25.04.2016 EDIT: I updated the title name finally as I discovered the error some time ago but it was too far in to change it. I'm going through chapter by chapter to fix up a few errors (wouldn't surprised if I skip some again.)

Chapter 1 – Introductions.

I'm sitting at the Ragged Flagon, having an ale. My fingers follow the cold curves of the tankard as I slouch back in my chair in my solid little corner by myself in the dreary, barely lit, sorry of an excuse of a tavern in the infamy of my Thieves Guild gear. This was a fragment of the world that was surrounded in a drip: humid, moist and the smell of the sweat of everyone man and woman in the cistern.

Some might say this isn't the best life for me but Talos' be damned if I didn't say I'm thankful to be alive. I'm just a pretentious and sneaky bitch and I'm proud of it. I've been part of the Thieves Guild for several months now. There are days where people in general just piss me off while others I'm having the time of my life.

Maybe you don't care about my life story, maybe you're curious how this light brown haired nord girl with the angry light blue eyes, that was born into an ordinary family, got wrapped up in this rag tag group of the most cunning group of men and women this side of Tamriel. Don't worry about a tragic past here people, my parents are still alive, I'd wager, tending to the farm in Northern Cyrodiil. Average, uneventful.

My memory is a little fuzzy on how I got here though...I can tell you the rest of that part of my life was my head on the chopping block and some how surviving and execution and...maybe not. No. I'm not going that way. That's the tragic part.

I feel like a younger girl, saying I'm not like other nords. While it is expected that we value honour and tradition above all us and that we're fighters to our last breath. Noble enough, but even I'd admit sometimes it'd get so ridiculously stupid that when I heard about the Civil War, I was just like, seriously people. Put your damn pride away. I'm sure there are way more important issues to deal with.

I don't know the whole story behind it, hearing it in other conversations during my travels and from my fellow Guild members. I don't give two septims about the war. All I care about is living from one day to the next and earning enough coin to keep it that way.

Your brow is furrowing isn't it? Where do I fit in with the Thieves Guild. Do I hear you say that why don't you just find some other way to make coin. Why don't you just go back to farming?

Why? Farming was as boring, repetitive and just...ugh...a rebellion! Hah! How cliché!

I become repulsed to the outright boring renditions of life. But, you say, I could have wound up with the Companions! At least they're favoured and well liked by the community and make plenty of coin. With plenty of honor and drink and feasting and all that nordic crap.

To be truthful, it could have ended that way. It was appealing at first. After...Helgen I did end up at Whiterun. But now I'm in Riften, getting plenty of coin. So shut up and keep your opinions to yourself...

But to those not questioning me just yet, good. I like you already. I think we can be friends. Friends let other friends on secrets so they are connected. A series of exclusivity between you and me. I've never had a friend before. Had friends in Cyrodiil but Skyrim is full of naught and frustrated old men and women. You work or you get neglected and left to rot. So you put effort in and make yourself worth while. Then you make friends...brothers...sisters. You know the fuzzy feeling you get when you're close to someone. No not that fuzzy feeling. I meant that...never mind. All you need to know is while hard work is respected, it can also been forgotten.

The Thieves Guild were sceptical of me joining their insipid ranks. Hey, it's not my fault Mr. Bigshot Brynjolf roped me into his scheming and plotting and all that bullcrap. I'd broken the law, aye, but I got away with it. He even seemed impressed that it actually went well. So I was sceptical of the Guild. So they were just jealous instead. Hah.

I never took it to heart of course. I'm a loner at heart but that's what made the work so good. Sneaking around, taking things by myself. Then getting my fair share at the end of it. Ironic isn't it? I do as I'm told by the bounds of the Guild but not by the laws of the realm. I never have to hurt anyone...well, not physically anyway. And I learn. I learn every single day and I become damn good at what I do. I work smarter, not harder.

Never really cared that no one besides Delvin or Vex talk to me for work, Vekel for the drinks and Tonilia for exchanging 'goods.' I was fine with it. An unspoken arrangement. Work never became boring. It was always exciting with the uncertain risk of getting caught. Often got the blood pumping.

