At My Feet-an Oblivion Fanfic Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Hey y'all, I've been working on this for a few months, and just finished it. KoB and I have been roleplaying a it, and I developed a character I really, really liked, and want to flesh her out more. i'll still be doing Kayla's story, but alternating between the two. I hope y'all enjoy it!



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The night was chilly in the Imperial City. Breath puffed into excited clouds as the residents of the city walked quickly towards their homes. Stores closed for the night, the locks clicking shut as the shop owners turned and pocketed their keys.

The night grew darker as the sun set, finally slipping over the horizon in a sigh of relief as it crawled to warm other parts of Nirn. Mothers laid their infants and toddlers to rest as father stoked the fire. Beggers crawled into alleys and abandoned houses in the Waterfront. Guards downed warming potions as they continued their shift into the night, onfident that the cold would deter thieves and would-be murderers.

Above their heads as Masser and Secunda rose slowly, a lithe form leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Crouching when a guard turned their head or scanned the roofs, the figure ducked and dove until it came to its destination. It braced itself for the jump, and fell nearly soundlessly onto the white-stoned balcony. A faint glow of a candle illuminated the room inside two-story building in the Temple District.

The man inside was hunched over a bunch of papers, parchment rolled and tossed aside in messy piles. He glanced up when a breeze hit him, and he saw his balcony door had blown open. He sighed wearily as he stood up, old bones popping as he made his way to the door. He latched it shut, but not before a pile of papers had gotten blown onto the ground. He meticulously picked them up, a loud crack in his back making him groan. When he stood up, he placed the papers on his desk and sat down.

He groaned when the candle went out. He looked wearily at the door, and stood up again to latch it back. The cold breeze from the outside had chilled him to the bone, and he set a chair in front of the balony door and went downstairs. His dog wagged her tail when she heard his footsteps approach, and nuzzled his hand when he leaned down to pet her. She followed him to the kitchen, and her bushy tail continued to wag as he poured himself a cup of wine. Using a simple spell, he warmed the wine until steam rose off of it. He walked back upstairs, hissing when the hot liquid spilled onto his hand.

He sat back down in his chair and stoked the fire, adding more wood. He sat down at his desk and scooted closer, picking up the warmed wine. He took a long drink and let out a sound of satisfaction before searching for his quill. One he found it under a pile of papers, he began to search for his diary. He searched under the desk, the chairs, even his bed. He frowned as he searched drawers, on top of cabinets, teetering precariously on a wobbly chair threatening to break under his weight. His wife, a woman of his age with brown hair and silver streaks, caught him.

"Amantius!" she scolded, helping him down from the chair. "What in the name of the Nine are you doing?!"

"My diary is gone!"

---

The black figure flitted between shadows, dodging swaying guards and smelly drunks. Once it reached the Waterfront, it looked around beforerunning to a small shack near the water. It disappeared inside the house, and the night was quiet.

Shivering, the form lit fire in its hands and lit the logs in the fireplace. They crackled, and soon became a roaring fire. Within minutes, the shack was nearly stuffy with heat, and the figure shed its black clothing. A short, thick cape was hung by the door, and a mask was stuff in a drawer. Bright hazel eyes inspected the book in one hand as the other golden one unlaced boots. She set the book down and continued to shed her garments, the illusion magick on the clothing replacing the lithe, thin form for a muscular, curvaceous one.

Her instincts perked a half second before the door blew open, a young woman seething in the doorway. She fixed her eyes on the nude redhead before her.

"Samara! I'm going to kill you!"

"Closed the damned door, it's freezing!"

"Good!" The raven-haired girl shut the door anyways, in spite of her anger. "Maybe you'll freeze to death and stop messing up my progress!" She lunged at Samara, catching her thick red hair at the base of her skull before she could run off.

"Ow! Alda! Too rough! TOO ROUGH!" Samara squeaked. The larger Nord girl easily tossed a shorter, lighter Samara onto the bed they shared. She pinned her to the scratchy sheets, rage in her eyes.

"Ow! You're as heavy as a horse! What have you been eating?!"

"Fetchers like you for breakfast!"

"How are you doing that? We share grocer-OW!" Samara bucked her hips and tried to knock her roommate off of her once she pinched the sensitive mound of her breast.

"GET OFF ME, YOU COW!"

"YOU TOOK MY STEAL, YOU WHORE!"

"WELL YOU'RE SLOW!"

"AM NOT!"

"ARE TOO!" Samara wriggled an arm free and yanked hard on Alda's hair, then shrieked when milky white fingers tickled her ribs. She flailed and screamed with laughter, trying to knock her assailant off. Alda's blue eyes gleamed with playfully malicious intent.

"You're going to wet yourself!" she cackled.

"WE SHARE THE SAME BED, STUPID!"

"YOU can sleep in it, I can afford to go to the Bloated-AUGH!" She fell off the bed onto the cold stone floor, and Samara panted, trying to catch her breath. She reached down and handed Alda the diary.

