AN: I wrote this a few weeks ago, but I didn't feel like I should have posted it because of my other stories. BUT, as I am applying to roleplay Brand-Shei on the "Call of Time" website, I grabbed the opportunity with both hands and decided to post this up. Enjoy!
Chapter 1 – Identity Crisis
Brand-Shei took a long, hard look into the reflection in the lake. He saw a Dunmer, shown by his grime-coloured complexion, his empty, black eyes and his slightly bent, but still pointed, ears. His not-quite-shoulder-length, jet black hair was pushed back carelessly, showing off his receding hairline and his protruding brow that swelled like an overripe tomato. His eyes were narrow, squinting, with many wrinkles and bags hanging underneath, threatening to drop off of his face altogether. He had a strange nose: a narrow bridge, but extremely wide nostrils that flared upwards slightly. Just under his nose was a grimace, made from cracked, slight lips. The corners permanently shadowed downwards, creases made into the canvas of his face through years of a rough life and struggle. The rest of his face was just a long, narrow expanse of chin.
You wouldn't expect someone who was so frank with himself to have a problem with his own identity.
He splashed a handful of the murky, lake water onto his face, rubbing the sides of his nose as he did. He watched the space were his face used to be, now an unstable plane of dancing light. He smiled in the irony and shook his head slightly, before dunking the buckets into the lake. Carrying one bucket in each hand, he waddled back into Riften through the main gate. The sun shone brightly, bearing a happy, bright light on the town. But even bright blue skies and a hot, summer sun could not wash out the sheer depression in the town. On every corner you had a burly Nord giving you a dirty look or a thieving little fetcher trying to slip his hand into your pockets. The honest folk lived in fear every day that they'll have a thief or a murderer at their doorstep or by their bedside, and the dishonest were the perpetrators. In Riften, it seemed like you were rewarded for being a bad, corrupt person.
Brand-Shei continued to wobble with the two bucket, his legs so far apart you could fit a horse underneath him. He made his way past the bridge over to the market and up to the door of Haelga's Bunkhouse, a grand wooden fortress for the working class of Riften. He backed up against the door slowly, following the swing of the door until it hit the wall behind him with a small bump.
"I told you not to bang the bloody door!" Haelga shouted, clenching her fists tightly.
He mumbled his apology, before adding cheerfully, "I got you the water you wanted."
"Put them by the fire." She replied flatly, her back now to him as she walked towards the basement.
Brand-Shei, not even fractionally disheartened by Haelga's bitterness, plonked the buckets, as instructed, by the fire, and plonked himself next to Tythis Ulen, not in a dissimilar fashion to how he plonked the buckets of water by the fire.
"Hey, Tythis!" He chirped, picking up an unclaimed plate of bread and goat's cheese.
"Hello, Brandy." Tythis smiled pleasantly through a mouthful of bread. "What's it like out, today?"
"Nice, I guess," he replied, slicing through the loaf. "Apparently, another thief got killed just out on the docks last night." He lay down a slab of cheese on the slice and bit into it. The burst of flavour felt like bliss, but anything tasted great when you could only to afford to eat once a day.
"Typical." Tythis rolled his piercing red eyes and shook his head, which made the high ponytail on his head swing in rhythm. He hurriedly stood up, licking his fingers. "I'd better go, the demand for fish peaks hugely just before Sun's Rest."
"Of course, of course," Brand-Shei nodded, swallowing down a hard lump of crust and turning to his friend sharply. "And just making sure, we are still going on that picnic-walk-thing one Sun's Rest, the lot of us."
"Yeah..." Tythis stretched his answer slightly, knowing just how many things could go wrong when a bunch of misfit labourers went out on a relaxing picnic. "Yeah, we are, no worries," he added, trying his best to remove the worried expression on Brand-Shei's face.
"That's good." He nodded, feeling exactly the same as Tythis. "Have a good day, anyway!" He stood and bellowed out to the door, which was then answered with the slam of the door. The hand he waved to his friend with curled up slightly, before he sat back down and continued with his day's meal. He glanced over to the clock on the mantelpiece, munching happily. The hands both met at the bottom of the face. Plenty of time, he thought as he swallowed another scratchy mouthful.
Of course, time flying as quick as it did in Brand-Shei's free time, he soon found himself walking to his market stall with Grelka.
"I swear, one day, I'm going to leave Skyrim," she griped, like she did every other morning, "the stupid civil war, all the political shenanigans and now dragons, supposedly mythical beings, reappearing is all too much for me." After receiving a long, uncomfortable lull, she suddenly snapped viciously: "Don't you want to go back to Morrowind?"
