Nalimir

Whilst it was a Bosmer tradition to eat the flesh of a defeated foe as part of their religion and the Green Pact, Nalimir felt much better with quickly doing away with the body. Thus, he had no qualms about disposing of it via the free and easy access to the ocean. After all, Riften was a densely populated city; throwing an Imperial body with a cut throat on the ol' spit would not go unnoticed. Riften's connection to the ocean provided the perfect means of body disposal, and by the time anyone discovered the bagged body, Nalimir would be long gone. He doubted anyone would recognise the nameless doomsayer anyway; those types were almost always alone, caught up in their own fantasy world of impending doom and destruction.

Despite the nature of his work, Nalimir disliked Riften; the air of constant fear that clung to everyone put them on their guard and made his job more difficult. Still, he'd had a target here. The Doomsayer was eager enough to follow anyone who was willing to listen to him, so the job had been simple. He'd done it quietly in a secluded spot; no one had heard or seen a thing.

He had a room for the night booked at The Bee and Barb. Normally he didn't linger around the location of a job, but in this case, he still had business in Riften. Besides, he doubted anyone would ask questions about the disappearance of the Doomsayer. Even so, he didn't plan to spend any more time here than necessary.

The Ratways were as unpleasant as he remembered them. For a short time he'd worked here as a sell-sword, where work was easy to come by, albeit unpleasant. Moisture clung to everything here, making him feel clammy and uncomfortable in his own skin as a light sheet of vapour coated him. Skeevers darted this way and that, occasionally crawling from the shadows to bite curiously in his direction. They scurried off when he looked their way, squeaking hysterically. Disgusting creatures.

If Nalimir had been more of a people person, he might have adored The Ragged Flagon. The patrons there were all "his kind of people", criminals and murders. As much as they had in common however, he had no idea how to talk to them. He approached the bar, whose tender stood behind it cleaning out a glass and eyeing him suspiciously. With his knack for names and faces, Nalimir remembered him as Vekel the Man, despite the amount of time that had passed since his last visit.

Swallowing and drumming his fingers on the wood of the counter, Nalimir glanced shiftily around him before facing the man before him. "I'm looking for someone called Mog," he informed him somewhat awkwardly, more accustomed to hunting people out by his own devices than through polite inquiries. It was apparently the wrong thing to say, for the man bristled, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply.

"Get out of here, now," Vekel hissed.

"I have no intention of harming him," Nalimir assured him, voice and expression perfectly calm despite his rush of panic. Showing your emotions around here was far too dangerous.

The barkeep lunched forward and grabbed him by the front of his robe, yanking him forward and dragging him up over the front of the bar counter. If he'd been any shorter he would have been lifted clean off of his feet. "It's because of you that he's gone, isn't it?" Vekel shouted, turning most heads to look for the source of commotion. One by one they understood what was happening and grew quiet.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Don't try me assassin, you've killed one of our own and sent another two running; I gladly cut your throat as you did hers."

Though Nalimir didn't know the details, it was becoming very clear that he would not be able to find Mog here. Before he could make his excuses and try to escape, another recognisable face stepped forward and laid a hand on Vekel's shoulder. "Vekel, you know we have an alliance with the brotherhood; they would not harm one of our own," Brynjolf reminded the bartender gently, keeping his eyes off of Nalimir as he spoke.

After a few long moments, Vekel released Nalimir, though he remained tight-lipped, muttering under his breath, skewering Nalimir with a sour look that was a clear indication for him to leave. Twisting his nose in distaste at the treatment he'd received, Nalimir took a step back to start his escape of this hell hole, but his saviour no longer seemed quite so gallant. Brynjolf turned towards him with his hands on his hips, one rested on the hilt of his sword, a brief gesture of his hand motioning for Nalimir to stay put. Around them, the patrons of the bar moved with him, some standing whilst others simply stroked their weapons patiently.

"What does the brotherhood want with the lad?" Brynjolf demanded. The others gathered were beginning to exchange hushed comments and Nalimir knew to tread lightly.

"I did not come on behalf of the brotherhood," he informed the thief truthfully, glancing around behind him to check his exits and to tally the number of people that were gathered. Six, excluding Vekel, Brynjolf and himself. He might be an assassin but he was no god; he could not afford to press whatever nerve he'd previously touched.

"Then why?" Brynjolf seemed invigorated by it rather than surprised, as if it gave him greater reason to press the issue.

"I came to offer the boy protection." Clearly Mog, whoever and whatever he was, had managed to get himself mixed up in some kind of danger. Perhaps it was the kind the Greybeards had spoken of, or something worse.

"Why would he need protection?" Brynjolf asked.

