"Why don't you head into the Ratway to see where it ends?" The mysterious dark-haired Imperial smiled, his cerulean eyes glimmering as they caught the light from the sun.
Brynjolf stared at him as the man circled him like he was prey, having the distinct feeling that he was checking him out from every angle, "The Ratway? What- "
"Oh," he didn't even notice when the man had drifted to his other side, grasping his left bicep, "You'll find out."
A slow smirk graced the man's lips as he looked upon the confused Nord. He let go of his arm and started walking back into the marketplace.
"I'll be waiting."
Before Brynjolf could stop him, he disappeared from sight like a shade along with the promise.
That was half an hour ago, now Brynjolf had found himself standing in front the iron gate that leads into the sewers, the Ratway as he learnt a few minutes before this.
The entrance to the Ratway looked abandoned and dark, like a trap waiting for any unsuspecting to fall into. He peered about it suspiciously, wondering if the man was indeed leading him into a trap, waiting to capture and gut him in the dark tunnels and no one would ever know that he was there.
He felt for his sword, his trusty companion that had accompanied him since he was a wee little kid, the weapon passed down from his late uncle.
If it were a trap, he'll be able to fight his way out of it, like how he did in every battle he'd faced.
He took a breath and opened the gate, heading through the door that squeaked loudly on its hinges.
Once inside, he first noticed the humid, cold, rank air of the sewers. Next was the almost complete darkness of the tunnel, the only light was coming from the open doorway, throwing his shadow upon the floor which looked slick to the touch.
He wonders why anyone would be in this place, perhaps the Imperial was having him on.
That was when he heard muffled, echoey voices coming from deep inside the sewers.
Brynjolf was immediately alert, wary of whatever occupants are in this nasty place.
He crept forward, keeping his armor from making too much noise as he headed towards the voices.
It wasn't too long before he came to a fork in the tunnels. The voices sounded as if they were coming from all directions and Brynjolf was at a lost for a moment before he caught a dim, yellow glow coming from the end of the tunnel on his right.
He headed towards it and shortly, the voices grew clearer that he could almost make out the words.
"I don't know... they'd skin us alive…"
Brynjolf frowned at the words, just as a second voice rang out, "Why are you always… a big baby? I've gotten us this far."
He came across a hollow in the wall right next to the cavern, where he saw the back of one man facing him. He ducked into the space and listened.
"This far? We're livin' in a sewer. You said we'd have a house as big as the Black-Briars' by now," the one with his back to Brynjolf, pointed out unhappily.
The other man further inside the cavern, huffed, "You worry about bashing people's heads in, I'll worry about the Guild, okay?"
Guild? Brynjolf wondered about it. Could it be the infamous Thieves Guild they are talking about? He's been hearing mentions of them, by some Nord woman and another man by the entrance. He'd also heard rumors from the cart driver about Riften, how the Thieves Guild had control of the hold.
Could they be right here in these tunnels? And that man earlier…
"I'm going to check the entrance to the Ratway," the man further in said, "Be right back."
Brynjolf carefully shifted further into the alcove, watching as a man smaller than the one he'd seen quickly walk past him. The other one is still inside the cavern and he had a feeling that any confrontation with him wouldn't be friendly.
He wondered if he really should be seeking out the Thieves Guild, he didn't even know if they'll take kindly to his appearance. He didn't think that any good would come from associating with them, if the guards found out, he'll be in big trouble.
However, it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go or anyone to return to. Thievery and killing had never bothered him, especially when he needed to survive.
Besides, he's rather curious about this whole set-up.
After a long minute, he finally made up his mind.
The man who left earlier didn't seem like he was going to return soon. Brynjolf dared to poke his head out and caught sight of the other man, crouched before a fire he'd made and muttering about damp kindling as he fed the fire.
He crept out from the space and with hands stilling the movement of his chest plate, snuck towards the man.
Brynjolf managed to get very close, almost sneaking past him when the man heard him.
"What the- intruder!" He yelled, getting to his feet.
Brynjolf pulled out his sword and in a flash, sliced his neck open, blood spraying onto his armor.
The man dropped to the floor, dead.
He warily glanced at the tunnel behind him but heard and saw no sign of the other man.
Brynjolf wiped his bloodied sword on his breeches and sheathed it, heading deeper into the tunnels.
