This is a revised, edited, totally redone version of a very, very old fic, from when around Skyrim was first released. I never got to finish it, and I wanted to, but the original was pretty terrible and mostly unsalvageable, so this is largely just created from scratch. Perhaps some of you will remember this old fic? If you do, deja vu.
Chapter 1: The Messenger
My name is Arbelle Fane, and this world hasn't done me many favors, and all the ones it did grant didn't last. This time isn't much different, and it appears life has once again decided to show me it's darker side. My home, if you can call it that, is currently in a rat-hole of a town known as Riften. Riften is a shifty little cesspit full of thugs, thieves, extortionists, cutthroats, and plenty of other lowlifes. Trying to find a soul that's pure around here would be like trying to find a freshwater well in the middle of a barren desert. A member of the local Thieves Guild, Logrun, is no different. He's a loan shark, and a piece of trash, even for a loan shark. He's rather high in the Guild's system, so he's practically untouchable. He makes a living out of collecting debts, and my mother, Muiri Viralaine, was one of those clients. She's not my real mother, as any halfwit could guess, for we looked nothing alike, and I refused to change my name to hers. I'm a Fane, I'll always be a Fane. Even if my family is long gone.
Now, my foster parent is just as dead as my real parents. She had a husband, my foster father I guess you could call him, and I actually quite liked him, but he did a lot of traveling. One day he never came back. Maybe he died, maybe he just ran off, but that was the beginning of the end for Muiri. She died just recently, but she lost who she was long before that. One day she just collapsed, out of nowhere. After she woke up she was never the same. It was clear her mind had been damaged. Sometimes she wouldn't even respond to me when I tried to talk to her. She took to drinking, and gambling, and that's when things went up in smoke. She lost her job, and got in debt to a scumbag named Lugron, a total of two thousand septims. As time went on, her condition worsened, and there was nothing I could do but just sit back and watch. One night she went to sleep, and never woke up, and that was it.
Now I'm sitting in this house, alone, wondering what to do. Lugron will come to collect his debt soon enough, and I have no way of paying the loathsome rat. So I'm doing the only thing that has ever helped soothe the stress from my life, magic. I'm a Breton, so magic is in my blood, even though I've never even been to High Rock. I'm twenty now, and I've been studying magic ever since I was a small child. I specialize in the school of Destruction, and I haven't bothered to look too much into the others. Perhaps I would have if I had more options, but I don't.
At the moment I'm trying to read a spell tome of an expert level known as incinerate, when a knock comes at my door. And when I say a knock, I mean more of a violent pounding. I don't even have to say anything because he just lets himself in. He stands now in the wide open doorway, a lean, tall figure. Logrun is a disgusting old Nord, well past his prime. He's scum, the kind that will lie and deceive you with a straight face. Long, unkempt grey hair reaches down to his neck; some loose strands hang about his wrinkled and scarred face. I believe he told some grand story of how he attained this scar, but I later found out from Brynjolf, a sort of friend (and one of the only good souls in this town), that the scar is actually the result of an encounter with a rabid skeeve. Lugron's face is completely barren of any hair, and his skin is so pale I doubt he ever sees any sun. He looks upon me and meets my glare.
"Your stare is sharp enough to pierce iron," he cackles.
"If you're here about the money, let me make this simple for you, I don't have it," I close my book now, knowing this isn't going to end well.
"Now, now lass, you should know better than to talk to me like that," two men join Lugron at his side, probably thugs from the Ragged Flagon. The trio enters my home without invitation. One thug leans up against wall, while the other takes a seat at the table opposite of me. Lugron himself walks past me and begins to survey the house. "You know something? This ain't a bad place, not for Riften anyway."
"There's nothing here of value Lugron, not unless you're interested in spell books."
"Naw, can't say I am, but. . .," his gaze turns to one of the shelves, but I can't tell what he's looking at. "What's this?" He strolls over, and my eyes flare with rage when I see what he's holding up. He holds a golden chain, swinging it precariously back and forth with one finger. At the end of the chain, was an amulet encasing a fist sized, flawless red ruby. That is the most valuable possession I own, not just in financial value but personal as well. There's not a chance in Oblivion I'd let that bastard take it.
