Lore, Sagas, Short story, Weekend

A campfire tale of thieves [archive].

Typical that I would find a rich, unlocked and unattended home only to not be alone. I have been stumbling around these dark rooms for days trying to find a way out and avoid the owners of those heavy steps I constantly hear marching up and down the halls about me. I only ever see the light in glimpses as I rush from one room to the next, desperately trying to find a door which leads outside or a window which I would gladly leap from.

I did not think to bring supplies. I had hoped to be in and out in moments with maybe a pocket or two of gold or silver for food and maybe drink.. Oh how I miss my drink. Be it wine or water, it no longer matters, my lips are parched and dry and my throat feels as though I have eaten sand in a dust storm. And food.. At times I wonder how I have not been caught with the rumble in my belly. All I have is that taste and feel of dust. I need to get out.

I have been hearing a wind below my feet, perhaps that will be my escape. I must try and pry the boards up quietly so I will not be discovered. It must be a cave below, this home is built upon a crest of grey rock with white stains and green moss covering and filling cracks. Each time I stick my blade in the wood it sounds to me like an axe crashing through and splitting logs, the tiniest drops of my sweat impacting like the roar of a raging river.

A thought strikes me as I stop for a moment and quickly try to look around this room. I have not heard a foot step since I started, and I have not heard a voice since I arrived. As though the world ceased all at once and stared collectively in my direction, I turn my dagger in my hand ready to fight and grip tighter to the handle than I ever have.

With sweat between my palm and the leather of my handle I make my way to the door and open it slightly, seeing if anything is there. To my horror there are eyes which pierce the darkness both into and through me, and a hand takes hold of my clothes. No matter which way I move or struggle, I cannot not break free of his grasp. The eyes are dread and wide open with agony and relief inside them. I try to yell, to plead for mercy and freedom but nothing comes out of my mouth. There is nothing to hear but a joyed sigh from the guard before me.

Now I stand watch in the hall, my mouth too dry to speak. I march with the other forsaken, my eyes wide open. If I catch a thief I will be freed.

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