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.

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

Welcome to the Chorrol threads! I dig it when I can catch a story from the beginning. I saw the picture you posted of Silas in the "Fan Art" thread, obviously taken from Morrowind, so at first I thought this story would be set there. But then The Grey Fox and Adamus Philida are referenced, so now I'm thinking this is a prelude to being tossed into the Imperial Prison and meeting the Emperor. Either way, I'll be following...

Nice start!

[SilenceFalls]

"The Daughter of a Soldier, told the fallen Priest, it's a cold, cold place in the arms of a Thief." - Iron and Wine.



Three years later...

Silas looked at the marks on the wall of his prison cell. Nearly one thousand now.

None of the usual channels had seemed to receive the messages he sent out, nor had he heard anything. It was as though the Guild had forsaken him, and two years ago Adamus Phillida had been surprised to see him behind bars. He was even more surprised that he'd been there ever since he brought him there, nor had a trial or tribunal. Not that Adamus Phillida was fond of thieves, he had just been the one to keep Silas in check ever since he was a street urchin, and Adamus was just a low ranking watchman. Phillida promised that he would find out what was going on, and he had the rank to pull that kind of inquiry.

Weeks had gone by, and Silas was certain that, he too, had forgotten him. Depression and despair became his only companions, and he took too what little moon sugar passed through the place, or the 'bucket wine' he had learned to distill himself years ago.

Until one day...

It was the middle of the night, and Phillida's familiar voice came through the still evening air.

"Keep quiet. Listen to me, I was never here. Do you understand? Good."

Phillida went on to explain that the day he was rounded up and brought in, there were several other thieves, rogues and lowlives gathered up as well. Those others were still being held without trial as well, all over the counties in separate cells. Three others were being held in the Imperial Cities Prison as well.The strange thing was, all of these people only had one thing in common.

They all shared the same birthsign.

"It's a crime to be born under the 'Thief'?!" Silas whispered angrily.

Phillida's shadowy visage only shook its head.

"I don't know. But they're keeping track of more than just these prisoners as well. Citizens too. And this is where it gets slippery. It seems to be an order from the Emperor." he continued.

Silas was stunned, and the silence seemed to ring with it.

"What?!" was all he could muster.

"Maybe not directly from him, maybe from the Elder Council, maybe the Blades, I don't know. There's no more I can do to help you without bringing unwanted eyes down on me. Be careful, Silas." Phillida imparted the final words he would ever speak to him, and disappeared back into the darkness he came from.

He had no more of an idea what was going on today, then when Phillida had told him that. He only knew that he had to bide his time, and he wanted to find out what was keeping him here. It was a burning desire, like something between curiosity and revenge.

He kept himself in shape as much as he could between drills of excercise in his cell, and picking fights in the courtyard. As long as you didn't make a body the guards had to deal with, they mostly left you alone.

Until you became the top fighter that was, that was when you disappeared to solitary for a month and came back with scars and deformities that were really poorly healed bone breaks. The guards had their own way of letting the inmates know who was top dog.

As a result, he and an Orc from West Tower; or just West if you had the misfortune of living here, developed a routine that they got into it every once in awhile and one of them would lose to the other on purpose, just to stay off that top contender list. It was also fantastic exercise, Orc's and their hardy constitution were hard to keep up with, and that was something else he could focus on so he didn't lose his mind.

What little magic he knew was pointless in here, as the magicka-waning bracers; or the mage-manacles as they were more commonly called, became a permanent fixture of his wardrobe. It was enchanted to drain all the magicka one would normally produce naturally. Being of Breton descent, the fields of aetherius that all mortals could tap into was locked off from him. Indeed, to his chagrin, he was never able to pick these locks either. More mage-work to work against fellow mages. Someone or some group that was powerful enough to keep him here, and to do so quietly even to the point of infiltrating the Guild. Which was rare, as the Grey Fox was big on 'Honor among thieves', and his enforcers made certain of it.

The symptoms of something bigger than anything he was used to dealing with were there. It made him determined to be small enough to escape it's notice. His mouth, that he used to be famous for, ready for a quick lie or a dirty joke at a moment's notice stopped opening. Instead he started listening. Anything that would prove useful, a rumor, a loose tongue from a guard at the right moment. The only thing he ever came up with was the guards wondering the same thing he was: Why is he here?

This evening however, he would finally come one step closer to finding an answer. As he opened his eyes, he saw men in black cloaks and splendid armor lit from torchlight standing over his once slumbering form.

