Author's note: Oblivion and the Elder Scrolls are owned by Bethesda.
Just one more...
Small vibrations run down the length of the pick, physical representations of the tinny tink as the tumbler bounces into place. Testing, testing, always testing. Just like Yana used to do. She was a smart one. No wonder they wrote a book about her.
Snick. The sweet sound of success, one I've heard many times in my life.
A quick check of the hinges, grease in place to silence them, and a final glance around the room. Not that it could be called a proper room – ceiling crumbled away years ago, battered wooden table with alchemy apparatus cluttering the top, and one weatherbeaten wooden chest sitting in the corner. But no people, no guardians, and no watching eyes.
Raising the lid coincides with the rise of hairs on the back of my neck, and I freeze, securely hidden from view with the chameleon potion provided by the good mages of Bravil. If they'd known what it would be used for...
Carefully, cautiously, ever so slowly, I once more turn my head to look around. There are no witnesses to this crime, save the large moons above, and they never speak. So many atrocities committed under their cold stare. But the night is my time, darkness my friend, and they are my silent companions. Not that all jobs are performed only when the sun goes down.
Smiling as the lid is raised up fully, it is difficult to resist the temptation to just grab the prize and run. That would certainly rouse the daedra. And in turn they would rouse the conjurers. Which would surely rouse the wizard. Not that he was here tonight. Thank the Gods for small favours.
The arrowhead is cool to the touch, surprisingly...normal. Obsidian, most likely. Roughly chipped into shape. My cousin makes better arrows than these, and he uses rocks as tools. He's also got rocks for brains, but that's another story.
The lid closes smoothly, lock clicking back into place, no traces of the task left behind. As appealing as the idea is of playing another round of dodge the dremora, climbing back down the outside of the tower, and away to freedom, is a far more appealing prospect. Now to just make sure the prize is safely put away in my pouch...
"Interesting."
Damn! The bastard is right behind me, and I didn't even hear him approach. Left hand flying to my dagger, specially prepared just for him, right hand desperately clutching the arrowhead, I spin to face him. The movements are fast, practiced over the years, steady despite the heady rush of panic that flows through my veins. A symphony of heartbeat almost drowns out the sounds of the Dark Elf's words.
Almost.
Red eyes, grey stone, and black are all that are visible as my strength fails me. Why is it that rock is always so very uncomfortable to fall upon?
"Very interesting indeed."