Owl's Last Night

The floorboards creaked under me, and I froze in my spot, my eyes squeezed shut for a mere moment before I forced them opened again. Silence. I held in a sigh of relief . There were people in the next room, and the last thing I needed now was for them to be woken by my carelessness. The hall use to be lit, but I'd snuffed out the flames when I entered. If they did happen to wake, I could escape without my face being seen. It seemed like a good plan at first, but now I found myself worried I'd walk into a chest of drawers and make the situation worse rather than better. It was too late now though, the only thing left was to make it out of here. I made it to the stairs, thankfully, and stopped for a moment to listen to the house around me. Still silent. I carefully took the makeshift bag I held and slipped the strap over my head so that I could rest my hands on the walls at either side of me. They were so close that had I not grown up in the tight confines of The Endeavour I might have thought it worthy of a claustrophobic reaction on my part.

My arm span barely fit the space, and I found that I had to bend my elbows in order to keep both hands on the walls. I took another step down, only half of my foot actually able to fit on the small steps. You'd have thought the house was built with goblins in mind! The wallpaper was ripped on one side, and I couldn't help but shake my head. Tsk, tsk; Why have such a beautiful house if they didn't even take care of it? I walked out of the stairwell and into, well I wasn't even sure what the point of that room was. It was small as well, and barely large enough to stand in comfortably let alone use for anything. No matter. I turned the silver door handle and walked out into the kitchen. The floor was tiled, with many cracks creeping out from a large break in the middle; undoubtedly where an unfortunate cook had dropped something heavy and lost their job, or possibly a toe. The room echoed easily, and even my breathing seemed loud to my ears. That's why I'd taken off my shoes when I'd entered. Though it was cold I didn't want to risk the noise they would make.

I was by the front door when something caught my eye: a small, wallpapered hall that lead off into the south end of the house. It was hidden well, especially in the dark, but I found myself annoyed that I hadn't seen it earlier. I stood motionless. What were my chances of finding something of value there? Seeing as I hadn't come across a study, a feature that most noble-folk had in their homes, I could only imagine that I would find it at the end of the hall. People kept the best things in their studies, when it came to value. And even if not, I was sure to find novels that I could read on my way west. The idea that someone could wake up only crossed my mind for a second before I dismissed it. The sun wouldn't rise for another few hours at least, and the snobs that lived here wouldn't rise until they were good and ready.

Giddily I snuck down the hall, trying desperately to remember what the sequel to "Shoren The Adventurer" was called. Wasn't it "Fall of the Order"? No, no it had to be "The Mages Order", because it wouldn't make sense if the fall of the order came before the order. They were fictional tales, of course, but they were riddled with truths and half-truths. Shoren had been real, I knew that much for sure, and the novels were based on many accounts of his adventures told by the witnesses decedents, and an underground society that was believed to have once existed. I always thought it would be nice to live in Old Lasreil, when magics and great adventures still existed. They didn't anymore.

I came upon a door, silver handled like the others, but different somehow. More taken care of, maybe? I turned it and slowly inched opened the door, cautious hand at the bow I had strapped to my back. It was for naught, though. The only thing waiting for me was a stuffed owl that sat perched on a dark wooden desk. It was a study all right, but not the most luxurious I'd ever seen, and for that my excitement was whittled down to a splinter. There were still books though. I walked over to the nearest shelf, which lined the whole of the right wall, and began to search through. Things were quiet, and somewhat eerie. I'd been in the quiet for a while now, digging through chests and opening drawers and looting the cellar for food that wouldn't spoil on my travels, but I'd never felt what I did now. I could have sworn I wasn't really alone in the room, and I turned around to check. Only the stuffed owl. I looked back to the bookshelf, scanning the titles of each volume for the ones I sought.

A small scratching came next, and this time I was certain I wasn't imagining things. I quickly grabbed my bow, yanking it from the rope sash that secured it to my back and spun around, the one of the arrows I had at my hip notched and ready to fly. The stuffed owl's shining yellow eyes were staring back at me in anger. It's thick dark claws scraping the desk it perched on. Curse this dark room. Curse my carelessness. Curse the noble-folk with their strange tastes. The owl gave a sharp and piercing screech, and I turned to drop the few closest volumes into my pack before I fled. I didn't bother to stop at the door to put my shoes back on, I would be able to buy new ones with the noble-woman's jewellery. Besides, I didn't want to stick around to see how the owners of the house would react to their stolen belongings and the arrow that I'd shot through their bird. I couldn't help but chuckle though, at the mental image of a noble-man shouting curses at me with his brightly coloured attire and powdered wig in disarray.

Never once did I question whether or not what I was doing was right or wrong. It never crossed my mind to get an honest job, or even ask for help.  I was a Knightler, and though my father had sullied the name with his insanity it still meant a lot to me. And so I used the skills I was most comfortable with; I never begged, or needed the help of any person. Instead I stole from those around me and drifted from place to place, just as I'd been taught to do as I grew up on The Endeavour, watching with curious eyes as the people around me smuggled 'unlawfully gained' goods to the far reaches of Lasreil and reaped the benefits.

Honestly, I couldn't imagine my life any differently from the way it was, but sometimes I wonder: would I have turned out differently had my mother been around to cement my understanding of right and wrong, or if I still had my baby sister to take care of and set an example for?