((13th of Last Seed/August, 4E 202))
My organization won't be easy to find, but I'll give you a bit of help. Go down to the lower level of Riften, near the canal. There, you'll find a door leading to the Ratway. I'd advise you to be cautious as there's far more than just a mouse or two down there. You'll have to tell me your name if you manage to make it to my base of operations, the Ragged Flagon.
Good luck.
I scoffed at the message and crumpled up the yellowed page. Trotting down the steps to the canal, I began to speak to myself. "Luck?" The wooden planks were rotten and precariously set together. "I make my own luck." I came upon the door to the Ratway and scrutinized it. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary, and for a trained warrior such as myself, whatever was inside would be only too easy to deal with.
Tossing the parchment into the murky canal, I strode through the door confidently. It shut behind me without my touching it somehow. It was a bit odd that it would do so, but I had something else on my mind.
Brynjolf's organization didn't operate on integrity. I'd gathered that much from our few conversations. However, that didn't mean whatever he was a part of wasn't useful. It was either that or the man was insane. The Ragged Flagon could be nothing but a pit with some ale scattered about for all I knew. It was either that or the man was insane.
Two dead men laid about in the walkway, slumped over in questionable positions with various wounds covering their bodies. To my dismay, two more waltzed in as soon as I took note of the corpses, both visibly hostile.
Unsurprisingly, a plan came to me pretty quickly. Hack and slash until the enemies are on the ground with their guts hanging out. It was a decent plan, however simple. Sometimes the best plans are the least complex. The first man raised a mace, the second a deadly-looking cleaver. I skewered the first and rolled out of the other's way. He stomped and whirled around, furious.
"Get back here, you little twit!" he demanded, chasing after me. I didn't run for long, just until I made him backtrack and trapped him against a wall. I had the advantage for a short while, but that didn't mean I didn't sustain a few wounds during the fight. After a minute, he made a fatal mistake leaving his left side unguarded. Jabbing my sword through the gap and into his heart, he fell to the ground and convulsed. Meanwhile, I panted and caught my breath now that I was at least somewhat safe.
I left them where they'd died and continued through the Ratway. Just beyond that room was a drawbridge, which to my dismay, was pulled up. I heard faint voices and shrill laughter just beyond, convincing me of the Ragged Flagon's existence. The flying leap I took at the other side ended in failure, as did the attempt to climb the stones. "Damn," I swore, looking around me for another path. There were multiple tunnels, and I chose one at random. As good as any, I suppose.
The rest of the Ratway, or at least what I came across, mainly was filled with beasts such as skeevers and frostbite spiders. Farkas had always been terrified of the eight-legged freaks, but they'd never bothered me much. It was to my advantage as it turned out to be the only way through. There was one lunatic living in a closed-off chamber, scrambling around on his hands and knees.
The second he noticed my presence, he climbed to his feet and darted towards me. The lunatic held up his fists defensively as he waited for me to make a move. Instead of killing him, I tried to reason with the man. He might have been hostile, but I usually didn't enjoy taking the lives of those who didn't deserve it. My words went unheard by the man, so I took no more chances and cut his throat. Something akin to pity gathered in my stomach before I continued on my path.
My last obstacle was a man reading a tome on a wooden table. I knocked on the wall slowly to alert him to my presence just in case he was someone I didn't need to slay. Go figure, I was wrong. It appeared Byrynjolf's warning was warranted; no part of these twists and turns had been without a battle. Once his corpse hit the ground, I sheathed my sword and stepped towards the worn-down door. I was certain this was where Brynjolf had sent me.
Unease slowed my hand, but determination turned the handle.
I entered the Flagon silently, though partially surprised to see nobody notice me. Everyone was listening to someone speak from a barstool. "I'm telling you, this one is different." Brynjolf's sharp accent was easily recognizable. I put my weight on the wall casually, amused as I surveyed the Flagon.
Multiple people in matching leather armor mulled about, some drinking and others talking. It was a dank tavern, and I'd likely avoid the mead here if someone didn't test it for me first. Nobody seemed amicable in the slightest, and it was most likely for the best.
"We've all heard that before! Quit kidding yourself, Brynjolf." A brown-haired Imperial drank from a tankard, followed by another man from behind the bar with a comment of his own.
