Stolen Destiny: The Story of Stitch Options

[Acadian]

Nicely woven circumstances that allowed the best outcome. Not only does Stitch gain some information, but by having his hand forced, he retains some humanity. We get the impression he was willing to spare the young Breton, even though it may not have been in Stitch's best interest or safety. Nicely done!

[mALX]

The additional details of actions really brings this to life - like spitting! Awesome Write !!!

[Grits]

I enjoyed this update very much. The smuggler came across as a real person, upset that Stitch had killed his friends. Often enemies come across as pure evil, but here you showed that they can simply be folk whose purposes cross our hero’s.

[Khajiit_Thief01]

@Everyone: I just wanted to post really quickly and say that I am deeply sorry for the delay in the story. Real Life, as it frequently does, has gotten in the way of my literary pursuits. Fortunately, beginning this weekend I will embark upon a much-needed vacation, at which point I will be afforded plenty of time to sit down and write. So, while updates this past 3 weeks or so have been scant, I want to assure you that there IS plenty more of the story on its way!

Thank you all for your continued patience. I really appreciate it.

[King Coin]

I'll be waiting!

[Khajiit_Thief01]

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

What's it been, two years? Just over, if the timestamps are to be believed. I could go into a long explanation about how real-life caught up with me for a time and writing had to take a back seat, but I'll spare you all the boring details. What matters is that I am back now, and back to finishing this story I started so long ago!

Here's an update on where we are so that you can all get caught up:

The Khajiiti-raised Breton Master Thief and current head of the Vvardenfell Thieves Guild Tobias Do'bara--more commonly known and referred to as "Stitch" by his friends and enemies alike--has been blackmailed by the Imperial Legion to join the Emperor's spies known as the "Blades" and do their bidding until such a time as they see fit. His first assignment is to retrieve an object called a "Dwemer puzzle box" from the ancient ruins of Arkngthand and return it to a Blades contact in the town of Balmora in exchange for information concerning the Nerevarine secret cult and the Sixth House secret cult. Stitch had been searching the ruins for several hours with no luck until he finally managed to capture a young smuggler and gain some information from the man at sword-point. Stitch was forced to kill the smuggler in self-defense, but before doing so he learned the puzzle box may be in possession of a man referred to as "Boss Crito."

We now join Stitch in the immediate aftermath of that impromptu interrogation as he plans his next set of moves to bring himself closer to the elusive Dwemer puzzle box.

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The entire event had happened so fast, so sudden, that I had reacted on pure instinct. Having a dagger pulled on me was not an uncommon occurrence in my line of work, and in those cases it was normally prudent to stab first and save the negotiations for somebody more willing to participate in them. It was unfortunate that this young man was unwilling to take my offer and leave this place unharmed…but then again, would I have done so in his position? After a brief moment to consider the question, I concluded that I would not have done so. The criminal world was a nix-hound eat nix-hound one, and had the tables been turned I would have reacted in the same way.

That isn’t meant to sound cold-hearted, mind you; it is not a reflection of my own personal feelings, but merely the reality of the world in which I lived. Killing was a necessary part of my life as a Thief, but it was a part I disliked—even despised. Still, I was in a profession in which people were constantly trying to get what I had, and oftentimes the only way they felt they could get it was by taking me out of the picture. Every thief, bandit, smuggler, and outlaw wanted to be on top, and since I was currently the one occupying that top spot I possessed a constant target on my back. Add to that the fact the Legion was also vying for my execution, as well, and it made for quite a long list of enemies.

Killing wasn’t just necessary for the survival of self, however; it was also necessary for the survival of business. Smuggling routes had to be secured, stashes had to be protected, and informants had to be dealt with. I had always justified this by saying that I had never killed anybody who either didn’t deserve it, or whom I had given the option to live. Be it shady businessmen, suppliers skimming off the top or other similarly despicable characters, I always offered two choices: get out of the business, or be killed. To captured enemies, the choice was slightly different: join my cause, or join your former comrades in death.

Some—the businessmen and shady suppliers, mostly--chose the first choice, and then did not abide by it in the belief that I would not find out. I always did, of course, and they were never again offered a deal. The rest—mostly those competing smugglers and Camonna Tong members I had captured—chose to die. Either way, I almost always offered a choice. Was it my fault if their decisions led to their deaths?

Justifications for my behavior aside, I was eager to get back to business and proceeded to search every last crate in the room currently occupied by myself and the corpse of my would-be assailant. To my immense disappointment, the crates did not contain the puzzle box; on that point, the smuggler had indeed been truthful. What he had neglected to mention, however, was that in the corner behind a stack of the crates was a Dwemer chest that had been obscured from my view. As I knelt down to open the chest, I noticed that it was locked. Thankfully, this lock was much less complex than the one on the Dwemer door, and I was able to open it with minimal effort by using a lockpick.

