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!



-----


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.

Samara is [censored] awesome, lol.

Lol. Amantius is always whining about his missing diary


Damn, Alda can be mean

I like it. And not just for the naked ladies.

Nice! Collaboration of two writers is always good and I'm thrilled to see another story taking place in Cyrodiil. So, we're dealing with wet and bathed girls, blood-drinking plants and mystery? Count me in.

Thankfully that rooftop dancer was merely a thief, and not a murderer. I liked that you showed this scene from the POV of Amantius Allectus (I wonder if his parents had a girl, would they have named her Awomantius? ) Of course those of us who have played the TG questline know his name, and the importance of his diary, vampiric plants and all.

Nothing better than some hot girl on girl action! I have to confess that in my first read-through, I had the impression that they were lovers. But on my second time going through it, it looks like probably not. Too bad.

"Because I'm not a milk-drinker."
I loved this now famous Skyrim line. But I could not help but thinking that if she actually is a lesbian, she really is a milk drinker...

"Springheel Jak was a man who liked to break into the homes of rich woman and seduce them.
Not seeing a problem here myself.


nits:
Mothers laid their infants and toddlers to rest as father[s] stoked the fire.
Unless one guy is doing a lot of stoking, I suspect you wanted fathers to have been plural.

[c]onfident that the cold would deter thieves and would-be murderers.
I think one of those thieves nicked your opening 'c'.

Incredibly good job on the descriptions of the environment and what happened in the shadows, Liz! Kudos! It reminded me of a story that can be read in Deus Ex

Ooh, chapter two! Thanks to everyone for reading so far. I'm a little stuck on Kayla's story, hence why I'm doing this one to keep the juices flowing.

Mirocu: Thank you!

SubRosa: Thanks for the heads up on the nits. I saw a few more that neither of us caught. As for their relationship, Alda is a lesbian, and Samara sees her as a friend. She doesn't know she's a lesbian, though. So she is technically a milk-drinker XD

DE: I really wanted to do a Cyrodiil-based fic, and wasn't confident enough back when it first came out to do one (and didn't know what fanfic even was at that point) but I figure, if people can carry on years of writing a fic over and over, I can just start a new one, right?"

Rohirrim: Naked babes is always a good thing. ALWAYS.

KoB: You already know Samara, lol. Alda is new for you.








----------------




The next night, Samara didn't even other showing up to the Guild meeting. Instead, she let Alda have the diary and she went for a walk. She put on thick boots and her thick dark cloak, her woolen bedclothes beneath her regular clothes. She had lifted a somewhat worn dress from the closet of a young noble girl a while ago, and it fit her alright, if not a bit loose in the hips and tight in the chest. She wandered, seemingly aimlessly around the Talos District, her hands behind her back. When someone would pass by, she'd look at their style of clothing and, if it was fancy enough, she'd bump into them, and while she apologized, reach into their pockets and swipe their money.

When she felt her pockets weigh down with coins and notes, she decided to head back. if she didn't, Alda would start cooking, and Samara didn't feel like putting river water in her stew again to dull the taste of salt. The moons were up still, and Samara looked at them for a minute longer.

"Lovely night."

She jumped to see a man dressed in rich, warm robes. She guessed his hair was a brown, and his hazel eyes held a strange light in them. She gazed into them, her mind blank.

"Uhm-"

"What's a lovely young lady like you doing out on a cold night like this?" His accent was soft and melodic, floating into Samara's ears like leaves on the wind. She murmured a non-commital response as she pulled her gaze away from his and looked around. The streets were empty, and she realized that she might be in danger. Something in her gut tugged, begging her to walk away that instant.

"I'm sorry, I need-"

"To come inside for a warm drink? I agree."

Samara pulled her arm away, and the man looked confused.

"No, I need to go. I have a friend waiting for me."

"How are you resisting?!"

"I pulled my arm away and said no, as is my right as a woman. Get away from me, you freak!" Samara shrieked when he grabbed the front of her shirt, the sound muffled by his hand on her mouth. The man let out a loud bellow of pain when she kneed his groin, then fell backwards as she elbowed him in the nose. She left him sprawled on the ground and bolted, using the shadows to her advantage. She didn't stop running until she reahed her house in the Waterfront, slamming the door and locking it with shaky hands.

She curled up on the bed, her breathing not slowing for a while. She looked around the small shack, looking for possible weapons in case he followed her. Oh gods, what if he saw her again and called the guards on her? She didn't even steal from him, she was just looking at the moons...

The door rattled, and her heart nearly thudded out of her chest. She heard an angry voice on the other side.

"Samara! Open up! I don't have my key with me!"

Samara sighed in relief and stood up. She rolled her shoulders around and unlocked the door, letting an irritated Alda in.

"What in Oblivion makes you think it's okay to-what's wrong?!"

Samara's eyes had been slowly filling up with tears, but when Alda asked the question, the dam broke. Alda staggered a bit at the force that the smaller woman hugged her, her face surprised.

"Shhh, it's okay, I'm sorry! I'm not really mad at you, you know that." She soothingly stroked Samara's hair. Samara laughed weakly, the sound mingling with her sobbing and coming out as a snort. Alda made a face but kept it hidden.

"It's not that. I was in the Talos District, picking pockets, and this man came up to me. I didn't even pick his pocket, and he tried to yank me inside his house. I think he was gonna rape me!"

"Nobody wants to rape you, Samara. They'd kick you out five seconds after you started making demands on how to make things good for you." Alda half-heartedly joked, a look of pure worry on her face. She took Samara's face in her hands and cupped her chin gently, making her look into her eyes.

"Stay inside for the next few nights. I got the job at the Guild, so don't worry about anything for a few days, okay?" A thought struck her. "How'd you get away?"

"I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could, then elbowed him."

Alda laughed loudly and hugged Samara tightly. "That's my girl. That's my girl."

---

Samara let Alda cook, which always put the raven-haired Nord in a good mood. She chattered excitedly about the Guild, and how she was setting about trying to fence some stolen goods. When she produced a bottle of wine, Samara squealed in delight.

"Oh my gods, where did you get this?!" Samara cradled the vintage bottle of Surilie Brother's in her hands gently. "We can't drink this!"

"Samara, we're not rich folk. We don't keep bottles of wine around for fun, we drink them." She made a show of pulling the cork off, with some effort, and pouring it into a wooden cup and handing it to Samara. A smile spread on the redhead's face as she took a sip. Her eyes rolled back into her head in salacious pleasure when the wine touched her tongue.

"Ohhh...oh my gods, this is so good. Where'd you find this?!"

