#Thieves Guild OC

[izzetheopossum]

Altmorc oc! This is Vallisara The Spider, my thieves guild character. She has an altmer mother, and orc father.

[oblivions-dawn]

𝐖𝐲𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐞; 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝

─[✦]─ ❝ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴘᴏssɪʙʟʏ ᴘᴀss ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ғᴀɪʟ.❞ ─[✦]─

Age: 26-29 Pronouns: She/Her Gender: Female Sexuality: Polyamorous Pansexual Height: 6'2 Birthsign: The Tower Race: Altmer Class: Charmer/Whip-Thrasher Alliances: Thieves Guild of Riften Family: Sivrien - Father [alive]; Joriael - Mother [alive]; Elindil - Brother [alive]; Lyathel - Sister [alive]; Finnien - Brother [alive]; Rulve - Sister [alive] Love Interests: Karliah [romantic]; Sapphire [romantic/sexual]; Vex & Svana [previous]; Brynjolf [business]

For lore and extras, please peruse under the cut below!

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞;

Wynn was the third child born to an upper class family in Lillandril, who were rich due to their shipbuilding business. As a middle child, she was often overlooked by her parents and overshadowed by her older, more successful siblings. She had a cousin that she often played--and got into trouble--with. At a young age she had a tendency to steal jewellery from extended family members, a habit that she perfected over the years. Eventually, her mother tried to set her up with a high-ranking Thalmor Justicar, and Wynn realised that her previously enjoyed freedom was in jeopardy. In secret, she had a ship built and hired a crew, then took to the seas to become a pirate--and to live the free life she so desired. After many years sailing the ocean, Wynn was caught and jailed in Windhelm. Her first mate rescued her, only to inform her that her ship had been destroyed and her crew had disbanded. Disheartened by this news, Wynn went to Riften in search of refuge. After Wynn worked in Haelga's Bunkhouse for some months, her underhanded thieving had grabbed the attention of Brynjolf after Haelga complained. Now Wynn happily steals on behalf of the Thieves Guild--and gets paid for it, too.

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬;

❂ Wynnarwe makes an appearance in my sequel fanfiction, Breathless, in Chapter 6, The Gathering Storm, and Chapter 7, A Delicate Extraction. ❂ Her full name is Wynnarwe Elsinael ‘len Joriael Taena Anaelion ‘ata Sivrien Kaenoril Ranimare ‘cal Camahl-Thramire. ❂ Wynn had a brief love affair with Svana Fair-Shield, which earned her extreme disapproval from Haelga. Despite that, she still, occasionally, visited Svana--until the auburn informed Wynn that she and Ingun had unexpectedly become an item. ❂ She also slept with Brynjolf. For business reasons, of course. ❂ She typically uses her whip or whatever is on hand in the moment to fight if she has no other choice. This has led her to use silverware and even a stick in previous situations. ❂ Wynn owns a manor in Riften that has secret access to Shadowfoot Sanctum, which grants her a more discreet and direct entry into The Ragged Flagon. ❂ During discussions with Nocturnal, Wynn offered herself up as a consort rather than a guardian of the Skeleton Key after she dies. To everyone's surprise, the Daedric Prince found this amusing, and agreed. ❂ Wynn's flower crown has gold kanet flowers, juniper berries, and redwort flowers. ❂ She's ambidextrous--and incredibly proud of this fact. ❂ Wynn's eyes are akin to jaspilites. ❂ She's gone through the most character changes. She was originally blonde, then brunette, then blonde again. She also used to be named Aerwynn. ❂ She had a drink with Sanguine once. Although it was supposed to be A Night to Remember, she doesn't remember much at all--only the headache of a quest that followed. ❂ After Sapphire gifted her with a gem of the same name, Wynnarwe had Madesi craft an earring with it, which she wears all the time.

For information on other OCs, you can find them under Senu's Skyrim OCs! If you'd like to see fanart of Wynnarwe, browse her tag on my blog!