"It's time to face the truth, old friend. You, Vex, Mercer... you're all part of a dying breed. Things are changing." Brynjolf shifted in his seat and shot me a wink, letting me know I hadn't been as unseen as I'd thought. I had a sneaking suspicion he'd known I was there from the moment I'd walked in.
"Dying breed? Well, Vekel, my friend, what do you call that?" Brynjolf turned and pointed me out. I was immediately set on edge when the others looked as well. My wariness was pushed to the back of my mind at the sight of the red-haired Nord. To be honest, I was somewhat taken aback by his appearance. Instead of the soft clothing I'd first seen him in, he was clad in black leather armor that hugged a very muscled form. He was hardly a fat noble, which had been my first impression. Other than Brynjolf, everyone in the Flagon soon lost interest in me and returned to their prior activities. The Nord stood up from the barstool and sauntered over to me, tapping his chin thoughtfully once he reached my position. "Color me impressed, lass. I wasn't certain I'd ever see you again."
"Well, I showed you how I handle challenges, didn't I? Getting here was easy." I put a hint of teasing in my voice and was rewarded with an amused chuckle. He'd been insufferable thus far; that much was true. Still, perhaps he'd be an asset after all. I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt and showed a bit of curiosity.
"Reliable and headstrong? You're turning out to be quite the prize." Brynjolf led me to a table and poured me a glass of wine, which I pushed away. Unaffected, he took a swig himself and seemed satisfied.
"Call me a prize again and I'll beat your ass." Brynjolf appeared almost approving of my threatening remark.
"You're interesting; I'll give you that. I take it you enjoy harassing others?" He drank from the cup again.
"Everyone needs a hobby." I played with a bent fork on the table. Brynjolf leaned back in his seat and watched me expectantly.
"So, lass. Mind telling me your name?" I rolled my shoulders and drew my sword. A moment passed as I pretended to concern myself with a scratch on the metal.
"Russet. My name is Russet," I informed him, gaze flicking up as I returned the blade to its sheathe.
"What about a family name, lass?" Apparently, despite knowing how to address me, he would stick with 'lass.'
"No family to take a name from." Brynjolf nodded in understanding, wisps of his red hair feathering over his shoulders. "Can we quit with the small talk and get down to business?"
"Well, since you already had a little taste of my work at the market, how about handling a few other tasks?"
"That's why I'm here. I wouldn't have bothered if I'd known what this all was, though." I made a motion to the appearance of the Ragged Flagon. Brynjolf became both defensive and stricken by my negativity.
"This isn't how it used to be," he insisted. "We used to be the greatest guild out there. Now, it's... well, we've had a run of bad luck, as I've already told you, lass."
"Guild? This counts as a guild?"
"Counts as the damn Thieves Guild." His tone made it clear that the Guild would not tolerate criticism. Still, Skyrim's people had all but forgotten the Thieves Guild. "There are a few deadbeats that need to be taken care of if you're still interested." My hand moved to my blade. "Not that kind of 'taken care of.'" I pretended to be disappointed for his benefit, but his smile did not return.
"All right, then. So what did these deadbeats do?"
"They owe our organization some serious coin, and they've decided not to pay. I want you to show them the error of their ways." I tipped my head to the side.
"Can't do it yourself?" I murmured. He either didn't hear me or didn't want to start another fight.
"You'll need to pay Keerava, Haelga, and Bersi Honey-Hand a visit."
"So I've got to get a lizard, a whore, and a man who probably slept with both?" I muttered idly. I'd been in the town of Riften several times before, though I hadn't stayed long-term. It was common knowledge that a certain bunkhouse owner was willing to practice her so-called 'Dibellan Arts' with any man she set her eyes upon.
"Don't knock her, lass." He winked at me, and I briefly wondered if he was fooling around.
I cleared my throat. "What do I do?"
"I like your enthusiasm, lass. If you get this job done, I can promise you a permanent place here."
Now that I've arrived, here doesn't seem like that great of a place to be. Still, I said I'd do it. I don't break promises. "How should I go about this?" I queried, his green eyes darting up to meet my blue ones. He tapped the table a few times with his index finger while enunciating his initial words.
"The debt is secondary. What's important is that you get the message across that we aren't to be cast aside or ignored. Put the coins in here if they don't give you any pouches." He handed me an empty coinpurse. After waiting for a few seconds, it became clear he was done speaking. However, I had a few questions of my own.
I picked at an old scar on my hand. "Any tips about Keerava?"
