A/N: Hello! Welcome to my newest experiment!
I know the summary was a little vague... I'll explain a little more with the next chapter. For now, see what you think of this.
"I don't believe it!"
A dark-haired woman glanced over the top of the outdated crop report she was pretending to read in the safety of the shadows of Understone Keep. Her dark eyes peered around the atrium from their slightly sunken sockets. She spotted the man in question: a tall, thin High Elf in a dark blue set of mage's robes. He was gesturing wildly with his arms at the captain of the guard who was walking by his side, their hurried footsteps echoing off of the stone walls around them.
"I thought you had this place guarded with lock and key!" the elf continued, sounding more outraged with every syllable. The woman in the shadows smirked to herself.
"We did, Calcelmo!" the guard captain barked gruffly. "It was locked up tight with two of Markarth's finest at each door. What more did you want?"
"Preposterous," Calcelmo sneered as the pair rounded the corner into the excavation site. "If those are Markarth's finest, I'm going to need to talk to the Jarl about getting better guards."
The woman glanced around warily, seeing that the guards were standing around looking bored, much like they had been when she had entered an hour earlier. Seeing that no one was any the wiser, she rolled up her trusty old crop report and tucked it into the inside pocket of her traveling cloak. She straightened the dark gray material over her leather riding pants and cloth shirt, sliding the hood back to reveal all of her dark brown hair. With a final glance around, the woman hiked her pack upon her shoulder and stepped out of the shadows.
The guards did not even flinch as she strode past them at a brisk pace, as if she had just finished a spot of business with the Jarl. Just a few more steps to the main door of the Keep and she would be well on her way to a healthy pocket full of gold.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE ARTEFACTS MISSING?"
The dark-haired woman bit back a chuckle at the sound of Calcelmo giving the guard captain a what for. Sometimes, the best part of a job was the show she got if she stuck around long enough.
Finally, her hand was on the door and she pushed it open, stepping out into the midday sun on the steps of the city of Markarth in the province of Skyrim. The woman took a deep breath of the fresh, mountain air and promptly set off down the stone steps of the city.
She felt good. Fantastic, even.
In all of her time with the Thieves' Guild, she had never been given such a high-profile job. In fact, it wasn't often that anyone got any really juicy work, what with the decline of the Guild in recent years. However, she had been gifted with the honor of breaking into a high-security area and lifting a few precious objects from within. And how many times a year, on average, could she say she broke into a heavily-secured Dwemer excavation site and walked right back out without a scratch?
Not many, that was for sure.
With a spring in her step, the woman crossed over the little river that ran through the city and passed by the door to an abandoned house. As soon as she caught sight of the city gates, which to her represented freedom, she paused to think.
The morning had gone so well, she thought, that she might as well reward herself with an afternoon of good ale. It was the thing to do in Skyrim after all. In fact, you didn't even need a reason to indulge most of the time. Today, she definitely had a reason and the coin to back it up.
However, she contemplated as she turned toward the Silver-Blood Inn, an inn was a risky place to take a pack full of jewels and potentially-rare artefacts that you just lifted from the Keep. Especially an inn that was run by the most influential family in the Reach. Who knew what kind of trouble she could run into there?
The woman disregarded her worry with a smirk. She had made it out of the Keep in one piece; a few good tankards of ale would not hurt her chances of getting out of Markarth very much.
And so, with her decision made and the spring in her step restored, the dark-haired woman made her way into the Silver-Blood Inn. The heavy doors swung easily on their hinges and she strode in with a swarthy step.
"Afternoon, gentlemen!" she exclaimed loudly, silencing all the chatter in the inn. Every work-weathered face turned to stare at her critically as she shot one of her winning, dimpled grins to the barkeep.
"I'll take a tankard of your finest mead," she began, swinging a leg over one of the barstools, "And a another for every man in here today."
The barkeep raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Are ye sure ye have the coin for all that, lass?"
Her grin only grew wider as she leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Are you sure you have the mead for my coin?"
Several hours and several rounds of mead later, the dark-haired woman had drawn quite a crowd. Excepting a few patrons that preferred to sit in the shadows with their hoods drawn, every person in the inn was riveted on the mysterious woman as she regaled them with stories of her escapades. She commanded their attention from her perch atop the bar.