The chest did not contain the puzzle box, but what it did contain caused me to smile widely: 50 pristine Dwemer coins, each containing the same type of marking that indicated they were minted as a set. Such an amount of coins in and of itself was a valuable find, but the fact that these particular coins were of the same set meant that their value would be even greater. A collector would pay extremely well for these.

I closed the chest and left the coins for now—I still had at least three more smugglers to deal with, and the clattering of change in my pockets would not be very conducive to a stealthy approach. They would be there when I returned after my task in Arkngthand was finished.




I exited the room and proceeded to retrace my footsteps back to the entrance of the ruins. As I did so, I noticed my distorted reflection on some of the metallic pipes that snaked along the walls; my eyes were bloodshot red from a combination of stress and exhaustion, and my skin was pale from a lack of natural light. I concluded, in that moment, that Arkngthand was draining me, and perhaps even willfully trying to kill me. I resolved to finish the task at hand as quickly as possible so that I could return to the warmth of my own bed back in Balmora.

Arriving back at the cavern that served as the entrance to Arkngthand, I immediately noticed the stone ramp the young smuggler had spoken of. I once again cursed my lack of perception upon first entering the ruins; I had been so concerned about avoiding the two smugglers below that I had neglected to take notice of several other features the vast chamber held within. I promised myself that I would not make such a mistake again.

Speaking of the smugglers, the Imperial and Redguard were both still at the bottom of the cavern talking to each other. The same issue that prevented me from dealing with the men hours earlier was still present: the cavern remained well-illuminated by various torches and the Dwemer light fixtures attached to the walls. A stealthy approach remained out of the question unless I could douse the torches’ flames. I found myself left with two options: rush the smugglers’ position and hope to catch them off guard, or find a way to darken the path.

As my brain weighed the pros and cons of each scenario, a thought suddenly popped into my head; the sujamma the Nord had been drinking in the nearby room through the cavern’s hole could be used to douse the flames! I quickly retreated to the room and liberated a flask of the liquor from a nearby shelf. The corpse of the Nord was still present and was beginning to contaminate the air with a foul odor, but thankfully I would have no need to return now.

With sujamma in hand, I devised a plan to deal with the smugglers. The torches were spread out too far apart for me to douse them all at once, but I estimated that I would able to quickly extinguish the one or two closest to my current position before the smugglers could sufficiently react. On the one hand, this would provide me with a decent amount of darkness to make the first attack; on the other, it would put the men on their guard and make them harder to defeat. Not having a better plan, though, I proceeded in the hope that I would emerge as the victor.

I crept to the first torch as quickly as I could while still maintaining my silence. The creaks and moans of Arkngthand served as my ally in this regard, as they helped conceal whatever noise I may have inadvertently made. Upon reaching the first torch, I quickly poured a healthy amount of sujamma on it; the flame died with a loud hiss and produced a small cloud of alcohol-scented smoke. The second torch did the same, but I might as well have not bothered; the smugglers were already running towards me with their weapons drawn. Even so, the darkness that came with the absence of the torches allowed me to momentarily slip out of view and reposition myself in a more advantageous manner to counter the oncoming rush. When the men arrived, I was able to side-step around them and deliver the first couple blows to their backs.

Now, most fighters and tacticians will tell you that fighting multiple enemies at once is undesirable; the more enemies there are, the more weapons aimed at your throat at once, not to mention the risk of becoming surrounded and turned into a pincushion. I only ever concerned myself with the last part—avoiding becoming surrounded. If you can manage that, then I would argue that fighting multiple enemies at once gives you several advantages, the most important of which is a greater ability to hit a target. In this type of situation, your enemies will be so concerned about unintentionally injuring their partner or partners that they will be more cautious with their attacks than normal (that is, unless they don’t give a rat’s behind about their partners…which actually is a pretty common thing in the criminal underworld now that I think about it). You, however, do not share this same caution and so are free to dictate the terms of battle as you like.

At least, that was my strategy during this match, and it thankfully worked out in my favor. I can’t speak to how close these two men were to one another, but it was clear they were trying not to stick the each other with the ends of their blades as they fought me. This allowed me to parry their blades and counter-attack with relative ease. For every one blow they landed on my flesh, I landed two or three more on theirs. By continually side-stepping and keeping the men from surrounding me, I was even able to get them to occasionally hurt one another by mistake despite their best efforts to avoid doing so. After a time, the lives of the smugglers became extinguished like those of the torch flames, while my own still burned within me albeit slightly dimmer than before.