"Silas Le Muir. You've been pardoned. Come with us, please." said one.

[Acadian]

Welcome to the arena of fan fic here at chorrol! The roguish Silas has fallen upon hard times indeed! Loved the mage manacles and the thinking behind them. A thousand marks on the wall of his cell – a wonderfully creative way of reinforcing those three long years of confinement! Mystery drips from the words of Adamus Phillida. I wonder what answers these armored figures cloaked in black will reveal?

[Grits]

Welcome to Chorrol! I’ve enjoyed Silas’ beginning. The pardon is a good sign, but I noticed that they did not say “go your own way.” I look forward to finding out what happens next!

[mALX]

Whoa, the second chapter really opened up a lot of intrigue! Great Write, and a big welcome to the Fic Forum!

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

So I was wrong. No Blades or Emperors coming to vist Silas...for three years! Instead we have a Breton thief rotting away in prison, as is everyone else that was born under the sign of The Thief. As mALX said, very intriguing indeed. And now, Silas has been pardoned, but by whom and for what reasons? Looking forward to finding out...

[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.

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

So, Silas has upgraded from a prisoner behind walls to a captive of The Blades. I really like the feel of this story. An obviously well trained thief being...abducted?...by the Emperor's bodyguards, and now locked in a carriage heading east. Cheydinhal? Looking forward to more. Good stuff!

[SilenceFalls]

Silas sat with the Blade staring him down most of the way. Despite the stare, he was not intimidated. He knew which pairs of eyes had seen death, and which had not.

His had not.

However, there was a certain eagerness to finally see it, that was there. Silas decided it was best not to be this mans first, as he would end up the same as the mans other first: screwed, and likely not very well.

He felt the bumping of the cobblestone roads of the Imperial City give way to the dirt roads of the Blue Road. County Cheydinhal. He'd never been this far out, in fact the furthest he'd traveled was to Skingrad for a special job once.

The constant bumping made his stomach turn, given that he'd been still in a prison cell in prison the last three years he had no tolerance built against it. Then again, he had no food in his stomach either. In spite of the growing uneasiness he shut his eyes as the experience began to subside from his mind and the fact that he had been woken in the middle of the night caught up to him.

He fell into a black, dreamless slumber and reawoke what seemed to be midday given the shadows position from the bars and the smell of cooked pork and bread being waved underneath his nose.

The Headman had come into the carriage compartment and his wrist restraints had been removed, though he still had the mage manacles on.

"It's traditional to give the doomed man a final meal. I figured you might want something to eat, it's been at least a day since you ate." he smiled with an air of bemusement.

"Yer takin' me all the way to Cheydinhal just to kill me? Who comes up with these cracked schemes?" Silas accepted the meal without hesitation.

"Oh, we're not taking you to Cheydinhal, we just stopped off here for supplies...no, you're being taken to the next province over." The headman replied.

Silas stopped his exuberant chewing, looking up to the man's now-serious face.

"Mahr-wnnd?!" He exclaimed disbelievingly.

"Yes. To Morrowind." He replied, getting up to leave the back, knocking twice on the door.

The other Blade that had been guarding him before re-entered and took his former seat. He gave Silas that eager grin once more and grabbed a chunk of his pork as Silas continued to stare in disbelief.

"Hell of a destination. I hear them Dark Elves make slaves outta kinds like you. Maybe throw you into that big volcano they got. Thing is...slavery's legal out there, the Emperor Tiber Septim himself said it was okay. Signed an armistice and everything." He grinned at Silas.

A small leather purse flew through the bars and hit the Blade in the head, and he looked outside angrily at the Headman.

"Leave the prisoner be, and don't eat his food!" He ordered sharply. "Now hand me my bag back."

The guard did as ordered and gave a sheepish look at Silas who had suddenly lost his appetite.

[mALX]

First off, sorry it took so long to get over here and comment, I've got some catching up to do on this.

Silas has all these intriguing aspects that seem to be slipping in under the wire - like his exercising while prisoner to keep his muscle mass up - I was trying to find a way to phrase that in Foxy's month imprisoned, and finally left it out because I couldn't find a concise way of putting it - wish I'd seen this, I would have stolen your sentence, lol.

Another thing I find very intriguing is the things he notices. It ramps up the mystery when he is noticing the mud is horse droppings - makes the reader realize this is not average beginning for a fic - very interesting! Awesome Write, you are keeping my interest perked with this story!