A fanfiction about a Khajiit woman joining Skyrim's thieves guild.
|Note to reader: If you've never played the game The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, then some of this story may seem out of context. If you take a moment to read some background information, then this story will sound better and you will understand what is going on.
First off, Khajiits (the main character is one) are cat-like people from the province of Elsywer, which is quite a distance from the province of Skyrim. Their native tongue is very unlike the common tongue (basically English,) so when they speak they are not the best at it. Also, Khajiits from their native land (Elsywer) tend to speak in the third person or say "this one" to refer to themselves. This actually roots to their beliefs of their population being a whole instead of individuals. Khajiits are known for being natural thieves and charismatic, making their race not trusted within cities. Because of this, the Khajiits you meet in-game (that is not you, the Dragonborn) are either mercenaries, caravan traders or are a member of a faction.
Factions are groups of people with particular power, not necessarily government. One of the more known factions in the game is the Dark Brotherhood, a group of assassins in which receive contracts by having certain unique members "Listen" and "Speak" with their Night Mother (daughter of Sithis, etc.) The faction I bring to you in this story is the Thieves Guild, which is exactly what it's about. Underneath the City of Riften, their faction is not welcomed, yet their presence is strong in many issues with politics and business.
This should be it, and I hope you all enjoy reading this story!
Daro'sa crouches in the clammy sewer tunnel beneath Riften. She shivers in the murkiness despite her leather armor. The only light and slight warmth are provided by the occasional torches on the stone walls. Daro'sa turns her nose up, her creamy spotted fur starting to reek like wet dog. Watching her every step to stay concealed, she notices all sorts of corridors one could take, surely to become lost buried within the dreadful place. With the Skeever population beneath Riften being one of the highest in all of Skyrim, it wouldn't be surprising if another fate were to await those lone wanderers. One involving giant, matted, disease-infected rats. Daro'sa tightly holds her steel dagger.
How much further, she wonders. It's like a labyrinth down here.
Fortunately, for Daro'sa, it is not all guesswork locating the right path. With her heightened cat-like sense of smell, sight, and sound, she can pinpoint a particular direction. The scent of Nord mead and smoke are present. Following this trail, she tours many abandoned beds, campfires, and, eventually, an old alchemy table with potion spills on the surrounding hay. After about an hour of creeping on rocks and moldy wooden bridges, she sees a lever. Making sure there's no immediate or hidden danger, she pulls it.
A dragging noise breaks the silence, another bridge appearing in the constant darkness. Beyond it lies an entrance door, with a symbol of the Thieves Guild chiseled on the stone wall beside it.
"She found it!" Daro'sa whispers softly, "This one's destiny has been discovered."
She stands up, opens the door, and walk into the ensuing cavern. The jagged ground curves in the enormous room, at the center, lies an equal pool of sewer water. Catwalks line the walls, leading to the bar of the crooks, the shady, the secretive, the stealthy. The inn's name inscribed on a swaying sign in sharp letters, The Ragged Flagon. Cautious whispers and insincere laughter fill the inn. Daro'sa casually walks up to the bar, the bartender scowling at her with suspicion and distrust.
"What do you want?" he growls lowly.
Daro'sa shrugs her shoulders, "What do you have?"
He waves his hand, sarcastically, along the greasy surface, "Many sorts of liquor, ale, mead, and wine. Our favorite down in this dung hole is that Black-Briar Mead."
She stares at the different bottles with a weighing expression. "Daro'sa shall have some of that then, just a glass."
Sitting there with wary eyes on everyone around her, she rests her legs. The bartender plops the glass beside her and fills it with mead.
"What brings a Khajiit down in these sewers?" the bartender queries.
"Daro'sa wishes to join the Guild," she responds.
He scoffs lightly, "Good luck! Don't cause any trouble, especially with Dirge." He points out the broad man sitting privately with a mug of ale.
"Daro'sa promises not to be an issue," Daro'sa promised. She gulps the last of the Black-Briar mead, then wipes the mead off her fur. "Where may this one seek the leader. She is eager to start."
The bartender points an Imperial man, "Ask him."
The Imperial man is unmistakably a member of the Thieves Guild, the Guild's gear is worn tightly, the hood shadowed half of his face. He has an iron axe on his side, it gleams in the dim torchlight. Daro'sa half-smiles and strolls up to the strange man.
"Where may this one find your leader. I wish to join."
The Imperial turns his head to face the Khajiit, " Do you have what it takes? Not every beggar can be a thief."
Daro'sa laughs dryly, "Daro'sa can prove herself, yes?"
The Imperial takes a moment of seemingly thinking before shaking his head, "It's not about proving, it's about being hidden."
"Khajiit knows this better than Imperial, Khajiit raised as such."
Daro'sa scampers back to her seat and drinks intensely from her new glass of mead. Daro'sa knows what to do, she thinks vaguely, it already happened flawlessly. She tightly wrapped her hand around a small key that she eyed on the man's belt. She wasn't sure what it was used for, but she knew it would help make a point.
With a victorious smirk, she rises back up and stares at the man's profile, "This one believes she has something of yours." She holds the silver key, it dangles in the air tauntingly.
The entire cave goes silent, except for the slamming of mugs on the table while everyone tries to figure out what happened. Whispers fill the empty silence. Daro'sa didn't know why they were whispering, but she knew that she shouldn't get much more attention from Dirge, his sharp glower going straight through her soul.
The Imperial's mouth was open in surprise, "Well then, I guess I was wrong about that. Welcome to the family."
Daro'sa overheard someone whisper, "How did that Khajiit get the key from Vontus Abor?"
Something clicked in her head as she remembers seeing a paper from her caravan, written, "Linus Abor, wanted for stealing the Jarl of Solitude's treasure. Potentially dangerous; Thieves Guild Leader."
Daro'sa smiles, noticing that the key has an emerald welded on the brim. The key to the Jarl's treasure was in the Abor's hands.
She realized that she has a chance to become much more than she ever wanted from her little trick; Vontus Abor paid attention to her hands, just not her tail. And just because of that, she was a valuable member of the Thieves Guild.
Word Count: Story: 917 / Total: 1193