"Earl of Imbel's house. I guess I must have been there after you were in the district."

Samara shrugged and downed the rest of the wine. She held her cup out, and Alda laughed.

"Greedy, I haven't even had any!"

"That's because you're slow." She made a sound of protest when Alda poured herself a glass instead of Samara. Alda smiled at the redhead over the wooden cup, and Samara smiled back, grabbing the bottle for herself.

"So, you're not mad about me stealing the diary yesterday?" Samara drank half of her wine and set it aside. The drink spread a delicious warmth from her belly and settled there. She crossed her legs on the bed and rested her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in her hands, looking at the other woman.

"Not at all. I probably would've messed it up. You're lucky you're small and quick."

"I guess. What did you tell them?"

"Who, the Guild? I told them I stole it from another thief. Methredhel was pissed!" Alda laughed, and Samara joined her. The warmth had spread to her limbs quickly, and made her notice things she usually didn't. The firelight made Alda's creamy skin glow with warmth, and danced in her eyes. Alda smiled behind her cup.

"You're staring at me."

"Sorry. You're pretty in the firelight. You're pretty always. I'm jealous."

Alda frowned. "Of what?"

"Your skin is so pretty, and you're so tall!"

"My feet are huge, and so is my nose. I have man-hands." Alda laughed.

"You do not! Your long fingers look like a lute player's fingers." Samara grabbed Alda's hand and held her own hand palm-to palm. "Look at how short and chubby my fingers are."

Alda's fingers intertwined with Samara's, grasping them firmly. "They're perfect."

Samara smiled and patted Alda's hand. "Thanks. You're too nice." She let go of Alda's hand and grabbed her cup and drained the rest of the wine. Alda sighed and grabbed the bottle and began drinking straight from it.

"Hey!" Samara tried to yank the bottle away from her. "Greedy!"

"You've had TWO glasses, and it takes more than just one bottle of expensive wine to make a Nord warm!" She held the smaller woman away by the forehead while she drank the bottle's contents. Samara huffed and tossed her cup at Alda, hitting the side of her temple.

"OW!"

"That's what you get! I'm sorry!" Samara yelped when Alda grabbed her by the arm and flung her onto the bed. She blinked in half-confusion when she hit the bed.

"Whoa, I'm dizzy. Stop for a moment." Alda let her go, and Samara lay on the bed, catching her breath. "That wine works fast."

"You're a lightweight."

"I'm a Breton."

"That's still up for debate, honey."

"It's what I'm going with for now." Samara sat up, her brow furrowed.

"You ever gonna look? You're old enough now." Alda sat next to her. "You could go ask for the records, steal the money they ask for, no problem."

Samara leaned her head on Alda's shoulder. "I don't know. Do they give reasons for adoptions? Like 'Abandoned,' or 'Deceased parents' or something?"

"I don't know. You could ask?"

Samara sighed and glanced over at the fire. "I might. But what if they just didn't want me?"

"Then they're missing out. You're great." Alda smiled down at her, but Samara was looking at the dirtied floor of their shack. She absently bit her lip, frowning.

"What time is it?" She asked Alda. Alda made an uncertain "Uhhh..." and opened the door, looking at the moons.

"A bit past midnight. Why?"

Samara shivered when the breeze hit her. Alda promptly shut the door.

"I'm going to find out who gave me up. " She put on her thick cape. Alda put a hand on her arm gently.

"I'm coming with you, love."

I'm tempted to make a joke on how pretty women deny being pretty when thy are called pretty, but I like being in one piece so I won't say anything




Ouch, lol

I see she had a bit of a scary encounter, glad she got away safe

This was a great and humorous chapter. That blow to the groin was painful, but the creep deserved every bit of it. Maybe I'm wrong but I do see some love brewing here. It will be interesting to see their relationship grow and Samara's reaction to the revelation.

Such a nice night to picking pockets! But Mr. Brown Hair looks like definite trouble. He's putting the whammy on her! I bet he's a vampire. I wonder how Samara is resisting? I expect all will be revealed in the future.

Methredhel was pissed!
Hah! She always is when you get the diary.

I loved the antics between Samara and Alda. It reveals a strong friendship. Plus there are tantalizing hints of possible future romance.

And a nice little look into Samara's past, with the revelation that she is an orphan. Perhaps one of her mystery parents has something to do with her ability to resist the vampire's charms?


nits:
The next night, Samara didn't even {b}other showing up to the Guild meeting.
Looks like some thief nicked your "b".


[b]if she didn't, Alda would start cooking, [/b]
Since this is the beginning of a new sentence, 'If' ought to be capitalized.


She guessed his hair was {a} brown, and his hazel eyes held a strange light in them.
I am thinking that 'a' is a leftover from a previous edit?


She didn't stop running until she rea{c}hed her house in the Waterfront,
You were missing a 'c' in reached.

@ Everyone: Yes, there was a romance brewing, buuuuut...





---






Samara leaned against the wall of the Imperial prison cell, letting out an irritated sigh. Alda chuckled from the cell across from her.

"Well this seems familiar. What did they cite you with again?"

"Being drunk and disorderly, attempted theft, trespassing, and sexual assault."

Alda laughed loudly, earning an angry grunt from the Dunmer across from her.

"Shutup, snowback! You too, Breton trash!"

"Ooh, testy!" Alda said in a teasing voice.

"I think he likes us." Samara laughed.

"Disgusting! You two are going to die in here!"

"For being drunk in public? Hardly." Samara could hear the eye-roll in Ada's voice. Why did you get charged with sexual assault?"

"I tripped and landed face-first into a guard's groin. My forehead is gonna have a bruise."

That earned another cackle from Alda. The door shut up the stairs and down the hall, making the Dunmer cackle mockingly.

"You hear that? The guards are coming! For you!" He laughed mockingly again. Alda sighed audibly.

"They're probably coming to let us go. It's been about ten hours."

"It's been two." Samara pressed her face against the bars, her head almost able to fit through. She struggled to see who was coming down the steps as the torchlight lit up the stone hallway.

"My sons...they're dead?"

Much of what the conversation was about was lost on Samara as she noted the group. Three individuals hovered around another, wearing steel armor with strange etchings on them. Their faces were hard and chiseled, searching the cells for possible danger. The fourth individual was addressed as "sire" by the female. They stopped at her cell.

"Stand back, prisoner." The redguard siad, earning a quiet cackle from the Dunmer across from her. Samara obliged.

"What's this prisoner doing here?" The female asked. "This cell is supposed to be empty."