I trained originally with several others to ensure that I'd survive and get through jobs quicker with their valued techniques. I practice with the locks in the training room and practiced with my bow in the training room, hoping I'd never actually get to use it. I'll try not to. The Guild frowns upon deaths on the job. I told them that they were worrying too much. I hate blood. Blood sickens me.

Reminds me of the stubborn pride of my people.

I retied my hair up into my pony tail. I always fiddled with my hair. Girly I know. To be considered feminine, I'd have to pray to Dibella to give me the gift of beauty. Beauty is useful for my line of work. Vex and Sapphire could vouch for that, meaning you can trick men into practically giving things to you. I'd have to admit those two were quite the catch themselves. I don't bend that way, I'm just giving those two the compliments they deserve. They put up with so much shit themselves.

Vex gets' constantly hit on by Delvin and Sapphire by Vipir. Me? I avoid the others like they were skeevers. They mean well sometimes but I know better than to avoid grown up lusting men who think more with their downstairs contraptions than the organs in their heads.

Brynjolf was the quiet one though. If I have to say he was the most levelled headed one besides Guildmaster Mercer. Not to say Delvin isn't, but he has his quirks. Considers the guild, 'cursed' for luck. Everyone has their theories but I make sure to make them look good.

I don't hate these people, don't ever mistake my displeasure for them for hatred. If I hated them I would have isolated myself elsewhere and gone off to another town for work. Probably would have been a bard! Nah, just kidding. But I have to admit the luxury would be nice. I just would not prefer to open my mouth.

Not again anyway.

Yeah so you would wager I don't talk much to others if you're smart enough to read between the lines. It's true, I'll admit it. But so much had gone on it's quite painful to talk about. But since we're going to be friends, I suppose I can let you in on something.

Helgen started it. The only thing I can say is that the image of bed, bleeding red eyes encased in giant, black, spiked monstrosity that put the fear of the Gods in me. Since then, I'd been reluctant to do anything. I never had anything planned out until the Imperial, Hadvar (probably the nicest one there, the only thing I can point out was his hesitation to put me to the axe. Why in Oblivion...never mind, not important.) navigated me and instructed me throughout our escape from the...incident.

I never fully recovered from it. I took the information to Whiterun. Met the Jarl. I'm wary of authority but you know, if it'd helped. I wasn't going to leave the poor sods in Riverwood open to an attack like that. (Since Riverwood was the next town after Helgen, they were most like susceptible to an attack)

Anyway, Jarl gets me to do a few jobs and you know, easy. Now, Draugr I could handle. My belief is the dead should stay dead and that was that. Arkay did not mean for the life, death then life again. Seriously it does not work that way. You don't know how many stories I've read where bad things happen with necromancy. Yeah, there's my excuse for not going to the College of Winterhold. You were thinking about that weren't you?

Aye, I gave no indication on that topic, just forget it now. Back to the story.

Now, at that stage there was obviously more going on that I'd care to know about. Retrieval isn't hard. I'm pretty capable with a bow. I used to go hunting with my father. I have good efficiency and aim and despise wasting arrows so I make every shot count.

But...no. I'm...not talking about it. I want to but I can't. Seriously I can't.

Stop pressuring me. Quit it.

Okay, you made me sigh, a well known sign of defeat. Very well. I'm just going tell you the short version. I was ordered to go to the Western Watchtower. On the account of a rumour a soldier that had just been there. I was like, okay. Sounded simple enough. It was amazing that the Jarl became fascinated by the fact that I was some magical figure he could trust. So went there and...

Stuff happened. Crazy, messed up, eldritch magic just...

I'd fled to Riften. I hated the entire experience. So none of this makes sense to you? What in Oblivion forced my hand? What is it that pushed me in a bizarre direction? Reactions are reactions and it was just unpredicted. Simple as that.

Oh come on we just became friends. You want to know more? By Talos fine! I'll tell you...then let's head back into the kick of things. Oh, I never told you name either. Sorry.

My name is Petra and I have a pathological fear of Dragons.