Farrell

"DOH-VAH-KIIN!" A boy named Tobarik shouted out into the muggy air of Riften.

The screaming children of the orphanage put a sour mood onto Farrell which was already dampened by the rainy day. The sound of pattering feet echoed as children chased each other like cats and dogs. Farrell hid under the awning of the orphanage laying atop a short stone wall. In an attempt to ignore the cooing of children, he focused on his knife. His fingers ran through the glowing red ridges of a charcoal colored Daedric Dagger, it was just as sharp as when he had first gotten it.

"I am the Dragonborn I accept the call!" Shouted a girl named Bodyni.

"The Dragonborn wouldn't be a snobby Dark Elf girl, dummy! He'd be a strong Nord, not afraid of any smelly giant lizards!" Tobarik teased.

"Yeah!" A boy named Scale-Tongue exclaimed . "And the Dragonborn has to be a man! Shouting wouldn't be as awesome if it was just a woman shouting. But how can the Dragonborn not have scales? He's a Dragon!"

"Farrell!" The children called in unison.

"Tell them that an elf can be the Dragonborn!" Bodyni wined

"An Argonian! it's the only thing that makes sense" said Scale-Tongue

Farrell sighed at the children. Being the eldest in the orphanage he was looked up to as the main influence. He liked feeling in charge, but he didn't like the constant barrage of questions he would get. He scratched his short brown hair thinking of an answer. "You need to have the blood of a Dragonborn to wear the Amulet of Kings. So they're most likely to be a man, not a mer."

Bodyni pouted at his response.

"The Dragonborn couldn't be an Argonian either, they only have the soul of a dragon, not the appearance."

Scale-Tongue crossed his arms.

"Haha! So that means the Dragonborn has to be a Nord! Like you and me, Farrell!"

"Actually, that's not true either. The Amulet of Kings was for Cyrodillic Emperors not Jarls and High Kings"

"No way! Don't forget the statues of Talos! He's a true Nord if I ever seen one"

"Talos was an Atmoran though, that's not even a Nordic name, he's from an old long dead race. And his son was an Imperial, so The Divine most likely favor Nede descendants, instead of the Atmora descendants."

"Then the Dragonborn will help take over Skyrim? Like the Imperials are."

"Most likely."

The children sombered out at Farrell's words. Constance Michel, the new Headmistress of the Honorhall Orphanage, came over to speak to the children. Farrell liked her much more than their old Headmistress Grelod the Kind—who was only kind by name. Constance Michel was tanned skinned and well kept in appearance. She would prefer Farrell to see her as a mother figure, but he still remembered his family too fondly for that. The memory of the Thalmor ripping them away to be murdered for the worship of Talos still vividly haunted him. They protected him making sure the Thalmor had no idea of his existence. Since that day, Farrell kept his parent's Amulet of Talos on wherever he went, perhaps to tempt fate—though he wasn't bold enough to proudly present it over his garments. He vehemently blamed Ulfric Stormcloak for the destruction of his family seven years ago. Were it not for him the worship of Talos wouldn't be so viciously interrupted, and his family would still be alive.

"Look at you, fifteen years old and still lounging about." Constance began reprimanding Farrell as usual. "Don't forget; come sixteen I can't keep taking care of you. I still have a spot held so you can start working here. That is, if you stop lazing around."

"No thanks. I'd rather not become an early father with twenty kids." Farrell responded.

"Well it's this or join the Stormcloaks. Your choice."

"I'd rather join the Imperials. And be the one to send my blade through Ulfric's throat."

"You hush your tone! What if somebody heard you talking like that? Ulfric would be the least of your concerns then!"

Farrell rolled his eyes and spun himself to his feet. Without saying anything else he walked into the downpour of rain. Farrell always disliked living in Riften, he couldn't to trust anybody he came across, especially with Maven-Black Briar controlling things. Jarl Laila barely even stood as an emblem of Riften against Maven's influence and wealth. The city set atop canals leading out to Lake Honrich, the edges of the city were called Dryside and housed most of Riften's residents. Plankside not only housed the Honorhall Orphange but the market, shops, fish hatcheries and the inns. Underneath Plankside were the Riften Canals, if you went too far along the canals you would find a few dead bodies floating near the bottom. The contrast from his life before Riften was still staggering to him. He was never rich by any means when he lived in the western mountains of Skyrim in Markarth. he never took his average wealth for granted, and respected his parents greatly. The scars of the Thalmor attack eight years ago still felt like only yesterday to him.