"From someone like you?" Vekel elaborated, eyeing Nalimir up and down with a certain degree of distaste. The alliance between the two guilds had always been delicate, to say the least, and whatever had transpired here had done nothing to ease those tensions.

Nalimir felt that outing the boy as the Dragonborn would not be in his best interests, for it would only add complications and questions. "I've come on instructions from a neutral third party. As for why, I think your greeting explains that quite well."

Brynjolf relaxed slightly, apparently satisfied, though Vekel still seemed paranoid as ever. "A neutral third party?" Brynjolf inquired lightly, smiling lightly in response to Nalimir's careful silence. "Need to know?" Nalimir nodded.

"You can't really trust—" Vekel was quick to protest, but Brynjolf was faster to cut him off,

"Vekel, will you get our friend here a drink? He'll need it to see our little exhibition," Brynjolf instructed, [his tone just slightly clipped]. Seething under his breath, Vekel poured a foul-smelling brown liquid into a glass. Nalimir didn't reject the glass he was handed, but didn't drink from it, either.

Gesturing for him to follow, Brynjolf led him down through into the Thieves' Guild Headquarters. This should probably have been considered an honour by an outsider, but there was a distinct lack of theatrics. The members of the Guild present here all seemed to be on their guard, watching their backs and giving him suspicious glances. Brynjolf perpetually looked back over his shoulder at him, smiling pleasantly, though he was no doubt checking up on him. Nalimir did his best to appear as non-threatening as possible, which was difficult, given that he'd been identified as a member of the Brotherhood.

"The lad you seek has vanished along with his guardian; a few of their things have been packed, but we don't know whether or not they chose to leave. No one saw them leave, and there were no goodbyes," Brynjolf explained as they crossed over the crossroad bridge that ran over the little circular pond, central to the room, the pair heading over in the direction of one of the tunnels that led off from the main room.

"Was he a member here?" Nalimir questioned, unable to stop his eyes wandering about the room curiously despite the hateful glares he received back for it.

"They both were."

"And his guardian was…?"

"An Argonian named Gah-Ju. They both came to us over twelve years ago when the child was a babe, although Gah-Ju had been one of us in previous years."

It was unlike Brynjolf to be so free with the information, so Nalimir could only wonder about what tragedy was causing him to be so desperate for answers. They trudged through to a smaller room that was lined with crates. Weaponry was spread across it, haphazardly sorted into categories. More notably, there was the body of a Redguard girl lying face down in the centre of the room, bloodstains pooling around the upper half of her body.

"We found her two days ago in the afternoon, just like this, the blood still damp and her skin still warm. Mog had been seen in with her not thirty minutes before he ran away…" Brynjolf trailed off, caught in some strand of his own thoughts. After a moment he shook himself out of it, frowning slightly. "They were inseparable before, like two sides of the same coin. He would never…" Brynjolf swallowed, shaking his head grimly. "We have yet to work out what happened or why."

Nodding slowly, Nalimir took three careful steps into the room and then circled the body, examining it from different angles. He was no [crime scene investigator], but he was familiar with death. "You haven't disturbed the body in any way?" He inquired absently as he squinted at the wound through the ragged hair that lay across the girl's neck. He was hesitant to touch the body out of disrespect and for fear of ruining his only clue.

"Ah, about that. We've tried to move her, somewhere besides this hell hole, but," Brynjolf pulled a face, grimacing and tilting his head to the side as he winced, being rather uninformative for a moment, but he then continued to explain, "It has proved impossible so far."

"How so?"

"Well, try touching her." Brynjolf nodded in the direction of the body.

With some caution, Nalimir extended his hand and gingerly tried to brush back the girl's hair to examine the wound on her neck. A tremendous force blew him backwards, and then he was staring at the ceiling, nausea and whiplash shooting through his body. "Rather impressive isn't it?" Brynjolf drawled. Nalimir clutched his forehead and grunted as he sat up, staring again at the body.

Several markings were now floating several centimetres above the girl's body. They were clearly magic in nature, glowing with a bright green light. They crossed her entire body in a series of circles all with their own unique pattern curled up within them.

There were eight in total, evenly distributes over the girl's surface. Nalimir could be wrong, but he thought he recognised the markings of the divines within them, wrapped amongst odd symbols and shapes that were completely foreign to him. He did not however get a chance to examine them in depth however for they glimmered there for only a moment before they faded, leaving no trace of their presence behind. "What was that?"

"We wish we knew," Brynjolf confessed. "Actually, I was rather hoping you would."

Standing, dusting himself off, Nalimir gazed at the body for a moment longer before shaking his head. "I have just as little idea as you do, I'm afraid," he admitted slowly. He exhaled heavily through pursed lips as he came to a conclusion. "Unfortunately however, I know someone who does."