"Usual mix-up with the watch, I-I-"

"Doesn't matter. Stand back, by that window. We won't hesitate to kill you." The Imperial guard opened Alda's cell. She heard murmurs from the man dressed in rich, royal clothes. She heard Alda's loud voice say "I'm not on good terms with the gods."

She heard stones shifting, and she shook the bars.

"Alda? Alda, what's going on? Alda, answer me!"

"Shutup!" The female guard snapped. "Better not close this one. It can't be opened from the other side." Then silence. She heard Alda's voice, oddly hushed.

"Sammy, that was the Emperor. something's wrong. Really wrong. I...have to go. I have to see."

"Alda, no! Don't leave me here by myself!"

There was nothing but silence. Samara shook the bars again and yelled Alda's name.

"Oh SHUTUP, she's gone, you s'wit!" the Dunmer hollered. Samara sat by the bars, stunned. The moonlight streamed through the bars, and a chilling breeze wafted through. Samara shivered and sat by the bars until they released her three days later.

---

Nirn had erupted into chaos. The Emperor and his sons were dead, found assasinated by unknown assailants. Kvatch had burned to the ground, and gates were opening. The roads were no longer safe to travel, as daedra killed travelers who couldn't defend themselves properly.

Samara kept her life going as best as she could, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. She raided the coffers of the Imperial City's most elite, earning the ire of both the Thieves Guild and honest folk alike.

Alda never showed back up. Samara left her door unlocked each night, hoping to see her friend burst in, furious about something. The salt was left untouched in her cupboard.

Under a stack of books on her dresser, rolled-up parchment with a ribbon around it sat, neglected. In a random fit of honesty, Samara had paid for her adoption records, but without Alda there to look with her, she didn't see the point in finding out. At first, she would sit with it in her hand for a few minutes, curiousity and nerves gnawing at her stomach. Eventually, she stopped picking it up, and forgot about it.

On a whim, she slipped into the Earl of Imbel's house one night, easily picking the lock and shutting the door behind her before anyone saw. The downstairs looked empty, the huge foyer making her shake her head.

"Rich folk." she muttered under her breath as she silently crept up the stairs. She felt odd, like someone was watching her in the empty house as she filled her pockets with coins, jewels, and other trinkets she could fit. She lifted a silver necklace with a large emerald amulet on it. Circling the gem were two dragons, one silver, the other ebony. Their tails intertwined, and their eyes were rubies. On the back were some Nordic runes. Samara stuck it in her pocket and quickly left.

She slipped through the city easily and into her house, pulling her cape off and hanging it up. She opened her top drawer and began piling her loot in under the false bottom. She looked up momentarily to see faded parchment under books. She shut the drawer and pulled the now-creased paper from under the books and sat on her bed. After a moment of staring, she pulled the ribbon and let it fall to the floor and unfolded it.

"Samara Sage Imbel,

DOB: Second Seed, 13, 3E 412"

"Imbel?" Samara nearly dropped the paper. She was the daughter of an earl?! She gulped and kept reading.

"Brought in by father, Jakben Imbel, on day of birth. Looked distraught. Whereabouts of mother unknown. No visitation rights."

Samara dropped the paper onto the ground. She was the daughter of an earl. And she was right. They didn't want her. She let the paper fall to the ground, leaving it open. She shed the rest of her clothes except her undergarments and slid under the covers.

---

Samara felt a breeze on her face and woke up to find her door shutting silently, and a dark figure in her room. She kept her breathing even as she watched it begin rifling through her drawers. She gripped the knife under her pillow tightly.

"Waterfront District is exempt from thievery." She said, making the figure jump. She sat up and held out her dagger.

"Get out."

"You have something of mine. Where is it?"

"I have a lot of something of everyone's. You'll have to be more specific."

A strong hand gripped her throat, and she struggled for air. The blade was twisted from her hand, and she felt a bone snap.

"An amulet. Emerald. Two dragons. One ebony, the other white gold. Nordic runes on the back. I know you have it."

Samara let out a piercing scream of pain when he released her throat. "In the drawer!" She sobbed.

"Which drawer?" The figure demanded.

"Top!"

"You're LYING!"

"False bottom!" She wailed. The figure ripped open the drawer and threw her clothes on the floor. Samara sobbed and cradled her broken wrist. The figure tore the false bottom out and held up the amulet. A hand was on her throat again.

"I ought to slit your throat here and now. Don't you ever come to my house again, you hear me?"

Samara gasped. "You won't let your own daughter into your house, Jakben?"

The figure froze, its grip slack. He stepped back.

"I have my birth certificate." Samara said in a raspy voice, but the figure was gone.

Wow, there was a lot of ground covered in that one chapter.

I loved the banter between Alda and Samara at the beginning of this part, and it came as quite a surprise that Alda might be off being the Imperial Champampion.

The scene at the end with Jakben was brilliantly tense, and now that we know who her father is I can take a guess as to why Samara was able to resist the vampire's powers. The only question remaining now is if that amulet was important or not.

*Steeples fingers and leans forward*

I vill await ze answer...

I was actually gonna cut the last part, but you already commented lol

Er, do you want me to remove that part, then?

Nah, you're fine. Vive la France.

Sacré bleu!!

Merde!

"I tripped and landed face-first into a guard's groin. My forehead is gonna have a bruise."
Doh! Poor guard! I am sure that is not exactly the way he had hoped that would happen.

"I'm not on good terms with the gods."
Somehow I think Sanguine might disagree...

So Samara is the daughter of a vampire. That explains some things. I also noted that she was born under the sign of The Shadow. How appropriate for a thief!

I wonder what that amulet was? Obviously it was more than just a shiny trinket, as Jakben was not interested in any of the other things that Samara stole.

Oh, and because everyone else is: C'est la vie.

Interesting parallel with Agronak gro-Malog - presumably vampire father, normal mother again. So you'll need to be consistent about whether vampirism can be inherited.

I'm a little surprised that she's not using her starter healing spell to fix that painful wrist!

(I shall refrain from using French - after all, noblesse oblige!)

-looks at the French language-

WHAT IS THIS...THIS FOREIGN TOUNGUE?!


So is Alda dead or is she gonna be the future champion of Cyrodiil? Quite interesting...

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!


-----



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.

Wait a minute. Her mother's an Altmer, but she's shorter than the Nord Alda? Is that the paternal influence of her Breton father coming through a bit?

It also leaves me wondering how old she is. If she was unaware of her elven ancestry, I'd assume she's quite young, and isn't yet watching her non-elf friends age past her. Her mother could have been as old as Jakben, of course.