Throughout his trek into the sewers, Brynjolf have encountered a crazed woman with her pet skeever, a man who tried to chop him up with an axe and a large Nord in a room surrounded by bear traps. He suspected that he was drunk, as he stood up upon spotting Brynjolf, charged at him and proceeded to step in one of his own traps, badly injuring himself.
Brynjolf slipped past him while he was howling and moaning in pain and wandered why on earth are there so many people hiding in the sewers and why in oblivion is this Thieves Guild is supposed to be.
He walked down long stretches of dark sewer tunnel, backtracked when he ran into a dead end and went down another, spending a lot of time deciding which way he was supposed to be going until he saw a thick door down a slope, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
There was a lantern hung on a hook next to the door but it was unlit.
Brynjolf wasn't sure if it was the right way, or if he's about to walk straight into the home of some lowlife that's going to try and kill him next.
Eventually, curiosity won over and he reached for the handle and pushed the door open.
He found himself in a huge, damp hallway in the sewers, on either sides are rows of big alcoves. Some of them are occupied with what appears to be stores. He stared at them and warily walked in, the door shutting behind him.
Brynjolf ventured further into the hallway and glanced at a shop that appears to be selling potions, the wizard behind the counter watching him suspiciously.
"Excuse me," he started.
The shady wizard gave him a look and pointed further down the hallway, "Tavern is that way."
"Tavern?" He blurted.
The wizard rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself, before regarding Brynjolf, starting to speak slowly as if he's an imbecile, "Bar, pub, watering hole."
He pointed dramatically to his right, with both hands, "That way."
"Right, tavern," Brynjolf muttered and went on his way.
"Stupid drunks," he heard the wizard mumble to himself.
Brynjolf walked further down the hall, finding empty alcoves and some shops, apparently there's a smithy here, before finding a large cavern. There was a large pool of water beneath it and yes, the tavern is right across. A little further in and he spotted a sign that says "The Ragged Flagon". In the tavern, apparently are a few people who seemed less deranged than those he'd encountered outside.
He went by the side of the pool, over the walkway and began to make out the people inside.
There's a man standing behind the bar, a Nord by the looks of it. In front of the bar were a couple of old tables and chairs, a bald man was sitting at one of the tables, drinking. Right beside the bar was a large man wearing leather armor. They eyed him with suspicion and Brynjolf steeled himself, walking right up to the bar.
The barman narrowed his eyes and said, "Got a lot of nerve coming down here, stranger. People tend to get hurt in the Ratway."
"Right," Brynjolf muttered, "I was looking for…"
He trailed off, not quite sure what to call the man who steered him down into the sewers.
The barman waited patiently and he could feel the other two watching him.
"Well," he cleared his throat, "He was an Imperial, with blue eyes, dressed in rather fine clothes. Seen him around?"
The barman and the bald man glanced at each other, before the barman turned to him, looked him dead in the eye and said, "No, never heard of him."
Brynjolf could tell that he was lying but there wasn't much he could do about it, the look the man in leathers was giving him assured that he will get beaten down if he so much as insulted any of them.
"Right," he nodded anxiously, "I'll just be heading out."
He turned and it was at that moment that someone called, "Where do you think you're going, handsome?"
Brynjolf turned and saw the man from the market, smiling at him as he walked out of the hallway next to the bar, now wearing some dark armor that he'd never seen before.
"Who is he?" The barman questioned, "Not one of your conquests, I hope."
Brynjolf gaped at him and the bald man snorted into his tankard.
The Imperial smirked, "Not yet." He turned to regard the barman, "He's our newest recruit, actually."
The barman turned to him, looking him over skeptically, "Really? He doesn't seem like much of a thief to me."
"Looks can be deceiving," the Imperial responded, "You should already know that, especially with me around."
"Absolutely," the bald man said, "No one ever expected you to be such a whore."
"Oh, stop it, Delvin," the Imperial smiled, "You're going to give our new boy here the wrong impression."
"Do I have a say in this?" Brynjolf asked, referring to the recruitment.
"Yes," the Imperial answered.
"No," Delvin said at the same time.
They eyed each other.
"Just face it, new guy," Delvin downed his ale, "You're going to end up in his bed eventually."
Brynjolf spluttered, feeling his face heat while the Imperial sighed, "Don't listen to him, I don't actually sleep with every one of the Guild members."
"Right."
"I sleep with most of them," he said next.
He had never wanted to leave as much as in that moment.