Brynjolf appeared almost approving of my interest. "Keerava's stubborn, but she's got a soft spot for family. Talk to Talen-Jei at the Bee and Barb and see if you can get something out of him. They're..." He coughed pointedly. "Well acquainted if you catch my meaning."
"Well, what's Haelga's story?"
"Haelga is a devout follower of Dibella and dotes over the statue to the Divine that she keeps at the Bunkhouse. Use it as leverage and she'll cave."
I made another mental note, intending to use the information. "And Bersi?"
Brynjolf snorted. "He's as pig-headed a man as you'll ever find. The key is that ugly dwarven urn in his shop. Smash that thing to bits and he'll change his attitude." I nodded, running through the targets and their weak spots in my mind.
Dipping my head in acceptance, I stood and faced the walkway. "See you in an hour, Brynjolf."
"A little confident, lass?" Brynjolf raised his eyebrow questioningly, to which I shrugged.
"When you've been through what I have, then you can afford to be arrogant," I sneered. Before I left, a firm hand held my shoulder. I instinctively whirled around and threw my fist out. Brynjolf managed to dodge my impulsive attack.
"Lass?" He spoke with a different kind of pitch, almost a warning tone. "We aren't the Dark Brotherhood. I don't want to hear about a killing. It's bad for business."
...
"I think I'll target Keerava first," I mused, walking over to the Bee and Barb. When I entered, the town priest was once again giving a speech about the importance of love in Skyrim. I made a choice comment about the importance of sticking with yourself, then rolled my eyes when he protested heartily. The priest droned on about how I needed Mara, making me wish I hadn't opened my mouth to share my opinion. Eventually, he got the message and left the Bee and Barb.
I approached Keerava, her yellowish scales dull in the candlelight. She wiped down the bar with an old towel and eyed me suspiciously when I entered. "You're no customer," she hissed, baring her sharp reptilian teeth. "What do you want?"
While I was mildly impressed she could tell, I refused to let it show on my face as I sat down in front of her. "I have a message for you from Brynjolf."
Keerava lifted her lips in a hateful snarl. "I've already told that buffoon I'm not paying you people a single coin!" she snapped, slamming her clawed fist onto the bar.
"It was never a request." My dark tone did nothing to convince the Argonian woman.
"Look around you!" she snarled. "I'm barely keeping this rathole together. The war's seen to that!"
At this point, I had two options. I could either beat the money out of her or talk to Talen-Jei as Brynjolf had suggested. With a shrug, I slid from the stool and turned away. "I'm finished wasting my time talking to you."
"Good, and take this little message back to your bosses. I'm not paying you, any of you, a single septim... ever! Now get out of my inn!" Instead of obeying the obstinate lizard, I walked up to her lover with a set of questions that would ensure a payment.
Talen-Jei eyed me. "I suppose you're not here for the drinks."
"Of course I'm not. Look, I'll keep this short. You might want to talk some sense into Keerava."
Talen-Jei appeared stricken. "With the rumors going around about how poorly your Guild's been doing, she's become much too bold. I'm not that foolish. The last thing I want is a war with your people."
"You're right. You don't," I agreed. I continued despite his heavy scowl. "Now, would you help me convince her? I wouldn't like to resort to... other means, if you get my drift."
Hate dripped off every word that came from the Argonian waiter's tongue. "Look, I'm only telling you this because I care for her. Don't mistake this as acceptance for what you do, understand?" He waited until I rolled my eyes and nodded. "Keerava has some family at a farm just inside Morrowind. If you mention you know about it, she might listen to you. Just please, don't harm anyone. I couldn't bear the thought."
I hid a smirk. "Thank you, Talen-Jei." Without waiting for a response, I whirled around on my heel. The pupils in her orange eyes turned into slits.
"Why are you still here?" she rasped, spines rising. "I already told you, I'm not paying you or Brynjolf a single coin! Now get out of my tavern!"
I drummed my fingers on the wooden podium. "So you're not ready to pay Brynjolf what you owe?"
"No, and I never will be! Like I said, get out of my inn!" Keerava's voice had risen to a shout.
I pursed my lips. "Maybe I should visit that farm in Morrowind." Keerava's fury visibly ebbed away, replaced by terror.
"How could you possibly know about..." She choked on her own words for a moment. "No, please. My family means too much to me. By the Hist, don't hurt them."
"Then pay up and I'll forget about it." I held out my hand.
