Fjelta's Day in Akamora

[SoulofChrysamere]

Fjelta pulled her cloak’s hood tighter as she entered Akamora’s subterranean bazaar. To her delight, the hallways were actually well-lit in contrast with the usual sparse hue of such places. She casually strolled down the steps, weaving through the flow of midday shoppers as she went. When she reached the bazaar proper, her first sight – the in-house tavern against the back wall – left her eyebrows raised in amusement.

 

“A bar in a marketplace, eh?” She thought as she moseyed through into the market’s hub.

 

In short order, she spied the telltale décor of a smithy through the right wall’s first doorway. She sighed in relief as she entered. She had been in need of a new main blade ever since she had donated her last one to the breastplate of a neighboring town’s guard. The smith was preoccupied with a fresh creation at his forge, and Fjelta gave the counter a polite knock. The burly Dunmer half-turned around with a newborn steel saber –still red from shaping - in his hand, which he hurriedly stowed in the water trough so he could meet his new customer.

 

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that, Miss. Caught me right when I was finishin’ up a new blade.” The smith apologized as he reached the counter. “So, what are you looking for?”

 

“Just a new sword. I uh, ‘gifted’ my old one to someone a little too interested in my scalp, if you get me.” Fjelta answered as she lowered her hood, revealing the stereotypically snow-white skin and golden mane of a Nordic lass.

 

“Heh heh, I think I catch yer meaning.” The smith said with a chuckle as he mimicked Fjelta’s perusal of the counter’s inventory. “So, what kind of traveler are ya, Miss? Ya look like you’re in a pretty big hurry to get somewhere.” He inquired, trying to make small talk.

 

Fjelta thoughtfully thumbed the pommel of an appealing longsword before replying. “Just your average wanderer, really. I don’t much care for staying anywhere too long, and I get by well enough on odd jobs I do for the townsfolk.”

 

“Ah, I see. I can respect that...” He mused, trailing off as he studied the way she eyed the blade. He could tell she knew her steel, but he also saw the telling twinkle in the woman’s eye that conveyed the hidden meaning of her answer. He had seen it too many times to mistake it: Thief.

 

Fjelta cracked an impish grin. “Why? You have any ‘odd jobs’ that need doing?” She asked.

 

“Myeh, of sorts. Could use someone of your particular...’skill set’.” The smith hinted.

 

Fjelta playfully furrowed her brow and restored the blade to the table. “Skill set?” She teased.

 

The smith leaned onto the counter with folded arms. “You tend to...notice things after you’ve been tending a shop for a couple of decades, young lady.” He obliged.

 

Fjelta rested her hands on the countertop and cocked her hip to the side. “I see. And just how is my ‘skill set’ going to be used?” She asked.

 

“Nothing big. I just need someone to ‘reacquire’ a ring I made not too long ago from that fetcher of a merchant Jarrad across from me.” He said, nodding to the store across the lobby. “Bastard seems to have trouble remembering debts.”

 

“Hmm...so suppose I go and ‘obtain’ this ring for you. What’s my incentive to not just keep it for myself?” Fjelta asked, tilting her head.

 

The smith straightened up with a snicker. “The ring’s just a plain piece of pewter. You’ll be lucky to get a pebble and a woodchip for it anyplace. You get it back to me without any trouble, and I just might part with one o’ these here smaller pieces.” He said.

 

“You’d trade a dagger for a common man’s ring?” Fjelta asked with a quizzical look.

 

“Normally, no. But this isn’t the first time that Redguard’s screwed me over. I’ve tried to be patient, but I’ve had enough. So, if you can get me that ring back, I’ll be quite happy to toss a good knife your way. ‘Sides, I don’t reckon a person that travels as much as you do would turn down a free blade.” The smith replied.

 

Fjelta began fingering the longsword again as she briefly pondered the offer. It looked like she would have a bit of fun in Akamora after all.

 

“Okay, I’ll do it. But first...” She began as she picked the weapon back up, resting the blade on a finger, “...this good steel?”

The Dunmer smirked. “Good enough for you to ‘gift’ to that guard wanderin’ ‘round out there, though I wouldn’t advise it.” He jested.

 

Fjelta laughed. “Ha ha. Well then, consider this a ‘good faith’ payment.” She said as she produced a pair of coin purses from inside her cloak.

 

“Hmph. ‘Faith’ might not be the word for you, missy.” He snorted as he began counting out the coins.

 

Fjelta took the moment to give her new traveling companion its first few swings and thrusts, testing it grip and weight. She smiled at how fluidly it moved. It was a good blade indeed.

 

“Ninety-five...I suppose I can live with this.” The smith acknowledged as he repackaged the scattered money.

 

“Glad to hear it.” She agreed as she tested her sheath. It was wide enough, but a bit short. She would have to tweak it a bit when she got the chance.

 

“So, you ready to go grab that ring? I honestly don’t think it’s gonna be that much of a chore. Scatterbrain’s probably got it just layin’ right there on his counter.” The smith asked, returning from his money chest.

 

“I reckon so. Just a plain gray ring?” Fjetla replied.

 

“Mhmm. Engraved the name of the guy’s girlfriend on it. ‘Erenta’, I think it is. Should be easy to tell apart.” He added.

 

Fjelta snorted. She had briefly seen the selection the man had on display when she was scanning the area. “Handles all kinds of expensive jewelry every day and gives his lady a tin band, huh?” She said, snickering.

 

“The wealthier ya are, the cheaper ya get toward others. First rule.” The smith said, shaking his head. “Hell, I’m still wondering how he managed to get a girlfriend. Fetcher’s less faithful than a brothel girl.”

 

Fjelta laughed again before giving a mischievous smile. It wasn’t often that she had a good conversation with anyone, especially the clientele. It had also been a while since she had been up against a mark that sounded like a total pushover.

