A Study in Velvet Options

[Marcel Rhodes]

Hi there all,

I've been reading the material here on and off for a good couple of months. It's great stuff to read, and I thought I'd have a go myself. I apologise in advance for any poor quality, as fanfic isn't my normal line of writing. It's just a spinoff from one of the quests in Oblivion, but I might evolve the main character in further updates if people are interested.

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It is nigh on impossible to get a good high in the Imperial City.

I never understood why you staunch Imperial types banned moon sugar. It means that to obtain my treats, I must go through… unsavoury channels, and today I was entirely unable to find one. Your blasted thjizzrini - your ‘laws’, although our closest translation is ‘foolish concepts’ - and your over-enthusiastic guardsmen saw to that. So instead, I defaulted to legal vices.

I was in the Bloated Float, to be precise. Run by an Altmer, which always struck me as rather odd: shouldn’t he be in a mage’s tower somewhere reading empty books, instead of helping the layabouts of this city drink themselves into Oblivion? I did not, and do not, like this place, but when you’re a Khajiit people tend to look at you funny in what you would doubtless call ‘high-class establishments, not for the likes of you beasts’, and expect you to steal the bar stool.

Oh, for Alkosh’s sake. You’re all confused because I’m a Khajiit, yet I don’t talk like I just took a paralysis spell to the throat. So close-minded. If you ever really listened with those tiny ears of yours, you might learn things.

Anyway. The place was, as always, too crowded. I’d actually had to wrap my tail around my waist to prevent the less agile - or more malicious - punters from standing on it as they go by. It was almost like a skooma den, which is both good and bad. Good, in that no-one is watching you too closely, but bad, in that there’s no skooma.

It would be fair to say that on the moon sugar/skooma front, I am like all Khajiit there ever were.

So there I am, huddled between a Redguard with his nose in the glass, and a boorish, black-haired Nord who wants me to show him a backflip. Neither of these two is any fun. The Redguard is far too quiet. I suppose he’s thinking about stabbing things. Even that, though, would be more enjoyable than this infernal Nord, who now apparently wants to show me something.

“Listen, kitty, I’ve got an offer for you.”

Great. I bet he’s not going to ask me to steal something. Not a chance. He probably wants me to help him compile a history of Summurset Isle. He’s not assuming I’m a born thief. None of that sort of thing. No.

“Ever… ever heard of the, whajemacallit, the, the Golden Galleon?”

Who hadn’t? The Altmer made his living on it. You could just tell by the ten or so self-styled ‘adventurers’ - none of whom looked like a threat to a mudcrab - lounging around the room in leather and cheap swords, hoping to discover the mythical treasure hidden on this boat (and, presumably, buy armour that wasn‘t stitched by a blind man with the proceeds). This place, most days, was filled to the brim with fools who either wanted to be the Nerevarine or the tenth Divine, and it was one of the reasons I tried avoiding it.

“Of course, friend. You don’t believe that silly rubbish, do you? The Golden Galleon is a story I wouldn‘t tell to kittens.”

“Trust me, mate,” the Nord blinked, slowly, “I believe it very much.” Well, that was wonderful and all, but did he have a point here? Oh yes, he probably assumed I could steal it. “What if… if I wanted to get it?”

“In that case, big man,” I said, grinning, “you could always put on some cheap armour and join the twenty other fools chasing that false scent.”

There’s something about a Khajiiti grin that unsettles even the toughest man or mer, I’ve noticed. It’s one of those natural weaknesses: the very idea of a person who has weapons growing out of his paws and face probably does worry those of you who have to lift their own kit with two hands.

Suddenly, he made proper eye contact. “It’s not false. Meet me outside.” The Nord rose - I only then noticed he was the size of at least two and a half Bosmer on top of each other -and walked out the tavern, with only the faintest hint of a stagger. Well, would you look at that. That insobriety was (almost) all an act! To give him his due, this snowwalker was sharper than he let on.

Still, I had a couple of things to ponder before I got on with figuring this out (would I ever leave such a tantalising little titbit hanging? I think not). Firstly: what did he want? Secondly, what on Nirn made him ask me? He couldn’t be choosing his business partners for such an obviously shady activity based on their fur, could he?

I’d just got the impression he wasn’t stupid, so I didn’t think it was as simple as ‘all Khajiit are thieves’. No, he had far more complex reasons, and if they were what I suspected, I would have a serious problem.

