#also a lot of dunmer seem to have white hair so she also has that base covered

[fangsandsoftgrass]

WE'RE IN VVARDENFELL LETS GOOO

After Azura's Oracles prophecy about "an island, a mountain of rage and ash" Cirwedh knew she'd have to go to Vvardenfell soon enough. I mean she spent two yrs in Morrowind gathering all the information on Sotha Sil and these Princes Varen spoke of she kinda knew she'd have to travel to the island sooner or later. It just ended up being sooner. Anyway she buys passage to Vvardenfell and docks in Seyda Neen a couple days later, out of sorts and paranoid she's gonna get herself in over her head again, when she hears someone calling for help. After speaking with the distressed woman and reaching the armiger down the road she would be lying if she said she wasn't relieved to hear from Azura again. After escorting Llevule through the tomb and back out she heads for Vivec, since that's where the Canon had said she should go. Accepting that this is the easiest way for her to get her answers and earn some money she goes. Almost immediately she realizes how badly she sticks out so she puts together this little fit with the help of some friendly merchants (though most merchants will be friendly if you're spending coin). Living God here we come!

[littledragondork]

TES Cat AU: Skyrim Thieves Guild

My self indulgent TES Cat art is done, at least my favorite Skyrim Thieves guild NPCs are, Probably gonna’ post the Companions next because I was drawing the Skyrim Dark Brotherhood and for the life of me I couldn’t get Cicero to look right lol, but I’ll take suggestions :3c

(I’m so down with doing the rest of the Skyrim Thieves Guild eventually)

Anyway, my art for Skyrim Cat AU Brynjolf, Karliah and Mercer Frey under the cut, with some design notes :3

I wanted Bryn to be an orange cat, not only because I like orange cats and their low intelligence but because it just made sense. I also wanted him to be one of those massive fluffy cats, the ones that weight like 20lbs/9kg and have more fur than they know what to do with, he’d be 99% fur, go to pet him and your hand is just swallowed by the fur. I made him a mackerel tabby cuz’ I like mackerel tabbies and because they are just super common cat patterns. For a long time I wanted to give Brynjolf Sectoral Heterochromia, which is basically when one eye is 80% one color and has a little dot of another, in this case I wanted brown, but I couldn’t really get it to look right so I ultimately scrapped it.

He also has a docked tail because I liked the idea of all the known Nightingales having something fucked up with their tails.

I also did a little sketch with the thieves guild armor, I think it’ll fit like a harness with a few little pockets and bags. I imagine they’d all have dexterous enough paws where they can make stuff like furniture, buildings, tools, weapons, armor, cook food etc, makes everything a lot easier to me

I imagine all the Nords I’ll draw have ear tufts, extra fluffy paws and long fluffy fur coats, they’d probably slide on ice a lot lol, Think Maine coons, Norwegian forest cats, Siberians. I referenced Maine coons, Lynx and bobcats the most with Bryn here, but he is just a domestic cat.

So, for Karliah (same with all elves tbh) I wanted big ol’ ears, I feel like I could have made them bigger but I decided against it because I didn’t want them to be in the way too much (might change that later though). She is also mostly back cat because I felt it was simple and cute (I have a black kitty and I love her). It’s also not shown here much but she’d have pretty short fur, and a thin and small build, think 10lbs/4.5kg.

Karliah’s tail is shortened and broken (a painless break, the kind that happened as a baby) as to go with ‘all Nightingales have fucked up tails’ deal.

did a more meme-y sketch in this one, I was in a goofy mood and thought it funny how quick both Brynjolf and the Last Dragonborn were to just accept selling their souls.

I imagine all Dunmer would have black or dark grey base coats and those that are tabbies to have them be lighter than the base, so for example a black cat with white stipes or grey with red stripes. They, and all elves will be mostly based on the Oriental Long/short hair cats because of their big ol’ ears and narrow faces but I’ll take creative liberties of course.

Last in this batch is Mercer Frey, I redesigned him at least 8 times, first he was solid grey+ Tuxedo pattern, then he was a dilute grey tabby, then a spotted tabby before I settled on a colorpoint because he was said to be “high born” and coming from a wealthy family, and I was like “hey, colorpoints are fancy cat coats and I can see a rich and powerful family wanting to breed that into their line” and thus Colorpoint Mercer was decided on. I knew 100% I wanted him to be grey because of the whole “grey fox” fan thing he has going on in the game

Seems like every time I would get near him in my playthough, any playthough of Skyrim actually, he’d look at me like I just spat in his drink so I tried to capture that here. Also the Knife cat meme because I thought it fit him.

he doesn’t have a tail because he doesn’t deserve one it’s with the ‘all Nightingales have fucked up tails’ bit.

