Author's Note: And here we are with our new OC. This is going to be interesting.
Sivän crept towards the road, making sure no one was around while doing so. It was a couple of hours after midnight, and he had a cloak and mask on, but he couldn't take any chances. The execution had to be perfect.
The plan was simple: pose as a construction company for a rich lord, begin construction proactively, and then demand payment. Hijack the payment as a "separate entity", and then demand it again. Then, disappear without paying the workers.
It was perfect- the man he was "working" for was rich, dumb, and building something big. Show off some impressive examples of the false company's architecture, pay off the owners to vouch, and you have yourself a customer.
Sivän dug a small hole, all while looking around again for late travelers. Swiftly, he buried a round disk in the hole and covered it thoroughly, pulling the pressure traps out of the side as he did so. He stuck those in the ground and covered them as well, leaving only the thin dirt-colored wire exposed.
Then, very carefully, he armed the trap by pulling a metal slip from the side of it. He slunk away and returned to his creep hole in the ditches, pulling his camouflaged blanket over him.
He had made sure to choose this route for the delivery of the payment. He had said he wanted the gold shipped in a chest to a settlement at the end of that same road. No one traveled that road normally, he had checked after a couple days of camping. One of the benefits of being your own target was that you were able to make it extremely convenient to steal from yourself.
Sivan wound up the silent alarm on his wrist-clock and set the time, a couple of hours before he expected the payment to come. He then pulled his bag of tools and components he had pressed into the side of the damp earthen hole when he entered and began to fiddle with the left gauntlet of his suit. The spring in his sleep-needle finger had been acting up, almost costing him his head when it failed to work as expected during an outing in Taron. After restringing the spring, he had the needle popping out again whenever he closed his two innermost fingers simultaneously.
Finding nothing else interesting to do, for he wasn't in his workshop, he decided to sleep, donning his mask and gauntlets and putting his hands to his sides, resting in the ready-for-action pose he had mastered over a couple years of accommodation. The woolen blanket under him protected him from the wet dirt and accumulated his body heat, allowing him to fall asleep fairly quickly. He fell asleep into a world of eldritch intrigue as his dreams stole his concept of time.
–
A violent buzzing on his wrist woke Sivän, and he snapped open his eyes. The silent alarm buzzed for a couple more seconds before it quit, but by then the thief was wide awake. He looked out one of the translucent slots on his blanket, seeing that his trap had not yet been triggered. He wasn't surprised, seeing as the trap was quite loud, but was relieved to have not slept too far.
If he could expect anything from his previous outings, he knew that the actual arrival of the cart would take anywhere from within a couple of hours of his prediction, but never would be perfectly on time. This means that he could be waiting for several hours, or even just a couple seco-
BOOM!
He snapped his head back to the slot, and saw that a cart had snuck up during his thoughts, triggering the explosive and having its bottom blown out. Burning hay covered the ground, and among the wreckage was his treasure- a small metal bound chest lying among the hay. He spotted four men, three guards and an armed driver that may as well be a guard, standing around the cart, shouting and looking for the offending magician.
It's blast powder, fools.
Sivän threw his blanket off and sprung up to his soft-soled boots. He silently slunk towards the guards, and struck only when one faced his direction. He felled the man with a blow from the knuckles of his gauntlet, spinning around him and jabbing the next two with his sleeping needles, all three collapsing to the ground almost simultaneously. The cart was now between him and the last man, who was desperately aiming a light crossbow at him.
To be fair, Sivän was an intimidating sight: a slim man dressed like a shadow, dropping three men with barely a sound and wearing a featureless onyx mask over his face.
He rolled under the cart and out of range of the crossbow, picking up the chest as he did so. He sprung to his feet on the other side and tucked the chest under his left arm as he socked the man with his gauntlet, dropping him as well.
He returned to his hiding spot and packed the chest and blankets into the satchel he had prepared, grabbing it and his bag of components, swiftly leaving the scene. He didn't bother to cover his hiding hole- he didn't care if evidence like that was left behind, the guards had seen him anyway, and they were all still alive.
He was off the scene in a matter of seconds, grinning under his mask as he felt the weight of the chest in his satchel.
If the Spectre was going to make an impression in Alagaesia, it was going to be a big one.