Though Jakben is a vampire, he was also human. That was a deciding factor for me in her age. She's twenty, but DOES look younger. She ages slower, but does age. She's physically mature, mentally mature, as if she was human. She got a lot of her father's genes and traits, the stealing, her eye color, her height, but she also got some of her mother's.

The age thing is tricky for me sometimes, so if it seems weird and off, let me know.

I've always assumed (based heavily on the Barenziah story) that elves grow at the same rate as humans (like a weed - according to the "Real" version) until they're twenty-something, but then slow considerably. Barenziah was pregnant before 3E38 when Tiber Septim died, and I'd imagine it was around 3E15 or so (she'd be 18 then). Morgiah was born in 3E384 - more than three hundred and fifty years later - so she aged very slowly over that period. But in Morrowind, she's shown as old and grey, suggesting the aging process speeds up again at the end. So Samara's probably at the cusp of levelling off.

Jakben and wife would both have been ageless, but for different reasons. Makes them a good "odd couple"!

What about her ears? If she's surprised she's an elf, they can't be too long and pointy.

They're not even remotely elven, the only hint of her being anything besides Breton is her height.

Really enjoyed this chapter; the dialogue between Samara and Jakben was great, and highlighting the differences between Samara's life and the much more privileged, rich lifestyle that Jakben lead. What was very interesting to me, however, was this line:


Which I intriguing when we've got Jakben boasting:


With that in mind, you'd think that a punch from 'a mere human child' would barely ruffle his feathers. And, of course, just later:


A stone cup would be pretty tough, don't you think?

Even though it's revealed that she's part Altmer, I suspect that Samara's still a good deal more than what she seems.

She's got a point. Her anger is very understandable, poor girl




Lol. I'm agreeing with mustard, with all that boasting of his you'd think he'd be able to take a blow




-patiently waits for next chapter-


Wait...since Alda is off saving the emperor, is she gonna come back to see Samara?

Wait up...Springheel Jak...Jakben....

Did Samara's momma get empress'd?

Well she wasn't "impressed" at first! -slaps knee-

Ouch, Jak not only broke her wrist, but put Samara out of business.

Hah! He broke her chair!

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

So now we - and Samara - know why she became an orphan. Given that Jakben is a vampire, I do believe that she was better off without him for a father. I am also not surprised that someone would murder her mother, given who she was married to. A vampire doubtlessly makes plenty of enemies. Of course Samara's outrage over being abandoned is completely normal, and understandable.




nits:
You rich people are [censored] weird. Just [censored] weird.
That does not look like the forum swear filter, unless they changed it recently. I suggest you use invented words from the game, like fetching or bounding, or create your own. I personally love Yiddish for words such as dreck and fakakta.


"I'll send you a new chair."
Samara let out an amused breath through her nose, a smirk on her lips. "Yeah you are.
This part left me scratching my head. It makes me wonder if the "Yeah you are." was in response to something else Jakben said about himself, that got taken out in an edit? Or maybe you should change it to "Yeah, you will."

Samara is a human and her mother was a high elf? If you want to change the way things work that is no problem with me. I do it all the time! But the 'standard' rule in the TES games is that children are always the same race as their mother, no matter what the race of their father is. They might inherit some secondary traits from their father, like skin tone or eye color, but that is the extent of it. Again, I am not harping. If you want to ditch that it is fine. It is your story after all. You have the right to make it yours.

Samara's a street urchin. Being grammatically correct isn't on her list of things that are important to her. Some things she'll say will make us cringe as writers and editors, but it's her voice. If you listen to people speak, they're usually not grammatically correct either. They believe they are, but we speak in snippets, slang and run our words together. I try to convey this as often as possible without seeming lazy in my writing. So if you see something that seems slightly off, but you still understand what I'm saying, it was most likely intentional. There will be stuff I miss in the editing process, but the "Yeah, you are." wasn't one of them.

As for the swear filter, I DID do that myself. I'm still looking for my own 'swear" words without taking from other stories. I'm trying to not be TOO much of a copycat (good luck, right? Fanfiction and all that [censored].) But when I swear on here, it does change it to the word "censored" with brackets.

The elf thing, there's a system when I do genetic traits. Not to mention in my other story, Kayla was so obviously elven in appearance, and I didn't want it to seem like I was recycling from my last story, even though they're connected.

Neat intro with the quest to steal the diary.

"Samara! Open up! I don't have my key with me!"

Lol. And we know the best thief didn’t win!

Ooo, a main quest story? Maybe from the sidelines since Alda got to chase the Emperor? Yay!

Oh wait, if Samara is the daughter of the Earl of Imbel, she’ll have different issues to deal with.

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

Yuck. It’s tough to be a thief with a broken wrist!

Thanks for your comments, everyone :]

@ Grits: Yeah, Alda is not cut out to be a thief. She wanted it more, though.




----------------------




Samara sat on her cold floor for an hour, staring at her birth certificate. Her tears had stopped long before she got up. Her achy legs groaned in protest as the static in her legs dissipated slightly at the movement. She wasn't going to take this sitting down. Or sober. Right as she reached for a bottle of wine, a knock startled her, making her let out an involuntary gasp.

'He's back for more,' she thought angrily. 'That bastard is gonna die.' She flung the door open, her mouth poised to deliver an angry retort that never came. A timid-looking Breton girl with large green eyes and white-blonde hair blinked up at her. She looked even more frightened when she saw Samara's face.

"I, uhm, I'm here to look at your arm."

Samara frowned. "I can't afford a healer. Go away." She slammed the door in the girl's face. She sat down and yanked the cork off the bottle and guzzled half its contents before hearing another timid knock. She threw the door open again to see the same girl.

"I've already been paid. If I don't heal you, I'll have to give the money back."

"Who paid for you?"

"I don't know. Some rich-looking man came into the temple and demanded the most skilled healer. They pushed me forward, and he paid me a lot of money. More than the standard amount for a healing. That makes me worry. What's wrong wit your arm?" Her timid look was replaced by one of concern, and she reached for Samara's arm. Samara rolled her eyes and let the girl undress her arm after taking out out of the splint.

"It's broken. Someone broke into my house and broke my wrist when I tried to get them to leave. Come inside."

The healer looked up at Samara as she walked in. She was a small thing, a whole head shorter than Samara, who was unusually tall for a Breton, but not as tall as a Nord. If it weren't for her keeping her blonde locks in a messy bun, Samara would've thought her a Bosmer.

"I hate to ask, but it's necessary. Did the thief, uh..." She hesitated for a moment. Samara raised her brow.

