I wrote something about @starrykid‘s thiefy boi Skyrim oc, Rismer, awhile back so...here
It had been a rough week for the Imperial. Honestly, it all started the moment he was born, but for now, it all boiled down to one minor inconvenience after another.
His pockets were empty, having been coming up light these past few days. Guards patrolled his usual hunting grounds, and despite his propensity for kleptomania, he did not want any added trouble.
He had enough on his mind for now.
The scrawny imp had a routine: search the waste bins behind the rich nobles’ houses for discarded food from the day previous; occasionally the servants got away with sneaking a meal to him; when his belly was full, take off with any small items that won’t be missed, only to sell for a profit later, and meet up with his companion before the sun was high.
Anything that disrupted this routine had a tendency to anger him, but it usually wasn’t something that pickpocketing some unsuspecting noble couldn’t fix. He often did that for his own amusement, but also to keep his skills sharp. The streets weren’t a place for a young boy, but he managed.
The servants had taken to locking up the garbage these days, most likely to discourage scamps such as himself from lingering around the noblemens’ grounds. His stomach growled in discontentment.
No matter; he had plans later today. Well, the same plans as usual, but he always anticipated seeing his closest companion again.
He wandered the streets for awhile longer, tempted to head on over to his friend’s residence, but he had become set in his ways. Something told him that if he strayed from his routine, bad things would befall him, so he never did. His gut was usually right, and that’s what kept him alive.
The boy slowly walked down the street, passing merchants who kept a wary eye on their merchandise. He wasn’t feeling especially light-fingered today, so he left their stalls alone.
He knew the streets like the back of his deft hand. The buildings thinned out as he reached the edge of town where his destination lay.
A house, ramshackle and squat, sat on a grassy knoll with a path leading up to it. He had scavenged the place before, often using it as a refuge from the rain and other elements. It was his place, at least for a little while.
While seeking shelter one night, he had noticed a light coming in from the windows. Had someone else discovered his sleeping place?
He hesitated, but his curiosity took over. The boy peeked through the window and saw an older Dunmer, sitting in a chair surrounded by boxes. He was reading a book, his glasses perched on his nose.
A Dunmer boy, around his age, sat cross-legged by the fire, tuning a lute.
Oh? His disappointment at not having a place to sleep tonight was squashed by his curiosity about the family which now occupied his hideout.
The boy left the window and decided to sleep under the stars for tonight. He had a makeshift tent and nobody in the world to stop him.
It wasn’t until a few days later that he finally met the Dunmer boy.
He saw the Dunmer boy before the other boy ever saw him. Not that he would have noticed to begin with, his nose buried in a book.
A perfect opportunity to practice his sneaking. An evil grin crossed his face.
Bushes and trees lined the stretch of path leading into the city. They were well-maintained, for the noblemen “owned” them and the land they grew on.
The whole concept was ridiculous to the boy; nothing was ever truly owned, as he had quickly learned. Anything could be stolen if it wasn’t nailed down, and even then, a determined thief would stop at nothing to obtain it.
He slipped behind the bushes, careful not to shake any branches or step on fallen twigs. The other boy somehow didn’t collide with anyone else on the streets, weaving through the crowd with ease.
A tree, perfect for climbing, presented itself further along the stretch. He quickly scrambled up the trunk and perched in the branches.
He timed it so the boy walked under his tree, then plucked the book from his hands.
The other boy jolted and yelped in indignation.
“Give that back!” The other boy jumped up, but the Imperial held the book out of reach.
“An-antece-” he couldn’t pronounce the words on the cover.
“Antecedents of Dwemer Law, and it’s mine!” the other boy said ferociously.
The Imperial flipped through the pages, not comprehending any of it. He laid back lazily against the bark of the tree.
“Haven’t seen your face around these parts,” he lied.
“Of course you haven’t, Ata and I moved in yesterday,” the other boy huffed. He unsuccessfully struggled to climb the trunk to reach his book.
“Tell you what. I’ll give the book back to you, but only if you show me your place.”
The boy blinked back tears of frustration. “That’s all?”
His stomach rumbled for what seemed like the hundredth time this morning.
“Er, got something to eat, too?”
The other boy sighed. “Yes, but could you at least tell me your name?”
“Rismer, and don’t you forget it!”
Kelus was his name, as he found out later. Perhaps his friend would have scraps from the night before. He wasn’t below eating like a nobleman’s hound, as long as he was fed.
He trod the familiar path to the house, but stopped in his tracks. Something was off, something was wrong.
Rismer couldn’t stand there forever. He went over to the door and unlocked it; nothing could keep him out, as Reev, Kelus’ father, soon learned.
His jaw dropped. The house was entirely cleaned out, not a living soul in sight. There was no evidence that anyone had ever lived here at all.
He went out back to the workshop, where Reev spent most of his time. Scrap metal was the only sign that someone had once occupied this space.
They had left nothing. Not a note, no trace of an explanation.
Rismer choked down tears, ignoring the growling of his empty stomach.
He was used to people leaving him, but not in such an abrupt manner. Kelus hadn’t mentioned moving or anything of the sort. One day he was here, and the next, gone.
The most frustrating part about abandonment is that one can’t always ask why. There was no satisfactory explanation here, although Rismer assumed that Reev’s research must have taken him to some far-off land.
The other, albeit sinister, explanation was that the family had to flee the town of Raven Rock.
Later, when he had time to comprehend his loss, he would hope for the best.