Brand-Shei could not remember how many times he told this to Grelka, but it was enough to make his usually unbreakable face crack into a frown.
"I was raised in the Black Marsh. I have never seen or lived in Morrowind in my entire life."
"Fine, whatever," Grelka dismissed him carelessly, before waving her hand as a goodbye and stepping into the Bee and Barb. She ate there every day because she could afford to. Brand-Shei took a breath in to say something but then, only just realising he was on his own when he saw Grelka's arm slip into the inn, snapped his mouth shut and continued to saunter up to his stall.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Brynjolf's accented voice bellowed. "Is your skin rough, itchy or undesirable in any way? Well, you're in luck! For the miracle serum will solve all of your skin problems!"
Brand-Shei watched the hoards of people drift towards him, their faces filled with enlightenment. Very few things made Brand-Shei angry, but one thing was Brynjolf. His malicious smoothness, infatuating the women with his "miracle" products and "saviour" services. He'd probably get more money and demand from being a prostitute, Brand-Shei grumbled in his mind, dusting the leaves off of his stall. The day itself had been frantic (especially for the scheming Brynjolf), it being the day before Sun's Rest. He didn't see what the big deal of working on Sun's Rest was, but there was a hefty fine from the Merchant's Guild if you opened up shop on that day, so he decided it would be more profitable not to work.
"I'll take one!" A woman called out.
"Give me two!" Another wailed.
"I want ten!" A gruff, man's voice shouted over the crowd, causing Brand-Shei's eyebrow to shoot up in disbelief and irony. He gazed down at his products: a small pile of iron ingots, a couple of cave bear pelts, a sabre cat pelt, a steel dagger, an iron war-axe, a bagful of assorted gems, a few lockpicks, a random selection of cutlery and, the pinnacle of his merchandise, some filled soul gems. Though his problem did not lie in the amount or the type of merchandise, as he had plenty in the boxes and barrels that surrounded him. No, it was the fact he couldn't tear the customers away from the other stalls and lure them to his. He wasn't into the shouting that the other merchants did, so he usually remained neglected.
"Hey, you awake?" A female voice asked.
The Dunmer snapped his head up to face where the voice came from. He recognised the Nord immediately. I mean, who didn't recognise the Dragonborn?
"Oh, sorry ma'am," Brand-Shei giggled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. What was the Dragonborn doing a dump like Riften? And what was she doing at a pathetic stall like mine? Brand-Shei pondered.
"The name's Helga, what's yours?" She thrusted a hand towards him, smiling amiably. He noticed all the heads turn towards her when she stated her name, some in shock, some in excitement. Some in both.
"Brand-Shei," he replied nervously, slightly taken aback by the sudden introduction, shaking her hand with his elbow digging into his own ribs because her arm was too close to him.
"Oh..." She loosened her grip slightly, knotting her brow. "That's an awfully strange name for a Dunmer."
"Well, that's because I was brought up Argonian," he spoke with all earnestness, not hesitating to hide away his past from this complete stranger. "Abandoned as a baby, you see. A kindly Argonian family in the Black Marsh took great care of me the day they found me."
The Dovahkiin cocked her head to one side in interest (and a hint of sympathy). "Don't you ever get curious as to who your parents are? And where they are?"
Brand-Shei shrugged his shoulders and his mouth twitched into a small grimace. "I get curious, but I'm stuck behind this stall all day, trying to make ends meet. I can't leave because I haven't got the money..." He trailed off. Noticing how sad he was beginning to sound, he perked up suddenly to try and brighten spirits. "But what does it matter? I lived a good, honest life, what more do I need?"
The Dragonborn, still not convinced that Brand-Shei was actually happy, put her fists on her hips and puffed out a chest into a heroic stance. "Perhaps there is a way to find out. Were you left with anything when you were left? Perhaps a mysterious necklace or a magic ring?"
The Dunmer chuckled heartily at the Nord's sarcasm, though he cut off mid-laugh on seeing her stern scowl. "I guess there was the House Telvanni symbol on the blankets I was swaddled in-."
"Excellent! I will get on the case immediately!" She clapped her hands in excitement before turning around and leaping towards the gate out of Riften before he could get another word out.
Brand-Shei stared at the space she was stood for a while, in mild awe, before continuing to tend to his stall, not aware of the adventure ahead of him.