I wished very much to rest at that point, but knew I could not. There remained one more enemy to deal with in this cursed Dwemer ruin—the so-called “Boss Crito” that ran this two-bit smuggling operation. Hopefully, this man would possess the Dwemer puzzle box I sought and I could leave this place forever. Knowing my luck up to this point, he had probably already sold it to some wizard in some random cave out east in Telvanni territory and I would be doomed to forever track down the little box until my dying day. Whatever the case, there was only one way to find out. I holstered my Daedric shortsword and climbed up the stone ramp leading to the second level of the ruins. Once on the new level, I went immediately for the door; whatever treasures the shelves and cabinets that adorned this platform could wait. For now, I had business with a Boss that concerned a small cubed metal object that had, over the course of the last several hours, become the bane of my existence.

[Acadian]

Welcome back and glad to see you continuing this!

‘The criminal world was a nix-hound eat nix-hound one,...’ - - A delightfully TES saying!

You do a nice job of moving things along while letting Stitch share his observations and rationalization for his actions as he goes.

Interesting thoughts as Stitch took on the two thugs and considered the potential advantages in doing so. Grains of truth with a pinch of optimism.

Your command of prose and the details of spelling/grammar is very tight and a pleasure to read. I did note what I figure is simply a small typo that I figured you'd want brought to your attention:
'I can’t speak to how close these two men were to one another, but it was clear they were trying not to stick the each other with the ends of their blades as they fought me.' - - I suspect the bolded ‘the’ is left over from an earlier edit and probably best deleted.

[King Coin]

I enjoyed the reasoning and justifications behind this master thief’s killings. Kind of interesting how his spin makes it sound completely reasonable.

Somehow I think Nord spirits would be a poor item to use for dousing flames… I suppose the alcohol contend was low enough to prevent any flare-ups.

Like Acadian, I thought his reasoning about fighting multiple foes very optimistic.

This ‘puzzle box’ is bringing so much joy.

[Khajiit_Thief01]

Acadian: Thank you for your kind words! Yes, I imagine Stitch's thoughts on fighting multiple enemies at once are mixed with a healthy dose of optimism. The deeper we get into his story, the more these early "lessons" will be put to the test, I think.

King Coin: I'm glad you are enjoying the story thus far! Regarding Nord spirits and the dousing of the flames: I imagine you are correct in reasoning that the alcohol content was low enough to prevent any flare-ups. Nord spirits are normally very high in alcohol content, I imagine, but remember that these are smugglers who deal frequently in black market items of often dubious and/or less quality. Stitch, being well-versed in the smuggling underworld himself, would have recognized the Nord spirits immediately as a cheap knock-off, hence why he used them to distract the two thugs in the manner he did.

(That's a very detailed way of saying, "You know, I hadn't really considered that...quick, think of something that makes sense to justify it!" Good catch, in any case. )


After a longer-than-intended delay, we now continue with our current programming! Stitch, of course, is about to face-off against Boss Crito. Will he find the Dwemer puzzle box in this room? Or is he doomed to forever wander Tamriel in search of what is probably the most obscure item in existence? Read on and find out!

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The door that led to Boss Crito opened with the loud hisses and creaks that I had grown accustomed to in these Dwemer ruins. Knowing that stealth was no longer an option, I immediate drew my blade and prepared for an onslaught. Thankfully, the man I sought was not directly on the other side of the door and this allowed me a few precious seconds to take in my surroundings.

The room Boss Crito occupied contained just over a half-dozen crates as well as a few shelves containing various Dwemer trinkets. The room was also rather large, but ancient Dwemer steam pipes snaked across the middle of the room and essentially cut it in half; while there was still some room to maneuver, it was not nearly as much as I would have liked. I had little time to lament this fact, as Boss Crito was upon me seconds after my unwelcomed entrance.

Crito was a well-built Imperial who wore an iron cuirass and wielded an axe--similar to the first smuggler I had encountered on the bridge leading to Arkngthand. Unlike the first smuggler, however, it was clear that Boss Crito was very skilled with his weapon—his strikes were quick, concise, and pre-meditated. He knew where he wanted his blows to land and he conserved his energy wisely to maximize the effectiveness of each strike. Only my speed and agility saved me from getting cut into pieces within the first few seconds of battle. Unfortunately, his speed nearly matched my own and I found myself using my own weapon exclusively in a defensive matter. Furthermore, the Imperial knew the limitations of the room’s size and sought to back me into a corner; a tactic he was succeeding at, I might add. If the battle lasted much longer, I knew I would not survive.