"Put that down!" I rise from my seat, my eyes red with anger.
"Are you sure? A trinket like this could pay your debt and then some."
"If you don't put that down, right now, you'll regret it."
"Do you honestly think that I'm afraid of some bitch who knows a few magic tricks?!" He takes out a long, crooked knife from his tunic. "I own you girl, and I can do whatever I wish. Normally I'd try to have some fun with you, but I think you'll just end up being more trouble than you're worth. So here's what's gonna happen, I'mma cut your throat, take that precious amulet, pawn it, and then burn this house to the ground. How does that sound lass?" I can feel pure rage burning inside me, and I'd rather die than listen to one more word from this vile rat's mouth. He's going to kill me if I don't do something. To Oblivion with it, I'm going to die anyway, right? He comes closer now, "Now why don't you just hold still so I can-."
Before he can react, I grab a knife placed on the table and run it across his smug face. The sudden move catches him off guard, and he drops the amulet at my feet. He doubles back in agony, clutching his bleeding face. "Gah! You fucking whore! You're dead!" He screams as blood seeps through his hand. I try to quickly grab the dropped amulet, but then I feel a tug on my arm from behind, one of Lugron's thugs has me in his grasp.
He pulls me towards him and slams me against the wall, holding me by the throat. "You just made the worst mistake of your life you little witch," he tightens his grip, choking me. I can't breathe; if I don't do something soon I'm going to black out, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. I raise my hand up to the man's face and cast a flames spell, one of the most basic of all destruction spells. But fire is fire, and I just shot all of it point blank into his face. He screams in excruciating pain, as the flames engulf his entire skull, roasting his skin. He releases me instantly and stumbles back, completely blinded from the fire. He tries in vain to put it out with his hands, backing away at the same time. He stumbles into the second, distraught goon, who pushes him away in horror. The man falls to the floor, and he's still rolling, screaming as the flames extinguish his life.
"Oh to Oblivion with this!" The second thug backs away and dashes out of sight. Then I feel a force grab me from the side, I had forgotten about Lugron. He takes me and throws me across the room; I crash onto the table, and it collapses under the force. The pain is great; I groan in agony, as I lie in splinters of wood and shards of broken glass. I manage to look to Lugron, who's breathing hard, blood still streaming from his face. The burning man has fallen silent now, and I can only imagine what that means.
Lugron staggers over to me, bends over and grabs the front of my shirt. "You're some piece of work you know that?" Several drops of his blood fall from his face onto mine. "I'm curious, after killing me what did you plan on doing next? Run away? To where? We have eyes everywhere."
"I didn't really think about it to be honest, didn't really seem important at the time," I gasp, still hurting. I'm staring directly at him as he looks down on me; I use one of my arms to feel around beside me, trying to find anything that might be useful.
"Well, all you've accomplished is making your death a lot slower," he holds up his knife, ready to bring it down on me. My hand finds something that feels like a handle of an eating utensil. I grab it quickly, see it's a fork out of the corner of my eye, and shove it into Lugron's face.
He cringes and is knocked off balance. I scramble away and manage to get to my feet, but then Lugron raises one leg and kicks me back. I stumble backwards against the wall, panting. Lugron looks me with a glare of pure hatred, and charges me. I don't have any choice; if I don't put him down right now, he'll kill me for sure. He's almost upon me. I lift both my arms and perform a two handed chain lightning, which I've only ever tried once before. I feel a great amount of magicka leave my body, and in a violent flash, a streak of lightning shoots out of my hands and collides with the oncoming Lugron.
Lugron never knew what hit him.
The vile man is blasted back like a ragdoll, slamming into the wall at a force I've never seen before. He slides down to the hardwood floor like a brick, and there he lay still, his body skin seared by the sudden intense heat. My blood is pumping, and I just stare at the unmoving Lugron. Then my eyes move to the man I had set on fire, who lays on the ground, his head nothing but a smoldering, black stump. His mouth is agape, his eyes burnt to nothing. Just empty, smoldering sockets that stare up at the ceiling. They're…they're dead. And I killed them. I shall shed no tears for this scum, but this feeling, it's not what I expected. I'm not distraught in the least, instead I am completely overwrought. I can't stop shaking, but out of excitement, not shock. My mind soon comes back into reality, and I see my situation for what it is.
