Crouching low within the ferns of Falkreath Hold's forest, Faelyn inhaled a slow, shaky breath and held it. Eyeing her target, she drew back a nocked arrow and aimed. Following the small deer within her line of sight, she patiently waited until it began grazing lazily. Making sure her aim was true, Faelyn exhaled and released the arrow. For a millisecond, a slight "whizz" could be heard as the arrow flew through the air and found its mark in the neck of the deer. Perfect. Faelyn darted forwards before the deer could stagger away and ended its pain with a swift dagger to the throat. Retrieving her arrow, she wiped it off, placed it back into her quiver and started the lengthy process of gutting and skinning her future meal.
After the meat had been harvested from her kill and the remains buried, Faelyn wrapped it in cloth, slung it over her shoulder and made her way back to the makeshift den she had created for herself the previous night – a small opening in a rock formation, no more than a few minutes' walk away from where she'd spotted the deer. Slipping inside, she dropped off her bow and arrows and set to making a small fire at the entrance of the den. After the fire had been lit and the venison roasted, Faelyn was almost salivating at the thought of sinking her teeth into dinner. First, however, she needed to drink. Kicking leaves and twigs over her fire to put it out, she carried the cooked venison inside and proceeded to walk to a small pool of water which was within vision of the rocks. She quickly splashed some of the cool liquid onto her face, before scooping some up and moving her mouth to her hands, ready to quench her thirst.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, lass."
Faelyn flinched and spun around. The low, smooth voice came from directly behind her. Instinctively unsheathing her dagger, the Bosmer took a step back and snarled at the newcomer. Staring back at her was a tall Nord with shaggy, fiery hair and emerald eyes. His shoulders were broad, with a slim waist and a confident stance about him. The stranger donned leather armour as black as night, with various pouches and pockets, nicks and scars. This man had clearly experienced his fair share of rough-housing. Strapped to his waist was a dagger which appeared to have been crafted from the golden-tinted metal which she had heard could only be forged from the metal found within ancient Dwarven ruins – its tip sharp enough to pierce skin as though it were nothing. Despite Faelyn drawing her weapon, he did not. The most startling aspect of this man, however, was his grin.
"And why is that?" Faelyn squeezed the polished steel dagger in her hand, ready to make a move if needed. She fought to keep her voice even.
"Even children know not to drink from water which isn't flowing. Unfiltered water could give you all kinds of stomach upset, lass. And with your lack of coin, I doubt you could afford a healer" The man's grin widened and he raised an eyebrow, although he backed up a few paces to show Faelyn that he was not looking for a confrontation.
Gods damn it. The man was right. Faelyn sheathed her dagger and asked the man warily, "Who are you? And more importantly, what makes you think I'm a nobody and not a noble?" Faelyn almost spat the latter sentence in an attempt to match the man's unnerved and self-assured demeanour.
He chuckled and leaned against a tree, crossing one leg over the other and eyeing Faelyn. "I've never met a noble who enjoys playing hide and seek inside rock caverns. But I never said you're a nobody, lass. I wouldn't want to cross you and meet the same fate as that deer back there." He chuckled again. "Name's Brynjolf, Thief of Riften." He leaned towards her in a feigned bow and flashed her a wide smile. "Who are you?"
"Faelyn. My name's Faelyn." Was all she could reply.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Faelyn." Brynjolf replied. After a long pause and blank stare from the young woman, he continued. "Alright, lass. You've got questions."
After a lengthy discussion sat at the bar inside Dead Man's Drink, Faelyn discovered that Brynjolf had been running a "job" inside Falkreath when he had seen her leaving the inn and, since she seemed out of place, followed her.
"You mean, you were going to rob me?" Faelyn laughed, as she took a swig from her mead.
"Aye, I was! But like I said, lass, I thought better of it after watching the way you hunt." Brynjolf replied. "Plus, I soon figured you didn't have anything worth taking anyway."
Faelyn rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly, staring into her tankard. Her ears perked when Brynjolf spoke up again after a short silence.
"Ever been to Riften, Faelyn?" The Bosmer shook her head.
"I haven't. I've yet to stray beyond Falkreath Hold. I travelled from Valenwood and through Cyrodiil and eventually ended up at Falkreath. I learned as much about Skyrim as I could, as soon as I found out that my family and I would be moving North." The Nord beside her scratched his head, his brow furrowing.
"You mention family, but I haven't seen any, lass. Where are they now?"
"They went home." Faelyn said matter-of-factly. "After about a month of staying in a makeshift shack we built in the woods, I was the only one who fell in love with the land. They left, and I needed to make a life for myself, so I stayed. And now, here I am." She grinned, sipping her mead again. "Now, tell me your story, Brynjolf. Who are you really?"
It seemed as though Brynjolf had been waiting for Faelyn to ask that question, and he snapped back with an almost-rehearsed reply. "I run an organization in Riften, and we could use somebody like you." When she frowned, he leaned closer to her and, with a hushed voice, continued.
"Ever heard of the Thieves Guild, lass?"