My name is Flavius Dorensii. I have started this account for the most unfortunate reasons. You see, I used to be an Imperial officer. Unfortunatly, I was caught... "acquiring" a shapphire from the commander's quarters. So I had to flee, you know, to keep my head.

I found myself, after many days of travel, far from the Imperial City, in a little burg called Riften, in the province of Skyrim. Riften is small, swampy little town on the edge of a large lake. It has a murky atmosphere and the stench of crime and corruption can be felt trough it's streets. I had spent most of my money on the journey north, and so I found myself penniless in this strange town, with my bowels beginning to loudly show their discontent.

Fortunately, I had been able to hold on to some of the tools of my trade. Late at night, while on the street, I spotted a princely manor, seemingly deserted, on the road leading to the market. There, I tought to myself, was a worthy target for my less honest activities. I sneaked trough the back alleys to the far side of the manor. Dealing with the lock on the rear gate was a simple matter. I could not open the back door, but fortunately there was a small balcony on the second floor. A length of rope later, and I was up on the balcony. The door leading inside was not even locked. I entered the manor and looked around. My heart gave a small jump. There was an armed man, apparently in a drunken state, going trough a desk. I was in luck, as his back was turned to me. it was the last mistake that man ever made. I sneaked behind him, my trusty dagger in hand, grabbed him, and slit his throat.

It was far from the first murder I committed, but now I had to move swiftly. I could hear voices coming from below. Apparently, some gentlemen had the same idea as me. I searched the upper floor of the manor, seeing many valuables that were, unfortunately, too large to pocket. I did, however, manage to find more than three hundred septims, and a set of unconspicuous clothes I could wear with dignity among civilized folk. I slipped out of the manor trough the balcony, changed my clothes in an alley, and made my way to the local tavern.

Ahh... The Bee and Barb! What a dump! But a very interesting one, especially for a man in my line of work. Posing as a merchant from Cyrodill, I rented a small room in the upper floor of the dive, and used a small part of my newly found wealth to fill my belly with a nourishing meal. When I retired from the common room, I spent some time planning my next move. I knew I had to thread carefully. Listening to the rumours floating about in the common room, I had learned that Riften was the base of operations for the Thieves Guild in this part of the Empire. The gentlemen I had encontered at the manor suddenly had an identity. I was sure they would not appreciate competition, and they seemed to be in favor with the local authorities. I would not be able to survive long in this town by thievery, and so I had to find other ways of making money. Then it ocurred to me that Riften was a trading port. Perhaps an angle could be found there. I decided to spend the next day inspecting the docks.

As things turned out, there was indeed an angle. Riften has become famous for it's Black Briar mead. I found an "employee" in the docks who worked in the distillery. After a friendly chat, we were able to set up a nice score. You see, that distillery had it's quota of... displaced mead. And my new friend was in need of some coin. We worked out a deal. I'd give him two hundred septims, and he would give me two barrels of the stuff. He already had a buyer lined up, in nearby Ivarstead. I rented a small boat and waited until night fell. The "employee" was already waiting for me at the docks with the barrels. After I opened the barrels to make sure they were actually full of mead, we loaded them onto the boat. I then paid him, got on the boat, and made my way to Ivarstead, in the dead of the night.