"Did he take something from you besides, uh, worldly possessions?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, uh, did he touch you, and you did not like it?"

"Are you asking if he raped me?"

The healer turned red. "Yes, I'm so sorry! I just graduated from the University and I'm not really trained in asking these sorts of questions!"

"You better learn. Wait, JUST graduated? How old are you?!"

"Twenty-seven."

"You're older than me!"

"Bretons age well. I still look young, don't I? How old did you think I was?"

"Not twenty-seven! Maybe sixteen?"

The healer laughed. "No!" She stuck out her right hand. "I'm Blanche deLion. And you are?"

Samara awkwardly shook Blanche's hand with her left hand, earning an embarrassed look from the healer.

"Samara Sage. So, is this going to hurt?"

"A little. Just sit on the bed. You'll feel itching, aching, twinges, stabs, and shooting pains, but that's a part of the healing process. I feel it's best to hold a conversation whilst healing. Helps distract you." She inspected Samara's bruised and swollen arm, frowning.

"Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly." Blanche instructed, and when Samara obeyed, a stabbing pain made her flinch when she exhaled. Blanche's warm hand gently held her elbow.

"I know. Tell me about yourself. Did you grow up here?"

Samara winced. "Yeah. Grew up in the orphanage."

"You don't say. Did you like it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I had sticky fingers."

Blanche shot Samara an amused look. "I see. I suppose that's how you ended up on the Waterfront?"

Samara shot her a hard look. "Not everyone here is a thief, you know."

Blanche looked up and saw the angry look on Samara's face. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean-"

"No, you did mean. But I don't blame you. I'm sure everyone thinks that. How many people on the Waterfront went to your University?"

"Uhhh..."

"Thought so. Did you ever wonder why?"

"Lack of skill, I'd assume."

"How much did your tuition cost you?" Samara asked coolly.

Blanche shrugged. "My mother paid for it. And when she passed, I inherited her business and her savings."

"So you don't even know?"

Blanche shook her head. Samara gave her a wry smile.

"Let's just say I wasn't able to pay the tuition that was in the thousands. So they told me I had to go to each Guild hall in Cyrodiil, pass a test, and receive recommendations. Me. Even though my skills lie in Illusion and Destruction, they wanted me to travel everywhere, with no money for a carriage, no money to buy spells, no money for lessons, nothing." She scoffed. "You rich people have everything handed to you."

Blanche turned a little red in the face, but said nothing. The edges of her small pink lips turned white as she pursed them angrily. Samara remained oblivious and stared at her arm. The bruising was lightening up, and she sighed.

"I thought you said this was going to hurt?"

"Usually it does. Usually they start crying right about now."

"I have a high pain tolerance, I guess." She sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to get mad at you. It's not your fault you're rich. I'm sorry about your mom, too."

"Don't be. She was a horrid woman." Blanche smiled up at her, the gesture just barely reaching her eyes. The flash of sadness wasn't lost on Samara, who looked away. She wanted to say something comforting, but all that came out was, "So you're a healer, huh?"

Blanche gave her an amused look and snorted. "Nah. I'm part of the Fighter's Guild as a porter. I just do this in secret. The Guilds get jealous of each other."

Samara laughed. "I'm really not as stupid as that question made me sound."

Blanche laughed. "I hope not. That would be a bit sad." She pulled her hands away and wiped her brow. Samara noticed for the first time that there was perspiration on her face.

"Do you need some water?" She asked. Blanche shook her head.

"No, I'll be fine. It's just more difficult to heal bones than it is to heal flesh wounds. I won't be ale to heal all of it tonight. I can come back in the morning and check on it."

"How much is left?"

Blanche held Samara's arm tenderly in her hands, turning her wrist gently over. "See that right there?" She pointed to a swollen lump on the pulse of her wrist. "There's a small hairline fracture right there. I'm going to give you a potion that will heal the rest of it. Go ahead and let it air out for a few hours, then wrap it up again." She yawned, covering her mouth with a petite hand.

"Oh, excuse me! I better get back to my house. I've got to get up early." She stood up and smiled down at Samara. "It was nice meeting you. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"You're fine. You sure you want to head out now? It's awfully late."

Blanche looked around, her lips pursed in disdain. "I'm sure."

"If you're drunk, it's not so bad." Samara shook the bottle, a playful grin on her face. Blanche shook her head.

"I'd much rather take my chances outside. Besides, I have to be at the Temple in the morning with a clear head. I appreciate the offer, though." She gave Samara a quick nod before closing the door behind her. Samara sighed and set the bottle down and re-corked it.

"So much for company." She mumbled.

Sadly, that's not too far from the truth



She's one of the best healers in the temple and she just graduated? Smart girl I'm assuming.




Poor Samara could really use some company right now too, huh?

They pushed me forward,
This sounds like the army, where someone calls for a volunteer, and everyone else takes one step back. While the pay was good. I am sure a lot of people were not eager to make a housecall to the worst neighborhood in Cyrodiil.

That was a nice little interlude between Samara and the new healer on the block. I loved how you emphasized the class differences between the two women (and not cleric vs. thief ). I also loved the little zinger that the timid Blanche threw back about being a FG porter.

"If you're drunk, it's not so bad."
Yep, there is that.


nits
Her achy legs groaned in protest as the static in her legs dissipated slightly at the movement.
You have a repetition of the word legs in the same sentence.

Samara rolled her eyes and let the girl undress her arm after taking out out of the splint.
Samara has been outed twice in one sentence. I am sure you meant for the first time to be an it.

I'm Blanche deLion
I am thinking you missed a space between de and Lion, as in de Lion.

KoB: Yeah, since Alda left, she's been pretty lonely.

SubRosa: Yeah, no one really wanted to head to the yucky waterfront, lol.

Thanks, you two!



---




Samara jumped when Blanche slammed a book down near her head. The redhead wobbled in her seat as she tried to keep herself from falling backwards in her seat. When she regained her balance without falling over, Blanche smiled.

"I knew you wouldn't fall. You're like a cat." She slid into the seat next to Samara and opened her book. She pointed without looking at the passage.

"Read this."

Samara leaned over. "I gasped softly as he caressed my inner thigh- Blanche, what in the hells?!"

Blanche turned red as she yanked the book back. "Wrong book! Stop laughing!"

Samara's arm had quickly healed, much to Blanche's surprise. The morning after, she examined the taller woman's arm and exclaimed, "Gods, you've got amazing regenerating ability!" Followed by, "I'd love to do some tests." Followed by Samara yanking her arm away and scolding the smaller Breton for thinking of such things.

