The Ratway was dim, dank, and an all-around miserable place to be. Veria killed five skeevers in the first twenty paces or so into the stinking tunnels and was already annoyed at all the trouble. Even the Brotherhood was a little cleaner with their front door, she thought. To make things more irksome, she had to be bothered to find levers and wheels in the grimy darkness of the sewers in order to lower drawbridges and open locked doors. It was child's play, to say the least. Incredibly dull and uncreative child's play at that. "There must be another entrance," she grumbled to herself when she realized she was being tested. As she picked her way through corridors and trap doors she came to the rather obvious conclusion as to just what kind of organization she was headed for. Her musings, however, were frequently interrupted by vermin snapping at her ankles.

The skeevers were easily dispatched, and within the hour she found herself in a small room lit by a single torch hanging by a grimy but solid door. She pushed through and let the heavy door seal shut behind her. At the end of the dark tunnel she had stepped into she could see pale light, and gleaming refractions that signaled the presence of water. That had to be the inner cistern ahead, she thought.

As she stepped into the watery light she was greeted by a high, curving ceiling encasing a large, slimy room that held a reservoir of cloudy water. A bridge had been cobbled together with damp wood, and across the way Veria could see a makeshift tavern piled high with crates, mead, and shady men that all turned to stare when she entered. They all drew daggers and swords at the sight of her, and the largest of them approached her with his hand resting on the hilt of his war hammer.

His hair was dark and his eyes were black with pitch, like a racoon's. Veria stood unwavering on the bridge until he stopped inches in front of her. His voice was deep and sinister as he said, "You lookin' for trouble, outsider?"
Unfazed, Veria crossed her arms and peered venomously into his eyes. "Step away from me. I'm here for Brynjolf."
His hand dropped to his side and clenched into a fist. "And what's your business with Brynjolf?"

"Lass!" The man in question suddenly appeared and gave the burly thug a hearty slap on the shoulder. "That's quite enough, Maul. No need to worry about this one. Go back to the Keep and tell Maven what I said."
Maul grumbled and pushed rather rudely past Veria without giving her a second more of his time. Brynjolf stood before her, his disposition subdued but clearly excited. Behind him, Veria saw the men had returned to their business, and she felt relieved to be ignored.
"You made it." Brynjolf said, drawing her attention. "Well done, lass."

She almost laughed at his apparent pride in the matter. "Enough," she said. "I'm here for coin, not your praise."
Brynjolf smiled and his eyes sobered, "Follow me. I'll show you around the place."
He turned on his heel and she followed beside him as he led her through the tiny makeshift tavern. She spotted a sign naming the place.
"This is the Ragged Flagon," Brynjolf said. "You've probably worked out by now that this is the home of Thieves Guild."
Veria gave a patronizing smile. "That much was obvious, sir."
"Well, I'm glad to find you're not a complete simpleton."

Veria scowled at the jab but followed him silently to a door tucked into the corner of the room. With a loud creak it opened to much larger cistern lit by sunlight pouring through the top of a hooded well. It was probably the top of the well in the marketplace, Veria thought.
As grand as the place was, it felt almost abandoned. There were only a few people tucked into the corners sharpening daggers or counting coin, and the only sounds were the lapping of water on stone and sighs of bored thieves.
"It might not look like much," Brynjolf said, turning to her. "But it's home."

Glancing around, Veria crossed her arms and said, "You're right. It's dim, and empty. There's a musty smell in the air, and there's darkness in every corner. But..." She paused, then finished, "I like it."
Brynjolf smiled soberly and said, "In the good old days, we had merchants lining the walls; our own bustling black market. The Ragged Flagon was crowded, and the coffers were overflowing with gold. But..." A grimace crossed his face and he said, "These days...I admit things haven't been going so well. It's just been a few years of bad luck, you know."
"Then why should I be interested in a dried-up house like this?" Veria challenged.
"Because you can help us rise again. We need fresh talent like you to become the guild we once were. Feared, respected, like in the old days."
"What's in it for me?"
"This place would be yours to call home. You'd always be welcome here, and there would always be work for you. Your pockets would always be lined with gold, and you'd never go hungry. And, if you want," his voice grew a little quieter and he continued, "we'll help you kick that skooma habit of yours."

Veria's face flared into a defensive scowl. "How did you-"
"Come now, lass," he held up his palms. "A half-dead skooma addict doesn't just wander into town unnoticed. Maul is always on the prowl."
"I don't need your help in that matter," she said a little too quickly, but he backed off and didn't press her. Instead he asked, "So, what'll it be? You fancy becoming a member of the Thieves Guild?"
Veria considered him through narrowed eyes for a long while. She didn't see any reason to refuse, so she rested her hands on her hips and nodded once.

"Splendid," Brynjolf said in a business-like tone. "Before I can make you an official member, I need you to do a few small tasks for me. Just to make sure you're right for the Guild."
Veria raised an eyebrow. "You have another job for me already?"
"There's always work to be done when building an empire, lass. And a recruit like yourself is perfect for what I have in mind."
"What do you need me to do?"
He chuckled and said, "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but don't get too excited." He crossed his arms and got to business. "From time to time the people of Riften need some... financial assistance from the Guild. We're happy to provide, but we expect repayment. Three of our borrowers are overdue. I need you to collect their debts."
"Who are they?"

Brynjolf gave her the details of each debtor; where they worked, what they owed, what might convince them to pay up, and so on. "And remember this, lass," Brynjolf said. "We have a rule here: no killing our marks. Shake them up a little if you have to but murder is off limits. We're not the Dark Brotherhood."
Veria nodded and fought the urge to twitch at the sound of her old family's name. It wouldn't do to let Brynjolf know too much about her past, so she simply nodded in understanding. Brynjolf showed her to the secret back entrance, and bid her farewell.
"One more thing," he called as she alighted the stairway. "It would benefit our relationship greatly if I knew what to call you."

Veria glanced back at him and deliberated a moment. Finally she said, "'Lass' will do for now." He cocked and eyebrow, then chuckled at her stubbornness. She turned and pushed her way to the exit before he could retort.