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Riften. The gates were tall and the breeze as frigid as one would expect being this far north. Despite the crisp air of morning, Marianne couldn't help but sigh in relief at the sight of those gates. For they symbolized another stepping stone in her journey. Finally, she was in Skyrim. After all this time, after everything she'd been through, it felt as though things were finally falling into place. The horses snorted as the carriage was pulled to a stop. Other travelers began filing out of the back. Each one carrying bundles of fine pelts and wares from Cyrodiil. Riften was the first stop for most traders and the perfect opportunity for Marianne to gain her footing in the new province. If she was to find what she needed most, chances were, it would be here. Marianne stepped out of the carriage, swaying slightly as she adjusted to being on solid ground again. Traveling by carriage was the fastest, and most expensive means of travel, but having little experience with them herself meant they left her slightly disoriented as she disembarked. "Hold there..." Marianne looked up at the guard who had clearly spoken to her as she attempted to follow the group of merchants into the city. "The tax?" he said, holding out a hand covered in the fine gloves of a Count's soldier. "The tax..." she repeated, processing this unexpected development. The guard stared back, his eyes crinkling behind the steel helmet he wore. "Aye...ten gold to enter the city."Ten gold. The cost of a night's sleep at an inn that would come with a meal and a hot bath. A high price for a country in the midst of a civil war. A price she did not see any of the merchants pay upon entering. Perhaps that was the fault of her own, perhaps she should have put more thought into how she should have presented herself. Appearing as someone who might enrich their economy, rather than become enriched by it. Low on coin, she begrudgingly paid the high, and likely phony tax and entered the city. Soon after, she caught up to the group of traveling merchants and took a coin purse off the first one she could with a practiced skill. A tall Nord who paid her no mind and was none the wiser. Marianne stepped into the shadows of a dim alley, thrilled when she looked inside the heavy purse and spied what had to be over a hundred gold pieces. More than she paid on the cost of travel and the phony tax combined. She smiled, her heart swelling with happiness at her luck. Riften was already turning out to be exactly what she needed. With a sense of pride, she poured the gold into her own purse and tossed the merchant's empty purse behind an old storage crate. Stepping out of the alley, she merged into the crowded cobblestone streets and began exploring the city that would likely be her home for the foreseeable future. It took time, and Marianne lost herself in the crowd at one point but eventually found her footing in the giant city. The market square housed the majority of the smaller shop stalls and quickly became her way of finding direction, the winding streets home to the larger, more expensive stores. Marianne searched most of those to no avail. None of the merchants seemed to have any of the books she was looking for. Stopping at one of the stalls, Marianne traded her worn shoes and a fair amount of gold for a pair of warm boots. An honest purchase, but a necessary one. Skyrim was far too cold a place for one to have holes in their shoes. She continued to explore until she could move around the heart of the city with ease. When her feet began to ache from the stiff material of her new boots, she decided it was time to make her way to the large inn at the edge of the market square. She'd taken only a single step toward the inn building when a voice called out to her. "Excuse me, lass."Marianne turned toward the sound of the voice, her eyes widening slightly when she recognized the thick red hair of one of the merchants she traveled with from Bruma. One of the taller ones, who was definitely all Nord with the way his size nearly doubled her own. The same merchant she'd stolen from only a few hours ago. He didn't look angry though, she noticed. He was smiling at her from behind his stall, wearing the finest clothes she'd ever seen a merchant wear. She forced a smile of her own before saying, "Hello." The man's smile widened before he gestured to an assortment of potion bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. A feeling of relief flooded her as she realized he was about to try to sell her something. "Can I interest you in a potion, lass? I have the rarest ones available," he said with no small measure of confidence. A refusal was on the tip of her tongue before she caught herself, her brow creasing in thought. "How rare are they?" The man's face lit up as he fixed her with a gleaming smile. "You won't find anything like them in all of Skyrim, I can promise you that," he said, reaching for one of the smaller red bottles, holding it up as if to give her a better view of the decorative vial. "This one here is a rare gem indeed. A genuine elixir made of pure Falmer blood." She couldn't help that way her lip curled in disgust. "What in Oblivion is a Falmer?"A strange look pulled at his expression before he recovered. "Not from around