When Grelod the Kind was still operating the Orphanage, she refused to let anybody adopt the children. By he time Farrell had aged to 12 under her entrapment, Aventus Arentino, a boy only a couple years younger than Farrell, had gone out to request the Dark Brotherhood's services. The result was a Khajiit in white fur that came knocking on the door late one night. Farrell remembered the children being sent I bed early that night, and how much of a gentleman the Khajiit seemed before he stabbed Grelod through the chest with a Daedric dagger. The Khajiit gave Farrell the dagger afterward and told him to remember that day. Aventus never returned, Farrell believed he was either killed in the wild, or decided to stay at his old home in Windhelm. Farrell had been ready to leave the Orphanage since Aventus got out, he wanted to go with him but was convinced to stay to protect the other orphans from getting beaten too roughly by Grelod for not one, but two orphans escaping. Adventure was all he truly wanted, he read books to learn about all of Nirn, and to imagine himself away from the dull life that he was given. He would often daydream about becoming the Dragonborn himself, though he would never admit it to the other children. Hearing and feeling the Greybeards shake Skyrim was an experience that he was happy to have lived for, but he knew the Dragonborn and him would never cross paths so long as he was stuck in Riften. The Rift truly was the farthest away from any other Hold, the closest neighboring city being Eastmarch's Windhelm to the north, unless you counted the small villages of Ivarstead and Kynesgrove. Nobody hung around in The Rift for too long, Eastmarch would captivate people well before they even went far enough south. Even the Stormcloaks didn't like leaving Eastmarch unless Ulfric told them too.

Farrell headed off to the Marketplace. Though he never had money to really buy anything he'd ever want, he liked to browse through everything around him or attempt to listen to the jingling pockets of citizens waiting to make a purchase. Sometimes the shops would have objects or artifacts from different provinces in the world of Nirn, Farrell had a hobby of matching where everything might have come from based on appearance. He started eavesdropping on the conversation from a young nord woman standing at a market stall talking to a Dark Elf.

"Svana, I heard that Sibbi was put in jail. What happened?" The Dark Elf said.

Svana had a saddened look upon her face. "Oh.. Brand-Shei.. They say... well, they say he murdered someone. Something to do with Svidi."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen Svidi in a while. Wait... he didn't..."

"No, it was Svidi's brother, Wulfur. She's in hiding now. Somewhere far from here I'd suspect."

"If he wasn't a Black-Briar, I'd march right over to the jail and teach Sibbi some manners... but then I suppose I'd end up like Wulfur."

"I don't know.. I need to go back to Haelga, she'll be annoyed if I stay on lunch too long."

The woman scurried off taking away Farrell's entertainment. He continued past the stalls until he noticed Brynjolf was setting up a stall of his own with bundles of potions. Brynjolf was sort of a mentor to Farrell and taught him many lessons about living on the streets of Riften. He often told Farrell he saw an abundance of potential in him. Farrell's fascination brought him toward the shop, the potions had no labels; only a reddish liquid settled inside.

"I'd be careful where I put my fingers lad, never know what might happen." Brynjolf's accent came out strongly, Farrell could tell that Brynjolf's parents used to live in Morrowind with the Dark Elves, the Nords there were much different than Skyrim's. "Might even get another burn scar around your other eye, this time it won't be from messing with elven magic. Although, the darkened skin does bring out the blue in your eyes."

Byrnjolf was one of the least intimidating people of Riften appearance-wise, but Farrell knew better. He was a conman through and through. He resembled Farrell in only his hair color. He had a soft jawline and was skinnier than the average Nord, he carried around a golden dagger that he claimed was Dwarven made, but Farrell wasn't sure if he could trust him on that. Farrell was gifted a fine set of clothing by him since he had grown well out of his old clothes, and Grelod wasn't giving him anything new anytime soon. The clothes used to be much baggier, gained a better fit now that Farrell had grown a few inches.

"What's in these vials?" Farrell asked.