With a reluctant growl, Keerava ruffled around under the bar before pulling out a sack of coins. Counting them out into my hand, she mumbled a depressed response. "Very well. Here. Take these back to Brynjolf and tell him he'll have no more trouble from me." When she was finished, I put the septims into the leather pouch I'd been given and secured it onto my belt
After Keerava, I chose to pursue Haelga. While her Bunkhouse wasn't a place I was too fond of, I had to get her to pay up.
"Hello?" I opened the door to Haelga's establishment, expecting to see the woman at the front desk. To my chagrin, Haelga was nowhere to be seen, meaning I'd have to spend time looking for her. The only reason that upset me was because I'd given myself a time limit by boasting to Brynjolf.
"May I help you?" The speaker wasn't Haelga; instead a Nord teenager around the same age as Shadr. While she was fairly pretty, she wasn't anything to boast about, and so I assumed she wasn't a Bunkhouse 'worker' in the same way Haelga was. What she visibly was was extremely exhausted. Dark bags hung from under bloodshot eyes while her shoulder-length ginger hair was unkempt and messy.
I straightened up. "Yes, I'm looking for Haelga." The girl looked me up and down, unimpressed.
"You're not her type, if you don't mind me saying, ma'am." Instant disgust gripped me.
"What? Ugh, no! No. I, ah, I'm here on business."
The girl leaned on her broom. "I see. Well, she's in the back with a... client... so she'll be a while." Her disdainful eyes sparked with understanding. "This is about the Thieves Guild, isn't it?" She cursed under her breath. "I told my aunt not to borrow money, and furthermore not to spurn you people, but hey, would she ever take my opinion?" The girl threw her hands up in the air, allowing the broom to clatter to the ground. "Of course not. She treats that damnable statue in the next room better than me." The young Nord stared despondently at the fallen cleaning tool. "I'm just-"
"-A slave to her," I finished for her, walking over and retrieving the broom. Handing it to her, I gave the girl another once-over. "Gods. Don't take this the wrong way, but you look awful." Her hands tightened on the handle.
"I know," she muttered. After a moment of silence, she shook her head as though clearing thoughts away and held out her hand. "Svana."
"Exc- oh. Russet," I introduced, shaking her hand before returning to the conversation. "Haelga's not treating you right." It was hardly a simple observation and more like an indisputable fact. The poor girl was extremely overworked in the name of her aunt's 'Dibellan arts.' "That's awful." I made a split offer that would possibly get me booted from my tentative place in the Guild, but I couldn't take leaving her in her situation. "You know, I could put in a word for you in my organization... they'd probably let you in."
Svana appeared to consider my proposition for a moment but ended up shaking her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. Please don't take this the wrong way," she said hurriedly, "but I have plans for my future. I'm hoping to leave the Bunkhouse soon enough with Si-" Her cheeks turned red. "With someone." I considered asking her about the person she intended to run away with, but before I could pose the question, a familiar face beaded with sweat slunk past me. Bolli, owner of the fishery. He kept his eyes glued to the ground, twisting his hands in nervousness.
"Svana! Why aren't you cleaning? The foyer is a disgrace! Just like yourself. I don't know why I ever took you in." Cheeks red, the girl muttered a 'sorry' and headed off, sweeping in a hurry. The speaker was, of course, Haelga. In a far better state than Bolli had been, she appeared clean and kept, a sweet floral scent emanating from her as well. She was clearly used to swiftly putting herself together. "Now, what do you want?" Haelga addressed me. "This isn't an inn."
"So I gathered." I looked back and forth between the miserable Svana and the haughty Haelga. Anger gripped me, and before I had the sense to even think, I stormed into the other room. Sure enough, an ornate golden statue stood proudly on a dresser, polished and surrounded by offerings. I grabbed it without a second thought and barreled out the door with the Bunkhouse's owner screeching behind me.
"Wait!" she pleaded, the doors opening a second time as she rushed after me.
My target was the well in the middle of the marketplace, something I believed Haelga was well aware of. Eyes were on me when I reached it, but my attention remained on the desperate woman as I held the golden sculpture over the well. "So, should I drop this thing down the well?" I threatened. "I guarantee this is enough to pay off your debt, so..." I trailed off, waiting for a reply. Haelga grabbed for it, and while I pulled it away, I pointedly started to release it.
"Not Lady Dibella!" Haelga begged, eyes tearing up. "Please don't take her; she's the only thing of value I have left!" What about Svana? Instead of voicing my challenge, I held out my hand.