here, lass? The Falmer were an old, powerful race of elves."She stared at him for a moment, taking it in. She'd been in the city all day searching for magical books and came up empty. The odds of running into someone selling magical potions, a Nord of all people, told her everything she needed to know that this was a scam. It was difficult to keep the frown from her face as her heart deflated a little from the interaction. "How did you get their blood?" The man snorted, "Can't give away my secrets lass," he said, looking at her expectantly. She considered refusing but thought better of it. If nothing else, it would ease her conscience from having stolen all his gold earlier. She passed him a handful of coins. "Excellent choice. You won't regret it," he assured her, pressing the potion into her hands as the sun dipped behind the nearby buildings. Marianne wasted no time fleeing the scene, looking over the potion as she did. She doubted there was any blood in it. If there was, it was likely the blood of some unfortunate rodent he'd found, mixed with a little crushed nirnroot to make it shimmer. With a frown, she placed the vial into the waiting hands of a beggar she passed on her way to the inn. Starving, exhausted, and ready for the disappointment of the day to be over, she ordered her room. Keerava, she learned was the name of the Argonian woman running the inn, cleared a small table at the back for her, and gave her a plate of the stew she'd been cooking. She managed to eat nearly all of it before a sense of sadness settled upon her mind, her thoughts heavy from loss and hardship. Scamming her way from Leyawiin to Bruma had been easy. Making something of herself besides being a thief was turning out to be much harder. More than anything, she wanted to be honest like her father had been before his life was cruelly taken from him. He was a good man, undeserving of his fate. For so long, she'd done what she had to in order to survive, but she had to be different now. Coming to Skyrim was a chance to start over, to find her palce in the world. To find her way to Winterhold. Using her spoon to push a few stray pieces of carrot around her plate, she pondered where to go from here when the seat across from her became occupied. She looked up as he made himself comfortable, placing an open bottle of ale infront of himself on the table top before bringing his hands together. Lacing his fingers together, he studied her, amusement glittering in his deep green eyes. "So... this is what you spent my gold on?" he said, eyeing her plate before leaning over to glance at her feet. "And those... a decent choice for the cold but too stiff for a Breton. I'd be willing to guess your feet are hurting." Marianne felt herself go pale, her mind swimming with thoughts of how to make her escape when he called the guards. Her gaze darted between the two exits, her mind already calculating which was closer, which one had the least amount of patrons in the way. "Settle down lass, I'm just here for a little chat." Her brow came together as she took in his relaxed posture. His left arm slung over the back of his chair, his right twisting the bottle of ale in front of him in half circles. She noticed he no longer wore the fancy garb of a rich merchant. Only wearing a pair of dark leather pants and a linen tunic that was rolled at the sleeves. "I take it you're not used to getting caught?" "I don't know what you're talking about," she blurted, her heart sinking as she tried to think of a way out of the mess she'd created for herself. He smiled, looking almost amused. "I have to admit, lass. I've never been successfully pickpocketed before. You're good. I'll give you that.""Forgive me. I think you have me confused with someone else." "I think you're a terrible liar, lass. Best stick to stealing." His smile faded as he leaned forward, fixing her with a stare she couldn't look away from. "While I admit that I am impressed, I've also come to tell you that your thieving will not be tolerated in Riften. This city belongs to the Thieves Guild and we will not allow rogues to operate within city walls." In a swift motion far too casual for the conversation they were having, he brought the bottle of ale to his lips. Her mind spun from the information he dropped on her. She'd never heard of such a guild existing, but she was certainly in no position to argue. He drained the last of his bottle, leaving it on the table before meeting her gaze again. "I think you'd do well in our little organization. If you're interested, come to the ratway beneath the city. If not," he paused, his eyes narrowing, "I suggest you keep your hands to yourself to ensure they stay attached to your wrists."with that said, and without waiting for her to respond, he left. Marianne watched him move through the crowd, his quick hands taking two purses on his way out. Then he was gone, and Marianne let out a heavy breath that left her feeling dizzy as the color struggled to come back into her face. A deep frown came to her face as she lay in her bed that night, rubbing the thick scars on her wrists and considering the mystery man she now shared a city with. A man who had seemed quiet and harmless during the past week as they traveled together in the same carriage. She never would have guessed that he was a criminal, and now she had no idea what to think of this mystery guild he spoke of. But at least one thing she knew to be true. She had no intention of crossing his path again. Marianne had never been much of a fighter. Years of oppression had suppressed her magic, making it dangerous and unpredictable to summon. That was her goal, and now that she was finally in Skyrim, the college was as close as ever. A thought that solidified her decision as she drifted off to sleep. She had to find those books. Marianne had work to do.