I plan this story on being a series of one-shots about those marked by the Outsider, whether its about how they got the mark or what they do with the power. Any input is appreciated.

Ask anyone in Morley who the greatest thief is and you'll get the same answer: Him. No name, no alias, just him, spoken in a hushed whisper filled with fear.

I'm quite fond of that. It says that I'm well known enough that everyone immediately knows who is meant, and I'm also not saddled with some ridiculously clichéd name, no doubt containing the word "shadow" or "snake".

Mine was a reputation earned through sweat, tears and blood. Lots of blood, little of it mine. I like to think I've done quite well for the bastard son of a lady's maid.

My life of crime started the moment I could walk. I pocketed whatever I happened to come across in the home of my mother's employer. Small things usually, pieces of silverware, watches, rings. I never got caught, nor was I ever blamed. Who would ever suspect the polite, quiet little boy who helped his mother with her work? No, others always took the blame. The cook, the scullery maid, the seamstress' assistant, all were hauled away screaming that they were innocent, all because a planted item was found, they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, or just because someone thought they looked guilty. I felt so proud at how clever I was as I dumped what I had stolen in the gardens or the street, not ever risking trying to sell them, though I did keep some of the best stuff in a small, silver box with fine engravings (another stolen item), buried in the mansion's grounds in a patch hidden by immaculately trimmed bushes.

Eventually I did get caught when I was twelve, but not by any of the household guards or staff. I had unearthed my box and was admiring my collection, holding up an antique golden coin that shone in the sunlight, when a strong hand grabbed me from behind and pulled me close as a burly arm covered my mouth, muffling my scream.

"What have me here?" A cruel voice hissed in my ear, his breath rancid like rotting meat. "A little thief with a few pilfered baubles. Untested, untrained, but could still be useful. So tell me, little thief, how well do you know the mansion I'm sure you those shiny trinkets came from?"

I latter learned that he was a member of the Rossignols, a gang of criminals who had their fingers in a lot of pots. Prostitution, gambling, extortion, blackmail, and of course, thievery. The man who held me captive was after a specific necklace belonging to the Lady my mother worked for, and he wanted me to get it for him. If I failed and got caught, there would be nothing connecting me to him so he would be free to try a different route. With a knife pressed against my throat it was hard to say no.

It was the first time I had an actual target in mind. Everything stolen before that point had all been crimes of opportunity. The only thing I really remember clearly about that job was the beating of my own heart. Overwhelmingly loud, it seemed to drown out everything else. I was normally always so calm, but my hands shook terribly as I snuck into the master bedroom while the Lady of the house was having her weekly bath, making it impossible to hold steady the thin strips of metal I used as a lockpick. I eventually gave up and settled for breaking the lock on the jewelry box, hardly a subtle job. I stole it and ran, not discovering until much later that my mother had been blamed for the theft, being the one who cleaned that room. I never did find out what happened to her.

The necklace itself was covered in multi-coloured gems, a thick golden chain studded with jewels to the point of gaudiness. It was ugly, far too much, but with all the precious gems it must have been worth a fortune.

Despite its obvious worth, I never once thought of running off with it. Not out of fear or anything like that, but because there are some things that money just can't buy. I wanted to be a Rossignol.

The man laughed in my face when I told him, but he still let me come along after telling me I'd be dead in a gutter by the end of the week. I didn't care. While lowborns could do well in Morley, at least when compared to the other isles, I would have most likely have become a menial servant for some pompous aristocrat had I stayed. To my young mind, one week with the Rossignols was worth more than a lifetime of that.

As it turned out, I lasted for far longer than a week. I wasn't afraid of getting my hands dirty and had a stake in just about everything. I never limited myself to just one thing, branching out into smuggling, blackmail and extortion, but thievery always remained my passion. Nothing was more satisfying than sneaking around unseen, leaving an entire household wondering how someone managed to slip in and out without being seen, no indication that I had ever been there save for a few missing items. Even before I gained my powers I was a shadow in the dark. By the time I was twenty, I was the best thief in the Rossignols, and everyone knew it.