–
Sivän felt the need to shrink as he looked at the man in front of him. His representative had made the original deal with Lord Roran, and had not fully conveyed the intimidating nature of the customer.
However, when he was alerted that the payment had been stolen by a mysterious entity, Roran had deemed it necessary to speak with the owner.
The man was thick-set with muscle, wearing fine grey and cyan clothes, but had a common blacksmith's hammer looped through his belt, strangely. His face and skin looked like it had seen many battles, and Sivän suspected that the lord had earned the title, not paid for it, as he had thought before.
Sivän himself was dressed in a grey tunic with a slightly darker cowl and short cloak clasped at his sternum.
"It was a great sum you were paid, and you expect me to pay it again because you would not even lift a finger to find the thief?"
"No disrespect, your lordship, but you were the one providing the guards for the delivery, it was not my responsibility to ensure that the payment reached my representative."
Roran scratched at his chin, appearing to be thinking.
"One week, I will catch the thief and retrieve my money. At the end of the week, you will get your payment whether I have retrieved the money or not, with an extra thirty gold crowns for the time."
Sivän fought a frown. This was not supposed to occur. If Roran caught on during that week, he would never get the second seventy crowns, much less the extra thirty.
"Better yet: you pay me now, plus an extra ten for the inconvenience, and you hunt down your thief on your own time. I will not go into debt paying my workers because you wanted to go chasing a spectre."
The large man huffed, and Sivän feared for the wellbeing of his skull as he awaited an answer. He had been bold, but knew that he was acting within the parameters of a building contractor's behavior.
"Fine, but you will pick up the payment yourself. If it is stolen again, then that will be on you. You will follow me to my hall if you want your payment now."
"Then it's a deal."
Sivän summoned his representative and boarded his carriage with the robed accomplice in tow. Kilear, the man posing as his representative, had accompanied Sivän on most of his more complicated outings, like this one. Kilear had followed him to Alagaesia because, like Sivän, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain in the new land.
Sivän flicked Kilear playfully.
"You did not convey that he was like that! That man could have tied me in a knot before I had time to blink!"
"I told you he was big."
"I was not expecting that form of big."
"Well, we're just gonna get the payment and then we'll never have to deal with him again."
"Assuming he doesn't chase us across the country when we leave with his money and the builders quit. I kind of feel like he would be the kind of guy to do that."
A gruff, disembodied voice spoke from the unused bench on the other side of the carriage cabin.
"That I would. Frethya letta."
Lord Roran appeared from thin air, sitting on the previously unoccupied bench and with daggers leveled at each of their throats. Sivän knew he could have that dagger out of his hand and pointed at Roran in an instant, but he couldn't stop him from slitting Kilear's throat at the same time.
"Magicians…"
"It's not my magic, actually, it's my cousin's, but that's aside from the point. Can I correctly assume that you staged the thievery?"
Sivän swallowed. He couldn't think of a way he could deny that safely, for Roran was obviously smarter than he had assumed.
"Yes, I staged the theft of the payment. I have all of the gold, and the chest it came in. If you would let us go, I will return it to you, and I can get an actual contractor to take charge of my builders. Then we will part ways and never see each other again, that sounds like a good deal to me."
"Better yet: I tie you both up, you show me my money, all of your money, and then you tell me where I can find the thief you hired. If you do all of that, I promise I'll get your sentence shortened. How's that sound?"
Fuming at his words being turned around on him, Sivän glared at Roran straight in the eyes, and he stared back, unwavering. Sivän then slid his foot to the base of the bench he sat on, finding the hidden catch and pressing on it. A panel slid open on the bench, and it revealed several bags and boxes behind it, one of which was the satchel holding Roran's chest.
Roran withdrew and sheathed his daggers, immediately placing his hand on the hilt of his blacksmith's hammer.
"I am Lord Roran Stronghammer, cousin of Eragon Kingkiller. If either of you try anything, your head will have a new hole in it before you get a chance to blink. Also, thank you for cooperating."
Sivän didn't know who Eragon Kingkiller was, but if he was prestigious enough to be mentioned as a cousin with pride, then he probably wouldn't be a good enemy to make.