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When Marianne woke, it was late. Mid-day at least, if the bright light pouring in the large window was anything to go by. It was midsummer in Skyrim and she could tell from where she lay that there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Smiling at that, she threw the furs off, eager to start the day. Like most of those of her race, Marianne wasn't a fan of the cold. Always partial to the beautiful weather Leyawiin offered. Reminiscent of Riften, it was a city by a lake. Although, she was happy to learn that Riften was much nicer than what she'd gathered from the rumors. Most folk in Cyrodiil painted Skyrim in a terrible light. A likely result of the war and cultural differences, if she had to guess. Thankfully, so far it was anything but. Aside from the Nord that threatened to cut off her hands, it generally seemed like a nice place. It brought back good memories. Before the orphanage, Marianne lived with her father on a small farm just off the lake outside the city's walls. Of course, the sky dumped rain down on Leyawiin more often than not, but she didn't mind. The rain had a kind of peacefulness about it, reminding her of better times.Marianne was first to touch the bathwater. Taking full advantage, she washed the days of dirt and campfire smoke from travel off, taking her time to enjoy the small luxury and thoroughly wash her long, brown hair. After dressing and brushing the tangles free, she left the inn in search of spell books. Having no luck with the finer stores the previous day, she began asking around the market stalls. A few of the merchants there offered odd and unusual items. Among them, she found a few magical items, enchanted robes, and weapons a battlemage might wear but nothing that resembled literature of the arts. Asking around, she learned of a little shop called the Pawned Prawn. A general goods store near the market square that occasionally offered magical wares. With a shrug, she pushed the heavy door open and approached the counter where another customer was arguing with the shopkeeper."Welcome to the Pawned Prawn," the man behind the counter declared a wide smile on his face. Marianne looked to the man in fine clothes beside her, a frown coming to her face when she realized it was the same man from the night before. The red-haired thief who had threatened her hands. His green eyes gazed at hers with a look of amusement before she looked away, focusing on the shopkeeper and doing her best to ignore the other man. "I'm... looking for spellbooks," she said. "I was told you might be able to help." "Unfortunately no, I haven't seen any of those for months," he said. "You could try Whiterun." Her face fell. "Whiterun is leagues away from here...""Sorry girl, I can't help you-Oh, don't touch that. It's priceless!" the shopkeeper snapped at the other man and Marianne turned to see him standing by the window eyeing a rather large urn. He held his hands up, looking amused by the shop owner's reaction. Crestfallen and empty-handed, she thanked the shop owner and made her way to the back of the inn. Sitting on a storage crate, she examined the map of Skyrim she picked from a traveler's pocket back in Bruma, and she was glad she did since it seemed like she would be making her way deeper into the province sooner than she planned. The tip of her finger traced the different routes between the Rift and Whiterun hold. The shortest one would take a few days by carriage, over a week if she went on foot. After counting her gold she realized she had just over three hundred. It was enough to pay for passage on a cart, but she'd also have to pay for food and lodging and she still needed to buy the books once she found them. If she found them, the small, annoying part of her mind pointed out. Spellbooks weren't cheap. Already they were hard to come by, meaning the chance to steal one was even more narrow. With a sigh, she tilted her head back against the wall of the inn and closed her eyes, fighting against the despair that lingered at the edge of her mind, waiting to torture her. "So, what's your name?" Marianne's head snapped up at the smooth tone of voice, already familiar with the source of it. Leaning against one of the support posts of the inn's balcony, there he stood. She scowled at the sight of him and began packing her things, shoving them into her small travel pack. "None of your business." With her bag packed, she pulled the strap over her shoulder, making it only two steps before the tall Nord stood in her path. "Alright, lass. I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said, holding up his palms as if to show he was no threat to her. A fine display for a man who threatened to actually harm her. She gave him an unimpressed look, "You