Ancestor Writing Prompt: Dar’Makzhi, Do’Karth’s Great Grandfather
A Thief in the Night
A Thief in the Night
4E105 14 Second Seed, Anvil, 2342 in the evening…
The Jewel of the Golden Coast, Anvil was a cosmopolitan trading city that was nestled cozily between the sun-scorched deserts of Hammerfell and the subtropical paradise of Alinor, acting as an intermediary location where in happier times, goods came from all over the West, like bees pollinating a flower, that made Anvil a rich city from the trade tariffs alone and its comfortable climate and bountiful work opportunities made it a popular draw for citizens all across the Septim Empire. That was over 100 years ago.
Now with the Third Aldmeri Dominion having seceded from the Empire, Anvil’s affluence was diminished greatly. While pirates and the Thieves Guild always operated in the city, tolerated by the authorities if only barely so long as they didn’t overstep the law while in city limits; it was impossible to keep a lid on all the illicit underbelly that the city attracted, and lacking the manpower and resources to fully tackle what might as well have been a cultural cornerstone. And so, the city had something of an unofficial motto, It’s not illegal if you don’t get caught. And considering the guards’ predisposition to turning a blind eye to whatever was happening on the docks and shady but not overtly questionable activities, a sort of equilibrium existed in the city for a number of centuries. The only difference between this night and 100 years ago was that the city was in such an economic slump that the new motto might as well have been, Any business is good business. Even the Thieves Guild made the most bare and half-hearted effort at concealment these days to the point they might as well have been wearing uniforms and handing out pamphlets. However, that wasn’t to say that wealth wasn’t still found in the city; it just meant that those who had more coin than the average man had gotten exceedingly talented at locking it away. That was where Dar’Makzhi came in; the Renrijra’Krin had appointed him as one of the organization’s foreign field “providers”, which was a sneaky way of saying that he was a paid thief.
And a damn good one, at that.
Being Ohmes, Dar’Makzhi looked a lot like a shorter Bosmer to all but the most discerning observers, but his eyes were a giveaway; not that he had slit-like pupils like many Khajiit, but because his blue eyes were very similar to what most Men and several Khajiit adorned upon their faces. However, he could still see perfectly fine in the dark, and as such to conceal his true nature when working, he operated mostly in the dead of night. Since he looked so much like an elf, he often adopted the alias “Wyndel” to see him through his day to day routines. The only thing about his appearance that truly stood out was the yellow bar tattoo that bisected his nose and crossed under his eyes in the shape of a downturned crescent. It was the only bit of heritage that the Khajiit carried with him, and truth be told, acting like something he wasn’t for so long and only being in Elsweyr sporadically made him feel rather distinct from his kin; he preferred High Elf cuisine and fashion and he spoke in a well-learned Valenwood accent to the extent that it felt weird to go back to personal-pronouns. Still, although he felt apart from his homeland, he still was loyal to it with all of his heart… after the Renrijra’Krin, of course. That association happened to make him fabulously wealthy. And after this particular haul, he’d be able to purchase quite the manor and maybe, just maybe, consider taking a few years off. However, the thing about thieves was that it was a trade where one had to constantly hone their skills or risk losing everything from a careless blunder, and Dar’Makzhi had a reputation to uphold; he was the best of the best, or so he told himself frequently.
Sitting on the red tile roof across from his target with a dagger in hand, Dar’Makzhi had been meticulously peeling an apple for the past hour, going slowly enough that only the red skin and none of the fruit within came free. It was a relaxing habit of his, one that gave his hands and mind something to keep occupied during the long waits of canvassing a target to determine what the occupants were up to, and if there was anything that could bungle a heist. He’d never had to kill a person on the job, although he’d always been more than prepared to defend himself to the death if need be, but a master thief simply couldn’t call themselves that if they were constantly having confrontations; that was a great way to end a career and get yourself killed. Instead, outside of his dagger, which in truth was used to pry stubborn lids and peel fruits more often than for any insidious purpose, upon his belt were three bolas, each a length of thin rope with an iron ball on each end, which were his primary means of dealing with interlopers. Cheap and easy to make and an effective if humiliating way of slowing, if not outright stopping, a pursuer, they’d pulled Dar’Makzhi out of a few tight situations that kept his conscious clear; even the best thief ran into bad luck. It was all depending on Nocturnal’s whims that particular night. She often rewarded the bold, but she was equally quick to test one’s talent and resolve. She was a finicky patron, that much was for sure.