In spite of Blanche's hasty exit the night before, their friendship blossomed quickly. Samara would make a trip to the Temple nearly every day, squinting against the sun she rarely saw before. Blanche was generous with her wealth, especially towards Samara. Despite Jakben sending Samara replacement chairs and a new table, a soft bed with new spreading and ccovers, Samara spent more time in Blanche's house in the safety of the city.

The older blonde Breton pulled out the correct book, shooting a scathing glance at the still-giggling redhead. She found the passage she had meant to show Samara and pointed.

"I can't read." Samara said.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Blanche began to read aloud, then shot Samara another dirty look.

"Fine, I'll read." She cleared her throat. "'Welkynd stones are known to harness the power of magicka, though the supply is limited. They offer magicka regeneration without the aid of potions.' Doesn't that sound amazing?"

Samara nodded, looking at her fingernails. "Absolutely."

"I mean, that means no potion sickness!"

"Yep."

"I suck the marrow out of corpses."

"What?" Samara looked confused.

"What?" Blanche kept an innocent look on her face. Samara lightly slapped Blanche's arm and clucked her tongue.

"I'm sorry, I'm just bored." Samara sighed. She looked at Blanche and frowned.

"What's that look for?"

"We should get some Welkynd stones."

"What for?"

"Because! All I would have to do is absord the stone's power, and I wouldn't get sick."

"Yeah, but you'd be carrying a bunch of rocks around instead of a bunch of potions."

"You're completely missing the point."

"I think you're missing MY point."

"So you won't help me?"

"Help you what?"

Blanche let out a groan of irritation as Samara laughed.

------

"Tell me the plan again, Samara."

Around mid-day they reached the old ruins of Hrotanda Vale, just above Chorrol. It had taken Blanche nearly a week to prepare, going over scrolls, prepping spells, and buying Samara armor. The trip to Chorrol had taken them a day by carriage, and another day to for Blanche to mentally prepare herself. Samara had held her hair several times as she vomited.

"We go in, I grab the stones beause I'm the thief, and you sit back and watch because mages are lazy."

"Those weren't my words, but yes, that's the plan."Blanche grumbled. "You'd think a Breton and Altmer mix would appreciate the arcane a bit more."

"Nope." Samara snorted. She shot a cheesy smile at Blanche. "You're too tense, Blanche. Things will be fine."

"No, several things could go wrong. The ruin could cave in, it could be infested with bandits or worse, vampires!"

Samara sighed as Blanche continued to tick off disasters.

"You could break your leg, I could break MY leg, the floor could-MMPH!"

"Shutup." Samara said as she put her hand over Blanche's mouth. Blanche flailed and pinched the spot under Samara's arm, making her screech.

"OW!" She was held back by a large, dark green hand. The Orsimer easily separated the two young women, holding each by the collar of their shirts or robes.

"I'm supposed to be muscle, not a babysitter!" The tusked Orc grumbled. "Play nice!" He set them gently down on the ground, an arm's length apart.

"I go in, I clear the place, and little miss nimble here scurries up and grabs the stones."

"I'm glad you hired this ray of sunshine." Samara told Blanche. "I'm sticking to the shadows."

"Darling, the whole place is gonna be a shadow, unless there's bandits inside." The orc said, his words dripping with something Samara couldn't identify. "The mage can stick by me. And when we're getting back to Skingrad, I'm hiring a couple of funts to spend my time with."

Blanche looked alarmed. "Treat them well. Just because you're paying them doesn't mean they're not people too."

Shakh the Orc snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You sound like my mother."

"Your mother approves of prostitutes?"

"My mother approves of everything because she's dead. Can we get inside already? You're making me want to kill things."

"Ugh." Blanche shook her head. "Petit cul."

Yay, she got a knee friend









Blanche worries too much, everything is gonna be fiiiine

Yay, Samara made a friend!

I enjoyed the way you showed the friendship between the two developing, and the idea of welkynd stones recharging magicka while negating 'potion sickness' was a nice touch of worldbuilding. The little scuffle at the beginning of the dungeon dive made me laugh as well.

There was one thing that didn't make sense to me, though; Samara is able to read the passage from the romance novel, but then she says later that she can't read and has Blanche read the bit about the welkynd stones. Have I just got something mixed up or is one of the side-effects of potion sickness temporary illiteracy?

She's picking on Blanche. She can read fine.

Ah, gotcha.

You're being mean, Samara. Quit being mean

Got to love Blanche's reading material!

"I suck the marrow out of corpses."
Great way to see if Samara is paying attention!

Blanche suffers from potion sickness? It sounds like she has been drinking potions made my Jerric!

Samara had held her hair several times as she vomited.
Now that is the sign of a true friend. Not many people will hold your long hair out of your face while you are hurling. euch!

I'm supposed to be muscle, not a babysitter!" The tusked Orc grumbled.
I feel sorry for the poor orc! Is it Lum or Kurz from the Chorrol Fighters Guild? Or maybe he's from Skingrad?



nits:
The redhead wobbled in her seat as she tried to keep herself from falling backwards in her seat.
You have a repetition of seat in the same sentence.

They offer magicka regeneration without the aid of potions.' Doesn't that sound amazing?"
Looks like Jakben also left her an apostrophe between sentences.

Samara leaned over. "I gasped softly as he caressed my inner thigh- Blanche, what in the hells?!"

It was fun to see how their friendship had developed through the banter.

Their orc companion is a real charmer. I’m looking forward to their adventure in Hrotanda Vale!

Sorry for the delay, y'all!! I sat on this chapter for two weeks, then completely changed it last night, lol.






-----------------


"Well, this was a good idea." Samara said to Blanche, whom of which was behind her. Blanche sighed.

"I told you I should worry." Blanche said with another sigh. Samara rolled her eyes and lightly shook her head.

"This is simple and easy. Just let me grab a few stones, and then we head out. No one gets hurt, no one dies."

"Then my pay will be for nothing." Rumbled the Orc, named Shakh, in disappointment. "You didn't hire me to sit back and not do anything. It wouldn't feel right taking your money. Let me go in and kill them so they won't kill us first."

"Nonsense. I can use my magick against them." Blanche whispered. The bandits in question were milling about the previously abandoned ruin, sleeping on worn, weathered mats or leaning against the white walls, conversing. In total, there were eight of them, wearing mismatched armor. Some wore furs, some studded leathers, and one had steel armor. Blanche peered out from behind the wall they were hiding, most likely meant as a latrine, judging from the stench emanating fro the buckets and stools.