don't say?" She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You will be happy to know, I will be out of your city soon enough." With that, she stepped around him. Again, she didn't make it far. Her brow crinkled with confusion and irritation when he blocked her path a second time. This time he was closer, close enough that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. An uncomfortable position that caused the hair to stand on her arms. "Have you given any thought to my offer?" he asked, looking genuinely curious. She shook her head. "I'm not interested." Turning away, she rounded the corner of the inn and took a bite of the bread she'd saved from the night before. It was stale but would fill her stomach enough for the time. It didn't take long for him to catch up to her. It was her own fault, really. Deep down she hadn't expected him to persist. But as she neared the middle of the shadowed alley she heard his approach and turned around. Reaching for her dagger, a crude screech filled the silence as she held her blade out in warning. "Easy, lass. I just want to talk," he assured her, showing his palms once again. A slight smirk pulled his lips up in a way that irritated her. "Besides, your stance is all wrong." Her eyes narrowed. "My blade will cut through your flesh just the same, I'm sure."He exhaled a laugh, "It has to get close enough to my skin to actually cut it first." "What do you want?" He smiled. "As I said before, I think our organization could use you. You're quick with your hands. A little clumsy with a blade, but we can work on it.""You mean your guild?" He nodded. "Aye, the Thieves Guild." "There is no such guild." If there was, Marianne would have heard about it long before now. "It's as real as I am. But what if I told you I have a few old spell books you're welcome to have? All you have to do is hear me out. See what we're all about. If you're not interested after that, you can go on your way. I won't stop you again and the books will be yours regardless." She wasn't convinced. That was putting too much faith into someone she didn't know, something that never seemed to pay off. But the look in his eyes was a serious one, and aside from his threat, she couldn't imagine why he was putting in so much effort to recruit her unless he was serious. "You have spellbooks?""Aye. At least two or three lying around. "You want to give them to me...for free?" "Not free," he was quick to correct. "I fully plan on convincing you to join the guild." Just then she heard it, the familiar jingle of a guard's sheath against his chainmail as he came into view behind the red-haired man. She quickly sheathed her dagger and leaned her free hand on a nearby crate, crossing her ankles as he patrolled the shadowed alley. The guard spared a quick glance at the man, then his eyes briefly met her blue ones and she took a bite of her stale bread and gave him a smile as she chewed. "No lollygaggin," he called, passing them to continue his patrol. When he rounded the corner she turned back to the red-haired man who was now much closer to her and casually holding up her bag of gold. The loop was wrapped around his index finger and he was fixing her with a wide, victorious grin. He'd stolen her purse off her belt when she wasn't looking. Her heart sank. "Hey, that's mine!" she yelled, reaching for it only for the man to pull his hand away before her fingers could reach it. "tsk. tsk." He taunted, dangling the bag of gold just out of reach.She glared at the amused expression he wore, reaching for the hilt of her dagger. "I'll give it back to you if you agree to come with me." Anger surged within her, heating her blood until she felt the warmth of embarrassment flood her face. She tossed her stale bread at his large, stupid chest. It bounced off him and hit the ground in a muted thud. "You. Are. Annoying," she seethed, enunciating each word separately only for his grin to widen into a genuine smile. "Well...?" he asked, dangling her gold just out of reach. She sighed, defeated by this man and his nonsense. "Fine, I'll come with you." "Excellent," he said, grinning as he relinquished her bag to her with a toss. "Follow me." Catching her purse, she stuffed it into the chest of her shirt, tucking it safely between her breasts. With her gold now safe, she reached for her bread that had hit the ground a moment ago. She picked it up and noticed just a little bit of dirt on it and brushed it off. Never one to waste food, she took a bite and followed him. He slowed to match her stride as he led her through the back streets she had yet to explore. She tried to memorize the way, looking for markers to remember the turns they were making in case she needed to run. Gods, she hoped she didn't need to run. while not the most reckless thing she'd ever done, it was certain to make the list. "So, what's your name?" the man asked while she chewed the last of her bread. "You first," she said to him around a mouthful of food. She caught the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Brynjolf," he said."Is that your real name? Or did you make that up?" she asked him while they crossed the cobblestone path that led to the city's front gate between alleys. He laughed a deep and throaty laugh. "It's my real name, lass." She shrugged. It sounded made up