"It's a powerful acid. Can melt through dragon's bone."

"You're a liar."

"The city's shortest pickpocket calling me a liar?"

"Dragons haven't even been around for more than four days, there's no way you've made anything to counter them this fast."

"That's part of the excitement, lad. Nobody knows anything about these beasts! The price is the allure of an unknown item, especially to the wealthy."

"So it's just another one of your scams for quick coins, like the Wisp Essence."

"That was a simple misunderstanding! Today's 'scam' is for a good cause. I'm actually glad you're here today. You've been practicing your lock picking like I asked?"

"That and how to steal the locks to practice with in the first place."

"I knew you were a lad with a good head on his shoulders. That is if those books are teaching you anything. I've got your first job ready if you're up for it."

"It can't be that hard, nobody would expect a child."

"This one is more of a reverse action to what you're used to. You won't be pickpocketing, you'll instead be placing something into somebody's pocket. I'll make up a speech for these potions, and try to give you however much time you need to get the job done, just don't get caught."

"What exactly am I doing?"

"Simple... I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from the strongbox under his stall. Once you have it, place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."

"Since when were you concerned about other stalls?"

"There's someone that wants to see him put out of business permanently. That's all you need to know."

"As long as it gets me some money, I'm in."

"Then let's begin." Brynjolf moved underneath the sign of his stall and begins shouting. "Everyone! Everyone! Gather 'round! I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention!"

"Come on Brynjolf, what is it this time?" Brand-Shei said.

"Patience Brand-Shei, this is a rare opportunity and I wouldn't want you to get left out."

Brynjolf gave a slight head nod to Farrell to begin the task. The crowd moved to surround the square, making it easy to get behind Madesi's stall unnoticed. A small wooden sliding door stopped Farrell from entering the the stall's storage. He peered through the holes revealing the strongbox barely hidden amongst a variety of jewels and ingots.. Farrell pulled out one of the makeshift picks that Brynjolf had been making for him and easily picked the lock of the door. The clicks of the lockpick were hidden by the rain and the commotion of the crowd questioning the validity of Brynjolf's elixir which he was now claiming to be Falmerblood. The strongbox was much easier to pick than Farrell had imagined, if somebody from the crowd caught him they'd think he had a key ready from how simple it was. Underneath more expensive jewels and ingots Farrell had found the ring. He closed the door as casual as a thief could before pushing himself back into the crowd.

Brynjolf had said so much about the Elixir that people were actually considering to purchase it. Brand Shei was near the middle of the crowd, and Farrell pretended to be rudely pushing to the front while he swiftly planted the ring into the pocket of Brand-Shei. Brand-Shei gave a glare of anger at him but didn't seem to suspect a thing. Brynjolf saw Farrell pushing to the front of the crowd and began to end his speech.

"Well I see that my time is up, come back tomorrow if you wish to buy, I'll have plenty more for all of you to purchase, so long as you have the Twenty Septims in hand!"

The crowd moved away from Brynjolf's stall. Some in excitement, others in denial of the Elixir's validity.

"Did you get it done?" Brynjolf asked.

Farrell Smirked. "Sure did, easier than I expected."

"Looks like I chose the right person for the job." Brynjolf pulled out a few Septims from his pocket. "Your payment as promised."

Farrell took the coins in hand and lifted one up to look at it, it wasn't the first time Brynjolf had paid him, but he loved the sight of the gold everytime. On one side was the head of Tiber Septim himself with words swirling around the edges that read The Empire is Law-The Law is Sacred. The other side had the Empire's Sigil and read Praise be Akatosh-and all the Divines. Reading the passage all made Farrell frown everytime. All but Talos, He always thought.

"The way things have been going around here it's a relief that our plan went off without a hitch." Brynjolf said.

Farrell put the Septims in his pocket. "Riften hasn't been a place where luck thrives."

"Certainly not, and that's double for my organization. I suppose that is just how it goes. Never mind that though. You did the job and without anybody realizing you did it. If you think you can handle it there's more where that came from."

"I don't have much time left at the orphanage. Any more coin for a roof over my head, I'll take."

"All right, then. Let's put that to the test. The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath the canals... a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we'll see if you've really got what it takes."