"So what 'appened then?!" a red-faced Nord slurred loudly.
"Calm down, you troll! Let a girl set up the suspense!" the woman replied, her speech only slightly less-slurred than his. The rest of her audience chuckled at the Nord's impatience.
"As I was sayin'," the woman began, tossing back the last of the mead in her tankard, "The East Empire Company guards aren't the smartest lot I've ever dealt with, but they're certainly more formidable than most."
A few men mumbled their agreement while she paused to signal the barkeep for a refill. The weary man frowned, but poured another tankard of mead as he spotted her coin purse jingling merrily as she moved.
He glanced toward the doors of the inn as they swung open and closed quickly, a cloaked figure striding quietly to the bar. The person sat at a stool without acknowledging him and turned their attention to the woman with the flowing dark hair.
"So, it was the dead of night and I was crouched in th' shadows of the docks tryin' to plot my way around the guards. One was an Orc—seven feet tall, easy, and half as wide—and the other was some plucky Imperial with barely enough meat on him to last the first month of winter. You know the kind." Her audience laughed. She leaned forward dramatically. "I knew I could probably trip the Imperial and send him into the water before he knew what was happenin'. But, his friend would need a more... Delicate approach."
The cloaked figured seemed to tense as the woman spoke, glancing warily between the woman and the door of the inn. Ever-aware, the barkeep began to glance to the door as well, anxious of the cloaked figure.
"As quietly as I could," the dark-haired woman continued, "I popped the nails on one of the boards of the dock and propped it just so," she gestured emphatically, "that it would trip the Imperial up. Then, I just had to wait."
Suddenly, the doors of the inn burst open and seven of Markarth's armored guards piled in, swords drawn. Silence fell over the patrons once more, many of them burying their faces into their tankards to try to stay out of whatever was going to happen. The barkeep frowned and opened his mouth to greet the guards.
"Ev'ning, gents!" the dark-haired woman howled from atop the bar, grinning goofily. "Have ya come for a round or two?"
The barkeep, instantly regretting his decision to keep the mead flowing to this obviously unruly woman, quickly jumped into the conversation before the aforementioned woman could muck it all up.
"Harald," he said, addressing the guard at the lead of the group. The guard in question removed his helmet and stowed it under his arm. "What can I do for ye this evening?"
"It seems that we have an escaped fugitive in our humble town," Harald announced gruffly. The barkeep struggled not to glance at the suddenly-stiff, dark-hared woman still seated atop his bar. Harald glanced at the guard to his right and the group of guards split up and began to pace between the tables, looking closely at each and every patron.
The dark-haired woman lifted her tankard to her lips and drank the rest of her mead down in one large swallow. The stone cup made a resounding thud as she set it heavily on the bar. Harald the guard locked his steely gaze upon her.
"That so?" she asked rakishly, her voice suddenly a lot clearer than the barkeep expected, considering the sheer amount of mead she had put away that afternoon. She calmly rested each of her booted feet on one of the barstools in front of her and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees contemplatively. "And you think they'd come to a dreary old pub to hide out?"
The barkeep frowned again.
"Beg pardon, but my inn is not-"
"We've received orders to search every public building in Markarth, ma'am," Harald ground out, cutting off the barkeep.
"I'd like to see those orders, if you don't mind," she announced brightly. The barkeep paled at her words, fighting the urge to cover her mouth with his hand.
"That's not really necessary, Harald," he said, desperately trying to keep his voice level. He definitely couldn't afford a skirmish with the guards this week.
Harald the guard narrowed his eyes at the woman and took a heavy step forward. His fellow guards paused in their bored-looking perusal of the patrons, glancing back and forth between their leader and the talkative woman.
"And just who might you be to demand to see the orders handed to me by the Jarl himself?"
"I'm just a concerned citizen," the woman replied simply. "It's not as if the Keep was burglarized or anything."
Harald carefully studied the dark-haired woman on the bar. Every patron and guard watched one or the other, waiting for some kind of action to break out. Finally, Harald made a move, pointing his sword at the woman and nodding to one of his fellow guards.
