Light comes pouring in through the window opposite of my bed and I grumble, stuffing my head under the pillows. Is it morning already? Damn it, I haven't slept a wink. Again. I groan and haul myself out from underneath the bear skin blankets and find my boots, pulling them on. I don't bother to lace them yet. I reach for the side table and grasp the bottle of wine, taking a large, delicious gulp, allowing the sweet liquid to burn down my throat, helping me to focus. I sigh, making my way towards the door.

There aren't many people in here in the morning, I notice. The pair of Argonian owners are here, obviously, but there are only two others besides myself. An older man, Nord by the look of him, staring absently at the wood of his table with a downtrodden look, and another man by the door, clothed in mage robes with a staff beside him. He looks like a Breton. Mercenary, I'd wager. I make a mental note to check his pockets as I approach the front counter.

The female Argonian grins at me. Ugh. The Argonian race leaves a lot to be desired. Nothing but lizard faces and forked tongues. Lanky bodies make for shoddy warriors and their heavy, reptilian breathing makes for poor thieving. And I don't think I've ever seen an Argonian mage in my life. What good are they other than shopkeepers and servents?

"What can I get for you? A sweet roll maybe? Or some fresh baked bread?" she rasps.

I manage a smile. "A sweet roll sounds wonderful," I reply, and gods do I mean it. The warm icing of a sweet roll is enough to make anyone's mouth water. I take a seat at a nearby table, folding my hands in front of me while I wait for my food.

She comes to my table a little later, placing a sweet roll and a cup of smelly liquid before me. I wrinkle my nose at it, looking up at her.

"What's in the cup?"

She smiles proudly. "A mixture of herbs and spices, brewed up into a tea. The finest recipe from Black March."

I wave it away. "Take it back. Bring me some spiced wine."

She pauses for moment, reaching slowly for the cup. "O-of course. Sorry." She scurries away with the tea in hand, bringing me back a goblet of spiced wine.

I shoo her away after that, needing to be alone with my thoughts. I take the first bite of my sweet roll and chase it down with some wine, wracking my brain for ideas. This is Riften, after all. Home of the Thieves' Guild. It won't be easy pickings with all that competition. I'll have to make my move fast and hard. Can't go out at night, that's when the half-ass thieves do their business. No, I'll have to strike in the daytime. This makes things difficult. I've only ever done two successful daytime heists, and the one almost landed me in a cell. I smirk to myself, curling my lips around my goblet. This is going to be fun.

The streets are bustling with morning business and I stretch into the sunlight, welcoming its warm embrace. I wander the streets for a while, familiarizing myself with every corner, back alley, building and street. If I'm going to clear out the city, I need to know what I'm dealing with. The Temple of Mara is promising, and I make a mental note to head there at night. The Nords wouldn't dare steal from a Temple. Too much fear in angering the gods. Only goddess I care about is Lady Dibella, and I don't see a Temple of hers anywhere here.

The next place I find myself is the Keep. Mistveil Keep, I believe it's called, and it's massive with beautiful stone carvings and a strong structure. It is something to behold, for sure. The guards eye me warily as I pass by, but they don't stop me. They don't have reason to: I haven't stolen anything. Yet.

Sweet slaughterfish, it's just as magnificent inside as it is outside. And there is so much here...so much to steal. I hold back a cackle as I make my way towards the Jarl's throne, which is in the back of the room. A tired looking woman sits there, pompous as Jarls are, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. A line stands before here with farmers, shopkeepers and a Khajit, eager to make a request of her. I take my place at the back of the line, waiting for my chance to speak.

I've found that it's easier to steal from a city that's trusting. Take up a few jobs, save a few lives and people are welcoming to you. They open their doors, their hearts...and their pockets. I've killed giants, wiped out bandits and struck down a bear or two in an attempt to gain a city's trust. There was even a pour lout down in Falkreath who's entire hunting party was wiped out by a cave of bears. I healed him, then wiped the bears out for the city. I came back and was greeted like a queen. I got three free nights at the inn, as much wine as I could drink and a hefty discount at the village store. Plus the hunter I saved gave me his dagger, passed down to him from four generations. I pawned it off in Whiterun with some tale that it could be traced back to Ysgramor or something like that. Nords. They love a good story.

"Miss? Miss! It's your turn to approach the Jarl," a woman calls to me.

I snap back to the present and the line before me is gone. I am before the Riften Jarl, who looks at me expectantly. I grin Time to put on a show.

I drop to my knee and bow before the woman, resting my hands on the floor. "My Jarl," I begin, clearing my throat so I can be heard well. "I am but a humble Bosmer, come to this city to start a new life. I am aware that your people, the mighty Nords, do not take kindly to elves of any race, but I beg you to hear me." I look up at her, trying to make my eyes shine. "I know that it is customary for newcomers to perform deeds to aid the peopl of a city in the hopes of being accepted, and I have come to offer my services." I straighten my posture and rest both hands on my knee. "Is there any task that you would wish me to perform?"

Damn, that sounded good. I keep my eyes locked with the Jarl, hoping to fool her into thinking I am sincere. My voice was strong and sure and I didn't falter with one word. She drums her fingers on her lips for a few moments, then softly smiles.