[hircines-hunter]

[moodcrab]

Fixing Skyrim's Daedric Quests

Introduction

Unlike my Oblivion character - a mere mortal who stumbled upon a shrine while lost in the wilderness, becomes somewhat obsessed with gaining the level requirement and collecting an offering, then undertakes the quest feeling like a dark god is testing their worthiness to be their champion - The Last Dragonborn has Daedric Princes falling over themselves to make them their champion straight out the gate. Level one? Who cares! No offering? No problem! Not my Summoning Day? We haven't cared about that since Morrowind! Literally told me to go fuck myself? Take the prize anyway Champ you've earned it!

Basically, much like factions, Skyrim shoves nearly all of the Daedric Quests in the player's face as soon as possible because they're widely considered to be the best and most rewarding by fans of the previous games. But the older games had them, to varying degrees, hidden away or locked behind mechanics, and Bethesda didn't want newer, more casual fans to miss them. In doing so the Princes and their cults lose that air of mystery and danger they once had.

On the other hand, it was nice to be doing something else entirely then have a surprise Daedric Quests blind side me, and it's not like the old Oblivion way was perfect. Find shrine, give offering, get quest for EVERY Prince? And just one quest and I'm the champion, dedicated my soul to your afterlife and all that jazz?

This series is going to try to maximise the good parts of Skyrim Daedric Quests, while bringing back some of the classic elements that it left out, starting with...

Part I - Namria

Quest A) A Taste of Death.

If you visit the Treasury House in Markarth you might overhear an argument between Brother Verulus and Thongvor Silver-Blood. This location change means you are unlikely to just run into this quest immediately as in vanilla, but also gives you a high chance of encountering it during The Forsworn Conspiracy, in which case it has the double benefit of acting as a kind of red herring in that quest and linking this quest with Markarth's corruption and secret society vibes.

Brother Verulus wants the city guard to stop their lockdown of the Halls of the Dead and to actually go in and deal with the draugr head on (in my alternative "Fixed" Skyrim the increased draugr population is connected with Alduin's return, who is raising his Dragon Priests to serve him, even within cities). Why doesn't he go pester the Jarl or the Captain about this, asks Thongvor, dismissively. Oh come on, don't act coy, we all know who really controls the guard in Markarth, why not let them do their job, replies Verulus. Thongvor counters that that would be a desecration of the Nordic dead, that guards putting them down like a pest would be dishonourable. What's more, perhaps if the glorious Nordic dead of the city weren't being tended to by a poncy Imperial Priest of Arkay instead of a proper old fashioned Orkey Shaman, maybe none of this would have happened. Verulus starts to lose his temper at this, and in anger implies that he knows that the draugr problem that plagues the other cities isn't the real issue here, that most of the ancient dead here are Reachfolk not Nord, and begins to demand a true explanation for being locked out but stops himself, he has said too much and leaves.

The quest begins by talking to Verulus who will ask you to investigate what's really going on in The Halls of the Dead. How you get in is up to you. If you're a sneaky type or a smooth talker you'll get in that way. You can also commit a crime to lure the guard away maybe. You could go find Thongvor who can be convinced to give you an alternative - take care of Verulus, but more on that later.

However you get into the Halls, on entering you start finding evidence of cannibalism, butchered bodies, cooking stations and so on. As you delve deeper you hear Eola, a Reachman Namira Devotee, goading and teasing you; "Not many would walk blindly into a crypt, smelling of steel and blood, but not fear... Don't you see what I am about down here in the dark? Is that disgust? Revulsion?... Or curiosity? Why don't you come deeper, and scratch that itch?" You can question her about who she is, what is her purpose here, why is Thongvor protecting her etc. but it will come down to convincing her to leave, killing her, or accepting her invitation to eat human flesh.

Now, IF you sided with Thongvor, the plan is to lie to Verulus to get him to follow you into the Halls of the Dead, this time you'll be confronted directly by Eola and Thongvor together. They intend to kill and eat you both and blame your deaths on Draugr. You can fight your way out and try to save Verulus, or you can prove yourself by killing Verulus yourself and tasting him by way of a test.

If you partake in cannibalism you will get a monologue from Eola about Namira, waxing poetic about the oldest god, The Black Fly, being the Daedric Prince of decay and squalor and all things ugly and repulsive... But also her significance to the Reachmen. To them she is the Spirit Queen who is the true god of death, not Arkay, the primal darkness that gives and takes life. You will gain the power to feast on a corps once a night or when underground, and unlock the second quest.