This merited a look on those grounds alone, but I also suspected that whatever was going on here would also be rather fun. At least, more fun than this hole. So, after paying my tab, leisurely finishing that brandy, and making sure no-one was watching, I left.

The Nord was dawdling outside on the street, partially obscured by the dark of the night: of course, this presents no problem to my kind, but I also noticed one other, minor problem. Either that figure crouched in the shadows behind the crates in an alleyway was a law-abiding commoner who’d come to check on his investments and taken a wrong turn at the Waterfront or he was connected to the Nord. I assumed the latter, which was something of a bad development. Still, what kind of fool tries to hide from someone with a cat’s eyes?

I was right; as the Nord turned to the shadow as I walked out, and said “It’s alright, he’s unarmed.” Out from the shadows stepped a female Dunmer, clad in leather and carrying an iron blade, which she sheathed as she walked.

Great. Another one.

“We’re sorry about that,” she said, as she reached us, “but you can’t be too careful around here. Those Imperial s’wits are always trying to trick people like us.”

So, criminal to boot. No surprises there.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “I seem to have got myself into a bad situation here…”

“Oh, goodness no!” The Nord laughed, which sounded somewhat akin to an earthquake, or possibly a collapsing building. “We just wanted to have a little businesslike chat, without being listened to by everyone in that cesspit. Sorry about the deceit, m’boy, but there’s no better way to get people to do what you want than when they think you’ve had ten too many.”

“Ah, I see. So you wish to talk… business? Can I still assume this Golden Galleon is involved?”

The Dunmer spoke. “That’s right. You see-”

I dismissed this with a flick of my paw. “You’re wasting your time, girl. That thing doesn’t exist, or if it does, it’s gold leaf on lead.”

“Oh really?” Her red eyes flashed. I probably shouldn’t have called her a ‘girl’. “Well, maybe you can confirm that for us.”

Uh oh. Time to stall. “Perhaps, before we begin such a sensitive discussion, some introductions would be in order.”

The Dunmer shrugged, and looked to the Nord. He nodded: it looked like he was the boss of this outfit.

“Fair enough. I’m Wrath and this is Minx. We’re… two members of a larger whole. And, frankly, your name isn’t important. We know enough about you already, even if not that.”

And now we came to it. “What, exactly, do you think you know about little old me?”

Minx cut in. “You’re a Khajiit-”

“Bonus points for the lady.”

“- and we know you’re likely to help us. We’ve heard you bandied about in, uh, select places, which implies to us that you’re not Thieves’ Guild. But at the same time…” she trailed off. “We suspect you would be interested in our offer.”

I sighed. I would have to follow this up later. “Lady, I am not going to join you on this foolish wild goose chase. The Golden Galleon is a story, it is a lie, it is a legend, it is an urban myth; it is, indeed, many words and phrases which imply falsehood, and, frankly, I don’t think I’d want to associate myself with you two anyway.”

“Listen, furball,” the Nord was clearly not pleased with my implication, “all we want you to do is to nip onto that ship after closing time, and have a look around. That’s all we’re asking. If you find it, you don’t even need to steal it: you can just tell our leader where it is, and we’ll come in and get it. We have our own plans for this heist, and all you have to do for an equal share of the profits is a quick look around in the boat. What’s so hard?”

I looked at them. The idiots! They genuinely believed that the Golden Galleon existed, and that the owner hadn’t thought of moving it. He was hardly going to leave it in some chest under his bed with this sort of rumour going around, now was he? Even if the blasted thing did exist, I wouldn’t be surprised if these two had just walked off of a prison ship, eyes agleam - and blinded - by the promise of riches.

I looked at them again. “I am not interested, and that is final.”

The Nord grimaced, and glanced around him. “In that case, we’re going to have to silence you, and that is final. Minx, we’ve got something to clean up.”

But before either of them could draw their swords, I had glided the six feet between them and I. Why do people insist on thinking they are faster than us? By the time the big Nord’s hand had reached his scabbard, both he and the female were writhing in the grip of my unsheathed claws on their throats, which, besides causing them to fear for their lives, confused them, as said claws are, of course, made of burnished steel. Far sharper than mere bone, and the shock value is also useful.

“Not so, Nord. I am afraid that I do not like that game.” I said, tightening my grip. Small drops of blood rolled down my claws. “For your information: you can call me J’Dar, I am no criminal, I am not going to help you, the Golden Galleon is not there, and you cannot beat me. I think this is all you need to know. Now, drop the weapons.”