Brynjolf walked off into the crowd and disappeared. Madesi was immediately in distress upon returning to his stall.

"No, no this isn't right! Where's my ring?" Madesi shouted.

Farrell's heart dropped from still being around the scene of this crime, he slowly started to move away.

"It was him!" A beggar cried out.

Farrell turned to see the beggar pointing at Brand-Shei.

"I saw him take the ring while ol' Brynjolf was talking his Elixir up!" The begger woman continued to accuse Brand-Shei.

"Brand-Shei?" Madesi said in confusion.

"Ridiculous!" Brand-Shei responded. "How could I have taken the ring? I was in the crowd the whole time!"

"Guards! Guards!" Madesi shouted.

A patrol of guards hurried around the marketplace. "What's the commotion about?"

"That man stole a ring from my stall!" Madesi said.

Brand-Shei moved nearer to Madesi and attempted to confront him but was stopped by the patrol.

"Turn out your pockets Brand-Shei." The Guard commanded.

"Of course I have no problem, I haven't stolen a thing in my life!" Brand-Shei emptied his pockets, pulling out a few Septims and soul-gems until he found the ring Farrell planted. "What's this ring? I've never owned this!"

"That's my ring! Guards have this man arrested!" Madesi ordered.

"This is insane I didn't steal anything! I never saw this ring before in my entire life!" Brand-Shei shouted.

The Guards pulled out their swords. "We can do this one of two ways. You can walk with me to the keep, or I drag your lifeless body, your choice."

"But..I... very well." Brand-Shei conceded and allowed the guards to bind his wrists to be hauled off to jail.

Farrell stood in disbelief at what he'd seen. He looked back at the beggar and who simply smiled before returning to her usual nagging for coin or food. Farrell quickly hurried out of the town square and headed for the canals of Plankside to get to The Ratway, which was a small network of sewer tunnels that ran beneath the city. Farrell had often played inside them with the other orphanage kids before being scolded by Grelod the Kind and denied access there again. She also refused to let them go outside for several weeks afterward.

Heading past the alchemy shop and questionable looking people Farrell finally reached the sewer entrance. Upon entering a pungent smell of waste charged into Farrell's nose. He didn't remember the sewers smelling this bad, he put his sleeve to his nose trying to mask the smell, it only helped enough to make the trek slightly more bearable. The sewers reminded him more of catacombs. Torches lit the way, covered with skulls and mossy rocks. The corridors were only wide enough to fit a couple people shoulder to shoulder. Skeevers screeched and ran in response to to each echoing step he took. Farrell happened on a wide open space with a drawbridge pulled up from the other side. This obstacle forced him deeper down into the sewers, there was a severe lack of water even as he descended. A door with an obvious spear trap stood in his way from progressing further. He kicked the door and allowed the trap to unleash in front of him before it returned to its place. He continued on questioning if Brynjolf was hoping he'd even notice the trap at all. At times the corridors would open up into rooms that made it seem like the place was an underground manor. He had heard stories of insane criminals living in the Ratway, and their cries could be heard in the dead of night. He had had never been this far in and hoped that the insane lived deeper inside the sewer and nowhere near where he currently was, Farrell pulled out his dagger for comfort as he went on. Grated doors halted his descent, when he pushed against them they hollered out and became stuck in place to the point where Farrell had to force them open. The noise didn't call anything to him, but Farrell certainly waited for a response.

Eventually the sewers had opened to a collection of rooms, the first had a stump surrounded by roots falling from the ceiling with daylight from above illuminating down, allowing the rain-coated air to caress Farrell's nose. He breathed in heavily, but the smell of the sewers also drifted into his sinuses which made him gag.. An axe was embedded into the stump with splatters of blood covering it, a soaked basket laid beside. Farrell feared to look in the basket realizing he was examining a makeshift executioner's block. He hurried quickly to the next room which looked like it was a kitchen at one point but had long been abandoned, empty mugs by a keg and a book that told a story about thieves rested upon the table.