"Your passion does you credit, young elf," she calls, raising a hand and beckoning me closer.

Yes! I am so in. I rise to my feet and approach her with a humble attitude, keeping my face low and my eyes even.

"There is something you can do for this city, and for me. There is a group of bandits holed up in Cragslane Cavern that need taken care of. They have raided multiple shipments to and from the city, and murdered a band of guards that were on duty outside the city. From what reports have told me, there shouldn't be more than a dozen." She leans forward in her chair. "Will you do this service for me?"

I bow and sweep my hand to the side. "It would be an honor, my Jarl."

She nods. "You will be well rewarded. The caverns are to the north of here. Please take care of ruffians as soon as you are able." She then dismisses me and I move out of the line, letting the next person take their turn with the Jarl.

I rub my palms together. Cragslane Cavern it is. I make for the exit of Mistveil, but an hand hastily grasps my arm and pulls me back. I almost reach for a dagger, but remember where I am and keep myself calm. I am now face to face with a young Nord, clothed in furs and scaled armor. He crosses his arms as he eyes me over, and this time I am certain I am being checked out. I cross my own arms in response and quirk an eyebrow at him.

"I am Harrold, son of the Jarl, and I heard that my mother has a task for you."

My posture immediately changes. Got to keep up the obediant charade. "Yes, sir. I am to clear-"

He waves his hand at me, cutting me off. "I don't care about that, churl." He clears his throat. "I have something you need to do for me before you go."

Who does this young buck think he is, calling me a churl? What a prick. I roll my eyes inwardly, but manage a soft smile. "Yes, sir. Anything you want."

He smiles. "I love it when the lesser are obediant." He sighs happily, pulling the sword from his hip and handing it to me. "Take this down to the smithy and have him repair it for me. It shouldn't be more than 100 septims, so you should be able to pay for it as well."

I look at the sword and my mouth falls slightly agape. What in Oblivion did he do to it? It's got chips in the sides, is bent almost beyond recognition and it looks more blunt than a butter knife! What was he doing, slashing at a wall? Idiot boy.

He claps his hand in my face. "Do it quickly, now! I don't like to be kept waiting. To the smithy, and right back."

I ball up one fist behind my back, but take the sword with the other. "Right away," I hiss through my teeth before turning and exiting the keep.

I hate authority figures. I descend the stairs from the keep and notice that the smithy is right outside of the wall surrounding Mistveil. ...Seriously?! He couldn't just take the blade himself? I groan, frustrated, but head towards the smith anyway, blunted sword in tow. The man is hard at work and I almost feel back bothering him, but clear my throat to announce my presence anyway.

He turns to me, sweat dripping from his dark tresses and smiles. "Milady. What can I do for you?"

I can't help but crack a smile. Nords usually hate my people, but on the rare occasion I do find one that is kind. It warms my heart and I present the sword to him, wincing again at its battered appearence. He takes one look at it and wrinkles his nose.

"Harrold's blade, eh?" he looks at me, taking the sword as I manage a slow nod. He grunts. "Idiot boy."

I chuckle as his words mimic my own thinking and circle behind him as he heats the blade in the forge. I watch him work and allow him to get comfortable before I start circling around, eyeing up his merchandise. Those daggers should sell well, and I notice a pile of silver ore off to the side as well. I take another look at the blacksmith, then slip four daggers and the pile of ore into my pockets. Before he turns and catches me, I lean casually against the workbench, watching him work.

Another few minutes, and the sword is as good as new. It shines in the sunlight and he hands it back to me, smacking his hands together. I take it and reach for my purse, adopting a sad, sultry expression.

"How much do I owe you for the repair?" I murmur, looking at my purse as if it were nearly empty.

He inspects me for what feels like an eternity, then smiles sadly and holds up a hand. "Nothing, lady. That boy isn't worth the gold from your pocket. Just tell him ol' Balimund said to be more careful with his weapons."

I grin. "You are kind, Balimund. I'll tell him. Thank you."

Men...so predictable.

I turn on my heel and head back towards the keep, sword in hand and laugh to myself. These daggers and ore should sell for at least a hundred septims. We'll see what I can squeeze out of Harrold once I deliver his sword. I re-enter the keep and he stands expectantly, tapping his foot as if I'd been gone for decades. He grunts at me.

"What took you so long?!" he shrieks, snatching his sword away and slamming it into his sheath. He turns his back on me and heads towards the Jarl, looking as though he were about to complain about me.

The Jarl turns to him and silences him before he can even speak. She then beckons me over and I approach warily, my steps measured.

"Harrold had you repair his sword, did he?" she asks, her tone disapproving.

"I took it down to the smithy, yes."

She nods. "And...how much were the repairs?"

"150 septims, my Jarl," I reply, thinking quick on my feet.

She turns to her son. "And you were planning on compensating this woman, weren't you son?"

He turns to me, his face twisted and annoyed. "Of course...mother."

He reaches to his hip and pulls out a hefty purse, plopping it into my hand. "200 septims, for services rendered."

I smile, nodding my head low to him and turn, leaving Mistveil Keep.

I am beginning to like this city.