ohf! What have ya done this time?” his friend yelled as he opened the door into the hallway. As the friend walked through the doorway he was met with the Khajiit’s feet forcing his head into the door rendering him unconscious.

 

Sloppy. Very sloppy. His mentor would not have been pleased.

Edited June 4, 2011 by amullinix

[PhilEBlunts]

They both are very good,

[amullinix]

Thanks guys, I appreciate the kind words. I'll wait to see what others say before posting Part One of the origins story (I know, I know...)

[3WINTERS]

Very well written pieces here, the clear descriptive visuals makes it so very easy for the reader to implant themselves within the scenes, I hope you share a lot more with us :)