 

“Well then...I guess it would help if I lost this.” Fjelta mentioned as she peeled off her cloak, revealing a low-cut jerkin and slim skirt against her shapely frame.

 

The smith put a hand to his face with an almost pitying chortle. “Oh Three, if I didn’t have a shop to mind, I’d go stand outside there and watch this.” He said.

 

“Well from here, you can watch me at least.” She teased with a giggle.

 

With that, Fjelta lay her cloak over a couple of barrels by the shelves and moseyed out of the smithy, saving her swagger for when she reached Jarrad’s store. The smith watched her as she left, and giggled like a child as he tried to picture how Jarrad would look when confronted with her.

 

She turned a few heads during the short walk, and it helped her get in character. As she cleared the entrance to the store, she let her casual walk melt into an alluring sashay. It was time for work.

 

The Redguard man instantly snapped his attention to her as she came up to the counter. Fjelta mentally smirked at how shaky his eye contact was. She knew she was going to have some fun with the guy.

 

“Uh, yes? Can I...help you?” He fumbled as he set down an amulet he had been inspecting.

 

“Hey there! I was just looking to browse.” Fjelta answered.

 

“Oh, okay...but, well, are you looking for something specific?” Jarrad asked, trying hard not to dip his eyes toward her cleavage.

 

“Nah, not really. I was just passing through town. Figured I’d see the shops before I kept on.” Fjelta replied as she carefully looked over the small handful of rings on the counter.

 

Most of the rings were the lower-end types made of cheap materials like iron and brass with a couple more expensive ones made of gold and silver mixed in. However, Fjelta couldn’t make out any dull gray amid them. Then, she noticed one more ring nestled near the small chest to the left. It was gray, that bland gray with the faint, coarse luster typical of pewter. She looked more closely, and she could just make out an engraving. “E-R-E-N-T-A”, it read.

 

Her goal spotted, Fjelta watched Jarrad with her eyes while staying bowed toward the ring. The man was trying to monitor her wandering hands as best he could, but his inner ladies’ man kept his attention divided between the merchandise and the ample bosom inches away. Fjelta capitalized on this, and shifted her weight to her right leg and arm while bringing the same leg’s knee into the counter. She purposely overdid the force a bit, making her breasts slightly jiggle as her knee connected. This succeeded in stealing the Redguard’s eyes away from the table for just a moment, and she smoothly ran her left hand down the tabletop as if in thought, masking the ring as she went. Once off the counter, she dumped the ring into one of her skirt’s pockets.

 

“You like rings.” Jarrad mentioned, unaware of the misdirection he had just suffered.

 

“Aye, I do. I don’t reckon I see one I like here though.” Fjelta answered as she pushed off the counter.

 

“Oh...well, I uh, I probably have more in one of these boxes if you wanna see.” He offered, not wanting to lose a sale.

 

“Nah, that’s fine. I was actually hoping to be on the road again before long. But thanks anyway.” She refused, leaving him with a warm smile as she turned away.

 

Fjelta nonchalantly returned to the smithy with her fingers triumphantly drumming against the burgled ring. The owner’s broad grin and rippling ribs told her that he had viewed – and enjoyed – her performance.

 

“Lemme guess. Ya got the ring?” The smith asked as she cleared the doorway.

 

“You bet your Elven hide, I did.” Fjelta confirmed as she unpocketed her prize and set it on the counter.

 

The smith scooped it up and took a quick look. His face lit in recognition.

 

“Well I’ll be. And judging by your performance, you played that sap like a lute too.” He added

 

“Guy was easier than a politician.” Fjelta said. “My shirt was any lower cut, and his pants woulda probably burst.”

 

The Dark Elf gave a hearty laugh as he went and tucked the ring away in a small strongbox.

 

“Yeah...and I can tell you’ve been at this for a while. Bravo.” He said upon returning. He gave a slow clap.

 

Fjelta gave a girlish curtsy before bringing the conversation around to her reward. “So, I reckon you owe me a blade now, eh?” She quipped.

 

“Hmm...I suppose I do, don’t I?” He agreed, rubbing his chin. “Just a second.”

 

The smith walked over to his storage chest and selected a handsome stiletto-type dagger from within. When he returned, Fjelta could see a slight, orange aura dancing across it. She smiled in pleasure as he tapped the blade against the counter and the aura brightened with life. He then extended the weapon toward her.

 

“There ya go, lass. Little more steel for ya, with a bit o’ fire on the side.” He said.

 

Fjelta accepted the glowing knife and turned it over in her hands as a child with a brand new toy, grinning ear-to-ear all the while.

 

“Maybe I should give your counter a little nick to see how sharp this baby is?” Fjelta needled.

 

“You gonna sweep up the ashes and build me a new one?” The smith retorted.

 

The girl just shrugged in refusal as she retrieved her cloak and put it back on. She then stowed her new stiletto inside.

 

“Well, I’d best be out of here. Wanna make a few more tracks before sundown.” Fjelta said simply. On that notion, she turned to go.

 

“Bye bye, little thief.” He said.

 

However, when Fjelta was a pace from the exit, the smith’s voice sounded once more.

 

“Oh, and you can keep that throwing star on the house, too.” He said with mischievous tone.

 

Fjelta stopped and looked back wearing a face of a falsely accused, but the ruse dissipated upon seeing her latest employer standing there with a lopsided grin across his face, a hand behind his back, and the other laying in the spot where a small iron shuriken had lay prior to his getting the stiletto. She subconsciously put a hand to her waist where the absent star rested inside her skirt pocket, half-unbelieving the smith’s exceptional eye for detail.

 

In the end, she huffed in annoyance and quitted the room, the Dunmeri man’s sly chuckle tickling her ears.