Quest B - A Guest for Dinner

The second quest will be even less obvious to the player and will hopefully take most people completely by surprise the first time it happens. The quest will only begin after the following criteria are met: You have used the lesser power to consume 10 or more corpses. You own a fully furnished player home. You spend the night there with either your spouse or a follower. When you sleep, a slow, loud, ominous knocking at the door awakens you.

At your door is a stranger in rags and a hideous face asking to come in. You can refuse or invite them to stay. Once inside they will take a seat at your table and ask what is being served for dinner. At this point your follower/spouse will be freaking out a little. You can offer food, like regular food, which will disappoint him and he'll leave. You can offer your spouse or follower as the meal and you'll have to attack them, the screen will darken for an gruesome audible muckbang. Or you can tell the Stranger he is on the menu, which will please him greatly and he will warn you against choking on him, depending on the disposition of your specific follower or spouse they will either join in or abandon you forever.

The Stranger, if he survives the night, will give you the Ring of Namira as thanks. If you ate him Eola, who incidentally will now double as a replacement spouse/follower, will arrive and give you the Ring. The Ring is a powerful reflect damage/magic ring, a unique enchantment in Skyrim.

[lobo-inu]

i think he hits sleeping tree sap like its dab

[deathbypufferfish]

blackbird singing in the dead of night

[bforblitz]

wedding so good that three npcs are now broken and won’t stop congratulating you on your union

[peony-plum]

Dragonborn: just chilling with my bae and bestie. I have no clue what we’re doing

[svkvba]

A dragonborn's Diary: Rune

(part 1)

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 16

A Toast to the Fallen

Prev: Ch.15 The Final Spark|| Next: Ch.17 Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Brynjolf is forced to confront the one truth he was unwilling to face.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, grief.

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,681

Check the relogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — — 

Brynjolf stared down at the steam curling up from the surface of his mug. The woman who placed it in front of him spoke rapidly as she bustled around the small cabin in a futile attempt to make her guests at home. 

“There we are, snowberry tea, just what you need on a cold day like this one, that’s what my own mother would always make for us when we were young and spent too long out in the snow. I am awfully sorry about that misunderstanding this morning, it’s just that I was paid to keep things under wraps, and I had absolutely no way of knowing that you weren’t one of the people I was meant to be keeping secrets from, you understand. Would you like anything to eat? I’m sure you’re hungry after such a long time spent on the road, and in this dreadful wind too–”

She continued her tirade, but her words washed over Brynjolf in a distant haze. His mind only had room for one thought, the thought that had been repeating itself over and over again in his mind since he and Mercer had rode out from the Nightgate Inn:

Ariene was dead. 

Somehow, he hadn’t quite thought that it was possible. He had worried about it, imagined it, had tried to plan for what would come next if it were true, but somewhere deep inside him, he hadn’t truly believed it could happen. How could someone who had survived Goldenglow, the Legion’s headsman, and not one but two dragon attacks fall to a single opponent in an abandoned crypt? It didn’t seem right. 

And yet, she was dead. 

Brynjolf tightened his grip on his mug of tea, barely registering its heat. 

“–stew should be ready before too long, it’s got some warming herbs in it that I grow in my garden out back–”

“That will be all for now, Aeri,” Mercer said, his voice cutting off the mill owner’s nervous chatter. “My companion and I are in need of some privacy.��� 

“Of course, of course, so sorry, I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you have lots to catch up on, I’ll just be tending to the mill if you need me,” Aeri said, bowing quickly before hurrying out of the cabin. 

“Shadows grant me patience,” Mercer muttered, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Brynjolf slowly looked up and met Mercer’s eyes, speaking for the first time since Nightgate.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Brynjolf…” Mercer said, his face contorting into a grimace. “Are you sure you want to–”

“Tell me. What happened,” Brynjolf repeated, and Mercer nodded slowly.

“I had hoped to corner Karliah while she was inside the crypt, but I underestimated her preparedness. She managed to sneak past the draugr and lay traps for us in her wake that slowed us down and let her know that we were coming. Ariene suggested that we turn back, but I just couldn’t let Karliah get away again, not after everything she’d done, so I insisted we push on. I…I regret that now,” Mercer said with a shake of his head.

