"Dragons?" I scoffed, swiping a withered apple from the bowl of fruit on the table and tossing it hand to hand. Delvin eyed it with digust from across the table, taking a swig from his bottle of mead.

"What? I'd like to see a dragon," said Niruin with a dreamy look.

"And I'd like to swim in a lake filled with gold and sapphires," I rolled my eyes. Aside from Niruin, I was the only other wood elf in the Guild. Our shared Bosmer heritage had sparked a quick friendship, cemented by countless jobs throughout the years, but we shared few opinions.

"I'd like to swim in a lake with Sapphire," Delvin japed, earning a couple of laughs from Dirge from his table across the room and a signature glare from Vex who was leaning casually against a stack of crates nearby. Delvin was a comely Breton, older than most of the members of the Thieves Guild, but practical, hardworking, and as honest as a thief could be, though he had a rather debaucherous streak that Vex never failed to complain about. Even so, he was respected by everyone, and his connections to the Dark Brotherhood certainly didn't hurt his reputation either.

"Watch yourself, Delvin," Niruin said with one of his devilish grins. The smile gave him a wicked look that suited a thief, and went well with his pointy chin and golden eyes. "She'll beat you bloody if she catches you talking about her like that."

"This whole dragon business is a load of rubbish anyways. It's just some madman's desperate plea for attention if you ask me," I continued, placing the apple back in the bowl. I inched my chair back and planted my feet comfortably on the corner of the table, ignoring the mutterings of, "People eat here, y'know," from Delvin into his tankard.

"Yeah, well, no one asked you," Niruin replied indignantly.

"I'm sidin' with Kasha on this one," Delvin said leaning forward in his chair and propping his chin up with his right hand. His accent was thicker than usual with alcohol. "Dragons are just a myth; a tale mothers tell their children to scare them into obedience. The day you see a dragon's the day you become Guild Master."

"Hey, it could happen," Niruin said with a lighthearted shrug, stretching his lean, muscular arms that had been developed by hours of daily archery practice.

"Unlikely," I deadpanned.

"Unlikely," the other Bosmer thief agreed. "But not impossible. And that means that the existence of dragons isn't impossible either. I, for one, think the rumors are true."

"You're a damned fool anyway," Delvin grinned.

Agreed, I thought with a thin smile, nodding.

"By the gods, Lightfoot," Vekel the Man called out from behind his counter where he was cleaning a glass with a well used cloth with questionable stains. "If you don't get your damned boots off that table this instant I'll make good on my threat to ban you from this tavern."

I doubted that Vekel would actually kick me out of the Ragged Flagon. Like the rest of the Guild, he needed the money too much to drive away business, but I didn't care to anger the bartender. He was admittedly a little gruff when Brynjolf had first recruited me into the Guild a couple years back, but after a month or so and a favor I'd done for his girlfriend and Guild fence, Tonilia, he'd been more than amiable towards me.

And most importantly, he keeps the mead flowing.

Submissively, I swung my legs off the creaky wooden table, though I made a face at the use of my newest nickname.

Lightfoot, I thought with a bitter taste in my mouth.

It was both endearing and mocking, started of course by Niruin a little over a week ago after a mission that had required the two of us to trudge through a lethal maze in some mines near Morthal. In a moment of stupid inattention, I had activated a tripwire, launching a swinging mace through the air that had almost taken my head off, and in my haste to avoid being decapitated, had rolled ungracefully right over another pressure plate. Six sharp spears had immediately shot out of nearby outlets on the wall.

"I warned her mere seconds before she tripped the wire: 'Light feet, comrade', I said, but before I even finished my sentence, down came the swinging mace, and I found myself face to face with near death in the form of half a dozen steel spears jutting out of the wall!" Niruin chuckled, pausing with his usual flair for the dramatic. "I can't imagine what the look on my face was like, but the look on hers was priceless," he said, and the other Guild members guffawed.

Since then, he'd told the tale at least a dozen times, the distance between the spikes and the tip of his nose decreasing with each telling. I had endured the embarrassment, feeling that Niruin deserved to tell the tale after I'd almost killed him with my carelessness, but after the sixth time hearing the story I was ready to cut his tongue out with my own dagger. When I grabbed him by the straps of his cuirass and told him so, he just laughed and made sure I was within earshot the seventh time he told it.

"You know what," I said, standing up abruptly. "I think I'm gonna go and grab something to drink at the Bee and Barb anyways."

Vekel immediately looked alarmed. "The Bee and Barb? Why? I can assure you they don't allow feet on their tables either, and the mead I sell here is a much better price than what they sell up there."

"Yeah, why?" Niruin chorused. "Besides, I thought those stingy Argonians refused to serve you anything after you shook down the innkeeper for Brynjolf's gold."

"They did, but I made it up to them. I overheard Talen-Jei telling someone that he needed some amethysts for a special wedding band that he wanted to make for Keerava, and I happened to come across some in a sweep job Vex gave me out in Solitude."

"How… generous," Delvin said, and I knew he was imagining the gold three flawless amethysts could have raked in for the Guild.

"Talen-Jei's been smitten with Keerava for as long as I've been in Riften," I explained defensively. "I figured it was high time he proposed to her, and now that he has the ring, he says they'll be wed as soon as he can find someone to do a traditional Argonian ceremony."

"You could have at least sold them to 'im," Delvin insisted moodily. "We're the damned Thieves Guild for gods' sake. We don't do charity."

"He gave me two hundred septims as thanks."

"For three flawless amethysts? You're jokin' right?"

"Hey, if he's selling me booze again, I consider it a done deal."