Farrell searched the various exits of the room, one led back to the other side of the drawbridge from before with a lever for it to his side, he pulled the lever In case he needed a quick escape. The bridge slammed down harder than he was expecting, and he thought it broke, but only a few wooden planks went flying. He rushed back to the abandoned kitchen to look through one more exit. The final exit led deeper into the sewer through a flight of stairs and a lonely door at the end. He assumed it must be what he was supposed to find; that is, if it didn't lead to the cells of the mentally ill as he feared. Farrell mustered up the courage to walk down and slowly opened the door. It was dark, and had a large pool of water resting under a shoddily made port. There was a faint bit of light in the room thanks to the various torches, though they casted shadows fit for all sorts of unknowns all around. The smell of the sewers nearly disappeared as he moved alongside the underground lake. A sign was illuminated by the light, two swords behind a beer mug that read Ragged Flagon.

"Give it up, Brynjolf." A man's voice called.

Farrell hid behind nearby crates and peered over to see three men relaxing at a bar. Just as the man said Brynjolf was among them wearing dark leather armor instead of his lavish garments from before.

"Those days are over" the man that managed the bar continued.

"I'm telling you, Vekel. This one is different." Brynjolf responded

"We've all heard that one before Bryn! Quit kidding yourself." A man with thick sideburns said.

Vekel shook his head as he cleaned a mug. "Dirge is right, it's time to face the truth, old friend. You, Vex, Mercer... you're all part of a dying breed. Things are changing!"

Farrell could tell they were talking about him, and pushed away the fear that they would kill him if he was caught. He sheathed his dagger and cautiously walked up to the group, Vekel was the first to notice and pointed at him. Brynjolf turned around and gave a sly smile.

"Dying breed eh? Well what do you call that then!" Brynjolf laughed out as Farrell approached. "Color me impressed lad. I wasn't certain you'd come!"

"Getting here wasn't too hard, just a strong smell." Farrell responded trying to sound composed.

"Reliable and headstrong, just as I've been teaching you. So now that I've whetted your appetite with that little scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?"

"Handling deadbeats?"

"They owe our organization some serious coin and they decided not to pay. I want you to explain to them the error of their ways."

"Hold on, I'm just a kid. There's no way they'd listen to me!"

"Don't worry yourself. They'll know exactly what organization you're representing when you use my name, they know we take care of our own."

"How do you expect me to handle this?"

"Honestly, the debt is secondary here. What's more important is that you get the message across that we aren't to be ignored. We already have scare tactics in place for our clients here."

"Who are the people I'm supposed to be going after?"

"First is Haelga, she runs a boarding house. She worships Dibella a bit precariously, any of her patrons can assist her in her 'worship'. Threaten to destroy her Dibellan statue and she'll cave quickly. Second is Bersi Honey-Hand, runs the most popular pawn store in Riften, threaten to break his precious Dwarven Urn and he'll be on his knees before you can lift a finger. If you have to; go ahead and break the thing anyway. Finally Keerava, owner of the Argnonian ran Inn; The Bee and Barb, she has a soft spot for her family, talk to Talen-Jei there to get her to pay up. They're well 'acquainted' if you catch my meaning."

"This all I have to do? And you think I'm fit for this job?"

"No doubts, show me you can flex some muscle too. Do this right and I can promise a permanent spot in our organization, you'll be out of that orphanage early. Good luck lad."

Brynjolf turned back to his bar-mates and resumed their conversation. They sounded shocked that Farrell found them as he left back into the Ratway. Remembering not only the smell, but that he lowered that drawbridge earlier for a quick exit out of the sewers. He continued out into the semi-fresh air from the lower quarters of Riften. He supposed the best place to start would be the closest; so he headed off into the Bee and Barb. He passed the Honorhall Oprhanage the kids were still playing outside, Constance Michel was most likely inside.. The Market calmed down and the people of Riften were back to their normal routines, Riften normal anyway. Off to the side of the Market was the Bee and Barb, a multi-storied inn, it's sign had a fishhook with a bee on it representing Riften's fish trade and honey farms. Quite the spectacle was happening in the commons area of the pub as Farrell walked inside.

"People of Riften, heed my words!" A shouting priest in red and green robes stood tall, arms raised to the roof. "The return of the dragons is not mere coincidence! This is one of the signs! The signs that Lady Mara is displeased with your constant inebriation! Put down your flagons filled with your vile liquids, and embrace the teachings of the handmaiden of Kyne!"