Brynjolf’s stomach twisted. How many times in all the years they’d known each other had he heard Mercer actually admit that he’d been at fault? Not many more than the number of times that he’d heard the Guildmaster apologize. In any other circumstance he’d feel vindicated, but if this was what it took to soften Mercer’s exterior, then Brynjolf would rather endure a thousand of his screaming matches. 

“I was certain that if I could just get close enough to her, then we’d have the upper hand,” Mercer continued. “Karliah is decent with a blade, but she never was able to beat me back when we were sparring partners. And I foolishly assumed that having an archer of my own with me would level the playing field.” 

Mercer balled his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white with the strain. 

“I was wrong. Karliah played me like a damn lute. We entered into the final chamber of the sanctum and she was ready for us. Before we even saw her an arrow came flying out from the shadows. I assume that the shot was intended for me, but Ariene shoved me out of the way at the last second and took it in the shoulder. The wound shouldn’t have been fatal, but she went limp instantly and fell to the ground. That’s when I remembered what kept me from going after Karliah all those years ago. Poison.” 

Mercer practically spat out the word, and Brynjolf’s blood ran cold. Mercer was still speaking, saying something about failing to revive her with healing potions, but Brynolf wasn’t listening anymore. 

He couldn’t help but picture the scene: Ariene crying out in warning as she pushed Mercer aside. The arrow piercing her body and sending her stumbling. Dark hair fanning out around her head as she landed, blue eyes wide open and glassy as the poison flooded her veins and stopped her heart. 

“What about Karliah?” he heard himself ask, though his own voice sounded far away to his ears. 

“She got away,” Mercer said through gritted teeth. “She must have only had enough poison for one arrow; once she missed me she didn’t stick around to trade blows. By the time I accepted that Ariene couldn’t be saved, Karliah had vanished without a trace. I worried that she would try to ambush me on the road back to the Guild, so I’ve been hiding out here until I felt it was safe enough to move again.” 

So in the end, it had all been for nothing. 

“I truly am sorry, Brynjolf,” said Mercer quietly. “For what it’s worth, you were right about Ariene. She demonstrated a tremendous amount of skill. I should have listened when she told me to turn back.” 

Brynjolf’s eyes fell back to the cup of tea. He was distantly aware that an apology from Mercer should have felt significant. It was no small thing for the Guildmaster to accept responsibility for his failure. However, Brynjolf found that the gesture did little to offset the grief that was nestling deep into his chest. How could he hold Mercer responsible when, at the end of the day, he was the one who had let this happen? 

He had let Ariene and Mercer go out alone. His gut had told him that it was a mistake, that they needed to make a better plan, that Mercer wasn’t fit to lead the job, but he’d let them go anyway. Any anger he felt towards Mercer paled in comparison with his own guilt. 

He had been the one to promise Ariene that he wouldn’t let Mercer put her in danger again. He had been the one to let her go on a mission that was doomed from the start. He was the one who had failed her. 

That idea refused to let him go as he and Mercer packed up their supplies and headed out from the mill. They crossed the Yorgrim, then followed the western road down along the White River. The landscape passed by them in a blur of rocks and hills and trees that Brynjolf barely took note of. He was too focused on the thought that repeated itself over and over in his mind as they rode:

It’s my fault she’s gone. 

They reached Darkwater Crossing, and Mercer finally broke the silence that had hung between them all journey by suggesting they make camp for the night. He was still worried about Karliah laying a trap for him, so they left the road and headed deeper into the trees to make their meager campsite. Brynjolf volunteered to take first watch, and Mercer didn't argue, disappearing into the tent without another word.

Sitting on an overturned log, Brynjolf stared into the flickering heart of their campfire. He couldn’t help but think back to the last conversation that he and Ariene had shared, before she'd left for this pointless job.

"The Guild needs you in one piece," he had said, and Ariene had looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of hers and said "The Guild needs me?"

He'd heard the unspoken meaning behind her question loud and clear: what about you? He had wanted to take her face in his hands and answer her, to say the words that terrified him but that he knew were true:

I do need you, lass. I need you here, I need you safe. I think I might even love you, though I don't quite know what to do with that. All I know is that I don’t want you to leave.

