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]

SubRosa, you picked up on all the things I was puttin' down, good job! XD

ghastley-Samara doesn't heal. All of her magicks are geared towards keeping her so unseen that she'll never be noticed.

She's a very good thief, and a little conceited about her abilities. She's a good shot with a bow and arrow, but not great.

KoB-She's the Champion I figured that was obvious.


Thanks, everyone!


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The next few days were excruciating for Samara. The priest at the temple had to set her wrist and splint it. She was out of commission until her wrist was better. In her spare time, which was a lot now that she couldn't pick locks or pockets, she read up on the history of Springheel Jak. She found nothing definitive except for myths, legends, and heresay. She was disappointed that there wasn't more information on her favorite thief, but there was a lot of speculation.

Another week passed before she saw Jakben Imbel. She heard a knock on her door just after dusk and opened it, shifting her sling on her shoulder to a more comfortable position. When she opened it, she let out a shriek.

"You tried to rape me! I'm calling the-"

She let out a squeal as the hands of the brown-haired man from the Talos District clamped down on her mouth. He pushed her inside, his face expressionless.

"Hush, I'm not here to hurt you. It's me, Jakben."

Samara shook her head behind his hand and bit it. He frowned slightly, and her eyes widened at his lack of reaction.

"I've fallen from heights that would have liquefied the insides of most people, had a sword pierce my chest, and been starved for months. You think a small bite from the dull teeth of a human child is going to harm me? Now, I'm going to let go, and you're not going to scream. understand?"

She nodded, and took a deep breath when he let go. "You're Jakben?! You know you tried to rape me, right?!"

"Yes, I know. I was there. And I wasn't trying to rape you. If I wanted you, I would have had you in a moment."

"So what? Were you gonna eat me or something?"

Jakben's face was unreadable, and Samara's gut dropped.

"You rich people are [censored] weird. Just [censored] weird. Get out of my house, I don't want you here!"

Jakben held an amulet up, the two dragons glinting in the firelight. "You deserve an explanation."

"You're damn right I do!"

Jakben chuckled and sat on a rickety wooden chair. He frowned and wiggled his rear. It gave an audible crack, and he was up as it crumbled beneath his weight.

"Your chairs are very uncomfortable and do not properly support weight."

"Welcome to being poor. You owe me a new damn chair." She sat on the bed instead of the remaining chair. Jakben put his hands behind his back and stood in front of her, looking down.

"Sit on the bed...dad." Samara put as much venom into the last word as possible.

"I'll stand. Your mattress is made of...straw?" He looked disgusted as he eyed the bits of straw sticking from the mattress. He absently scratched his neck and returned his arm behind his back.

"Again, poor. You'd cry at what I have to eat."

He looked around. "I don't see anything."

"That's because I haven't gone to the inns and dug from their garbage yet."

He looked horrified for a split second, then regained his composure. "I'll send you a new chair."

Samara let out an amused breath through her nose, a smirk on her lips. "Yeah you are. So what's so important about this amulet that you broke my damn wrist over it?"

"It was your mother's." He looked at the amulet with tenderness, handling it gently. He traced the dragons with his thumb, a look of utter sadness on his face. Samara was silent. The room suddenly seemed tight, like a lung empty of air. The warmth of the fire was stifling. She didn't want to be in the room, alone, with this man, with a look on his face that made her want to weep.

"Why?" The word sprung from her lips unexpectedly. "Give me away, that is. Why didn't you two keep me?"

"She died. You were a miracle. Elves only have one or two children in their lifetime-"

"I'm part elf?" Samara looked at her hands in disbelief. "Wood elf?"

"High Elf," he corrected. "Altmer. That's the proper term. She was always insistent that I never used the slang. She had miscarried before, earlier in our marriage. She'd always wanted a large family, and I had the house for it. We planned on adopting what she couldn't birth. And then she died." He gripped the amulet in his right hand. Samara grew more uncomfortable.

"It wasn't my fault." She said quietly.

"No, you misunderstand. It wasn't at all. She gave birth to you, easily, and even nursed you the first night of your life. The next night, I went out. And when I returned, she was dead. There was a sword through her chest and a knife at your throat. I killed the attacker and took you to the orphanage. I couldn't care for a child on my own."

The air thinned as Samara's rage surfaced. She jumped up and shoved him, his immobility enraging her more.

"That's it?! She died, and you ABANDONED ME? How dare you! I NEEDED you!"

"You're better off."

"Better off? BETTER OFF?" All of Samara's rage was channeled into a single punch to Jakben's stomach. He wheezed and doubled over.

"Gods, child!" he gasped.

"You think living in this dump makes me better off? You think living off of other people's scraps is better off? You just broke my chair by sitting on it, and you think I'm better off? I have to steal from others in order to make sure I survive!"

Tears ran down her face, and her words were punctuated with sobs. "Get out. I don't want anything from you. You're stupid, and I'm not your daughter!" She threw a stone cup at him with her left hand, wildly missing it, and shattering it against the floor. Jakben had straightened up, and looked regretful.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you." He said before he closed the door behind him.

This post has been edited by Elisabeth Hollow: Dec 26 2013, 02:19 AM