to her. "My name's Marianne, but just Mari is fine." The alley ended and now they were walking through ankle-deep grass. A short gate encircling the city graveyard came into view."Do you travel much? I've been to Bruma a few times, never seen you there before.""I was only there for the spring. I was in Chorral before that, and Leyawiin before then." They passed a dozen gravestones, some large family stones and some smaller single ones before he suddenly turned, entering a large, stone mausoleum. Marianne made a face, but followed him anyway, far against her better judgment. "That's tough, traveling all the time, being on your own."Mari wanted to ask what he knew about it but thought better of it. Instead, she shrugged. "I didn't have anything else to do." It wasn't the truth of it, and he likely knew that as well. There were only so many pockets she could dip her hand into in one place before she had to move on. Brynjolf stopped in front of a large sarcophagus. One of his fingers pressed a button that was hidden just under the edge and Mari watched as the sarcophagus slid back, revealing a hidden staircase that sloped downward. She stared down the dimly lit corridor, feeling the hairs on her arms tingle with anticipation. "You ready to meet the guild?" he asked, clearly amused by the hesitant expression she wore. "You want me to go... down there?" she countered, pointing one of her index fingers at the sewer grate at the bottom of the cobblestone steps that covered who knows what. "Aye." He led the way, descending the steps and pulling the sewer grate back before he quickly and with more grace than Mari expected, descended the first few steps of the ladder. "Unless you're too scared." "I am not scared," she told him, earning another smirk. "Yeah?" he asked, giving her a look that told her he wasn't buying what she was selling. "Prove it, Mari." With that said, he continued down the ladder, disappearing into the darkness below and leaving her standing there at the entrance of the open tunnel. With a quick look behind her to make sure it was still clear, she reluctantly followed. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before following him into the unknown.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
If the Gods were real, Mari likely would have prayed to each of them as she followed Brynjolf down the dark and mysterious tunnel. Unfortunately for her, life experiences had proven them to be nothing more than false hope and a waste of time. Instead, she took her time descending, careful of her footing on the surprisingly damp ladder, and remained wary of her surroundings. When she reached the bottom, her boots touching solid ground again, she turned around and squinted into the dim light of the torch sconces. Brynjolf was leaning against the wall beside one, the light reflecting in his eyes, turning his stare into an almost eerie gaze.As her eyes adjusted, Brynjolf tilted his head in the direction of the opening of the tunnel. She followed him, ignoring the twists in her stomach until the tunnel ended, opening up into a massive underground cistern. Illuminated by torches that lined the walls, Mari had a perfect view of the large, circular space. The ceiling was high in the center, arching down on the sides to meet the walls. A makeshift bridge crisscrossed in the center, connecting the sides of the room that seemed to be split into different sections. A row of beds lined one of the corners, each one with a large chest of drawers at the end. The section to her right housed two tables, platters of food, pitchers, and bottles of ale littering the surface of them. Across the bridge which was illuminated by a small streak of light passing through the grates in the streets above, she could see two desks. Behind them, a row of large bookshelves overflowing with more books and scrolls than she'd ever seen. A collection rivaling the library in the Imperial City, she was sure. It was an impressive sight that matched nothing her mind had conjured would be waiting for her beneath the streets of Riften. A low whistle escaped her at the sight of it all and Brynjolf exhaled a laugh as it echoed throughout the large chamber. "Shall we?" Brynjolf said, tilting his head toward the desks and bookshelves. She followed him. The wood and ropes creaked beneath their weight but held strong as they crossed the makeshift bridge. "You can have that one," he said, pointing and she followed his gaze to the last bed in the row as they passed. She stopped. Brynjolf must have noticed the shift in tension beneath them because he soon turned around. When he did, she was staring at him with a curious gaze. She hadn't had her own bed since she was a child. Even the cot she slept in at the orphanage was shared with another. "Have it?" He looked amused. "You'll need a place to sleep. You won't earn a septim staying in that inn every night. Come on." The strangest feeling washed over her. A feeling that was too raw, too sudden, and one that she was utterly terrified of. For the first time in a long time, Mari yearned. When they reached the end of the bridge, standing before the two large desks, Mari realized that one of them was occupied. The man sitting there paid them no mind, fully engrossed in the papers that shielded his face from view. It was a wonder