Grudgingly, after a shared glance, the two bandits slowly and exaggeratedly dropped their swords, which I swiftly pushed into the Niben with my feet.

“And now, I believe, I shall make my leave.” I said, let go of them, and let them fall to the ground holding their throats as I walked off in the direction of the Elven Gardens. Those two - and their ‘leader’, would probably do something stupid, like try and ransack the place themselves. I shrugged. I supposed I’d go look for Shady Sam again. Let a hero deal with it.

[Marcel Rhodes]

Hey, shall we totally not mention that this update is about three months late? Awesome. You might want to re-read the prior posts to get the feel of it, particularly if you're new.

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I have always been a great believer in improvisation.

There was my grandfather, who accidentally walked in on a local laird’s highly dubious private time and blackmailed him for enough land to grow sugar; there was my father, who married a rich city-cat after she caught him with his hands in the jewellery box; and there was me, who never really planned anything.

It was for this reason, and this alone, that I was having this meeting, and around this table.

“It’s been a long time, jungle cat.”

“And you, sandwalker. I believe it has been too long.”

S’krivva - for that was her name - leant back and laughed. “And if it were not for the resistance you built up with me, you would probably still be out cold or screaming about faeries.”

“I still don’t know why the Doyen of the Thieves Guild is wandering the streets like a common thief, though. Are the others resting at His Lordship’s leisure or were you just lost?”

Trust me to walk right into the leader of the local chapter; and trust me to find an old friend.

“I think you of all should remember, J’dar: I do not get lost.”

“Ha! Tell that to the thousand and one nights we slept in the streets!”

“That was not ‘lost’, you silly young cat,” S’krivva drew breath, “that was ‘lazy’.”

“These semantic details aside, good lady,” I said, grinning, “M’aiq does have a message for your own ears.”

S’krivva leant back and laughed. “The Liar! Do you not remember how I loathed him, back when we were young?”

“S’kriv, do remember that it is only you who is no longer-”

“Silence then, kitten. I know what he desires. He has desired the same thing as long as he has been Khajiit. Understand that the… current state of affairs is good for shadow-walkers like us. What possible interest do we have in his mad grand schemings?”

“My guess, my friend, would have something to do with the number of our kin the Duke and his lady are providing with free lodgings.”

The Duchess hated our kind. This would have made her a natural ally of those scaly marsh dwellers, the Argonians, if it were not for the minor detail that she hated them too. The charming lady seemed to have a problem, simply put, with anything not as pale as herself (given that she never ventured into the sun, meeting such was a tall order).

Naturally, this meant the young men and women of the noble city guard were forever finding ‘beasts’ who had committed some crime or another: you claim to be different from us, above us, but you are still pack animals, and you know who is alpha.

“We are thieves, Khajiit. Prison comes with the territory.”

“And do you not care about those who are not thieves?”

This sentence requires explanation. To some degree, ‘Khajiit’ means ‘thief’: sneaking, subtlety, and stealth are in our souls, and to us, that is more ‘thief’ than simply taking another’s things. But to get to my point, when we say that a Khajiit is not a thief, you should imagine us adding ‘just now’.

“I care for my kittens, J’dar, but,” S’krivva leant across the table, “I do not care for yours. Besides you and that mad Nordish cat, who else works their tricks with M’aiq?”

“We are more than you know, old friend, but we are not yet enough.”

“So you avoid my question? Such an obvious feint is insulting.” She smiled.

“I will not throw away our position - and thieves have ears in high places - on a wild gamble. You are here as M’aiq’s emissary, correct?”

I nodded.

“Then you are one of his best.”

“S’krivva, I am the best.”

“Then show me. I have an item that needs procuring. It is… very important. I do not exaggerate when I say that with this the benefactors will become some of the greatest thieves that ever lived.”

“Jungle burning, S’krivva, don’t tell you still want-”

“Yes.” Her eyes glinted, which was always a bad sign. “I do.

“You will find it in a fort. It is south of the city of Cheydenhal, and it is called Naso. If you bring this to me, I will be eternally in your debt.”

“Is eternity enough time for you to repay any debts, S’krivva?” I said. “I remember many things, and one of them is that you still owe me money.”

She pulled a coin out from behind her ear, and tossed it to me. “We are even,” she said, “now go.”

As I turned and made for the door, she spoke again.

“And, J’dar? Walk softly. I have already lost three operatives to that place.”

This is why improvisation has its detractors.

This post has been edited by Marcel Rhodes: Jul 25 2008, 10:37 PM