In the Arms of a Thief, Chapter One Options

[SilenceFalls]

In the Arms of a Thief.

Chapter One

It couldn't get much worse, could it?

Prologue

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The raindrops fell into the barrel just outside the tavern room. The surly Breton rose up slowly, his temples throbbing in rhythm to the sound. He had celebrated his latest success last night in the same manner he always did, with much drink and sin.

His escort that he hired from the night before was nowhere to be seen, which he preferred. After all, it was professional courtesy not too stick around after their particular brand of deed had been done. Same went for him in his line of work.

Also, immensely stupid for him to do so. They all paid their dues; be they escort, skooma dealer, specialized acquirer, et cetera, to the same boss: the Grey Fox, and that man ran a tight ship.

Theirs may be the only Guild in the whole of the Empire that actually had their very existence questioned. Operating in the shadows wasn't just a good idea, it was their law. While infractions were not lethal, they could become immensely expensive. All debts were paid to the Guild in one fashion or another, and they made certain you lived to regret it.

He looked around the mess of the room, gathering his clothing from the weathered wood floor. He walked across it without creaking a single board, and more impressively without wounding his bare feet with a loose splinter. He approached the basin, and dunked his face into the cool water. It smelled off, but he didn't care. All he needed was some quiet and maybe a bit more drink before the sun became too unbearable.

His hopes for that were dashed when the door started reverberating from the pounding on the other end, startling him from his position.

"City Watch! Open up!!" an authoritative cry came from the other end.

He looked around and began hatching his escape. The guard weren't too smart after all. Likely just rounding up the usual suspects. Or so he hoped.

"Eh...just a minute! I'm doing my business!" he called back, tussling around in his tunic and grabbing his belts.

"What business?" the voice called back.

"Do you want me to paint ye a bloody picture? The kind you sit down for!" he cried back. "And yer knockin, ain't helpin' matters! But come in if ye want the smell, and want to see my bait and tackle!"

"Oh." The guard replied.

"I'll give you five minutes." he replied after a bit of a pause, and his footsteps sounded off to the next room.

He smiled at the thought that the guard were so easily manipulated at times, and prepared to exit through the window.

"Hello, Silas." An Imperial man with silver hair and similarly colored suit of armor stood just outside, waiting for the Breton.

"Ooooh! Adamus! It's been a while! How's the wife? And I see ye got stuck with the new recruits this time." the now-named Breton responded warmly.

"Yes, here I thought you were staying out of trouble. She's good, pregnant again, and yes, I'll be training these ones this year." He replied with a slight smile.

"Trouble? How's that? And, congratulations!" he said with a queer-eyed look.

"The usual. And thank you." he said pulling out a pair of manacles.

"Adamus! Really? The Mage-Manacles?" Silas said impudently.

"Sorry, I know you and your tricks by now." Adamus Philida replied, going through well-rehearsed motions of putting Silas in the manacles that stunted magicka, and Silas knowing this routine.

"Like coming to this same filthy place after every big haul. Really, I expect better of you by now." Adamus replied with a disappointed tone.

"But, I come here every Fredas! No crime in that." Silas replied almost mockingly.

"It's Morndas." Adamus replied, as he punched Silas in the gut, causing him to double over, and then proceed to release the remnants of last night onto the street.

"Good...one.." Silas replied, and felt himself being pushed forward.

[SilenceFalls]

The Breton merely stared at the figures. There were no expressions to read, and he wasn't able to convince himself that it merely was a dream. One of them lowered a gauntleted hand to his side, and the silky hiss of a blade unsheathing filled the silence.

Looking down to where the sound came from, he saw the hilt of a curved longsword and six inches of steel reflecting a flicker of light from his torch. It's message was both unspoken and deafeningly clear. The Breton replied with a nod as he slowly rose from his bed.

The Head of the three armored and cloaked figures resheathed his Akaviri Katana. His eyes took in the prisoner's form. Thin, wiry, and a shock of unkempt black hair that fell nearly to his shoulders. The burlap fabric that made his prisoners clothes were two sizes too large for him, but he realized that they hid a well-defined musculature. Like many prisoners he likely engaged in drills of exercise to keep himself from atrophying. What really took hold of his attention was the eyes. They were blue, but it wasn't the color that was striking. The gaze he gave them men was.

