Looked over by the awesome 16DarkMidnight80.
-K-
My task was to go to Markarth, the City of Stone, and speak to a fellow named Endon, who had a kind of proposition for the Guild. Bryn was emphatic: be cute and charming, and make him a very happy customer.
To which Sapphire seconded (while Bryn ignored her), 'and cut his balls off if he's jerking us around.' She understandably wouldn't like Bryn's choice of wording.
But, before I could get underway, I had a secondary mission passed down by Guildmaster Grumps to be delegated and elaborated on by the ever-so-reliable Bryn.
Why it fell to me, I have no idea. Maybe because I was heading that way anyway, and everyone knows I don't mind having a bit of a honey-do list, as long as no one tries to hurry me in doing it.
Honey-do. In Riften. I'll have to remember that one.
Anyway, I never considered myself a reliable type, but apparently I'm more reliable than others, or someone else not-me would be covering this.
"Bryn said I should talk to you before I go," I announced, dropping into the chair across from Tonilia. "Something about the caravans?"
Tonilia, the pretty Redguard, regarded me with the same calculating cynicism she maintains towards just about everyone. She's only really fun once she has a couple drinks in her. I also think she's the one who ended up with Jarl Elisif's underthings. Not necessarily for personal use—I like to believe no one believes in secondhand underwear—but for her own inscrutable purposes.
Why? Because Sapphire thinks the garments ridiculous, and she doesn't like pink. At all.
Delvin wouldn't be allowed to keep them, because Vex was there to make sure he didn't.
Vex wouldn't want them because, as I said, secondhand underwear. Eew.
And if Delvin couldn't have them, he'd make sure none of the other younger fellows got them, either. Seniority should have its perks.
But Tonilia? She can make a coin grow out of a cobbled street—as the saying sometimes goes. If anyone could do something useful with those pretty little underthings, it would be her. Her mind is like an abacus, and aside from fooling around with Bryn (because she wouldn't if it didn't make her happy), the only things that make Tonilia happy are strong drinks and solid profits. She's the one who actually handles things like melting down gaudy jewelry, and making sure cuts go where they're supposed to. If I had to give her a title, Headquarters Fence, Treasurer, and Paymistress would be it… even though she doesn't have a key to the Vault. I think she should, since she handles big chunks of the Guild's money.
Then again, I suppose I'm a bit too trusting. But if a lock takes two keys, there should probably be four people with keys. Less of a chance the Guild will find itself locked out of its own Vault because someone's not in the Cistern.
Bryn gave me a good 'that's why you're not in charge' hair ruffle when I expressed that opinion, once.
Tch. Can you imagine me in charge? That'd be a disaster.
The Thieves Guild is not the most buddy-buddy of guilds to work for, as I've discovered. Part of me hopes it's just due to our current reduced circumstances and that people will cheer up if we turn the corner but… I'm not so sure. Maybe it's habit. Or even inclination.
Wow, that'd be sad…
"Yes. Right now, one of our biggest problems is that we lack a reliable way to transport merchandise across Skyrim," Tonilia said, briskly businesslike, putting a complete stop to my chasing thoughts.
One of our biggest problems is that we're as broke as a career sluggard. Poverty isn't funny, and our vault is terribly, ridiculously bare. She doesn't need me to tell her that, though. She might take it badly if I did.
"Now the Khajiit Caravans—you can't have missed them—have free access to Skyrim and travel all across the realm. They're shrewd traders and don't mind getting their hands—paws—dirty. I've dealt with their leader, Ri'saad, on more than one occasion." She looked at me expectantly.
"…so I should say what, exactly, to Ri'saad?" I asked, when she didn't elaborate, but kept looking expectantly at me.
The Khajiit Caravans are well-known throughout Tamriel. It's not just Skyrim they're making circuits of; they're anywhere they can get a foothold. Most of the caravans in a province are under the leadership of one individual… not quite a family business, but a syndicate of families, all under this one matriarch or patriarch. That way, they're not in competition with each other; quite the opposite.
"You don't say squat of your own account," came the 'don't be ridiculous, if you can help it' retort. I'll admit, if it was someone other than Tonilia, I'd be a little hurt; but she's usually very serious about business, because business going well makes her happy, and business getting fouled up sours her so-sunny disposition. She wouldn't be Tonilia otherwise, so I wasn't hurt. Gotta take people as you find them, and all that. "I want you to bring him a present from the Guild." She produced an ornamental leather bag, full of something.
I picked it up, then opened it since no one said I shouldn't. It was full of a coarse-grained white powder, like extremely coarse sugar, but strangely… lustrous. Moon sugar. I've seen it before, though I've never messed with it. It can be refined into the narcotic skooma—never messed with that, either. It's bad stuff—but the raw stuff is common in Elsweyr.
"You see, the caravans are notorious for transporting illicit substances… without getting caught."
Ah, there's the rub. 'Without getting caught.' Rune is currently in Windhelm, doing a little time because he got caught. Poor guy.