Fortunately, I caught a lucky break that saved me from Oblivion. Having been backed into a corner against the Dwemer pipes, Crito must have sensed victory was imminent and sought to end me right then and there. Putting a little more strength into his swing than was necessary, he aimed for my head. I was able to duck just in time to avoid decapitation, only losing a few hairs off the top of my head in the process. Due to the over-application of strength in his attack, Crito was unable to halt the momentum of his axe and the weapon clanged violently against the pipes; the resulting vibrations shot up the smuggler boss’s arm and momentarily stunned him. This was my chance; if I did not end it here, Crito would surely recover and prevail over me. Seizing the moment, I jammed my Daedric shortsword into the Imperial’s exposed jugular; the blade protruded out the other side of the man’s neck with a spray of blood following shortly thereafter. A garbled noise escaped my assailant’s mouth, his eyes rolled back into his skull, and the body slid off my blade and crumpled to the metallic floor with a soft thud. I had defeated the last of Arkngthand’s smugglers and could now lay claim to its treasures unopposed.

The only treasure I cared about at this point was the Dwemer puzzle box, and I prayed to the ceiling that it was here. Fortunately, it was; sitting in plain sight on one of the bottom shelves lay the object I had sought for what seemed like an eternity. I knelt to pick it up; the description Hasphat had given me was indeed accurate, as the object was no bigger than my fist and clearly the work of the ancient Dwarves. As I pocketed the cube, a wave of fatigue washed over me and I could not find the strength to stand. I settled instead for sitting on the floor, leaning against the shelf. My eyelids became heavy, too heavy to remain open; I intended to close them for only a minute, but the exhaustion proved to be too much. I slipped into sleep almost instantly.

I awoke to a grumbling in my stomach and the sound of Dwemer steam hissing as it escaped the nearby pipes. As I shook off the last remnants of my dreamless sleep, I took stock of my surroundings. The room was as it had been prior to my nap, save for a large pool of blood that now accompanied the body of Boss Crito. Unfortunately for me, some of the blood had drifted over to my feet and now stained the heels of leather boots; there was probably some deep philosophical meaning to that, but all I could do at the time was curse the mess.

I hadn’t the slightest clue how long I was asleep, but it was enough for me to regain enough strength to stand and depart the former office of Boss Crito. The ruins of Arkngthand had held me long enough and I didn’t wish to stay a second longer. Retracing my steps up the walkway I had come down when I had first arrived, I exited the Dwemer city with as much haste as I could muster.

I was greeted by the outside world with a rising sun; considering I had entered the ruins shortly before noon, that meant I had been inside the ruins for just under a full day. The thought chipped away at the little fatigue I had recovered, so I stripped it from my mind and resolved to return to Balmora at once. Once I handed the puzzle box to Hasphat and got the info Caius wanted, my next course of action was to enjoy a long slumber in my own bed. Or, at least, that was the hope.

Back in the Fighter’s Guild, Hasphat was thrilled to receive the Dwemer puzzle box and thanked me heartily.

“Perfect! Thank you, this is just what I was looking for,” he said. “Let me just take that from you...there we go. Ah, such a fine specimen….” He examined the object with a scholar’s eye. As much as I wanted to quickly move on and was annoyed by the whole affair, I remained polite and allowed him to take his time. “Hmm…the inscriptions on the box seem to be the directions for setting a Dwemer key to open a specific lock,” he explained. “If you're interested, I can decipher these directions and maybe produce a key you can take back to Arkngthand.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You mean you wouldn’t want the key for yourself?”

Hasphat laughed. “Oh, goodness no! My interest in the puzzle box is purely academic; I have no desire to plunder the depths of Arkngthand.” He then gave me a smirk. “I suspect you, on the other hand, might feel otherwise.”

I couldn’t help but smirk back; after all, he was right. “How long do you think it will take you to make the key?”

He examined the puzzle box for a few more moments before responding. “The directions do not appear to be particularly complex…I imagine a few hours, tops, if I devote my entire focus to the project.”

“Very well. Tell me what you know about the Sixth House and the Nerevarine.”

“Oh yes, of course!” the scholar exclaimed. He went to a nearby desk and opened one of its cabinets, exchanging the puzzle box for some hand-written notes which he gave to me. “Here you go; these are for Caius, though you may read them yourself if you like. I will summarize them briefly. In short: I've heard something about a secret cult worshipping Dagoth Ur. The idea is that the Tribunal are false gods who have betrayed Morrowind to the Imperials. The cult plans to overthrow the Temple and….”