"But you could have just come to me," Vekel said.

For more Black-Briar mead? The thought made my mouth go dry. Even I had my limits. No thanks.

"Sorry, Vekel," I said. "As much as I'd love to continue kissing Maven's ass, I'm feeling the need for a bit more variety than the usual, and Talen-Jei makes some pretty exotic concoctions. I especially like his Velvet Lechance mixture. I think he said it's made from blackberries, honey, spiced wine, and a touch of nightshade."

"Ugh. The wine in Skyrim tastes like urine compared to the fine vintages we had in Valenwood," Niruin said with a distasteful crinkle of his nose, though there was a dash of nostalgia in there somewhere. "If that drink killed you, it would be from the wine, not the nightshade."

"Well stick to the mead or go back to Cyrodiil, then."

"Even if I could, I wouldn't even joke about going back to Valenwood. Skyrim's just too much fun," said Niruin, flashing one of his smiles again. "Although at the rate things are going now…"

Niruin's grin faded, and a heavy silence blanketed the lantern lit tavern. The past decade or so had seen a steady decline in the Thieves Guild's influence over Skyrim. Benefactors and gold were becoming increasingly scarce. Most of the recent jobs were mediocre at best and came from Maven Black-Briar who always had something for us to do anyways. Our attempts to readjust our grasp on some of the major cities across Skyrim only seemed to be getting harder with each passing day. Windhelm was proving more difficult to control than we'd previously expected, the guards growing bold with the stirrings of Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion, and we were barely clinging to Whiterun by our little fingers. The fear the Thieves Guild had once instilled in Skyrim's population had turned into contempt, and even people in Riften were beginning to sneer at us.

Old Delvin was convinced we were cursed. I always found it strange that he would dismiss the idea of dragons with a flick of his wrist but so easily came to the conclusion that we were inflicted with a curse, but I went with it. Not to say I actually believed it though. In my opinion, curses were just as ridiculous as the notion of dragons, but it was nice to put the blame on something every now and then.

Escaping from the quicksand of my thoughts, I suddenly swung my bow and quiver over my shoulder, the sweeping movement shattering the fog of depression as if it were a sheet of thin ice, snapping everyone out of their own thoughts and the dark, despairing tunnel they were undoubtedly being lead down. Niruin looked up at me from his seat to my left, traces of his smile returning to the corners of his mouth, and Delvin took another large gulp of mead, though his grip around the tankard's handle was a little tighter than usual.

"Okay, I'm leaving," I announced rather unnecessarily. After that suffocating silence, my craving for fresh air was almost as strong as my craving for Talen-Jei's Velvet Lechance.

"Alright. Don't drink too much, Lightfoot," Delvin said. "I might have a job for you tomorrow."

"...Okay," I replied, nettled.

That name is catching on far too quickly for my liking, I thought, wetting my lips, and the tart look on my face wasn't missed by Niruin who stifled a chuckle.

I shot him a glare as I strode by, yanking his hood off mirthfully with a bit more force than was necessary.

"Hey!" he protested, and I swiped the last chunk of sweet roll from his plate as he fixed his hood, dancing away playfully before he could grab it back. The Bosmer muttered an insult in our native tongue and I replied with a rude gesture before I disappeared through the fake cupboard that connected the Ragged Flagon to the Cistern.

The Cistern had always been vast and cavernous, but today it seemed positively colossal. The space that had been bustling with activity in the past was now destitute and lonely. Mercer Frey, the Guild Master, was pouring over the ledger at the desk in the back as usual, Sapphire was speaking in hushed tones with Rune, and Thrynn's coarse grunts echoed faintly from the training area, but the Cistern was otherwise empty.

I had joined when the Guild was clearly in decline, but I still remembered the days when there wasn't a single lull in the commotion around the Cistern, when the clamor would almost reach the Ragged Flagon and maybe even the Ratway.
Sometimes I liked to think that the Guild members were simply taking a break, but I wasn't really that naïve. That fantasy, along with my usual shameless optimism, was being chiseled away at as the weeks dragged on, and the form the sculptor was creating was turning out to be rather dark and twisted. As hard as it was to face, the reality was that most of the Guild members had either quit or gotten themselves thrown into jail, and there simply weren't enough remaining members to keep the Guild afloat.

A sigh escaped my lips, eloping with the rest of my energy. Suddenly I felt utterly drained.

I could really use a drink or two now, I thought.

Behind me, Mercer made a frustrated noise at his numbers, evoking a wince as I rushed by. It was well known to every member of the Guild that Mercer was perpetually grumpy and easily angered. I learned the hard way that when he was in one of his moods, it was much better for everyone if he was left to his own devices, and he was most certainly in one of his moods right now.

Or seven drinks, I determined, scurrying up the crude ladder that led to the surface with a little more haste.

The evening had settled clear and cold, accompanied by a crispness that only followed after a day of heavy precipitation. I sucked the fresh air into my lungs greedily as I emerged through the small tomb that disguised the entrance to the Cistern, and watched as it steamed out in a delicate cloud as I exhaled.

I paused for a moment in the small graveyard outside the tomb, wrapping my arms around myself and listening to the tomb automatically grate shut behind me. Despite the insulating leather of the standard issue Thieves Guild armour, I still felt chilly.

Wine, I reminded myself, tucking my auburn hair behind my ears. Yes, wine.

With the taste of alcohol ghosting on the tip of my tongue and the thought of the liquid burning as it raced down my throat, I pulled my hood over my head, and with habitual silence, made a bee line for the Bee and Barb.

Whatever Delvin said, I planned to get very drunk tonight.