"Bjorn, arrest this woman," he ordered. The dark-haired woman arched an eyebrow as the barkeep slammed his hands down onto the bar.
"What in Talos' name is going on here?" he demanded.
Bjorn approached the bar, sliding a pair of wrist irons out of a pouch on his belt. He stopped in front of the stools on which the woman rested her feet, quietly ordering her to stand. She merely stared at the burly Nord, eyebrow frozen in place.
"Seriously?" she asked, glancing around in disbelief. "What did I do?"
With a quickness that the barkeep could hardly believe, the cloaked figure that he had almost forgotten about shot off of their barstool and landed a solid fist on the pressure point that was just barely visible between the neck of Bjorn's breastplate and helmet. The large Nord dropped like a stone and all of his guard comrades sprung into action before he even hit the floor.
Harald himself tossed his helmet to the floor and charged the dark-haired woman. Once he was in range, she hooked the toe of each boot under the seat of the barstools they had been resting on and kicked them both at him. He threw his arms up to shield his face as the wooden stools shattered on impact, grunting at the blow. Before he could recover, the woman braced her arms on the bar and pushed off, planting her feet firmly into his breastplate, toppling them both to the floor and rendering Harald unconscious. The cloaked figure quickly helped the woman up as the five remaining guards approached them.
"What was that?" the dark haired woman hissed at the cloaked figure, cracking her neck from side to side as she picked up Harald's sword and dropped into a fighting stance.
"You were taking too long," the cloaked figure muttered in a high-pitched, somewhat gravelly voice. The pair shuffled together into a rough fighting formation. "And that bit about the Keep was a little much, don't you think?"
The dark-haired woman scoffed as the first guard reached her, ducking his sword swing and blocking the next.
"Just because you're wicked jumpy doesn't mean I can't have a little fun!" the dark haired woman ground out as she deflected another blow from the guard with Harald's sword. She followed up with a striking blow to the his helmet, sending him sprawling to the dusty floor as she rounded on the next guard.
Meanwhile, the cloaked figure had produced a small axe from somewhere within her robes and quickly blocked the two swords slicing toward her. With a grunt of effort, she pushed them both back and swung the axe backward, knocking one of the guards back with the butt of the weapon. The cloaked figure swept the legs from under another guard as she stood back-to-back with the dark-haired woman. With what looked like practiced ease, the pair fought off the last three guards, knocking each of them into unconsciousness.
When all the guards had been dispatched, the dark-haired woman dropped Harald's sword near his slumbering body and pushed her unruly hair out of her eyes.
"That was a fair workout," she said with a dimpled grin.
"Unless you want another, I suggest we make our escape," the cloaked figure muttered, pulling her hood down to reveal the face of a cat with blonde-colored fur and bright yellow-green eyes; a Khajiit. "Sooner would be better."
The dark-haired woman scoffed again as she surveyed the damage.
The Khajiit turned to the barkeep with what passed for a sympathetic smile curling on her feline lips. "I'm sorry for the disruption."
"I'm not!" the dark-haired woman chimed in cheerily, extending a hand to the stunned barkeep. "Name's Faith. My Khajiit friend here goes by Buffy. Thanks for letting me lay low here for a while."
The barkeep shook her hand weakly, trying to take in all that the dark-haired woman had said. He glanced silently at the unconscious guards on the floor and the dumbstruck patrons of his inn. The woman called Faith quickly searched the pouches on each guard's belt, taking a few things here and there.
"Ye know that the Silver-Bloods will be hearing about this?" he warned weakly, trying his best not to panic. The Silver-Bloods were the most influential family in the reach; there was no telling what they would do to him once they found out what had happened in his inn.
"Sure," Faith said, hiking her pack onto her shoulder. "But they're probably the least of our worries."
With another dimpled grin, Faith tossed a coin purse on the bar as she and the Khajiit made their way to the door and out of the inn. The barkeep stared after their retreating forms with his mouth agape.
Hours later, after being ruthlessly questioned by the guard captain and the Jarl's steward and assessing the damages to his inn, the barkeep pulled the coin purse out of his pocket and emptied its contents onto the bar. He cried out in shock at the pile of coins and precious stones that spilled out onto the aged wood.
"My word!"