What now? I'll have to flee the city after this, but to where? I've just murdered two Thieves Guild operatives, which means I'm a dead. I'm a walking corpse. "By the gods, what have I done?"
"Art, my dear. You've created art," answers a voice.
I whip my head around to see a figure standing in the doorway, it's a man, and he's seen everything. I start to panic, "Wait, please I can explain!"
"No need," the man grins, he steps in, so I can see him clearly. "I know everything I need to know." He's an Imperial, pale skin, dressed entirely in expensive clothing, out of place for the slums of Riften. His eyes capture me, and I can't look away, they're a glowing, inhuman yellow. He stares me down like a predator. Why do they look like that? "Here I thought today would be boring, and then I stumble upon you. Imagine that. Tell me girl, what is your name?" He asks of me, a gleam in his gaze.
"W-why do you care?" I ask, not following what's going on. Why is he so calm?
"Hmm, I see you're quite unnerved. Must have been your first experience in this refined art," he guesses, scratching his chin. "Now please, your name?"
"I-it's Arbelle Fane," I reply hesitantly. I don't know why I just answered him when I have no idea who he is, but something about him is strangely inviting.
"Well Miss. Fane, it seems you have gotten yourself into quite the sticky situation," the mysterious man observed as he stepped into the room, observing the bodies.
I tilt my head, squinting at the man, "Who are you?" I finally ask.
"Who? Me?" He asks coyly, placing both hands on his chest. "I'm a messenger."
Is he being intentionally vague? "You don't look like a messenger."
"And you don't look like a cold blooded killer upon first glance, yet here we stand among the slain," he gestures with his hands.
"What? It was self-defense! They would have killed me if I did not retaliate."
He sinks his hands into his pockets and continues, "That may be so, but I've seen enough of the world to tell the difference between those who are forced to kill, and those who want to kill. Many would run away, but not you," he claims, pointing at me now. "You stood your ground, and you slaughtered them." He stares at me intensely at a moment, with his finger still pointing. He then opens his hand towards me, swaying it back and it forth. "And here you are, almost completely unaffected, no remorse at all," he smirks now, and returns his hand to his pocket, "It's quite breath-taking, honestly," he sighs, seeming to be taking in the moment.
"I don't have time for this," I turn away from the madman, and pick my amulet up from the floor. "I have to get out of this city, don't try to stop me," I warn him as I start towards the door.
"If you walk out that door you will be dead in a matter of days," the man warns as I pass. I stop, and look to my side at him uncertainly. His gaze slowly shifts to my current position, until his eyes meet mine. "If not sooner."
"What choice do I have?"
"The Thieves Guild will hunt you down no matter where you go, unless you are among those who would protect you with their very lives. Luckily, I know of one such group."
It takes a minute for me to respond, as I'm trying to read him, but it's impossible. "What are you saying?" I finally ask, turning towards him.
"Come with me, I am your only chance at survival."
I make a bewildered face and step back, "Why should I go anywhere with you? I have no idea who you are, for all I know you could turn me into the guards."
"I can offer you a safe haven, those that would keep you alive, in exchange for a . . . certain service, but we can speak of that later. The point is, I can save your life, and provide you with a new one that, I can assure you, is much more rewarding than whatever you had going here. but if you walk out the door right now, you might as well cut your own throat right now."
"I bet you'd like to see that though," I say back.
He laughs, actually amused by my joke. "I like you. I like you a lot. You absolutely must come with me."
I stare into his eyes, they're cool and confident. He could be setting me up for a fall, but something inside me is telling me to hear him out, to trust him. He's got a point; I'll almost certainly be killed if I try to make it alone. Still, I sense a dark presence from this man, something very sinister, but I have no choice. Whatever this man is offering, it's my best bet at survival. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but okay, I'll go with you."
The man's face lights up, and he claps his hands together in a jubilant fashion, "Marvelous! Well then, come now, let's not waste any more time." With that, he turns and strolls through the door. Still confused beyond all measure, I have no choice but to follow this obviously deranged man. I don't know where he's leading me, but my gut tells me that everything I know is about to be changed. Then again, any change would be good in my life. How could it be any worse than this?