how he could seem so comfortable, so natural in this underground environment. Although judging by the way Brynjolf rounded the empty desk and began searching the shelves for something, he too was just as comfortable with the darkness. Taking a deep breath of the damp air of the cistern, she waited patiently as Brynjolf fingered the spines of several large tomes on the bottom shelves. Already she could feel the hairs clinging to the back of her neck, but she could get used to that. It was no worse than her years in Leyawiin. Perhaps a bit more cold, and Mari was thankful again she'd been able to find new boots. The bookshelves were large, housing dozens of books and scrolls on every subject Mari could think of. It took Brynjolf just a moment to locate a few old-looking tomes from the bottom shelf. He approached her with three, and her jaw nearly dropped when he handed them over without pause. They were old, far older than she'd been expecting. But she was sure the information hadn't changed much over the years. The first one showed the emblem of healing. The second, of alteration. But it was the third book in the stack that caused her heart to beat ever faster. The front of the book showcased a flaming hand of destruction. The one she'd been after for months now. The one that would help her control the magic inside her so she could wield it once again. Her eyes pricked as she stared at the book of fire, turning the cover and inhaling the aroma of old parchment. Running her fingers across the page, the magic inside her tingled in response. She looked up from the books, meeting his gaze with one of awe. She didn't know this man, had no idea why he'd gone so far to bring her here. But as she supported the weight of the books in her arms, that terrifying feeling of hope crept back in and she knew, she'd do whatever he wanted if it meant she could keep them. "What's the job?" He smiled, "Come on, let me show you around."Over the next half hour, Brynjolf walked her around the underground hideout and explained that not only her bed, but all the food she could eat would be hers for as long as she worked for them. He showed her the training room, where straw-stuffed dummies and locks of various difficulty lined the walls for practice. As his recruit, he promised a proper lesson in self-defense, which annoyed her, but was welcome nonetheless. Aside from the tunnel they first emerged from and the training room, there were two other doors. One of them, a heavy-looking door of solid brass, went unmentioned. The last one, however, housed the underground bar where most of the guild members spent their free time. But before he would take her inside, she needed to decide.The nagging voice in the back of her mind worried. It seemed too easy, too good to be real. Something this good had never fallen into her lap before. But the heavy books she carried were as real as any other, and deep down she knew her mind was made up the moment she laid her eyes on them. "I'm in.""Good," he said, "now let's go meet the boss." The air was still in the cistern, but a shadow of movement caught her periphery, and Mari noticed a Bosmer sitting on the bed next to the one that would be hers. He didn't meet her gaze, only continued to run a scrap of cloth across the bow in his lap as she followed Brynjolf across the bridge again."I thought you would be my boss," she told him."Mercer is the Guildmaster. He's the one who keeps the place running. But don't worry lass, I still take credit for recruiting you," he explained as they made their way over. Mari wished he had mentioned that sooner, but since she already made her mind up, she pushed the thought aside. When they reached the pair of desks, she noticed the man from earlier was standing at his, leaning over a thick ledger, a deep frown and pinched brows twisting his expression. He was a Breton, like her, but much taller, with a wide chest that nearly rivaled the Nord beside her. He looked strong, and perhaps a bit intimidating if she was being honest with herself. He appeared older than Brynjolf, who she was sure had more than double her winters. His eyes were an intense shade of light blue, and when he looked up from the book, locking eyes with Brynjolf and showing her the full expanse of his sharp features framed by his dark brown hair, she would be lying if she said that she didn't find him attractive. "What is it?" he asked, his voice sounding rough, tired, and not at all interested in whatever they were doing in front of him.Brynjolf placed a hand on her shoulder. A touch that surprised her, and she looked over, catching the small grin he was giving the still-scowling man. "She's in." He said before turning his attention back to her. "Mari, this is Mercer. The Guildmaster." Her gaze flickered back to Mercer, who looked her over with a strange expression on his face. His brow arched before he looked at Brynjolf. "This is your recruit?" he asked, an edge of surprise in his tone. "If she wants to make gold, you should have pointed her in the direction of the bunkhouse. She'd do well under Haelga's instruction I'm sure." With that, his gaze fell to the thick ledger in front of him. The pages were lined with rows of numbers that made her dizzy to look at upside down in the dim candlelight. Her brow drawn together in