• Graded • One For The Money (Part 2)

[Oberan]

The 1st of Vhalar 717

continued from here

Oberan took a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Though he wasn’t a Naer and thus couldn’t see in the dark as if it was light, he could at least adapt a little bit, allowing him to see vague outlines of objects and such. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it needn’t be: the dark rarely was absolute. Usually, human eyes were more than enough to navigate through residences and streets at night.

He turned to the location he’d felt the tugging come from just a bit or so prior, noticing a set of keys hanging from a hook next to the door. There were four of them, strung together by a large metal ring, by which the set was kept on the hook. One of the keys had melted, its shape distorted and changed. It was now a vaguely key-shaped lump of iron, no longer useable to open locks –if it’d still fit inside one, be it in its entirely, or just a part of it.

Nevertheless, when taking the keys off the keyring and slipping them in a pouch, Oberan took the useless one too. You never knew when it would come in handy. Maybe he could have it melted down and remade. Maybe he could reuse it then, though Oberan suspected it would cost him a fair bit of coin. Still, if he had a stock, he would –in theory—never run out of fuel for his ability.

The thief started his prowling through the small residence, sneaking about on the balls of his feet to make as less sound as possible. He wasn’t looking for anything in specific tonight –or most nights for that matter. Oberan only wanted to find some coin to line his purse with, to pad his wallet so he could feed himself and buy stuff that was too hard to steal. Nothing special really, just the usual. Ordinary thief business. He thought he might find jewelry and other valuables, but he wasn’t planning on taking those. To profit from them, he’d need to find a fence, and he hadn’t been in Etzos long enough to find a reliable one yet. And it was so much effort too… just taking the coin was so much easier.

Oberan decided to start on the ground floor, not because he thought that maybe he would find money stuffed away in the living room or the kitchen, but simply because the thief found satisfaction in completely searching a building top to bottom. He needn’t be methodical about it, really, but he didn’t want to go from one floor to the next only to realize the treasure was on a previous floor after all. Naturally, there also was the slight possibility that the residents had hidden their savings in a really strange place to throw off potential thieves. Those were the odd ones though, more often people hid their savings in a sock under their bed, or in their mattress. That naturally made taking it a tad bit difficult, but Oberan usually wasn’t planning on robbing people blind. He could make do with whatever he found in the small pouches they used for everyday shopping and such.

And if he couldn’t, he took more from their stash, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

[Oberan]

As to be expected, the search of the kitchen area yielded no results, and neither had the living room. He’d only found bits and bobs, knitting tools, wool, statuettes, potted plants, salted meat meant for preservation –it was pretty good, actually--, moldy onions, cutlery, pots and other cookery utensils. Nothing worth taking; Bran already had all of those in his own residence, except for the onions, but he didn’t want those.

The thief was checking the storage space attached to the kitchen when he heard a noise coming from upstairs, footsteps descending the stairs to the ground floor. Oberan cursed under his breath, his eyes so frantically searching for a hiding spot that he momentarily forgot he was standing in one. He only had to close the door and he’d be golden, and that was exactly what he did. The small storage room was completely dark as there were no windows to let any light in. Bran retreated to the back of the tiny space, just about fitting underneath one of the shelves if he bent his knees a little. On both sides he was flanked by brooms and mops and the like.

One of the residents had come downstairs to have a snack, it seemed, as the Mortalborn could hear small cabinets being opened and closed, and then the loud crunching sound of someone biting off pieces of a hard piece of toast or biscuit could be heard. There was a bit of cussing then, some muttering the intruder could just about make out.

“Shit! Better clean this up so the missus doesn’t notice tomorrow. Won’t like her recently mopped floor to have crumbs on it again…” The slow sliding footsteps of a man slouching to the storage cabinet spelled approaching doom for the Mortalborn’s hiding spot, and while his heart began composing the beat for a quickstep, he vigorously repeated one phrase in his head constantly as if it were a mantra that would become real if he just thought about it with enough conviction.

Turn back, turn back, turn back. Please turn back, turn back, turn baaaaack! Please turn back, please, please, please, turn back!

It didn’t work.

Don’t open the door, don’t do it man. Don’t you open the door. Don’t open the door. Don’t do it. Don’t! Don’t open the damn door.

He opened the door.

Oberan held his breath and pressed himself tighter against the wall.

The man wasn’t carrying a candle, or any source of light, really, and began grasping around in the closet, apparently still half asleep.

“Broom. Broom? Where’s the broom?”

Maybe if the thief focused his will on making the man leave, would he do it? And if he adamantly believed that he was but a shadow on the wall, would the man not notice him? Or, if things only existed for him if he could observe them with his five senses, could he make the man be removed from existence by closing his eyes and blocking his ears, nose and mouth? Maybe, but while he was trying to influence the physical world through complicated metaphysical questions, the man was reaching further and further in, nearly missing Oberan’s head a couple times. This was getting more and more dangerous.

“Hmm. Broom. Where’s the broom?”

“Here you go, buddy,” the Mortalborn whispered, pushing the item into the man’s hand.

“Thanks,” the man responded, stepping back and closing the door.

Well, that went better than expected.

“Wait. What the hell?”

The door was violently pulled back open, the man now wide awake, broom in one hand as if it were a quarterstaff. “Who the fuck are you?” From the way the man was moving his head, Oberan suspected he hadn’t worked out where in the tiny space he was hiding yet. Which meant he probably couldn’t see him. Perhaps if he stayed quiet—
“I know you’re in there! Who are you?”

“I’m the broomspirit living inside this closet,” Oberan tried, opting for a spooky voice.