He should have told her how he felt when he had the chance. He should have kissed her when he had the chance. 

But he had been a coward, and now he’d never get that chance again.

— — — 

Stepping into the Ragged Flagon after a job usually brought Brynjolf a sense of triumph. The only feeling better than pulling off a perfect heist was returning to the Guild with plenty of gold to spend and stories to share. Even if a job had gone badly, sinking into one of the tavern’s old chairs and commiserating with his Guildmates over a drink held its own kind of catharsis. 

But this time, as Brynjolf entered the familiar room he felt neither relief nor victory. He looked around, taking in the flicker of torchlight on the wall, the gentle lap of the water against the stone sides of the old cistern, and the quiet murmur of customers sitting at tables or trading with merchants and just felt…empty.  

The sound of the door shutting behind him signaled Mercer’s presence, and the Guildmaster let out a sigh as he stepped up next to Brynjolf. 

“Well, we made it in one piece,” he said grimly. “Time to figure out our next move.” 

Before Brynjolf could think of an answer, Dirge’s voice rang out from the bar.

“It’s Brynjolf! And Mercer’s with him!”

The Flagon burst to life in an instant. The sound of wooden chair legs scraping against the floor echoed through the room as Guildmembers got to their feet. Cries of welcome filled the air and people raised hands and tankards towards them in greeting as Mercer and Brynjolf made their way into the Flagon proper. To an outsider, it would have sounded like a decorated soldier was returning from battle to a hero’s welcome in their home village.

It made Brynjolf feel sick. 

“There he is,” Delvin’s voice cut through the chatter and the old thief stepped forward, reaching out and clasping Brynjolf’s hand and nodding to Mercer. “I knew you’d make it back to us; the both of you are too stubborn to die.” 

Brynjolf fought to return Delvin’s smile, but found that he didn’t have the energy in him to put up that facade. 

“Bryn?” Vex’s face was twisted in a frown, and her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room. “Where’s Ariene?” 

A sudden stillness fell over the room at the mention of the lass’s name, as though the rest of the Guild had only just realized that she wasn’t with them.

“She…” Brynjolf began, but it was as though the words were stuck in the back of his throat. He couldn’t say them, couldn’t bear to utter them aloud because if he did then that made them true, it made the nightmare that he’d found himself in real. 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked to see Mercer standing beside him, his expression grim. He tilted his head in a silent question, and after a moment Brynjolf slumped and gave a quick nod in response. 

“She didn’t make it,” the Guildmaster said.

The room reacted with a flurry of gasps and cries of dismay, and for a moment Brynjolf was adrift in it, floundering like a child who’d fallen into the canal. But the hand on his shoulder squeezed, a short, sharp burst of pressure, and Brynjolf sucked in a breath, letting that sensation ground him. He locked eyes with Mercer and gave another nod, firmer this time, and Mercer nodded back. 

“Vekel, put his drinks tonight on my tab,” he said, and then his hand fell from Brynjolf’s shoulder and he was gone, ducking past the crowd and slipping through the back door into the Cistern.  

“Brynjolf…” Delvin began. “Gods, I’m sorry…I don’t know what to say.”

Vex didn’t say anything, just silently pulled a chair out from the table for Brynjolf to sit in. Vekel approached a moment later with a tray full of drinks, setting one before Brynjolf before passing the others out to those who were gathered around. 

“You know,” Vekel said, sitting down with a cup of his own once everyone was served, “When you first told me about this new potential recruit you’d found, I was prepared to bet against her. With the way things had been going around here, I fully expected her to wash out of the Guild within three weeks.” 

He raised his tankard up, addressing the room.

“But Divines as my witness, she proved me wrong! The Guild never saw a finer recruit. To Ariene!”  

“To Ariene!” the gathered Guildmembers responded, taking swigs of their own drinks. 

“Aye, she was a rare one,” Delvin said. “She had a sharp blade and a sharper wit. I can count on one hand the number of folks I’ve known throughout the years that were as well suited to this line of work as she was.” 

