The Saiga of the Seven Kingdoms.
Luthién:
The past weeks have been horrendous. I needed to escape from Whiterun. Every turn, every corner, every face, every last speck of dust laying around alluded me to the distant yet warm memories of Kodlak. I tried everything I could, oh, but divines! It was not enough. I parted ways with the companions, only temporarily. I left Vilkas in charge, for he is my most trusted friend. Before I left, I felt a compelling sense of anxious separation with the Companions. Family never meant anything to me, in fact even shuddering the word "family" made me shake in my shrouded boots. I had no longing for a family…but the Companions-I am eternally bounded to them now, and will forever be in their debt.
I have little to no comprehension of what responsibilities a Harbinger must propose-but in due time I shall learn. I know it may seem like I am running away, but I swear by the name of Ysgramor himself that I am not. I inquire my own time to grieve, to recuperate. Everything around me has been venturing with such haste-I withstand the habitual feeling of staggering, even hindering-whispering to the divines that I cannot breathe. However, no one heeds me. My shout is mute and my humanity is lifeless.
No matter, I have taken the sovereignty of visiting the lands of Riften. Associates have mentioned the town, and I quote, "Dreary and mundane, but if you're looking for the septim, Riften is the most susceptible hold. It reeks of greed. The guards are quick to look the other way as well, so don't hesitate to step out of your comfort zone every once in a blue moon."
How could one be told of such a thin-skinned city and proceed to not go there?
I should reach Riften within no longer than a day or two. I pray to Sotha Sil that my nearer future shelters a variant fate…and I fathom my trust in Riften.
Bless divines, alas I've executed my journey to the home of the glorious and the gluttonous. Shame on me, I should not be so quick to judge a city; much less the people in it based on vague accusations of (likeliest of the most) false and suggestive remarks. On first impression, it seems quite foggy…but I suppose it adds onto the hovering aura of mystery that clouds over this town-I presume it must live up to the reputation and rumours. However, I felt a little bit dead and desired endless amounts of mead and perhaps a soft warm bed to go along with it.
Present Time:
"Excuse me, I-"
"What is it, Elf?" He interrupts with an oblivious ill-temper.
"Where is the town's inn?"
"Walk up ahead and cross the wooden planked bridge; the first door is the inn. If you plan on renting a room, speak to Keevara."
"Thank you." I forced the words out of my mouth.
"Hmph." The Riften Guard resumes to his post and continues to divert himself from his work.
The housing seemed quite nice. Cobblestone and wood mixed and matched together created a feeble attempt to look grand. Nonetheless, still nice, however agreeably a little mundane.
"Are you also a stranger in town?" A woman of, I suppose, Breton descent, approached me.
"Define stranger."
"My name is Mjoll the Lioness, but you should call me Mjoll. I used to be like you, you see. A traveler, an adventurer. I stumbled into this city years back after undertaking a wound to the chest. My longtime friend, Aerin took me into deep care and I've never left sense. It's good to see fire and passion still flows through the blood of some."
She spoke with endless excitement and I was doubting she'd ever stop, only to continue to the prequel of her life story. I didn't mean to seem rude but I was not rich with time-I continued to my initial direction- "The Bee and the Barb."
I walk in, wetting my lips whilst looking to and forth. Kevlar? Kevara? What was that damn name?
"Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass?"
A man attired in fine clothes approaches me. He's fair looking. Fiery hair and eyes that flicker a millennium of shades compiled of a striking emerald green. His build was muscular. Broad shoulders-but not too broad. He was quite tall as well and his stance spoke volumes of confidence.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm saying you've got the coin but you didn't earn a septum of it honestly. I can tell."
"How could you possibly know that?"
His accent was distinct and I couldn't help but find it oddly…attractive?
"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass. The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway." He smirked and a certain charm gleamed through. His nose wrinkled and for the slightest second his ginger dusted freckles were exposed in the firelight.
"My wealth is none of your business." I snapped.
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, lass. Wealth is my business." His demeanor was calm but utterly transparent. It bothered me. I remained silent and waited for table-turning question.
"Maybe you'd like a taste?" His tone stepped down almost three octaves lower and his eyelids became heavy with secrecy.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked. I asked.
"I've got a bit of an errand to preform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work extra hands are well-paid." His voice lowered.
"So tell me this, where are your well-paid extra hands?"
A chuckle rolled off his tongue and glided into the syrupy mist-coated air. It sounded symphonic.
"My line of work requires those extra hands to be everywhere. So what do you say?" He placed his hands on his hips and unblinkingly swayed on his back heels.
I suppose this is what I essentially came here for…
"What do I have to do?"
He flashed a glowing smile and his piercing emerald eyes locked with mine and composed chemistry within the fleeting moment.
"It's simple…"
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