SaferShadows on 2/12/2024 at 19:26

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So I thought it interesting to write or rather post a few first-person perspectives of various Thief missions here, if anybody wants to post their own written or AI generated feel free but I'll be using ChatGPT for these:

The Sword

It’s funny how an offer can go from laughable to intriguing once a few coins jingle in the air. The Lady Van Vernon was missing a sword—*not just any sword*, of course. She claimed it was stolen, though I suspect the thing was gambled away by her husband. Either way, the buyer who tipped me off said they knew where it was now—Lord Constantine’s mansion. A name that carried whispers of eccentricities even among the elite.

It wasn’t just any sword. Stories of its craftsmanship rivaled legends. And in this line of work, artifacts like that fetch a price that makes the risk almost worth it. Almost.


I arrived at Constantine’s sprawling estate under the cover of a moonless night. The place was a monstrosity of architecture, each wing an insult to symmetry. Towers where there shouldn’t be towers, windows in odd shapes and sizes. A mansion designed by madness itself.

I pulled my hood tighter as I approached the main gate. The usual patrols were there—armed guards in well-fitted uniforms, likely more for show than skill. I ducked into the shadows, testing the gate’s latch. Locked, naturally. But a shadowy alcove nearby revealed a more subtle way in—a climbing vine. No need to announce myself at the front door.

Hand over hand, I scaled the vine, slipping over the wall into the outer courtyard. My boots hit the ground with barely a whisper. I kept to the shadows, avoiding the flickering lanterns that illuminated the wandering guards. My blackjack was ready in my hand. It’s amazing how quiet a man can fall with a well-timed strike. One down. Two. A few more unconscious guards later, I slipped into the mansion itself.


The interior was no less bizarre than the exterior. The halls were impossibly large, lined with mismatched tapestries and grotesque statues. Every step I took seemed to echo louder than the last, even on carpet. Something about this place made my skin crawl.

I crept through the hallways, avoiding the patrols and taking care to extinguish any lights I could. My goal was simple: find the sword and get out. Easier said than done. Constantine didn’t just have wealth; he had taste—or maybe a complete lack of it. His home was a maze of shifting styles, from lavish gold-plated décor to decrepit wooden planks that didn’t belong in a noble’s estate. Every room had its own theme, and none of them made sense.

I passed through a gallery filled with abstract paintings—some of them felt as though their eyes followed me. Beyond that, I stumbled upon a room where the very walls seemed alive, twisting and bending unnaturally in the flickering candlelight. I paused, hand on my dagger, but the walls remained motionless when I stepped closer.


The deeper I went, the stranger things became. My map was useless here—half the corridors weren’t marked, and some doors led to dead ends. I had to rely on instinct and silence. At one point, I opened a door to find a pit stretching into blackness. No floor, no railing. Just a void.

Constantine wasn’t just eccentric. He was dangerous.


I finally found my way to the upper floors, where I assumed the sword would be hidden. The guards were thicker here, their patrol routes tighter. More than once, I had to press myself flat against the wall, holding my breath as a guard passed so close I could smell the ale on his breath. A few careful diversions—a tossed vase here, a snuffed torch there—allowed me to slip past without too much fuss.

The sword wasn’t in plain sight. Of course not. Rich types like Constantine loved their secret compartments and hidden vaults. I eventually found myself in what could only be described as a garden... indoors. Trees twisted and loomed unnaturally, their bark veined with something that looked like blood. The air smelled sweet and rotten all at once.

And there it was.

The sword stood embedded in the center of a stone pedestal, its blade gleaming with an otherworldly light. The stories didn’t do it justice. It looked alive—its surface rippling as though liquid, yet holding its shape.

But nothing’s ever easy. The moment I stepped forward, the room came alive. Creatures—twisted mockeries of human form—emerged from the shadows. Their skin was bark-like, their faces half-melted. Whatever magic Constantine had meddled with, it had left scars in more than just his architecture.

I had no choice but to fight. My sword clashed against their twisted limbs, and I used every trick in my book to evade and counter. Flash bombs disoriented them, giving me just enough time to snatch the sword from its pedestal.

The instant I touched it, a wave of cold shot through my body. It was heavier than it looked, and the strange glow seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. No time to ponder. I had to get out.


The escape was worse than the entry. The mansion itself seemed to shift, corridors changing and collapsing behind me. More of Constantine’s minions appeared, their guttural growls echoing in the halls. I ran, sword in hand, my heart pounding like a war drum.

I leapt from a balcony, landing hard on the ground below. Pain shot through my leg, but adrenaline kept me moving. A few guards spotted me near the outer wall, but a well-placed gas arrow bought me enough time to scale the vine and slip back into the night.


I didn’t stop running until I was halfway across the city. Only then did I allow myself to glance back at Constantine’s mansion, its looming silhouette dark against the horizon.

The sword was mine now, but something told me this wasn’t over. Constantine wasn’t just a collector—he was something far worse.

I’d taken his prize, but at what cost?