The boy peered around the vegetable stall, eyeing the wealthy noble making his way across the market square. This prosperous Dunmer must be new to Cyrodiil City because he carried his purse in plain view. Any moment now, a pickpocket would relieve him of his burden and teach him a lesson in proper attire when shopping in the capital, especially in this part of the city.

However, the boy was determined to reach the noble before other thieves got to him. The boy's reasons were not entirely altruistic; he wanted the drakes for himself. He turned to get another look at the noble and almost had his head removed by a passing cart. Cursing softly, he ducked and cursed again when the wheels of the cart struck a puddle and sent rancid water his way. Not that it made much difference, seeing as his common shirt was in tatters, his pants torn in several places, and he had no shoes to speak of. Bits of chokeweed and hackle-lo leaf clung to the sleeves of his shirt. His hair was matted and unkempt, dirtied to an indistinguishable brown. Whatever was its original color, one might never have known.

Shaking the hair out of his eyes, the boy sought out the noble amidst the crowd. He was conspicuous, the fine materials of his robe clearly setting him apart in the sea of commoners. Moving slowly so as not to attract the guards' attention (although that was hardly necessary), the boy made his way toward the noble. He did not have to be overly cautious, for the guards saw little reason to patrol this area. They considered it beneath their station to watch over what they derisively called "the rabble." To these Imperial soldiers, all commoners were the same—grubby, reeking, thieving lowlifes and foreigners too lazy and incapable to better themselves.

By this time, the boy had woven his way to the noble. Taking out a rusty iron dagger, he began surreptitiously sawing away at the string holding the purse to the Dunmer's belt. Within a few seconds, the fine cord frayed, unraveled, and then snapped. Deftly catching the purse, the boy hid it inside his shirt and disappeared into the crowd. The noble was none the wiser until he tried to make a purchase and found his coins gone. Thereafter, he was never seen at the market square again, but he must have been a prominent person, for the day after, private guards dressed in smartly polished armor stomped through the area, overturning stalls and beating several commoners.

Hidden in the cellar of a house, the boy watched the actions of the guards. To his credit, he made the connection between the purse on the ground of his humble abode and the destruction outside. Also to his credit, regret filled his heart. It was a strong emotion, but hunger and the need to survive drove him on. The drakes from the purse would last him at least a week if he were frugal, but it was always better to have more money at his disposal. After the guards left the square, the boy ventured forth again, seeking perhaps a less powerful victim. It was all in a day's work for him, this life, the only life he had ever known.

In Cyrodiil City, the most influential people were most likely the Imperials. But this Dunmer noble had money, and money, as you shall see, speaks volumes in the world of Tamriel/Morrowind.

Also, if you didn't figure out already, the boy eventually becomes the one the Emperor sends to Morrowind in the beginning of the game.

This is my second Morrowind fanfic, but it's in a totally different category from my first. Reviews and constructive criticism would be much appreciated. Happy holidays!