At once intelligent and fierce, they were like razor sharp surgeon's blades. Dissecting them all, and putting them back together in an instant. This man wasn't afraid, he was...curious. The Headman knew this look from countless sparring and battles, he could read all of them instantly, and was likely debating whether to fight or cooperate.

"I said, you've been pardoned." he stated again, in a low tone and more firmly this time. His hand never leaving the hilt.

Silas looked them over for a few seconds, returning his gaze to him. "Can't be pardoned, if ye've never been convicted." He replied calmly.

"You were held on suspicion of Thievery, and are a Known Thief." the Headman replied, grabbing Silas' left arm and raising the sleeve; displaying a burn mark. It was a letter 'T' in a Daedric Sigil. "Now you're being released."

"Which would be in the morning, by the jailors. Not at swordpoint, in the middle of the night with the Emperor's Blades." Silas replied.

The Headman smiled. "You coming or not?" he started.

"As though I have a choice." Silas relented.

"You have a choice. It's just how many pieces you leave in." another Blade chimed in.

Silas and the Head Blade rolled their eyes in unison at the statement.

The Headman gave the other Blade a dirty look as he pushed Silas towards the cell door, shaking his head as he walked him forward.

Key on second-in-command's belt, made by Umag the Orc-Smith. Umag makes locks for Imperial Prison Transports. Ships, wagons,...and carriages.

Silas looked at the sole of the second-in-commands boots.

The mud is actually horse-droppings. Fresh. It is a carriage. That means I'm not being released in this County. Is there another Count behind this?

The four figures continued on through the winding passages. Eyes and faces illuminated by the Blade's torches peered through the cells as they walked by. Silas passed on as much information as he could with the inmates silent code. Glances, gestures, fingers. All things that could easily be mistaken for a yawn, a cough, scratching your nose. The Headman seemed to be the only one actually sharp enough to figure if he was actually doing something that subtle, and he was in front of Silas.

Finally reaching the back docks, the guard went over various documents that the Blades presented for the Prisoner's release into their custody. Silas heard murmurs and slight laughter from them. Three years, and they didn't at least get to know why he was here. The Blades showing up and taking him guaranteed that they would not. Silas looked at the stables, and sure enough, there was the carriage. Double-thick wooden frame, reinforced with steel slats every other hand-length. Two windows too small to escape from, with thick steel bars. It was still closer to freedom then he'd been in a very long time.

"Ready?" The Headman asked rhetorically.

"Let's go." Silas shrugged. "But--" he stopped himself.

"What?" the Headman replied.

"It's been years since I've seen the world outside these walls. Wherever we're going, I'd like to see the city one last time as a free man sees it. Open the gates, but let me see it before we go in the carriage. I won't run. Couldn't even make it six paces before the archers picked me off." Silas requested, a twinge of emotion in his voice.

The Headman thought the better of it for a moment, but then relented. "All right. One look, then we go." He said, grabbing his chains and placing Silas' wrists in them behind his back. "But I need at least a little reassurance."

Silas acquiesced and stood with the Headman while the huge gates creaked open at the Head Blade's signal.

They walked a few paces forward though them, and Silas saw the White Gold Tower, piercing the sky as it always did. From up on this vantage point, they could see it reflect off of Lake Rumare. Torches lit up each story, making the white bulwarks and veneer visible in the night sky, and contrasting sharply with the inky black backdrop of the night.

Every memory; be they good or bad, was written into the streets of this city. His city. From an Orphan, to the first family he'd ever known; The Guild, all of it was here. Somehow, he knew this would be the last time he would see it. At least, for a very long time.

A chilly wind blew in from the Lake, and Silas felt his eyes sting in it a little and they watered up.

"Okay." He said quietly, just now noticing the constellation of the Thief hanging above the Tower. "I'm ready."

He turned around, and headed for the carriage, offering no resistance to what was happening, and to what was to come.

The lock clicked behind him, and they embarked on the first leg of their journey, towards the East.