Despite saying, “In short,” Hasphat’s summarization was anything but, and I found myself feigning attention as my interest waned. Just as I was about to drift back into sleep, something he said caught my attention and caused me to interrupt him.

“Wait, hold it right there. Can you repeat that last part?”

“Certainly. House Dagoth is the Sixth House, the ‘lost’ Sixth…”

“No,” I interrupted again, “the part right before that.”

“Oh. Well, as I said, I've also heard the cult has some connection with smuggling... that they smuggle goods, or hire smugglers, or something like that. I’m afraid I don’t know too much more. That sort of thing would be more your line of ‘research’ than mine, would it not?”

I barely heard his last line as my mind took on the workload of deep thought and concentration. In the ever-competitive world of criminals, one had to be a step or three ahead of the competition; this often meant becoming deeply in-tune to the latest information. I believed I had mastered this feat, but here now I was gaining information that was new to me—and from a scholar, no less, rather than one of my normal “business” contacts. This concerned me, and I immediately made a mental note to find out more.

Hasphat either must not have noticed I was deep in thought, or did not care, because he immediately resumed his detailed explanation of the Sixth House. He concluded several minutes later, and recommended some books I should read if I wished to learn more. Having concluded our business, I bid him farewell and promised to return before sunset to retrieve the key to Arkngthand from him.

My mind still churning due to the information concerning cult smuggling activities, I decided to hold off on returning to Caius’s house for the moment and instead opted to meet up with Ra’veer. This was partially borne out of a desire to delay and frustrate the Spymaster as much as possible, I’ll admit, but more than that I wished to pick my friend’s brain and see if he had heard of any unusual happenings in the smuggling underworld. Having thus decided my next course of action, I moved my feet towards the one place I knew with absolute certainty he could be found: the South Wall bar across the river.

As expected, I found my Khajiit friend at a table near the bar, drinking and laughing with our Thieves Guild comrades. Upon noticing my presence, he raised his glass and beckoned me to join him. I took the seat directly across from him and, after exchanging the usual pleasantries, asked our mutual friends to afford us some privacy. They nodded politely and excused themselves from our presence; they understood that business between the Master Thief and his second-in-command was best kept between only those two parties.

After taking another swig from his glass, Ra’veer let out a quick burp and then spoke. “So, I take it you are done with our ‘friend’ for the day?” he asked, obviously referring to Caius.

I shook my head. “Hardly. I still have business with him, but that business can wait. Right now, I have other matters on my mind.”

I explained what Hasphat had told me about a cult possibly hiring smugglers or engaging in smuggling activities themselves. Ra’veer, for his part, listened intently and did not interrupt. When I finished, he sat back in his chair and thought for a moment before responding.

“Interesting,” he said, taking another quick sip from his glass. “I have not heard of any cults hiring smugglers. They certainly haven’t approached us about business, that’s for sure.”

“Perhaps they’re hiring somebody else, then?” I speculated. “Maybe non-Guild freelancers? Or…”

“…or the Camonna Tong,” he finished for me, speaking the name with a hiss of disdain. “The Tong remain weakened, and our spies in their organization have not indicated they have done any business with cults.” As he considered the situation, he tapped his fingers on the table and took another sip of alcohol. “Even so…it remains a possibility,” he conceded. “Without more information, though, it is hard to say.”

“Agreed. Shake down our contacts, both in the Tong and elsewhere. I want to know something substantive as soon as possible.”

“I will begin my efforts as soon as we are done here,” he responded. “Anything else?”

“Nothing for now. I will have more at sunset. For now, I’ve got to see a man about some skooma.”

With that, I slid my chair out from the table and stood up. Ra’veer remained at his seat but raised his glass in salute. Our business finished for the time being, I exited the South Wall and made the short jaunt to Caius Cosades’s house.

[Acadian]

Welcome back!

That was a tense fight with Boss Crito, but Stitch prevailed with the old sword in the throat!

Hasphat is a delightfully typical scholar – not particularly interested in the loot his research could lead to.

[treydog]

So glad to see the return of Stich! And the writing is as skilled as ever. Your descriptions make me want to load up Morrowind once more.

One quote- because it illustrates the protagonist so clearly-

Unfortunately for me, some of the blood had drifted over to my feet and now stained the heels of leather boots; there was probably some deep philosophical meaning to that, but all I could do at the time was curse the mess.

Yep. Loved that.

I also liked the way Stich zeroes in on the smuggling aspect; that sort of detail gives dimension and personality to the character.

Welcome back!