"The payment. Now." Haelga's eyes flicked back and forth between me and the statue, her mouth opening and closing.
The promiscuous Nord woman gave a deep reluctant sigh. "Fine." She reached for her pocket and dug around. I carefully set the statue down at my feet and opened the pouch Brynjolf had given me. Haelga counted out the correct amount, staring pointedly once she'd dropped in the last septim. I stepped back from the golden bust and watched Haelga rush off, cradling it like a baby.
I glanced at the sky and prepared to head to the Pawned Prawn to extort Bersi Honey-Hand. I only had fifteen minutes left of the hour I'd set for myself to get Bersi's money and make it back through the Ratway. Recalling Brynjolf's words, I had plans to smash the Dwarven urn as soon as I entered to save time.
A tapping on my shoulder alerted me, and I was rather surprised to see Bersi himself when I turned. "E-excuse me, um..." He immediately shoved a fistful of septims into the open bag I still held. A few coins dropped to the ground, and he hastily picked them up to put them into the coinpurse. "This is everything, I promise. I got the message, okay? Keerava, Haelga... you won't have any trouble from me, all right?" Scrutinizing his terrified face, I shrugged and tied the pouch back up.
"I'll make sure to tell Brynjolf about your cooperation." Relief washed over Bersi's face.
"Thank the gods..." He stared at me for a moment, opening his mouth before rushing off without another word. Shrugging my shoulders, I headed toward the stairs that would bring me to the Ratway, and by extension, the Ragged Flagon.
...
"What did I tell you? Within an hour." My face remained motionless. Brynjolf took the three pouches. "And?" He stared at me blankly. "Don't I get a cut?" My tone was both reprimanding and teasing.
"Don't worry, lass, I was going to give you your share of the coin." He counted out about thirty septims. "Ten percent to unofficial workers. Sorry lass," he explained to my chagrined expression. "I'm surprised. You've managed to surpass everyone's expectations, including mine." He beckoned me closer, a signal to trail him. "It's time you were formally welcomed into my organization. Follow me." My heart pounded as I shadowed him to the very back of the tavern. Brynjolf opened a false back from a cupboard and led me to a rather large chamber within.
A little over half a dozen people walked about, most garbed in the same odd leather armor as the others in the front. The one I took notice of was a thin Breton male in the middle, donned in the same thick black covering as Brynjolf wore. Although his build was smaller, he radiated hostile authority.
"Mercer!" Brynjolf called out, stepping ahead of me. He made a quick motion with his hand at me. "Meet Russet." Mercer's judging eyes bored into my skull.
"Russet? So, this is your little protégé?" The Breton's tone betrayed his apparent disdain for me. I immediately disliked him. Brynjolf wasn't bothered by the tense moment and replied.
"Mercer, she's shown promise. She'll be nothing but an asset to us." Mercer rubbed his chin.
"Well, then she needs to do something to prove it." The look on Brynjolf's face told me that this was an everyday occurrence. "You think you're special?" Here, he addressed me. "What makes you so sure that you can handle anything?"
I pursed my lips. "I trained with the Companions for years, and I could rip you apart if I wanted." I used a bright, contemptuous tone and found it quite amusing. Everyone quieted down at my blatant disrespect. "Try me, jackass." Even Brynjolf seemed shocked.
"Excuse me?" Mercer growled dangerously, lips lifting in a snarl.
"She'll be fine, Mercer," Brynjolf told him quickly in an attempt to placate who I assumed was his Guild leader. "Surely, she didn't mean to insult you." The red-haired Nord's pointed words were spoken through clenched teeth as he jabbed a finger into my side. I quashed the impulse to punch him.
"I can defend myself, you know," I muttered through clenched teeth.
Brynjolf turned to me as Mercer stared. "Lass, go get armor from Tonilia in the Flagon. Something tells me you'll need it." He didn't say another word, enigmatic green eyes observing me. I figured there was no point in trying to defend myself and strode away, feeling the red-hot glare of Mercer even with my back turned.
The one they called Tonilia was sitting at a table in the front part of the Ragged Flagon. As I approached, the Redguard turned to look at me, lowering the thick blue book in her hands. Her brown eyes scrutinized me carefully. "I heard you give Mercer the tongue. He must be furious," the Redguard commented.