That’s fine, Rajhin is much more my speed anyways. Ah, there we are. he thought, setting the apple down on the tile gently and moved into a crouch, his soft-soled boots silently flexing with the muscles in his feet. Coming out of the heavy oak door of the manor Dar’Makzhi was casing was an Imperial man in his late 40s named Varian Ponferus, a former big shot in the East Empire Company who used his accumulated fortune to start his own trading enterprise, one that was much more likely to turn to less than reputable individuals to turn a profit. He wasn’t being targeted for his moral failings, indeed the thought the Khajiit would be aroused to others’ inscrutable dealings was laughable, but rather because he was both wealthy and had a dwelling that was presumably filled with a number of things that could go missing and would be untraceable because dear Varian would be incriminating himself to report some of his ill-gotten goods to the authorities as missing. Once a valuable artifact changed hands between two or three thieves, it might as well have disappeared from Nirn as far as the original owner was concerned. They’d never see it again.
For a man who had lived his entire life following an extremely regimented schedule, Varian was infuriatingly inconsistent of when he left his home at night. A man with a loveless marriage, Varian evidently had a mistress he snuck off to visit when his wife had retired for the evening. The trouble was finding which days he was out of the house, but the times were consistent, and he was gone nearly three hours per sortie out of the home to bury himself between some dusky Redguard woman’s thighs a few times a week. All men needed their vices, but would it have hurt the man to be somewhat more punctual? It was rather inconsiderate. To his wife, of course, but also those wishing to make off with a fair deal of coin, perhaps enough to purchase an island in Topal Bay.
Now, now. The key to happiness is low expectations. Maybe a small island. he thought, waiting until Varian was well down the cobblestone street before clambering down from the roof, using the generous holds provided by the over-extended stonework on the marble white walls that dominated the city architecture. Touching down on the street, the Khajiit moved swiftly and silently in the dark space between the reaches of the street lamps and was soon at the manor’s privacy wall, a three meter high construct that was easily defeated by getting enough of a running start at it to run up high enough to grab at the edge and pull himself up and over. Now safe from prying eyes in the street, Dar’Makzhi crouched and listened for several moments, listening for any signs that something was amiss. A thief had to rely on both senses and instincts to know when to move forward and call it off. Nothing was valuable enough in this world to make a risk worth it if you were caught and unable to make off with it. Hearing, seeing, and smelling nothing was out of place, the thief made his way to the side of the manor and located the cellar doors he’d spotted earlier and using the lock pick set from a custom bracelet on his left wrist soon had the lock defeated, the tumblers succumbing to his nimble prodding and masterful finger work. From a leather pouch at the small of his back, Dar’Makzhi produced a small oil bottle that he used to lubricate the hinges before opening the cellar door. It was such a small and simple thing to do, but it was one that eliminated a foolish risk. He made his way inside the cellar and within a few short moments, his eyes adjusted to the almost complete lack of light and he continued into the manor proper.
The manor was old, perhaps 80 years old and filled with a number of antiquities that immediately caught the eye. A lion pelt rug dominated the study, and the hearth was adorned with a rather fetching pair of glass scimitars from some Altmeri craftsman, that much Dar’Makzhi was certain. Display cases of priceless gemstones, polished and yet the size of his fist loomed tantalizingly. And yet, Dar’Makzhi’s instincts told him that the things his Imperial quarry could afford to lose were the ones in plain sight; something much more valuable was hidden away somewhere. He’s just have to find it.