"So if you present this gift from the Guild to Ri'saad, I'll bet my last septim he'll be more than happy to make a deal," Tonilia concluded.
I still wasn't sure why I, in particular, was being trusted. Maybe it's because my luck is supposedly better than others'. I don't suppose I care, really. Whatever helps. "I'll get it done," I said, stashing the pouch safely in my clothes.
-K-
The conversation with Ri'saad was even shorter than Tonilia made it sound like it should be. Basically, I walked into the camp on Riften's doorstep, I offered the Guild's greetings and all in my most posh manner, offered him the gift, accepted his thanks, told him (when asked) that he should talk to Tonilia.
Then came a silence which I took as dismissal. I was out of there before it got to the silence of 'why are you still here? Do you have further business?'
Thus free of my responsibilities—imagine for a moment if I got to be the responsible one in the Guild! I hate the idea of being Mistress Dependable!—I headed across Skyrim to Markarth to meet this Endon fellow.
-K-
Markarth is the City of Stone, best known for two things: silver and Cidhna Mine. Don't ever get busted in Markarth, because rather than put you in a cooler to pay your debt to society through boredom and bad food, they put you in the mine and you work it off the hard way (also with bad food, but so scant you're glad to get it). Even the people who don't believe in luck—specifically, the Guild's run of bad luck—don't like working there if they're not feeling pretty lucky. It's also not a place a Guild jailbreaker can really help with.
The end result is that Markarth had become very complacent about the Guild and its reach. You'd think that would make working there easier, but it doesn't.
It's also the city in Skyrim for people with sticky feet—such as myself—to play. With all the old stonework, there are more hand- and foot-holds in the architecture than you can shake a stick at, and it's loads of fun to scramble up and down through the city, running the rooftops after nightfall. One must be incredibly careful doing this, because crumbly stonework can mean insecure footing, but for those who possess a steady head, steady foot, and decent nerves…
…you can't do this sort of thing in Windhelm or Solitude. And Riften? Pah!
The security Markarth is so proud of? All their grumpy, well-armed guards? Guards, schmards; those milk-drinkers might do well enough at keeping the peace, but if they ever had to chase someone who knew how to run through their city, they'd give up after a couple streets.
So yes, that makes Markarth my absolute favorite city in Skyrim. It's the most fun, and the safest to operate in…
…except for the palace. I'll admit, that place is pretty well-secured, full of tight spaces where it's easy to get cornered, and I didn't like the sense of the whole mountain perched on top of this carved-out air bubble. I'm not bothered by tight spaces normally, but the palace in Markarth bothered me.
Also, way too many grumpy-Elves. That meant more-watchful, grumpy everybody-else. What a mess.
Fortunately, I wasn't here to mess with Jarl Igmund, his small clothes, or anyone or anything else in the palace. I was here for Endon, whom I found in his well-appointed workshop, polishing a set of candlesticks—silver, of course—with a soft rag. He looked like he'd recently swallowed a frog, and jumped when I knocked on the door.
"I'm sorry, I'm not taking visitors," he said curtly.
"I didn't travel across the Province on a whim. You asked for a fixer," I answered politely, but firmly. "Here I am."
Endon sighed, losing that just-ate-a-frog look to assume a look of haggard hope.
…I really don't like being the reliable one…
"Thank Zenithar!" Endon breathed, setting aside the candlesticks and waving me into the room. He would have locked the door once he shut it behind me, but I shot out a hand to stop him, assuming my biggest, sunny smile.
"I don't like locked doors. I'll make sure we're not interrupted." With that, I leaned against the door, which opened inward. I doubted my bulk would be sufficient to stop anyone truly determined, but why should anyone be determined to break this up? I'd been perfectly discreet, and wore nice clothes. As far as an onlooker could tell, I was just another nice young lady here about some silverwork.
Endon frowned, whether because he wanted greater security or didn't like the implication that I didn't care to be locked in a room with him, I didn't know. "Regardless… I'm so glad you're here! Several months ago I ordered a special silver mold from some artisans in Valenwood by way of a Khajiit Caravan. Well, it never arrived."
"That is unusual," I observed when Endon paused.
"Later I found out that it was robbed by a group of bandits led by someone named Rigel Strong-Arm."
Strong-Arm… Strong-Arm… I know ofa Stone-Arm in Whiterun, and there's Stone-Fist in Windhelm… nope. Don't think I know the guy. "So… why do you need the Guild? This seems like a… you know… legitimate businessman's matter. Not that I'd know anything about that."
Endon gave me a deprecating look. "I already spoke to the Watch, and the Steward, and the Housecarl… by Oblivion's Teeth, I even spoke to the Jarl—everyone!" he fumed, beginning to pace the small space, wringing his hands. "They all told me their resources were spread too thin right now, and to talk to the Companions!"
"Did you?" It still sounds like they'd be a better choice for taking back this mold by force, because… Strong-Arm. They don't get names like that in Skyrim because others are being sarcastic. Not usually, anyway.