The silver scaled Argonian woman behind the counter placed her hand over her snout. "No, no, Maramal...We talked about this...Talen..."

"Keerava, certainly we can come to some sort of understanding?" Maramal begged. "These people must be made aware of the chaos they've sown."

A burly Argonian man with dark green scales walked up to Maramal. "Enough, Maramal. We've all heard of the dragons and their return. There's no need to use them as an excuse to harass our customers."

"Very well, Talen. I'll remove myself from this den of iniquity." Maramal tilted his head to the floor.

"We're not kicking you out, just keep the sermons at the temple and let us all sin in peace." Talen said as he directed Maramal to the door. He noticed Farrell standing around watching. "Welcome to the Bee and Barb. Finally come of age to drink have you, son?

"Are you Talon-Jei?"

"Yeah, that's me, what do you need?"

"I need to talk to Keerava. I heard she's been refusing to pay her debts."

"Her debts...? Oh, they're sending a kid to do their job now? That's pretty stupid of them. With the rumors going around about how poorly your Guild's been doing, Keerava's become much too bold, I'm not that foolish. The last thing I want is a war with your people."

"Then give me something to use as leverage for her so I don't have to go to any extremes." Farrell's voice hardened in a way he didn't even expect he could do. He felt strangely fit for this line work in that moment.

"Look, I'm only telling you this because I care for her. Don't mistake this as acceptance for what you do. Keerava has family just inside of Morrowind, if you mention you know about it she might just listen to you. Just please don't harm anyone, I couldn't bare the thought."

"I'll see if she'll listen before throwing that at her."

Farrell took a seat at the bar where Keerava was working. She turned to take his order in response. "What can I get yo-" she stopped herself and eyed him. "You look way too young to be sitting at the bar. You'll have to sit at a table, Talon-Jei will help you."

"I'm here to collect the debt you owe to Brynjolf."

"Brynjolf! I already told that buffoon I'm not paying your Guild a single coin!"

"I'm not leaving until I have what you owe."

"Look around you, I'm barely keeping this rathole together. The war's seen to that."

"I understand." Farrell pulled out his dagger and scratched into the wood of the bar. "We'll just have to pay a visit a certain farm in Morrowind for your debt." Farrell got up from his stool and pretended to head for the door.

"How could you possibly know about that?" Keerava rushed around the bar to halt his leave. "Please. My family means too much to me. Don't hurt them."

"If you have the coin ready then maybe I'll remove it from memory." He said as he tapped the dagger to his temple.

"Very well." She scurried to the back of the bar and pulled out a lockbox then poured as much coin from it into a small purse as she could. "Here. take this back to Brynjolf and tell him he'll have no more trouble from me."

Farrell copied Brynjolf's sly smile. "I'm glad we've seen eye to eye, make sure your payments are on time from now on."

He strutted out the Bee and Barb flipping his dagger. When the door closed a huge smile crossed his face and he took a look into the coinpurse to see it shining with Septims. He tied it back up and headed off to The Pawned Prawn down the alley past the Bee and Barb. He opened the door to the shop keep and his wife arguing.

"You keep giving and giving Bersi, and they'll keep taking and taking." The woman said. "When is it going to end?"

"What would you have me do, Drifa?" Bersi's voice trembled. "Cross the Guild? Take them all on one by one?"

"You know I don't mean that. We need to find a way out of this. Perhaps talk to Laila…"

"Laila is as clueless as she is stupid. No. If anything's to be done about this, we have to deal with it ourselves." Bersi noticed Farrell standing in the doorway and wiped at his eyes. "Excuse that conversation you just heard." Drifa moved to a bookcase near the corner of the store. "Can I interest you in anything today son?"

"Yeah, actually." Farrell leaned onto the counter. "I have a message from Brynjolf."

"For the love of Talos!" Bersi shouted pounding his fist. "Brynjolf would rather send a child than to show up himself now, eh? What's this message?"

"Simple. You don't pay, bad things happen."

"Petty threats and fist waving are not going to sway me. You people are all talk, and everyone knows it! Pay you to protect me? You can't even protect yourselves!"

"I wouldn't worry about us being able to protect ourselves."