For now, during his time of distress, he pushed any dark thoughts to the back of his mind.
Despite the place being cleared out, he couldn’t stand to stay there for the night. He felt as if he were intruding.
Dark clouds threatened rain, and Rismer, not wishing to catch his death of cold, slinked back to the city. Thunder always made him nervous.
He must have looked pitiful, because the merchants who usually kept a watchful eye on him turned their gaze when he swiped a roll of bread or a slice of cheese. The usual spark in his eyes was dulled today, for reasons unknown.
A man called out to him. Or rather, a Dunmer.
“Hey! Boy!” he said, crooking a finger, gesturing for Rismer to come to him. Something told him that this mer wasn’t to be ignored.
Rismer was suspicious and kept on his guard as he drew close to the Dunmer, who was leaning against the doorway to his house.
“Oi, lad, now that’s no way to speak to your elders. And I was feeling charitable today, too.”
Rismer eyed him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen you around. You’re one of the little urchins that outwits the guards, aren’t you?”
Rismer stayed silent. He was prepared to run if necessary.
“Ah, you don’t need to say anything. You have that look about you.”
The Dunmer grinned at Rismer. “It’s supposed to storm tonight. Do you have a place to stay?”
“I was an urchin like you once. I’ve been where you are. I’ll take pity on you tonight, if you’d like to stay with me. Just keep your hands to yourself, and we’ll get along fine.”
“No catch?” Rismer asked firmly.
“Of course not, Slitter’s got you covered for tonight. I have a stew that’s about ready. Come in, take refuge from the storm.”
Rismer felt like a caged wolf inside the Dunmer’s house, but it was better than staying in an abandoned place with no warm meal provided.
Slitter respected his silence and didn’t pry into Rismer’s personal business, which suited him just fine.
After two helpings of the stew, the mer and Imperial regarded each other. Rismer didn’t relax for one second. He couldn’t afford it, or most things, really.
“It’s been a long day for me, I’ve been busy guarding a, companion, of mine, you may have seen him in the town square. Orc, scary guy, don’t want to mess with him.”
Slitter stood up and stretched. “I’m going to bed. Remember what I told you about keeping your hands to yourself, ya hear?”
“Good, we’re on the same page, then. Night, urchin.”
The boy went over to a bookshelf against the wall. He flipped through pages, not really understanding the strange words. Kelus would have known what they said. Kelus always liked reading. He would often have to steal his book of the week to get a conversation out of him.
He tired of looking at the books, and perused Slitter’s house. He had interesting daggers lined up on the mantle above the fire.
Rismer picked up an ornamental dagger, not really meant for actual stabbing. Out of habit, Rismer tucked the dagger away in a hidden pocket.
Out of boredom, Rismer pilfered the house, stealing anything shiny that could sell for some change. Even selling a dented cup was worth more than what was in his pockets currently.
Rismer opened a cabinet, and for the first time all day, his face lit up. A limeware platter was on display, and Rismer knew that he had stumbled across something valuable.
He frowned. It was slightly out of reach, and attempting to scale the shelves would potentially bring the entire cabinet down on his head.
Unless...Rismer coaxed the platter closer to the edge of the shelf with his newly acquired dagger.
“To think I took pity on you,” a voice behind him said.
The sound of a knife flicking open turned his attention away from the platter. Gasping, he knocked it to the floor, and the platter shattered.
“You thief! You destructive little thief!” Slitter shouted, lunging at Rismer.
Rismer said nothing, deciding to cut his losses and get out of Slitter’s house. In his panic, he bumped into Slitter’s table, where they had shared their meal earlier, and it toppled on its side.
The crash startled him, and before he could backtrack to the door and hightail it out of Slitter’s house, Slitter was on him.
Slitter tackled Rismer to the floor, and he couldn’t escape. The man held him fast, pinning him like a butterfly to a board.
He ran the blade of his knife across Rismer’s face, a malevolent smile crossing his own.
“Kid, you messed with the wrong person, and now I’m here to teach you a lesson.”
Rismer’s pulse raced as he wiggled to escape.
“Nobody crosses me and lives without a few scars. If they live to tell the tale.”
Slitter slashed across the bridge of Rismer’s nose, and he screamed out in pain.
“I should have never let you into my house. Urchins like you are a septim a dozen anyway. When I lived on the streets, I was never such an ungrateful brat,” Slitter spat.
“Sir-I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t,” the Dunmer said, scoring a deep line from his upper lip to his chin, and the boy cried out.
Rismer thrashed, kneeing the man in the stomach, and bolted for the door. He stormed through the opening, leaving the door blowing in the wind that had picked up.
He ran and didn’t look back. His lungs burned, but still he ran, blood streaming freely down his face.
The heavens above broke and sheets of rain drenched the boy to his thin tunic. He continued to run, to the only place he felt safe.
The house was in view, but blinded by pain, he didn’t pay any mind to the road ahead.
Rismer tripped over a rock, now exposed by the torrential downpour, and crashed to the ground.
He didn’t get up immediately. The boy lay sodden in the mud. Forlorn, soaked to the bone. He was drowning.
Rismer brought himself up to his hands and knees. He stared down at the ground, his blood mixing in with the mud.
His gaze turned skyward, as if searching for an answer that he knew he would never find. For the first time in ages, tears threatened to spill, and he let them escape. He couldn’t tell if he was crying or if it was the rain, anyway.
He opened his mouth, as if to question,