"Use your what?" Samara said, waving a glowing blue stone in front of Blanche's face. The blonde Breton sputtered uncharacteristically.

"How did you-"

"I'm THAT good." Samara boasted, a grin on her face. The Orc wheezed a laugh. "That was good, for a thief."

"Hey!"

"Shhh!" Blanche shushed. One of the bandits perked up, pushing himself off the ground and putting a hand on his steel sword.

"Did you hear something?" He asked softly. The rest looked startled, but shook their heads, murmuring no's as they peered into the darkness.

Samara waved another stone in her hand, grinning. Blanche frowned and shoved the other woman lightly, making the orc wheeze another laugh. Samara stuck out her tongue and turned around, shaking her rear at Blanche. Shakh wheezed louder, and Blanche's frown deepened before slapping Samara's rear lightly. Samara grinned and leaned close to the two.

"That's two out of the four that are up there. I wonder why they left them there and didn't sell them?"

"The trek to the city is long," Blanche murmured softly. "And merchants often won't buy from the dirty or those who are obviously bandits. Especially not those who reside in Skingrad. They assume the stones are stolen." She frowned at Samara. "I want to see how you're getting them without them noticing."

"I as well," Shakh declared quietly. Samara cracked her knuckles and disappeared momentarily. The orc looked around, then pointed up towards the wall.

"There."

Samara inched along the wall quickly, her back against the ledge several yards above the heads of the bandits.

"How is she doing that?" Blanche breathed. "There can't be enough footing!"

"Thieves." Shakh said quietly, no audible contempt in his voice. He breathed in sharply when Samara leapt from the thin ledge to the square pillar holding the welkynd stone. She shoved the stone into the small bag she had, hiding its glow, then backtracking across the ledge, gripping holes in the wall to keep herself from falling. She lightly balanced on the ledge of the wall where they were hiding, and dropped, rolling forward, and springing up onto her toes.

"You're like a godsdamned spider!" Shakh said, patting Samara on the back, sending the young woman forward and into Blanche. Blanche was suddenly very aware of the shampoo Samara used as she steadied the younger woman. Her face flushed a little as she looked up at Samara, who grinned down at her.

"You see me?" She said before stretching her arms. She saw Blanche nod, then turn around, her voice a little unsteady.

"There's one more, then we can-"

"INTRUDERS!"

Blanche and Samara whirled to see a man and a woman, dressed in a similar fashion as the others, drawing their weapons. Shakh had already, with alarming speed, unsheathed his greatsword and was running towards the larger group of bandits. Samara disappeared, leaving Blanche alone with two bandits and their very sharp swords.

One smirked, the grime on his tanned, leathery cheek giving his blue eyes an insidious glint as he raised his sword. He dropped his sword when a bolt of lightening hit him, causing him to fall over and seize up. The other bandit, a Redguard woman with an unsure look, raised her sword at Blanche.

An arrow planted itself into her stomach and she stopped, dropping her sword. Blood spurted from the wound and she fell backwards like a tree with a thump. Blanche looked wildly around and saw Samara give her a little wave from a darkened corner, above the chaos. Blanche was glad that at least her redheaded friend was not an alien to tight situations.

She turned around as she heard a gasp from behind her to see the bandit woman she had shot gripping the shaft of the arrow. She made a pained sound as she tried to pull the arrow out. Blanche fell to her knees and grabbed the woman's wrist.

"Stop. You'll bleed to death faster than I can heal you. What's your name?"

"Suleen," The woman said weakly. Her breathing was labored, and Blanche saw that the arrow had gone right through her hide armor.

"Okay, Suleen, I'm gonna need you to slow your breathing a bit and stay calm."

"There's an arrow in my gut!" the woman cried out. Blanche put a hand over the woman's forehead and slid is across, a calming spell in her hand.

"Shhh. I've got this. You're not the first battle wound I've dealt with. What are you doing with bandits, Suleen?"

"My son-" She whimpered in pain, gripping Blanche's wrist tightly. "Is very sick. He's at the Temple, and they're saying I can't afford the treatment he needs to get better."

"That doesn't sound right. Tell me about his illness." Blanche gripped the shaft of the arrow and conjured a pair of heavy-duty scissors and began cutting away at the armor.

"He's three. Very smart, but has a cancerous sickness. If I could just get part of the cut of one job here-don't pull it out!" Her voice rose several octaves when she realized Blanche was gripping the arrow.

"I'm not. Keep talking. I'm going to get this armor off of you, alright?"

"Okay." Suleen gulped, sweat on her body. "His name is Malen." Swords clanked in the background, and cries of pain rang out. Blanche turned Suleen on her side, making the Redguard woman groan in pain. She kept talking as her armor was pulled off.

"He flirts with any pretty woman, and really loves blondes."

Blanche smiled a little, despite the sight she was seeing. The arrow hadn't traveled all the way through Suleen's body. A quick ,gentle twist of the shaft told Blanche that the arrowhead had loosened, the binding most likely coming off from the wetness of Suleen's blood. The chaos quieted, and suddenly Shakh was next to Blanche.

"What are you doing? That's a bandit! She's the enemy!"

Samara appeared next to Shakh, peering down at Suleen. "She's still alive? Are you gonna try to save her?"

"We should kill her." The orc said plainly. Suleen's breathing quickened as she began to panic.

"No, please! I'm all my son has left! He needs me!"

Shakh put his hand on a dagger on his belt, but Samara grabbed his arm.

"No. Don't take a parent away from their child." she said, the shadows hiding her expression. Had the orc or breton seen it, they would've seen the pain. She took a breath and knelt next to Blanche.

"What do you need me to do?"

Blanche's heart swelled a little as she saw the resolve on Samara's face. Blanche took a deep breath and bit her lower lip for a second.

"The arrowhead came loose in her body. I'll need to get it out if we're to save her. What I need you to do is grab some potions, some rags, and a piece of leather or wood, something for her to bite on. Shakh, you'll need to hold her down."

Both Samara and Shakh obliged as Blanche comforted Suleen. She gently stroked the redguard woman's hair, holding a light above them.

"I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm going to do, and exactly what is going to happen, alright? The arrowhead is stuck in your body, but the good news is judging by the blood loss, it hasn't struck an artery. That means you're in no real danger because I'm here. Now, this is what's going to happen now."