"He should be glad I didn't follow up," I murmured, frustrated with both 'His Majesty Mercer' and Brynjolf. "I'd beat his ass." Tonilia let out a low chuckle, and I wasn't sure if it was amusement at my statement or me.
"Play it how you want here. A lot of us are more proficient with a blade than we appear, and I promise that Mercer would destroy you if you so much as knocked into him going between the cistern and the Flagon," she said sharply. As her piercing brown eyes fixed on me, I felt slightly uneasy at the realization that there were people in the Guild as skilled as those in Jorrvaskr. These weren't simple road brigands or petty thieves. My arrogance would do me no favors. "Here for armor?" I nodded, and she reached into a large leather satchel at her side. "This should fit you. This is all you'll get, so you might want to keep it safe."
"Anything is better than what I have at this point," I mumbled, referencing my battered apparel. Tonilia returned to reading her book, clearly done with me. Once I got the chance and the slightest bit of privacy, I slipped the cuirass over my head. I had to tighten the buckles, but other than that, it fit well enough. It was light yet strong and quite easy to move in, along with the other armor pieces. Good. Extra pockets were stitched onto the Guild armor, allowing space for gems and coins. Thank Talos, I thought. At least I'll be able to carry more. I'd hated the wolf armor I'd worn up until now. Heavier armor had never been my strong suit, no pun intended. Never in the Circle, but still a senior member of the Companions, it had been more or less expected. A random sorrow gripped me as I set the armor to the side, never to be worn again. In a way, it felt more like the end than walking down the wooden steps of Jorrvaskr had.
When I strode back out, tugging at the leather, I was startlingly jerked to the side. I faced a silver-haired woman with the same black armor as Brynjolf and Mercer back in the cistern. She appeared furious. "Let me make something clear. I'm the best infiltrator this rathole of a guild's got, so if you think you're here to replace me, you're dead wrong." I held up my hands in mock surrender before pushing her off.
"What in Oblivion is wrong with you? Piss off," I hissed, earning myself a much rougher shove into the wood. With a growl, I launched myself at the crazy woman. She surprised me by being much stronger than I'd given her credit. As she pinned my arms behind my back, I heard the Guild muttering.
"What's going on?"
"This again?"
"Let the slags fight it out, mate." At that point, I ignored it all and kicked backward, forcing the woman to release me. She grunted in pain and stumbled back, giving me an opening to throw myself onto her and give her a good left hook.
"All right, all right!" I was ripped off the Imperial by my red braid, tumbling to the ground and glaring up at my new attacker. Brynjolf stared down at me, visibly disappointed.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
Brynjolf sighed, exasperated. "Why'd you have to fight back?" I watched as a balding man helped the woman stand while she gave me a smug smile. Ignoring Brynjolf's outstretched hand, I stood on my own and dusted myself off, sticking in the background.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have."
Brynjolf crossed his arms. "Vex gets aggressive with potential recruits. It's how she weeds out the weak ones. Most that run away don't stick around. It's the ones that either come back or flat-out don't leave that we keep." He grimaced. "They don't tend to start a full fight, lass. We're thieves, not the Companions."
I scowled at Brynjolf. "What, was I supposed to sit there and let her take a go at me?" My nose crinkled up in distaste. "If that's what your Guild offers, maybe I should leave." He peered at me.
"Don't." I lifted a brow at Brynjolf's request. "While I don't think you should have had a full-out feud in the middle of the Ragged Flagon, I think your fire could help us get back on our feet, lass."
I eyed Brynjolf up and down, wondering what his game was. After a few moments, I relented and sighed. "Fine. But I'm not going to apologize for something that wasn't my fault." Although Brynjolf was plainly disapproving of my attitude, he must have decided it wasn't worth the fight. I spotted Vex whispering to Mercer.
He set a hand on my shoulder before I could turn to leave. "You've managed to piss off everyone in the Ragged Flagon. Quite a feat, but one that could get you in more than a bit of trouble." Brynjolf's voice held a warning tone. "Watch yourself, lass."
...Now what?
My internal question was answered when Mercer left Vex's side and slowly walked over to me, expression turning from annoyed to angry. Given the small murmurs around the Flagon, their opinions of me hadn't changed either from when I'd first entered the run-down tavern. Brynjolf backed away, allowing his Guildmaster through.
"What do you want, Mercer?" I asked darkly, sitting on a barrel. His nostrils flared as he cracked his knuckles and set his right hand on the Dwarven sword at his side. He continued to lean in.