It didn’t work, only serving to give his position away to the man, who promptly stabbed the shaft of the broom at the location where the voice was coming from. The Mortalborn suppressed a groan of pain as he was poked in the ribs by the wooden object, and instead ducked low and stepped forwards to close the distance between them, and get too close for the man to use his impromptu polearm again. Quickly Oberan knocked the man hard on the temple, watching his head loll almost instantly as he lost consciousness. The thief caught his victim as he collapsed, so he wouldn’t make too much noise. He’d forgotten the broomstick however, which rattled and thundered as it hit the floor.

[Oberan]

Oberan cussed, unable to do anything about the fallen object because of the weight of the man he was supporting. The way he’d collapsed had the man draped over Oberan’s standing form, the Mortalborn’s hands supporting the man’s armpits to hold him up, and the man’s upper chest and neck sort of hung against Oberan’s face. He was planning to slowly and carefully place the guy down on the floor so he could move around freely again, when a rummaging coming from upstairs betrayed another resident coming down to check what was going on.

This wasn’t good at all, but Oberan could not suppress a grin beneath his mask.

As quickly as he could, he moved the man to the kitchen table, where the Mortalborn pulled back a chair and placed his unconscious victim into, feeling himself start to sweat and shake. It didn’t matter in what position he would be found in, he just had to sit. Oberan didn’t bother positioning the man’s arms and limbs too much, just making sure the position was somewhat natural, and that the man’s forehead rested on the table.

He heard the door to the living room opening, naked footsteps slapping on the tiles.

There was no time for him to seek a new hiding spot, the old one would have to do. Oberan dove into the broomcloset, pulling the door closed behind him—or at least, he tried to. When he was about three quarters there, a woman set foot in the kitchen, and the Mortalborn stopped the motion and retreated deeper into the tiny space.

”Bern?” the woman spoke, ”Bern, what are you doing?”
From his hiding spot, Oberan could just about see the woman –presumably the man’s wife—approach the slumped figure at the kitchen table, and shake her head. She sighed. ”Fell asleep at the table again,” she muttered, turning around only to step in the crumbs on the floor. ”And didn’t clean up his mess.” She didn’t sound happy about it at all. Oberan guessed the husband would get an earful on the morrow.

She walked away, and the Mortalborn let out a breath of relief. His heart was pounding.

”Fuck… bloody bastard…ow! My fucking head!” The man muttered, making the woman turn around. Oberan could feel things were starting to go south for real now. He could see the husband clutch one side of his head in pain.

”Bernard,” the stern voice of his wife came, not sounding amused in the slightest.

”Patty!” he reacted surprised, rising from his seat quickly. ”Where is he? How long have I been out?”

”He?”

”The burglar!” he clarified, walking out of Oberan’s field of vision.

”A burglar? Here?”

”Yea! I’m serious! The fucker--” a pause ”—the guy suddenly burst out from between the brooms and stuff and clobbered me over the head!”

There was a moment of silence, and Oberan held his breath.

”I’m serious, Patty!” the man insisted, pulling open the door. ”He was right here!”

She made a humming sound of disbelief in response.

”Right here!” The man stuck his hand in to tap the space underneath the shelf, but touched Oberan’s forehead instead, and jumped back in surprise. ”HE’S STILL HERE!!!” he yelled.

The Mortalborn, not planning to sit around waiting to be attacked again by the residents of the building, quickly stepped out of the closet, hoping to quickly slip past the two of them and flee. Immediately, the woman began screaming, probably figuring the thief was some dangerous and vicious killer, and the husband grabbed a chair and held it out in front of him, stabbing the legs at Oberan when he came too close.

”THE GUARDS PATTY, CALL THE GUARDS!”

She quickly took off, and Oberan was left feeling like his heart was going to blow up any trill now.

”Well, this has gone badly wrong,” he remarked. ”I guess I’ll take my leave no--”

”You’re not going anywhere, mate,” the man spoke, swinging his chair at the intruder. ”You’re gonna sit tight until the guards come, and then you may leave. In chains.”

”I’ll pass.”

He charged at the man, diving away under the wild swing of the chair, sliding for a moment before pushing himself back up on all fours, then he was back on his feet. He laughed for exactly two trills as he escaped, then the chair came crashing into his upper back, sending him in a stumble for a couple paces. The wooden piece of furniture clattered down on the floor, and Oberan continued running, feeling the ache only as a dull pain. It was quickly drowned out in the heat of the moment, and the Mortalborn burst out the door, the husband not too far behind.

Oberan was faster though, and he was wearing boots. Not to mention that people didn’t want to leave their house behind unprotected, which was definitely the case now, with the wife gone and the door unlocked. The husband gave up after a couple dozen meters, and Oberan laughed again, slipping into an alley, weaving through the smaller streets until he was far away from the scene of the crime, feeling the thrill sizzle in his limbs for a few bits afterwards. Though he had accomplished nothing, the Mortalborn was quite pleased with himself after all.

Money was just an afterthought, after all.

[Djinn]

Rewards Awarded

Knowledge:

1. Unarmed: Temple strike
2. Stealth: don't give away your location when hiding
3. Stealth: don't hide in the same spot again after having been found
4. Stealth: catch unconscious people to keep the silence intact
5. Acrobatics: diving while running
6. Strength: supporting a grown man

Loot: Keys, some useful, others not so much
Injuries/Overstepping: Nothing serious
Fame: -5 for being a meanie burglar to bonked Bern on the head
Collaboration: SOLO
Magic EXP: No


Comments: The Broomspirit. I'm making that a legit villain and not crediting you at all.

Feels bad to be stolen from, right? At least I didn't clobber you like you clobbered Bern. Jerk.

Good thread though. Fun read.