Samara handed her a bunch of rags and a small piece of firewood as thick as her thumb and as long as her forearm. Blanche handed it back. "Strip off the bark first." She turned back to Suleen. "It's going to hurt, but I'm right here with you, okay? I'm going to pull the shaft out, and then I'm going to pull out the arrowhead and heal whatever damage it caused. " She grabbed the newly naked wood and put it in Suleen's mouth. "Shakh is going to hold you down, and keep you from thrashing. I'm an excellent healer. Are you ready? When I get to three, I'll pull out the arrow, and begin to pull the arrowhead out. Ready?"

Suleen whimpered, tears running down her face. Sobs wracked her body, and Samara hald her right hand as Shakh gripped her ankles.

"One..."

Suleen closed her eyes.

"Two..."

Samara held her breath and braced herself.

"Three!"

Suleen screamed in pain as the arrow was pulled out, the striped wood nearly breaking with the force of her jaw.

Yay, new chapter!



Cute kid lol



Ouch. Poor woman, that [censored] must be painful, lol

I liked the twist on the bandit fight; it was interesting to see what are usually faceless mooks be fleshed out and given personality and backstory. While Blanche's aversion to violence is admirable, it does leave me wondering what she's doing in this situation, when it's more likely than not to land her in immediate trouble.

Samara and Shakh seem to know what they're doing, though. Hopefully they'll be enough to keep her out of harm's way.

Thanks y'all :]

Blanche suffers from something a lot of mages seem to suffer from; she thinks booksmarts equals preparedness. So while she's crap in battle, she's much more comfortable healing, which is why when she saw Suleen injured, she was much more in control.'

Also will be editing this post in the next few days to add the link to the, uhm, much more "detailed" version ;]






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Glasses clinked together, and happy lips parted as they drank the sweet wine of Skingrad. Blanche and Samara grinned at each other as Shakh celebrated with a few Fighter's Guild members.

"To Welkynd stones!" Samara said. "And learning that not all bandits are snaggletoothed ruffians with hive-minds!"

"Also!" Blanche grinned. "To successfully treating my first on-sight battle wound. And the patient lived!" They drank, then set their glasses down.

"Your cheeks are red," Samara pointed out to Blanche, touching her own cheeks and laughing, then laughing harder when Blanche's blush deepened. A loud bang on the table made both of them jump, and Blanche slid her arms around Samara's waist, a frightened look on her face.

Shakh laughed. "Look at you two gettin' all cozied up!" He swayed a bit. He let out a loud belch, and Samara gagged, waving her hand in front of her face.

"Gods, that's disgusting!"

"Don't act like you don't do it!" Shakh laughed before sauntering off. The two giggled at him when he looked confused and sat at the wrong table. Samara looked down and saw Blanche staring at her.

"What are you looking at?" She asked, leaning in to speak in her ear over the loud noise. Blanche looked down at what Samara guessed was her chin, then blushed again.

"I-nothing."

Samara yawned. "Oh, good. Wine makes me sleepy." She gave Blanche a smile. "You wanna head to bed? We've got a carriage to catch tomorrow."

"Uhhh..." Blanche suddenly seemed unsure. "I'll be up in a little bit. I wanna finish this wine."

Samara shrugged and went upstairs, unaware of Blanche staring holes into her. One inside the room, she began to shed her clothing, simple black felt pants that Blanche insisted on buying for her, as well as her dark shirt, one that Blanche also made her wear. She dropped it on the floor and turned around when she heard the door open.

"Oh, hi, Blanche. I figured you'd enjoy the rest of the wine instead of gulping it." She smiled at Blanche before unclasping her bra and letting it drop.

"S-Samara?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can we go to bed now?"

Samara gave her an odd look. "That was...the point?" She slid on a sleeping shirt, a large man's shirt she had seen in a shop one day and fell in love with, and slid between the covers. After a moment, Blanche followed.

"Blanche, you're still wearing your robes."

"I, uh...I know. I'm very comfortable."

"Take it off. You'll get hot and make me hot. Besides, if you puke, you'll regret it."

Blanche shucked the robes off and kicked off her shoes, her face reddening. Samara didn't notice and leaned over Blanche to turn the lantern off. A small gasp escaped from her lips when a hand slid up her back, under the shirt. She looked down at Blanche, surprised.

"Did you?"

"I'm sorry! I'll sleep in another room!" Her movement to sit up was halted as Samara planted herself on Blanche's hips. The redhead leaned in, lightly caressing the blonde's earlobe with her tongue.

"Don't move a muscle."

Blanche gasped in surprise when Samara pinned her arms above her head. "I'm going to have fun with you, darling." The younger woman said in a low voice before planting kisses on Blanche's neck. Small gasps pierced the quiet air as clothing slid against bedsheets, and the sound of kisses punctuated the air as lips met.

Samara cut the lantern off as she let Blanche's arms go. As the light went off, Samara let out a loud moan, Blanche's hands keeping busy. The rest of the night was not much quieter.

I liked this chapter quite a bit

Hehe. Lesbinans.

The antics of Samara and Blanche were hilarious, as usual, as the trio laid their plans.

Blanche was suddenly very aware of the shampoo Samara used
Ahh, there is nothing quite like the scent of another woman's hair...

Blanche is healing the bad guys? It sounds like someone needs to give her a score card so she knows what side she is on!

It looks like Shakh took care of the rest of the bandits. Looks like they hired the right Orc!

"And learning that not all bandits are snaggletoothed ruffians with hive-minds!"
But they are in video games! Seriously, as the officer of condiment said, it is nice to see some personality and motivations given to someone who is normally just a faceless mook.

Shakh laughed. "Look at you two gettin' all cozied up!"
I get the feeling he'd like to look at the two of them getting all cozied up!

And a fun night is had by all. Well, at at least Samara and Blanche. But who knows, Shakh might be spying through the keyhole... I wonder if this means a deeper relationship between S&B? Or if they will just be friends with benefits?



nits:
"Then my pay will be for nothing{." R}umbled the Orc, named Shakh, in disappointment.
The way you have this worded, 'rumbled the orc" is part of the same sentence as the dialogue that precedes it. So there should be a comma after 'nothing', and 'rumbled' would be in lower case. The best way to remember how to punctuate in and around speech is to just ignore the quotation marks. They themselves do not determine where a sentence begins or ends.
"Then my pay will be for nothing," rumbled the Orc, named Shakh, in disappointment.

And because the rest of it was great, we'll all have to pile on that one poor sentence.

"Then my pay will be for nothing," rumbled the Orc, named Shakh, in disappointment.

Written that way, it looks like he was named in disappointment, rather than rumbling in disappointment (or any other kind of ointment).

My suggestion (who's next??) is:

"Then my pay will be for nothing," the Orc, named Shakh, rumbled in disappointment.