Roran bent over and grabbed one of the boxes from the hidden storage. Opening it, he discovered the mask, cloak, outer coverings, and gauntlets of Sivän's tactical outfit. Of course, Sivän was wearing the chest and leg modules, the bracers, and the boots of the outfit under his current clothes, but Roran didn't need to know that.
Roran looked back up at his prisoners, and Sivän thought he saw a fleeting glimmer of respect in his eyes.
"Which one of you is it?"
Sivän nodded.
"It is I, but I wouldn't hold the gauntlets like that-if I were you."
Before the man could respond, Sivän brought up his foot and kicked the gauntlet that Roran was inspecting. He successfully triggered the gauntlet with his heel, and a sleeping needle sprung out of its middle finger, jamming into Roran's palm.
The large man swayed, but stayed up longer than most. Then, with what looked like a tremendous amount of willpower, he shook his head clear and grabbed his hammer. Sivän balked at Roran's willpower. No one should be able to resist the chemicals on the needle. In his surprise, he failed to defend himself, and the last thing he saw was the hilt of a hammer rapidly approaching his face.
–
Sivän opened his eyes, and felt a pounding pain in his head as he was blinded by the light of the torches in the room. He closed his eyes again, but the pounding didn't stop. In fact, it got worse. He groaned, and immediately regretted it as it dialed up the migraine even further. He resolved to not move at all, for he intuited that anything he could do would pain him further. He could feel that he was on a rough hay-stuffed mattress, and assumed he was in prison. It made sense, he thought as he remembered the events in his carriage. His head pulsed stronger, and he decided to stop thinking as well, because that also hurt. He lay there for several hours, not thinking or moving because both actions hurt, and not sleeping because he hurt too much.
Eventually, he heard someone with hardened leather soles walk up to- his cell, perhaps? The gait sounded like a woman, and an important one. He also heard the clomping of armored boots behind her and assumed that she had six guards accompanying her. Four of the gaits sounded different from that of a normal man. Two sounded heavier and faster paced, and two sounded very heavy but slower paced. Dwarves and Urgals, perhaps?
The woman's voice called out to him.
"If you are asleep, then wake up. If you are awake, open your eyes and face me."
Sivän felt somewhere in his mind that he shouldn't disobey this obviously very important person, but his body would not allow him to comply.
"Obey, or I will have an Urgal shake you until you wake."
Sivän was grateful that his body could understand this risk, and he was able to force open his crusted eyelids. Pain once again pounded full-force behind his eyes as he looked over at his captor.
She wore the finest clothes he had ever seen, and a bejeweled crown was upon her head. Her sleeves stopped at her elbows, and he saw long scars down each of her forearms. Her skin was dark brown, a tone he had only rarely seen in Taron. He also saw that he was correct on his assumptions, for two Urgals, dwarves, and men accompanied her.
"So you are the one that knocked four trained guards unconscious without a scratch on yourself, and who almost took out Lord Roran Stronghammer. In addition, my smiths and artisans are still boggling over your.. equipment. Those are no small feats. I've come to let you know that if you behave yourself, then Alagaesia may yet have use for you."
Sivän may have been in agonizing, all-consuming pain, but he couldn't stop himself from being sarcastic.
"Royalty is coming to see me now? I ran a scam, your highness, and failed at that. I cannot fathom why you would be here."
His head pounded with his words, but he was getting used to it.
"You are in the dungeon of my palace, and I was curious to see the thief who almost beat Roran. As I said, that is no small feat."
He was in a palace? Not bad. He wondered what he could swipe on his way out.
"Who is that guy, anyway? You have to be a certain kind of person to get the name 'Stronghammer'."
"You're not from Alagaesia? I guess it would be hard not to hear about someone with your talent if you were. Roran was a villager from a place named Carvahall. His village was threatened, and he took the lot of them across Alagaesia to the Varden, the rebel group at the time. He became a warrior for the Varden, and then a general, and so on and so forth. He conquered cities against impossible odds, defeated about two-hundred men in single combat in a single battle, and rescued his betrothed from eldritch beasts with help from his cousin. He could likely collapse the Empire in his free time if he so pleased, so I'm glad that he isn't at the moment."
Sivän grunted and closed his eyes.