He lifted his cup of wine, and again the group toasted to her memory. Others chimed in with stories of their own; Niruin praised her archery skills, Vipir her stealth, Cynric her good humor. Even Tonilia remarked that she’d had an excellent eye for what items a potential client would find desirable. 

Slowly, as each Guildmember spoke, something deep within Brynjolf’s chest began to loosen. Sitting here in the Flagon surrounded by his friends as they took turns memorializing their fallen comrade was slowly chasing away the numbness that had threatened to overtake him. 

“You know I hate to admit it,” Vex began, “But she managed to pull things off that even I wasn’t capable of. The Guild would be worse off without her.” She raised her bottle of mead. “She’ll be missed.”

“Hear hear!” someone called, but as the room took another drink, Brynjolf found his breath was caught in his throat. 

The warmth he had begun to feel was all at once overwhelming; it was like someone had tried to fill the void inside him by pouring molten iron down his throat. The emptiness was gone, but the heat that had taken its place now threatened to burn him from the inside out. The room was suddenly too loud, too crowded, too much, and he needed to get away, he needed to breathe. 

Brynjolf stood abruptly, and of course all eyes in the room went to him. He looked around at his friends’ faces, saw the grief and sympathy written in their expressions, and he steeled himself. He gripped his tankard’s handle so tightly his knuckles went white, then he raised the drink high. 

“Aye, to Ariene!” he said, loud and clear. “Truly, she was the best of us!” 

He drained his tankard in a single gulp, then as the rest of the Guild echoed his toast, he turned and walked out of the Flagon without another word. He heard someone from the crowd start to call his name, but Vex interrupted them by loudly ordering another round, and Brynjolf disappeared down the tunnel that led to his quarters. 

He entered his room, leaning against the door as he shut it and took a shuddering breath. In an instant, his last remaining bit of strength left him and he sank to the floor, his empty tankard falling from his fingers. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he raised a hand to cover his face as the grief came pouring out. 

Finally alone, Brynjolf let himself cry.

— — —

[yewphoric]

Estinan for @hircines-hunter ! Thank you again, I adore drawing your characters <3

If you want to support me, you can get a portrait like this here!

[okeydokeylackey]

yeah you're not gonna have a single septim by the time they're done with you

and they're both wanted by the Thalmor oops

@berserkerrose's OCs, my tablet fought me for hours on this one and I'm too tried to type anything else

[khajiiti-dragonborn]

Ok Tesblr, how do we feel about a more robin hood style thieves guild as part of the storyline alterations I'm working on for my webcomic? I.e. the guild only started taking Maven's money because Mercer Frey insisted they did so, and for the longest time it was the only thing keeping the guild afloat but as soon as the guild regains influence they immediately find a way to destabilize Maven's power because they don't want to be under the thumb of the very same aristocrats they used to steal from?

I know this is a personal preference because by all accounts and purposes it makes for the Thieves Guild to be a more "corrupt" organization, but recently I've been watching videos about the Oblivion Thieves Guild Quest line, and I like the emphasis it places on the Guild being an organization that had all the beggars and paupers being the eyes and ears of the guild. And the guild being funded by the elite of Skyrim feels very much at odds with that idea.

( I know, I know, I haven't played Oblivion yet, I swear I plan to do that as soon as I get my new laptop).

It almost gives off the sense that the only reason the guild is siding with aristocrats because they no longer have the shadow of Nocturnal over them. How much cooler is a guild that is just always silently present, a constant threat to the nobles of Skyrim, almost keeping them in check?

Like bro what's the point of being the best thief in Skyrim if you're just gonna pickpocket literal poor people or steal jewled flagons from the Dark Elves who live in the slums of Windhelm. STEAL FROM THE PERSON WHO HAS A MULTIMILLION SEPTIM MEADERY???

Am I biased because I played Sly Cooper as a child and it was my favorite video game before Skyrim came out? Absolutely. But I like the whole idea of honor among thieves.

[arbre-mes-espaces]

Selene: *Kicks the door down looking panicked*

Brynjolf : What did you do?

Selene: Nobody died.

Brynjolf : WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

[moodcrab]

Man that lives in an actual toilet says wealth is his business

[star-streaks]

You legit can’t get me to leave Skyrim alone. We love Skyrim in this house