"Don't go around thinking you can do whatever you want," he hissed, face so close I could feel the heat of his angered breath. I gritted my teeth as he continued. "We're a business, Russet. Have you any respect in you, Companion?" Both his remark and the thieves crowding around us to spectate spoiled my mood. "You're lucky you've got Brynjolf backing you. Me? I'd throw you into the Ratway to die." I glanced at Brynjolf, his curious green eyes staring right back. My head started to spin. "I expect you to show us all some damn respect in the future, or you're out." Mercer shoved me off the barrel, and I hit the ground with a squeak.
Mercer stormed away, and the gathering of thieves began laughing at me- that is, all but one. Brynjolf separated himself and approached me with a disappointed stare. "Why did you back me?" I groaned, climbing to my feet while trying desperately to keep my anger under control. If I let it explode again, I'd be in more trouble than ever.
"Like I said before, you'll be an asset to the Guild," he replied. I avoided his piercing gaze and focused on a splinter that had made it through my armor. "And I'll be honest, I'm not surprised Mercer went after you." I peered at Brynjolf critically.
"A warning would have been nice," I snapped, turning my head away from him and eyeing the other thieves in the Flagon. Their attention had quickly turned to other things.
"Just because I'm not surprised doesn't mean I know every move the Guildmaster makes, lass." I shrugged, uncomfortable. With a sigh, Brynjolf sat in the nearest chair and motioned for me to take the one opposite him. "Look, we've got every kind of thief in here, from skilled pickpockets to novice brigands. What we don't have is-"
"Someone who killed giants for breakfast?" Brynjolf didn't seem impressed.
"Not what I meant, lass." He closed his eyes and leaned back, running his fingers through his red hair. "I said it when you walked into the Flagon for the first time. You're different. I'll be damned if I could figure out why, but as soon as I saw you in the inn, I figured the Guild needed you."
"Aww, I didn't know you could get so emotional," I teased lightheartedly, taking the nearest bottle of mead and tipping it into the mug in front of him. "What a sweetheart."
Brynjolf laughed. "Aren't you funny?" His amusement faded as he drank from the flagon. He set it down and wiped at his mouth with his pointer finger and thumb. "I've told you why you're still here. Now it's time to make sure Mercer lets you stick around." Brynjolf gestured to Vex. "And you shouldn't worry about Vex bothering you. It's generally a one-time thing with her. Besides, she's the one you'll get jobs from." Brynjolf must have noticed my instant wariness. "Of course, you don't have to go to her." He then pointed to the balding man that had helped Vex. "That's Delvin. He, Vex, and I are the ones who'll be delivering jobs for the most part. If it's extra important, you'll get it from Mercer- but I get the feeling he won't be giving you any for a good long while."
"You're probably not wrong." I snatched his mug from his hand. "So I take it you'll be giving me a job now to help increase my reputation in the Guild?"
"And to help the Guild, don't forget that." I waved him off. "Well, let's get you back on everyone's good side, hmm?"
"I'm up for it."
"All right, lass." He seemed vaguely pleased that I'd agreed and passed me a rolled-up parchment. "I've got a contract here for a sweep job. Go to Whiterun and swipe a jeweled candlestick, golden goblet, and diamond necklace from Nazeem's house."
"Whiterun..." I trailed my finger along the edge of the paper. The job offer had both a high point and a low point. "I won't have any problem with that," I lied, aware that turning him down would mean spilling my guts for someone who was essentially a stranger to me, however kind that stranger seemed. At least the target was one of the most despicable people in Whiterun, liked by quite literally no one in the community, not even his own family. I would have no problems robbing him, and my only issue was that this awful target was in my former hometown. I didn't want to run into a Companion. An encounter would be disastrous without a doubt.
"I don't want any spilled blood here." I returned to the present from my dazed ponderings, hoping Brynjolf hadn't been speaking the entire time I'd been lost in thought. "Remember what I said earlier, we're not the Dark Brotherhood. We don't tolerate killings." I shrugged, the way his piercing stare bored into me making me uncomfortable. "Make sure that you remain unseen, lass."
"Of course." I'll ensure it.
Brynjolf appeared to be carefully considering something. "Be careful out there, and stick to the shadows." I gave him a halfhearted smile, chest feeling heavy with the anxiety of returning to Whiterun. "Farewell. And lass... let me know if you need anything. I'm here to help."