I clawed my way up through any means necessary. Frame jobs, murder, there was no such thing as honor among thieves. This caught the attention of those higher up. That was not a good thing, as I learned when a group of thugs showed up at my door.

The ever so illusive head of the Rossignols, known only as First, saw me as a threat and wanted me gone, permanently. He underestimated me, as did the men he sent. They were loud and cocky, sure their numbers and brute strength would grant them quick victory. How hard could it be to kill one scrawny thief? But you can't kill what you can't find, and I was a master at not being seen. Sneaking past the oafs was easy.

Revenge became my only goal in life. First had gotten paranoid since his rise to power and was quick to dispose of any who's loyalty or motives were in even the slightest doubt, or if they were just too good at what they did. This left him with a lot of angry enemies more than willing to help get rid of him. In truth, it didn't take much effort on my part. First eroded his own support himself with his tyrannical and paranoid ruling. People were jumping at the prospect of a coup. A few poisonings of First's strongest allies and we were ready to go.

Easy and quick, First was killed with no one willing to come to his aid. The power struggle happened immediately after, and a cutthroat named Marius took control. That very night I went to the City Guard and told them exactly where the Rossignol hideout was located.

After a hard night of celebrating the fall of First, the Rossignols were far too drunk to put up much resistance. It was a blood bath, any survivors forced to flee into the night. I never heard from any again and I can only assume they left the island.

Apparently, my decision made me "interesting", whatever that's supposed to mean. One moment I was in the rundown apartment I called home, and the next I was in a place that defies reality, if the void could even be called an actual place.

I never cared much about magic or religion. It never applied to my life. But when the black-eyed Outsider materialized, I was forced to reassess my priorities.

Now, with his black mark imprinted on the back of my hand, I am unstoppable. Who could possibly stand against someone who can command time itself? It makes stealing almost too easy. I briefly considered going without using it, but I quickly dismissed the idea. I wholly believe in using all available resources. Why hold back? And so I find myself casually strolling through a noble's mansion, my surroundings grey and drained of colour from the time stop and the rooms filled with party guests. I never could resist an audience.

I reach the master bedroom and I can't help but be reminded of my first real job. What ever did happen to my mother?

An aristocrat in fine silks stands in the center of the room. I ignore him and head straight for the safe hidden behind a painting. Highborns, I have learned, have no imagination whatsoever. Every safe that leaves the factories on Morley has one of three default combinations, and few ever bother to change it.

I open the safe on the second go, revealing a white, circular, whale bone rune issuing a low, barely audible "song", I grab it, shut the safe and leave.

This is not nearly as fun as it used to be. As I walk through the mansion, I pick random things off the tables and throw them into the air. Busts, drinks, food, and a variety of other objects hang suspended in time.

As I leave, colour seeps back into the world and I hear crashes and shouts from behind me. I don't even crack a smile any more.

It's dawn by the time I make it back to my home. A dingy, dirty building well below my means. I sit on the roof and watch the sun rise as I throw the stolen rune from hand to hand. I've done all there is to do in Morley. Perhaps it was time to move, seek out new challenges. I had heard that they have these machines in Dunwall, walls of light and such, that they use to keep places secure. Those could prove to be satisfying obstacles. Of course, going there wouldn't be a good idea until the plague dies down.

"All that work only to destroy that which you fought to accomplish," the Outsider had said when he had first appeared to me. "Was it because you weren't put in charge? Did you expect another betrayal? Or did you see an opportunity to destroy any competition?"

I answered with my own question.

"You mark people and grant them access to your power. Is it because you cannot interfere with events more directly? Or is it just how you get your kicks?"

The Outsider had smiled at that, an unsettling smile without a hint of warmth, and looked at me as if I was a dog who had learned an amusing trick.

He didn't answer, but I already knew why. He did it for the same reason I steal, for the same reason I do everything that I do.

Because he can.