"I was joking," the Imperial smiled, his words not at all sounding like a joke. "So, what do you think?"
He gestured to the cavern, Brynjolf automatically looking at it in its entirety.
"Looks alright," he answered, "A little bare."
"That's the problem, innit?" The man in leathers grumbled.
"Right," the Imperial said, "The Guild… well, we're down in our luck over the recent years, our numbers dwindled, our control slipped from Skyrim, the Rift slipping from our hold, our members getting captured all the time, a tragedy all around."
He set his eyes upon Brynjolf and smiled, "But you, you're the change we're looking for."
He blinked at the Imperial, "I'm not sure what you're referring to."
"Earlier, while you were stealing the ring to plant in Brand-shei's pocket," the Imperial said, "You succeeded, quite smoothly indeed, the Guild's first success in months after our luck have slowly ran out the year before."
The man in leathers scoffed, "Maybe it's just a fluke."
The Imperial smiled at him, "Maybe and that's why I have another test for you."
"I haven't agreed to this," Brynjolf protested.
The Imperial gave him a cryptic smile, "Oh? But you already have."
Brynjolf returned a day later, with a total of three hundred septims in his pockets.
He made his way over to the Ragged Flagon, found the Imperial, Rowan, sitting at a table eating grilled salmon.
He dropped the bag of money on the table and said, "Here's the gold."
Rowan put down his fork, picked up the bag of money and weighed it in his palm.
"That feels about right," He looked up and smiled, "Good job."
Rowan proceeded to pick his fork back up and resumed eating his meal.
Brynjolf stood staring at him for a few awkward seconds, then cleared his throat, "Uh."
"Take a seat," Rowan said, "I'll talk to you once I'm done."
Brynjolf turned to look at the barman and the bouncer named Dirge. Neither of them noticed or acknowledged him so he had no choice but to sit in the chair across of Rowan's.
He was done about ten minutes later, pocketing the bag of gold before leading Brynjolf into the hallway next to the bar. He opened a secret door inside the storage closet right next to a door that he warned to never go in unless he has a death wish. He was led down another hallway and eventually, into another cavern much larger than the one outside with numerous hallways and doors.
"Behold," Rowan said, "This is the home of the Thieves Guild. I'll give you the tour later, there's the Guildmaster, let's go say hi."
Rowan led him to the man glowering at them in the middle of the Cistern, standing on the stone archway over the shallow pool of water underneath.
"Who have you brought in this time?" The Breton growled.
"Our new recruit." Rowan smiled, completely unperturbed.
"That's what you said last time," he said accusingly.
Rowan proceeded to toss the bag of coins at him. The Guildmaster caught the bag and peered at it.
"These are the gold I sent him to collect from our debtors, if you want confirmation you can go ask Vekel and Dirge about it."
The Breton glared at him suspiciously, "Very well."
"Anyway," Rowan turned to Brynjolf with a smile, "This old man over here- "
Said old man growled, "Rowan…"
"Right, this grumpy old man over here," Rowan completely ignored the Breton's uttered curse, "He's our esteemed leader, the one who gives out all the order that you should follow, no matter how unreasonable- "
"Would you stop it!"
Brynjolf was too startled to laugh, unlike how Rowan who was beginning to bite his lip, "Don't let his grumpiness scare you, he's more bark than bite."
The Guildmaster let out a heavy sigh.
"I'm his second-in-command so I guess you should listen to me, too," Rowan said cheerfully.
"This is getting off topic," the Breton glared at him, "Look, recruit- "
"Brynjolf," Rowan interrupted.
The Guildmaster gave him a nasty sideways glance, "Shut up, you pest. Recruit, I want to make things perfectly clear. You do what we say, when we say it, no questions, no discussions. Break our rules and you'll get nothing in return, you got that?"
"Yes, sir," Brynjolf answered.
"His name is Mercer, by the way," Rowan whispered loud enough for both of them to hear.
Mercer rolled his eyes, "That is all, this idiot will now show you around and get you set up."
"Say welcome, Mercer," Rowan whispered again, grinning madly.
Mercer turned to punch him and missed as Rowan ducked and started running away, laughing at the top of his lungs.
The Guildmaster let out another heavy sigh, looked around and found an elf walking towards one of the rooms, "You, Nirwin, come over here and show this one around."
The elf immediately walked over and as he did, Mercer turned to Brynjolf and begrudgingly said, "Welcome to the Thieves Guild."