confusion, she took the opportunity to poke her elbow into Brynjolf's side. "What's a bunkhouse?" she whispered when he met her gaze, staring down at her with an expression she couldn't decipher. "Just forget it," he said, looking back to Mercer. "She says she's in." Mercer looked up, this time with an expression of decisive indifference. "Fine Brynjolf, I trust your judgment. But if you're bringing her in, you're gonna keep her in line," he looked at her again, his original frown back in place as his light blue eyes stared into hers. "Welcome to the thieves guild." Brynjolf quickly steered her away, which Mari was immensely thankful for after the strange encounter. He led her out of the cistern through the door to the bar, which was housed in an adjacent cistern, albeit a smaller one. Mari wasn't sure what this underground bar would look like but she was pleasantly surprised to find that it was an actual bar. A cluster of tables and chairs were scattered across the available cobblestone floor. "That's Vekel," Brynjolf said, gesturing to the dark-haired Imperial man wiping the bar down as they passed. "He'll get you whatever you want."He led her past the first few tables and Mari couldn't help but notice that almost everyone seemed to be wearing some combination of dark blue leather. Some wore pants and jackets while others sported regular tunics but nearly everyone she saw wore the same boots. Brynjolf led her over to a bench where a redguard woman was sitting. One of her hands was occupied by a small journal while the other held a feather quill. "This is Tonilia," he said as the woman looked up. "Tonilia, I'd like you to meet my new recruit, Mari. Mari, Tonilia handles all of our armor needs. She'll take your measurements, and then we'll see Delvin about your first job." Tonilia approached her with a strip of measuring tape right away and began wrapping the strip around various parts of her body. She had to stand in different poses so Tonilia could get the best measurements. When she stood with her arms straight out, the sleeves of her shirt pulled back, revealing the thick bands of scars that wrapped around her wrists. She kept her gaze forward, focusing on the large storage crates behind the redguard, and not at all on the way she hesitated before wrapping the strip around the width of her wrist. Next to the crates was a makeshift workstation filled with different fabrics and tools she suspected were for tailoring. As soon as the measurements were taken, she dropped her arms and adjusted her sleeves back into place. Once Tonilia was finished, Brynjolf escorted her to a small table where a male Breton sat. He was older, at least as old as Brynjolf, with dark hair shaved close to his scalp. Marianne was the youngest person around as far as she could tell. A woman of mixed blood sat next to the man who appeared younger, but she still looked to have a few more winters than Mari. "Delvin," Brynjolf addressed the man who examined a ring, holding it to the candle light for a better look. "What'dya need Bryn?" He asked. "This is my recruit." "So you're the one that pinched Brynjolf's purse?" he asked, sounding thoroughly amused as he looked her over as if there was some joke she wasn't in on. She shrugged. "Either he's getting old or you're the first decent thief that's walked into Riften in a long while. Your hands are small," he noted. "Fishing your specialty?"Her brow came together at the question. "Fishing?" "It is," Brynjolf answered for her. "I never felt a thing. Mari, this is Delvin Mallory. You can see him for work whenever you're available. He handles the pickpocketing jobs so you two will see a lot of each other." Realizing that's what they meant when they spoke of fishing, she smiled. "I'm available." "Alright, Mari was it?" Delvin asked and she nodded. "Good. I've got two jobs in Whiterun. Let me..." he trailed off as he dug into his pockets. She shot him a curious expression. "I have to travel?" He exhaled a laugh. "Of course, you have to travel. Can't bleed Riften dry.." A moment later he retrieved two small pieces of paper and unfolded them to verify the contents before sliding them across the table-top towards her. "These are easy. A bracelet and a broach. If you pinched Brynjolf's purse, you should be able to get these with no problem." She nodded, reaching for the papers while one of her arms still clutched her heavy books. Sure enough, when she opened the parchment, each one had a name, a description of the item, and the name of the hold written down in a fine script. Once again she was glad she'd taken the map of Skyrim when she did since it seemed like she would be traveling a lot for work. At least she'd be working, her mind reminded her. On the other hand, she seriously doubted that the guild was footing the bill for the carriage ride and lodging in Whiterun hold. That would come straight out of her profits. "You want to have a seat?" The man asked, interrupting her thoughts and she looked up from the papers to see his brown eyes looking back at her. "Um, sure," she said, taking the empty seat in front of her. A quick look around told her that Brynjolf had already abandoned her, he stood at the bar, no doubt ordering himself a drink. A few curious eyes lingered on her and she tried her best to not let it get to her. Telling