"Also, I can imagine that you have quite the headache. I will have a healer in here to fix you up soon, for you can be of no use if you die in your sleep."
Grunting, Sivän gave a thumbs-up to acknowledge her.
He heard her walk back away from the cell with her guards in tow, leaving him alone again. After about an hour, his cell door swung open and a robed man, most likely the healer, entered.
"If you try to overpower me, then I will crush your brain with a command. Healing magic isn't the only magic I know, and this isn't my first time healing prisoners like you."
The healer placed a hand on Sivän's head and muttered some unintelligible words. The accursed pain dissipated, and Sivän was left with a clear head.
"Thanks."
In an instant, Sivän's hand shot up and jabbed the man in the throat. He gagged and unsuccessfully gasped for air, trying to form words of magic and failing. His other hand connected with the side of his head, and when that didn't drop him, a kick to the other side did.
He caught the healer by the front of his plain white tunic, preventing him from making a noise by hitting the ground. In one action, he rolled off of the cot, donned the healer's robe, and mimicking the healer's voice, gave a shout.
"Efinis pé varna!"
He doubted that he had actually said anything of meaning, but he also doubted that the guards knew magic. He dropped the body to the ground face down, and dipped his head under his hood as the guards at his door turned to see the disturbance.
He adopted the healer's disdainful voice again and faced the guards.
"He tried to jab me in the throat, but I silenced him first. I didn't kill him yet, but I did heal him. Keep an eye on this one; he is quite clever."
The guards opened the cell door as he strode forward, and he was out of the cell without an issue. He saw a total of six guards around his cell, and the other cells nearby appeared unoccupied. The queen, who he assumed the woman from earlier was, must think quite highly of him.
As he walked towards the stairway leading upwards, he slipped a dagger from one of the guards and palmed it, keeping it mostly hidden up his sleeve. The guard did not notice.
He felt a tingling of the cloth of the cloak as he stepped through the threshold of the dungeon into the light of an exquisite hallway, and he assumed that it must have some kind of magical key in it. As if he knew where he was going, he walked forward and ascended the second stairway he found, for he knew they would not expect him to be going upwards during his escape route. He saw several windows on his path, and noticed that it was dark outside, it was likely the beginning of the night.
He walked for a bit longer, eventually noticing an obviously more elaborate door among the others as he moved. He smiled to himself.
I can take my time here, let them think I'm long gone. In the meantime, I might as well pluck a couple jewels or something.
He put his ear to the door, and heard nothing. Either the person inside was sleeping, or not inside at all. He preferred the first option, because it meant he was less likely to be snuck up on.
Peeling off a false patch of skin on his upper arm, he retrieved a small case of lockpicks and a flat multi-purpose tool. He took off the safety caps on both ends of the tool, put the stolen dagger in the inside pocket of his robe, and replaced the dagger that was in his palm with the tool, which had a string to tie around his wrist. He then made sure no one was coming and began picking the lock on the door.
His robe tingled again, and it made him thankful that he had stolen the garb of a magician. With a soft click, the lock gave way and he turned the knob, opening the door.
He noticed with relief that the room was a bedchamber, and a sleeping figure lay in the bed. He then felt some apprehension as he noticed pointed ears on the figure, but he reassured himself that he was quiet enough to escape notice.
He crouched below the level of the top of the bed and silently closed and locked the door behind him. To his surprise, the room held little possessions, and the only thing of value he immediately spotted was the elf's sword. He refrained from taking it, however, because it was likely layered with magical traps that not even his new robe could thwart. Another thing he noticed was an elaborate bag that held two differently sized round lumps, the smaller of which was slowly vibrating.
He crept over to the bag and undid the golden clasp on it. If nothing else, he could sell that, for it was weighted like genuine gold. His cloak then started giving its buzzing sensation, but it lasted much longer than usual and actually began burning his skin. Thankfully, then sensation ceased soon enough without issue. Inside the bag he saw two more less decorated bags, both containing a lump. He spread open the loose opening of the vibrating bag and picked up the object inside. By some inescapable instinct in his mind, he was transfixed on the object in his hands. It was an almond-shaped stone, roughly the height of his forearm and shining a deep bronze color.