Endon grunted. "No offense to the noble Companions," he said, tone dripping with disdain, "but I would worry about mold being destroyed in the ensuing brawl! I want this done right! And the rumor is, the Guild is reasserting itself."
…who started that rumor? Not that I'm about to argue the point.
We're also arguably a cheaper option. Don't think I don't recognize that. "That's true," I answered, sensing that Endon didn't really know anything, and recognizing that, not knowing anything, I could fiddle around with his assumption that we were a cheap option. We're specialists; for specialists… you have to pay. "Especially here in Markarth. Send a thief to bilk a thief, I get it. It's a good plan."
"Thank you. Listen, this mold is utterly irreplaceable," he continued. "I'll pay you well for its return—"
"How well?"
This stopped Endon dead in his tracks.
"I mean, what's on the table? You're hiring a specialist, after all, and I do have other jobs lined up after this one. I was just told to come talk—no one said anything about taking the job if it wasn't worth it to the Guild," I explained.
Endon shifted, the way a person does when they've made an apparently generous offer and then been called on to prove how generous they're really being.
"Of course, I do recognize that…" Endon said slowly.
"I'm not trying to extort you, Endon. I just want to know whether it's worth my while to possibly fight a guy called Strong-Arm."
"…if you're any good, you shouldn't need to fight him," Endon countered.
I sighed dramatically. "I still don't know why we're talking. Clearly you want a cheap fix and, frankly—"
"…aaaand I can also prove to be quite a valuable ally to the Thieves Guild." This time, Endon half smiled. "Not just anyone can move jewels, for instance. Upscale merchandise. And a silversmith in Markarth is someone of import, who rarely receives scrutiny. You never know when it might benefit you to have friends in high places."
"Now that's currency," I agreed. "Money talks and bull-chips walk—I was obviously mistaken about cheap fixes, and humbly beg your pardon." I bowed to cap the performance.
Endon exhaled. "Good. I'm glad we understand one another."
"Me too. Isn't it grand when professionals can work together?"
The smile I received was sickly, as if he knew very well that I'd been sent to finagle better terms than he might have wanted to offer.
Well… I expect anyone in the Guild could have done as well. Sapphire would have made it hurt. Bryn would have made it more expensive (which would be painful in a different way). Ah, well. I'm just one big soft heart.
"Grand," he agreed.
"Now… I take it you've some idea where this thing is? You wouldn't ask me to scour Skyrim front and back looking for this little thing, would you?"
"Not that little; it's about this big," he traced its shape in the air with his hands. "And it has a Valenwood maker's… mark… it'll be a tree," he said, slowing down before telling me something useful about the mark. "The only thing I can tell you is that the mold was taken to the bandits' hideout... a small cottage called Pinewatch, near Falkreath."
"Out in the woods," I agreed, not asking how he obtained this very useful piece of information… but it made me instantly wary. Most people probably aren't looking to get Guild members into bad situations, but you never know when someone's City Watch needs more to occupy their time.
I'll buy an invisibility potion or two while I'm here. If I have to work close-quarters, basic sneakiness isn't going to help much.
There was no sign of bandits around Pinewatch, and a discreet study of the building suggested no one had come through for quite some time.
Suspicious, to say the least. So, either Endon was lying, he was simply wrong, or the bandits were actually using some kind of back way in to hide their coming and going. Finally, I slipped into the house to have a closer look.
It didn't take long to find the hidden lever, nor to drain the invisibility potion obtained from the Hag's Cure back in Markarth.
It was a bit of a stretch to reach the lever without standing in front of the fake panel—because if the door opened on its own and anyone was on the other side, they'd immediately go to find out what opened their secret door.
It wasn't a bandit hideout. Pinewatch was full of Stormcloaks.
I darted in when the sentry came out to see what had happened, who'd been snooping.
It wasn't a single unit of Stormcloaks, either. It was an entire garrison! People and supplies were everywhere, space for training, a small forge—meaning the caves were vented to the surface somehow—they could have launched an attack on Falkreath and no one would realize anything until it was too late!
What puzzled me was what all these Stormcloaks were doing underground. That's not normally a Stormcloak thing to do. They're not moles.
So, naturally, my first job was to see what could be seen. The head officer's office, near the back of the complex, contained reports, all of which were filed as being 'to Lady Grey, Windhelm.'
Now, I know someone of that name in Windhelm, and she's not someone I'd want to cross. She's also the sort who knows the value of a thing, so if the Stormcloaks here kicked the previous tenants out, all the good stuff was probably handed over to her.
Meaning it might well be pointless to keep looking for the mold here. It would be much more diplomatic—and probably smarter—to go directly to Lady Leandra and ask her about it. She's the type who wouldn't mind having tacit ties to the Guild.
…ugh. As I did unto Endon, she's gonna do to me… because she knows the value of a thing, and what she can get for it. Who was it that said these things come around?