herself that their curiosity was to be expected. She was new. Naturally, they would be curious about her."So, where did you come from?" the woman beside Delvin asked her, earning her attention. "Cyrodiil." "Bruma?" Delvin asked, looking amused for some reason. "Leyawiin originally. But after I left the orphanage I moved around a bit. I was in Bruma for only a few months before I came to Skyrim. There are a lot of wealthy people there. Nice shops too." Delvin smirked. "Oh, I've been to Bruma," he told her. "Conned a man out of his entire carriage and brought it back to Riften." Mari couldn't help the way her brow arched in surprise. "You did?" The corner of his lips turned upward, his expression taking on one of pride. "Sure did." "Don't get him started," the woman beside him said with a roll of her eyes. "It wasn't that impressive." She crossed her arms against her chest and Delvin turned to face her with an unimpressed look. "Mari, I'd like you to meet my niece, Sapphire, who is perpetually unimpressed by everything." "It's not my fault you've been coasting on that same story for a year now. He doesn't get out often," she teased, and Mari couldn't help but smile at the man's expense. "You can set those down, you know. No one's gonna take 'em from ya," he said, nodding toward the books that she was still holding. Reluctantly, she set them on the tabletop in front of herself, one of her hands lingering on top of the stack. She didn't want to seem unfriendly, but she just got her hands on them. Losing them now would be a major blow. Delvin seemed amused by her behavior. His gaze lingered on the emblem of destruction beside her palm. "Spellbooks?" She nodded. "Brynjolf gave them to me, for coming down here." He scoffed. "Surely he could have given you a better sign-on bonus than a couple of dusty books.""Those, were what she wanted," Brynjolf cut in, appearing at the table beside Mari. He placed a mug of what she assumed to be wine in front of her and she wasted no time reaching for it. Smelling the fragrant liquid confirmed her suspicions. Notes of spice and tart hit her tongue. "Besides, you're also forgetting that she made off with a hundred of my gold." With a pat to her shoulder, Brynjolf parted ways, leaving her at the table with Delvin, who she learned had always lived in Riften, and Sapphire, who hailed from Morrowind. Mari had just finished the last of her wine when Sapphire stood to get another drink from the bar. "Want another?" she asked to which Mari shook her head. "Del?""No," he said, reaching for his nearly empty bottle. "I've got to see Mercer about a discrepancy."Sapphire rolled her eyes."You meet him yet?" she asked and Mari couldn't help the frown that came to her face. "I don't think he liked me," she confessed."Mercer doesn't like anybody." "That's not true," Delvin said, his gaze flickering back to Mari. "If he didn't want you here, you wouldn't be.""He said I should work for someone else.""Someone else?"She shrugged. "Haelga."Delvin choked on his ale. "Well, he's not wrong," a man said from somewhere behind her as Delvin pounded his fist against his chest and cleared his throat. She turned in her chair and locked eyes with a brown-haired Nord who smirked at her from behind his bottle of ale. "Can it Thrynn," Sapphire snapped. Mari turned away from him, meeting her gaze as she spoke again. "That's the whorehouse." Her stomach dropped, her expression morphing from shock to embarrassment as humiliation shot through her. She was out of her seat before she thought better of it, scooping up her books and turning away as the Nord continued to snicker as she marched away. Delvin called after her but she ignored him, as well as the eyes that followed her as she made her way out of the underground bar. Upon entering the cistern and seeing him again, her anger for the bastard grew stronger. She marched over, her boots slapping against the moist cobblestone causing her footsteps to echo around the large chamber. Brynjolf looked up. "Mari?" She ignored him, marching past his desk and right up to the other. He wasn't looking at her, still focusing on the large ledger before him. She didn't wait for him to notice her, she was far too angry. When he did look up, it was with a look of genuine surprise as the sound of her slap echoed across the cistern. "I am not a whore!" Brynjolf had already made it halfway around his desk when she turned to him. "And you can forget about me working here." "Wait!" Brynjolf called, but it was too late. For she had already turned away from him and was making her way across the bridge and up the ladder as quick as her angry feet could carry her. He let her leave, and if she wasn't so angry about how she'd been treated she might've been thankful. But she wasn't thankful, because as she made her way out of the cemetary, watching the sun dipping behind the city's walls and the clusters of purple star-shaped blossoms sway in the chilled breeze she was left with an overwhelming sense of sadness. A sadness that cut deeper than any insult Mercer could have given. For a moment, she had let her guard down. Foolishly, she had allowed herself to hope for something. Now she was left with the crushing realization that it wasn't real. For the first time in a long time, Mari felt utterly and completely alone.