"Here. I don't even want it. You can take it."

"Fine!" Alda snatched the worn diary away. "Dunno what that old man wants with this, anyways. Its just a bunch of plants."

"It's actually really interesting. He's made a plant that feeds off of blood."

Alda rolled her eyes as she rolled off the floor. "Bookworm."

"What? It's fascinating!"

"See, I can't take you seriously."

"You can sod off, then."

"Oooh, Imperial cursing!" Alda's thick northern accent rolled the 'r' in 'Imperial' almost like a purr. Samara felt her face flush as she looked in the cupboards after pulling thick woolen pants and shirt over her head.

"What do you want to eat?" She looked at the pot over the fire. "Stew again?"

"I can cook, if you'd let me."

"You put too much salt in your food." Samara pulled out a few small potatoes and two carrots. She tossed Alda the potatoes. Alda brandished a silver dagger and began peeling them.

"No, leave the peeling on, I like it!"

"Well, I don't!" Alda kept peeling. Samara huffed and grabbed the bucket by the door.

"I'll be right back. I'll get some water."

"Snatch some salt, we're almost out!" Alda called after her. Samara ignored her and walked to the edge of the water. Her breath came out in white puffs in the night air, the moons reflecting off the water. She dipped the bucket in the water, careful to not get any dirt in it. She walked back and losed the door behind her, sighing in relief. She saw that Alda had changed out of her dark leather armor and into a light dressing gown.

"How can you dress so light?" Samara asked, a tinge of incredulity in her voice. "Help me out."

Alda grabbed the bucket while Samara pulled the strainer off the wall, held up by twine. "Because I'm not a milk-drinker." She said as she poured the bucket on the strainer and into the cauldron. The cloth caught bits of dirt and a small piece of wood. Alda shook it clean outside the door as Samara began cooking.

"I like milk." Samara said lightly. Alda ignored her.

After about an hour, the food was ready. Samara spooned two bowlfuls and handed one to Alda, who was perched on the bed, feet tucked underneath her. Samara handed her the salt.

"So, if you're giving me the book, what are you gonna about getting into the Thieves Guild?" Alda took a bite of the stew, then added more salt.

Samara shrugged. "I dunno. I don't really want to be in it, actually."

"What? But it's every thief's dream!"

"I wanna be like Springheel Jak. He wasn't in the Thieves Guild, and he did really good."

"Sammy," Alda's voice carried a bit of condescending sympathy. "Springheel Jak was a man who liked to break into the homes of rich woman and seduce them. That's what he was noteable for. Not for thieving."

"But he wasn't with the Thieves Guild. And he was a thief! There are stories of him leaping across buildings-"

"Ravaging noblewomen."

"-Scaling down the Palace!"

"To ravage the Empress."

"Gross. But he DID steal. So what if he had fun while he did it?" Samara set her empty bowl down after draining it of broth. Alda shrugged and set hers down inside of it and got beneath the covers. Samara put a few more logs onto the fire and crawled into bed with Alda. The smaller women turned onto her side and allowed her friend to slip her hands beneath her woolen shirt and warm her hands on her stomach.

"Sammy?" Alda murmured.

"Hmm?"

"You know I love you, right? Even though I'm mean to you, and you irritate me?"

"I love you too."

There was a pause. Alda pulled Samara closer and sighed.

"I know." There was a hint of something in her voice, but Samara didn't catch it. The two thieves drifted off to sleep, with one dreaming of becoming the Gray Fox and the other of scaling the Palace.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

@ Everyone: Yes, there was a romance brewing, buuuuut...





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Samara leaned against the wall of the Imperial prison cell, letting out an irritated sigh. Alda chuckled from the cell across from her.

"Well this seems familiar. What did they cite you with again?"

"Being drunk and disorderly, attempted theft, trespassing, and sexual assault."

Alda laughed loudly, earning an angry grunt from the Dunmer across from her.

"Shutup, snowback! You too, Breton trash!"

"Ooh, testy!" Alda said in a teasing voice.

"I think he likes us." Samara laughed.

"Disgusting! You two are going to die in here!"

"For being drunk in public? Hardly." Samara could hear the eye-roll in Ada's voice. Why did you get charged with sexual assault?"

"I tripped and landed face-first into a guard's groin. My forehead is gonna have a bruise."

That earned another cackle from Alda. The door shut up the stairs and down the hall, making the Dunmer cackle mockingly.

"You hear that? The guards are coming! For you!" He laughed mockingly again. Alda sighed audibly.

"They're probably coming to let us go. It's been about ten hours."

"It's been two." Samara pressed her face against the bars, her head almost able to fit through. She struggled to see who was coming down the steps as the torchlight lit up the stone hallway.

"My sons...they're dead?"

Much of what the conversation was about was lost on Samara as she noted the group. Three individuals hovered around another, wearing steel armor with strange etchings on them. Their faces were hard and chiseled, searching the cells for possible danger. The fourth individual was addressed as "sire" by the female. They stopped at her cell.