"Don't fool yourself. It's only a matter of time before your people are run out of Riften. Now I have a lot to do, so I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

"Well... that is a problem." Farrell casually strolled about the store examining a few things before locking eyes with a Gold Plated Urn "Nice urn you've got here, I like it."

"That's Dwarven craftsmanship boy, you best keep away from it." Bersi slowly moved around the counter.

"Looks priceless, I doubt you'd be able to find another... should something happen to it."

"You wouldn't dare."

Farrell placed his palm across the side.

"Stop!"

"Oops." Farrell chuckled as the decoration smashed onto the floor. Drifa screamed at the sound of it breaking.

"That urn was worth more than tire whole life kid!" Bersi stormed up to Farrell.

"How clumsy of me. What's a store without any items to sell, I see a few other items I like In here too."

"Just pay him, Bersi!" Drifa shouted.

"All right! All right! I get it I'll pay on time from now on. Just.. don't smash anything else." Bersi pulled a coin purse out of his pocket and tossed it at Farrell. "Here, take your gold and leave us in peace! Damn thieves."

Farrell smiled and left the store for the couple to continue their fight. The last on the list; Haelga, the Bunkhouse set itself up directly behind the Bee and Barb, further down the alleyway. When he neared the doors his heart dropped. A muscular Nord in steel armor with large pauldrons, black hair slicked back and pensive eyes. His name was Maul and everyone in Riften knew him as Maven Black-Briar's right hand man.

"You the new kid?" Maul asked.

"What?" Farrell said, trying not to make eye contact.

"I heard Brynjolf was scouting you for the Guild."

"Are you a part of the Guild?"

"I'm a part of everything Farrell, nothing gets past my ears in this City."

"Okay, I won't forget."

"You don't gotta act afraid. Anyway, Maven Black-Briar's in there. So don't piss her off.."

Farrell walked into Haelga's Bunkhouse. He was surprised Maul even knew his name. Maven really did have connections all over the city, Farrell didn't doubt it before, but seeing the truth in it was a different experience. True to Maul's word, Maven was inside the Bunkhouse, whatever she was here for it seemed serious.

"Haelga, I like you, so I'm only going to say this one time." Maven began. "If you ever try and 'practice the Dibellan arts' with Hemming again, I'll make sure that pretty little face loses its beauty."

"Your son wasn't protesting, Maven." Haelga said.

"Of course he wasn't you stupid whore; he's a man. Now I'm not going to warn you again. Is that clear?"

"Very well."

Maven's wrinkles were more evident the closer you were to her. Her medium length black hair was braided and pulled back trailing down to her hips, her clothes looked more expensive than Riften itself and her makeup looked professionally done. She seemed to size him up as she exited the Bunkhouse. Haelga didn't seem bothered by Maven's aggression, which could potentially be an oversight on her later on in life. The woman that talked to Brand-Shei at the market was still working, she walked up to Haelga with a broom in hand.

"Aunt Haelga, why do you... demean yourself with these people you barely know? They show no real love for you." Svana said.

"It's only a bit of fun. You're a lovely young thing. You should try it sometime."

"No! I'm saving myself for someone special. Someone who loves me dearly."

"You mean Sibbi? You must be joking! All he wants to do is bed you and be done with it. You may as well get it over with and let him."

"You're wrong! Sibbi and I are in love and you're just jealous!"

"I'm not jealous of a man put in jail for murder."

"He didn't kill anybody!" Svana stormed off from the store with tears in her eyes.

Haelga's attention shifted to Farrell. "If you're looking for a bed, this is the wrong place. The Bunkhouse is for the working man, not children."

"I don't need a room."

"Then what do you want? This isn't a place to loiter around."

"I have a message. From Byrnjolf, about a debt."

"Oh no, no no. I know who you are." Haelga threw herself away from the counter, grabbed her Statue of Dibella and hid it behind her back. "Terrorizing the establishments in this city! Please there's no need for that here. Message understood. Here, I even have the payment! Gold's all here! I'll count it for you if you like!" She struggled to open the drawers of her counter to get out her coin purse before sliding it to Farrell.

"No need for that, I'll be back if it's not anyway. The guild sends their regards."

Farrell happily walked out of the Inn. With this sense of power finally given to him, he continued his strut of glory back down to the Ragged Flagon where he awaited his official indoctrination into the Thieves Guild.