It was in the ground floor’s library where Dar’Makzhi noticed something; one of the book cases had scuff marks on the floor in front of it, only just visible under a patterned rug. Pulling the rug back, he saw an distinct indentation in the wood, as if it had routinely had a considerable weight pulled across it. Tracing his fingers along the inner siding of the case, the Khajiit found a finger hold and pulled. The entire shelf came towards him easily. Pulling it forward enough to slip behind, he noticed that the entire shelf was resting on a pair of rollers. That certainly was one way to do it.
The room gave off a ghostly blue sheen from a pair of Varla stones that seemed to be acting as an everlasting source of illumination, cast in iron torch scones that had been obviously retrofitted for the stones’ proportions. The only other things in the small room were a case with a beautiful, yet peculiar staff resting inside of it, along with an ancient looking journal and another much newer booklet. Carefully unlocking the case with a smaller set of lock picks, Dar’Makzhi unlocked the case and opened it ever slowly. Pulling the newer booklet from its position, sunken in velvet, he opened it up to the single filled out page, it read.
While this likely is a cunning reproduction as the original artifact is rumoured to have been banished or destroyed, it is authentic enough to the original Staff of Chaos that Jagar Tharn wielded when he usurped the Imperial Throne while under the false guise of Emperor Uriel Septim VII that Lady Barenziah had a visible reaction to this staff when it was discovered that she ordered it destroyed. There is documentation that it was crafted by Loreth himself in the First Era, although this is something that can be called into question. If it is authentic, perhaps it was a spare that was not enchanted as the original Staff of Chaos was in case of failure in the enchantment process. If a cunning replica, than it dates back easily to the Second Era, perhaps by a smith who was privy to Loreth’s lost techniques. Regardless, it is uniquely valuable and should be kept in either the Imperial Library or Arcane University for safekeeping and posterity.
The document was signed by a signature that Dar’Makzhi found rather illegible, but it had a wax stamp belonging to the Curator of the Mythic Archives in the Arcane University, one he readily recognized. Whatever he had here, it was worth a lot of money to someone. As the thief reached out to grab the staff, a stern voice came behind him.
“You made a dear mistake breaking into my home, thief.” Varian Pomferus stood in the entryway of the chamber, his face red and with the distinct impressions of a hand print upon his cheek. Apparently his indiscretions had caught up with him. The chamber must have muffled the sound of his return; Dar’Makzhi normally had excellent hearing. He silently cursed Nocturnal for his terrible luck, turning his side to the Imperial as a concealed hand unfastened a clasp upon his belt.
“I must have gotten turned around looking for your wife’s chambers, but from that mark on your face, I’d say she isn’t home right now.” The Khajiit remarked with a coy smile. That seemed to work. Varian’s face contorted with rage and with a scream, the Imperial charged at Dar’Makzhi screaming bloody murder, easy to bait with emotions running so high and his failure smeared across his face. With a swift motion as if he were skipping a stone, Dar’Makzhi loosed a bolas at Varian’s ankles, the iron balls and chord wrapping about his ankles and tripping him up, causing the imperial to trip and smash his teeth off of one of the Varla stones, which was knocked loose from the impact, thudding loudly on the floor a moment after the Imperial. While the man was reeling from the pain of probably a few broken teeth and scrambling to find out what was wrapped about his ankles, the Khajiit grabbed the two books and the staff from the case and ran towards the exit, kicking off the wall beside Varian so the man couldn’t grab at his ankles. Treasures in tow and the need for subterfuge gone, Dar’Makzhi sprint out the front door of the manor and a few twists and turns later down side passages and streets was gone from Varian’s grasp.
Hours later, sitting by the waterfront with his package carefully wrapped in a protective leather sheathe, the Khajiit chanced a look at the lime-green stonework, so intricately carved with perfect symmetry and cuts that were such that the moonlight above made the entire gem glow as if it were enchanted. It was a beautiful piece, to be sure, and in all, not a bad catch. Perhaps it would be enough for a small island, after all.
Assuming he ever found someone to buy it.
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