"Stand back, prisoner." The redguard siad, earning a quiet cackle from the Dunmer across from her. Samara obliged.

"What's this prisoner doing here?" The female asked. "This cell is supposed to be empty."

"Usual mix-up with the watch, I-I-"

"Doesn't matter. Stand back, by that window. We won't hesitate to kill you." The Imperial guard opened Alda's cell. She heard murmurs from the man dressed in rich, royal clothes. She heard Alda's loud voice say "I'm not on good terms with the gods."

She heard stones shifting, and she shook the bars.

"Alda? Alda, what's going on? Alda, answer me!"

"Shutup!" The female guard snapped. "Better not close this one. It can't be opened from the other side." Then silence. She heard Alda's voice, oddly hushed.

"Sammy, that was the Emperor. something's wrong. Really wrong. I...have to go. I have to see."

"Alda, no! Don't leave me here by myself!"

There was nothing but silence. Samara shook the bars again and yelled Alda's name.

"Oh SHUTUP, she's gone, you s'wit!" the Dunmer hollered. Samara sat by the bars, stunned. The moonlight streamed through the bars, and a chilling breeze wafted through. Samara shivered and sat by the bars until they released her three days later.

---

Nirn had erupted into chaos. The Emperor and his sons were dead, found assasinated by unknown assailants. Kvatch had burned to the ground, and gates were opening. The roads were no longer safe to travel, as daedra killed travelers who couldn't defend themselves properly.

Samara kept her life going as best as she could, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. She raided the coffers of the Imperial City's most elite, earning the ire of both the Thieves Guild and honest folk alike.

Alda never showed back up. Samara left her door unlocked each night, hoping to see her friend burst in, furious about something. The salt was left untouched in her cupboard.

Under a stack of books on her dresser, rolled-up parchment with a ribbon around it sat, neglected. In a random fit of honesty, Samara had paid for her adoption records, but without Alda there to look with her, she didn't see the point in finding out. At first, she would sit with it in her hand for a few minutes, curiousity and nerves gnawing at her stomach. Eventually, she stopped picking it up, and forgot about it.

On a whim, she slipped into the Earl of Imbel's house one night, easily picking the lock and shutting the door behind her before anyone saw. The downstairs looked empty, the huge foyer making her shake her head.

"Rich folk." she muttered under her breath as she silently crept up the stairs. She felt odd, like someone was watching her in the empty house as she filled her pockets with coins, jewels, and other trinkets she could fit. She lifted a silver necklace with a large emerald amulet on it. Circling the gem were two dragons, one silver, the other ebony. Their tails intertwined, and their eyes were rubies. On the back were some Nordic runes. Samara stuck it in her pocket and quickly left.

She slipped through the city easily and into her house, pulling her cape off and hanging it up. She opened her top drawer and began piling her loot in under the false bottom. She looked up momentarily to see faded parchment under books. She shut the drawer and pulled the now-creased paper from under the books and sat on her bed. After a moment of staring, she pulled the ribbon and let it fall to the floor and unfolded it.

"Samara Sage Imbel,

DOB: Second Seed, 13, 3E 412"

"Imbel?" Samara nearly dropped the paper. She was the daughter of an earl?! She gulped and kept reading.

"Brought in by father, Jakben Imbel, on day of birth. Looked distraught. Whereabouts of mother unknown. No visitation rights."

Samara dropped the paper onto the ground. She was the daughter of an earl. And she was right. They didn't want her. She let the paper fall to the ground, leaving it open. She shed the rest of her clothes except her undergarments and slid under the covers.

---

Samara felt a breeze on her face and woke up to find her door shutting silently, and a dark figure in her room. She kept her breathing even as she watched it begin rifling through her drawers. She gripped the knife under her pillow tightly.

"Waterfront District is exempt from thievery." She said, making the figure jump. She sat up and held out her dagger.

"Get out."

"You have something of mine. Where is it?"

"I have a lot of something of everyone's. You'll have to be more specific."

A strong hand gripped her throat, and she struggled for air. The blade was twisted from her hand, and she felt a bone snap.

"An amulet. Emerald. Two dragons. One ebony, the other white gold. Nordic runes on the back. I know you have it."

Samara let out a piercing scream of pain when he released her throat. "In the drawer!" She sobbed.

"Which drawer?" The figure demanded.

"Top!"

"You're LYING!"

"False bottom!" She wailed. The figure ripped open the drawer and threw her clothes on the floor. Samara sobbed and cradled her broken wrist. The figure tore the false bottom out and held up the amulet. A hand was on her throat again.

"I ought to slit your throat here and now. Don't you ever come to my house again, you hear me?"

Samara gasped. "You won't let your own daughter into your house, Jakben?"

The figure froze, its grip slack. He stepped back.

"I have my birth certificate." Samara said in a raspy voice, but the figure was gone.