He stared at it as it shook, unable to think or focus on anything aside from the stone. After almost a minute of Sivän's mindless transfiction, the stone gave a crackling noise as thin lines appeared in a spiderweb shape, and the center of the break bulged as if something was pushing on it.
Directly afterwards, Sivän heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him, and the rational part of his mind registered that the elf was awake. Though it felt as if he were contradicting the very nature of his being, he forced himself to gently set the stone aside. Or, was it an egg?
He cleared his mind of thoughts about the egg- yes, it was an egg, and focused on avoiding the elf. The slip knot holding his multitool disengaged as he grabbed it with his other hand. He pressed a combination of buttons simultaneously, and another sleeping needle popped out. He had coated this one with much stronger chemicals, for he had intended to use it on large animals and monsters; he doubted that an elf would be affected by a normal human poison. The elf sat up and apparently noticed the open bag, for he muttered a foreign curse.
Sivän prepared to stab at the elf when it came into view. What he did not prepare for, however, was for the elf to get out of bed by front-flipping half of the way across the room. The elf spun around and faced Sivän; somehow, it had sensed his presence. Before a second had elapsed, the elf had Sivän pinned by the neck against the wood at the foot of its bed, his multitool in its hand, and its knee pressed into his chest.
The elf flicked his, for Sivän saw that it was male, gaze at the still-hatching egg, and an expression of unbridled disdain painted his face.
"It's hatching for a burglar?"
Sivän gave a sarcastic grin, attempting to appear confident, and to hide his genuine grin at the elf's mistake. The elf wasn't the only one with a trapped weapon- and Sivän was mentally counting down the seconds until it triggered.
9, 8, 7..
"I prefer the term 'Spectre'"
2, 1, 0
A soft clicking noise was heard, and a razor blade sprouted from the back of the elf's hand, a halo of blood surrounding its emergence. His sneer was frozen on his face as the poison coating it kicked in, locking his muscles in paralysis and his mind in stasis. That specific poison usually lasted for several days, although Sivän had a feeling it would wear off sooner for the elf.
With some difficulty, he pried the elf's hand from around his neck and again focused on the egg, content to deal with any other danger only after the egg had hatched. By the time he returned to it, the egg had many more cracks on it, thick, clear fluid flowed from several of the larger cracks, and an entire paw had freed itself from the shell. The paw almost looked like a human hand, with four slim fingers and a thumb, but it was covered in shining scales that were the same bronze tone as the egg and thin white claws extended from each finger.
The paw was clawing and pulling at the shell around it, making quick progress at breaking it. Ignoring the fluid covering the egg, Sivän picked it up gently and placed the leaking object in his lap. Somewhere in the background, he heard an alarm trumpet sound, signaling his escape; he was surprised that it took them so long.
He then saw a small scaled snout poke through the egg, and all of the creature's limbs began pushing at the shell with renewed vigor. Suddenly, the front of the egg gave way and the hatchling inside fell out onto the floor, covered in the egg's fluid. It sat up in his lap and crooned, more liquid streaming from its mouth and nose as it did so.
He reached to touch the hatchling around the base of its spine, in order to try and pick it up, but when he touched it, a searing sensation burned his hand. He almost pulled it away, but it reminded him of his robe's burning earlier, and thought that perhaps the burning signified beneficial magic. The hatchling curiously turned its dark, bronze eyes to him as his hand was pressed against his back, the burning sensation growing with every passing moment.
After a couple of seconds of the contact, the burning had begun to affect his entire arm and chest, and it was now spreading to his mind. It became unbearable, his body felt as if it were on fire. He tried to pull his hand away, but he was paralyzed. His mind began to conjure hallucinations to explain what was causing him so much pain; the migraine from earlier was nothing compared to this. Fire arced across the room, filling his vision. Red-hot blades cut into his skin, and his flesh withered. He felt like clawing his eyes out, but he could not move. He wanted to scream, but he could not make a sound.
Why is the fire inside out?
What is that rabbit doing here?
Don't eat me!
I want to sleep.
Don't take my sword!
Can I use an axe?
I want to sleep.
That snake looks like time.
My hand feels weird.
I'm gonna take a nap.
Existence winked into a small point of light as Sivän lost consciousness.