I also wanted to share my ideas for weapons (still no clue how to do bows) but swords, great swords and daggers, would be little gauntlets made of the specific type of metal that go on the paws, and they would range in size and weight depending on the weapon its based on, so great swords would be huge metal claws while daggers would just be apart of a little leather glove that wraps around the paws. Lots of good ideas cooking up in my Autistic little mind lmao /pos.

I imagine all Bretons will just look like the average street cat, standard issue cats if you will, the common domestic short/long hair, probably have the most diversity in fur patterns and the like.

So that’s what I was able to get done in about about a few hours (with frequent breaks and work in between) A lot of the time was looking at both official art, fanart and the in-game models to get a good sense on the personality (both fandom and canon) and seeing what I can convert more easily to a non-humanoid design, a lot of shape language practice because I like shapes :3

I have a Solid design down for Ulfric but I wanted to do batches with like characters, so all Thieves guild girlies with each other and so all Civil War Girlies with each other, some might be drawn in pairs as well, like Hadvar + Ralof or Vilkas + Farkas.

[vidra-comprehends]

banner by .@lathez

Congrats on finding a new source of fuel! This time, Sujamma asked about our OCs' appearance, so let's take a look at some details!

Semir'Visca Ithruen

Mask: Covered from head to toe in various pieces of cloth and armour, she is quite the imposing figure. Ithruen's most notable accessory is the dragon priest mask and hood you can almost never see her without. Some speculate it's to look more imposing, while others suspect a grim scar hinting at an even grimmer backstory; both of these are true, but that's not why she wears it at all. The real reason is that she quite simply cannot see shit in the sunlight. Thanks to Septimus, she may have avoided going blind, but the Elder Scroll did leave her with some nasty light sensitivity.

Scales and claws: On her quest to defeat Alduin, Ithruen has consumed more dragon souls than she is willing to count. Combined with an extensive use of the Voice, the line between mer and dovah has begun to blur. Her already rough features are now complimented by patches of dark scales. Her fingernails are also more claw-like than before... and that says a lot coming from one of the Tree Sap People.

Facial scarring: If you ever get a glimpse of her face, you might not even notice all the tiny scars running across her nose and dividing her lips. What your eyes are fixed on is the set of bright lines sneaking down her cheeks from her lower eyelids. The scarring looks thick and old. You will not offend her by asking about it, but she won't give you an answer.

Hair: The poorly kempt mohawk she is sporting is something she rarely thinks about anymore. There once was a reason beyond convenience, but she doesn't quite remember. Curious. Shahvee says she likes it.

Kagrenac's Tools: Ithruen either actively uses or carries around two of Kagrenac's Tools without having any idea what they are.

Vaba-daro

Branding: You might mistake this little Khajiit for a tabby. One of her better-kept secrets is the large branding on her forehead. It happened at the dawn of her memory, not long after she was taken in by a smith in Elsweyr, and the fur on that patch has turned white. She dyes it red, also adding small details to her face while she is at it. She thinks it looks fierce.

Random weapons: Vaba-daro has a habit of disarming her opponents after killing them, only to dispose of the weapon immediately. Still, in the heat of battle, she sometimes forgets or doesn't have time to drop them next to the bodies and ends up carrying a few extra daggers, greatswords and even long bows! She has Lucien or Cicero to remind her nowadays.

Hand gestures: Some early years of dance theatre (inspired by real-world Indian classical styles) have left her with a large vocabulary of hand gestures. When really excited, overwhelmed or not permitted to speak, Vaba-daro still uses them. She is delighted by how eager the Dawnstar Sanctuary is to 'learn the Listener's Language'... and employ it in the field.

Yivohn Malril

Facial structure: Yivohn seems to have a permanent case of baby face; full cheeks and barely any of the wrinkles expected of a decent Dunmer. She finds it infuriating, often remarking that she is older than she looks.

Colours: Red on her is like a river in its bed; it belongs there. Be it make-up or a piece of clothing, Yivohn always has some red to accentuate and compliment her features. Her black curls also respond well to garments in the same colour.

Teeth: Bards know to always open their mouths and articulate clearly. Except the ones who have to worry about a missing front tooth. She lost it in a brawl; not even the one that got her expelled from her last school! She carries it as a necklace, usually under her shirt.

[rose-like-the-phoenix]

Ocs from my skyrim fanfics

Seeing how you all have been enjoying my theives headcanons, here are my original characters

Ravenwood (Dunmer)

Took over the position of guildmaster

Grew up with Brynjolf, they've always been best friends and are now happily married ❤️

Joined the guild under the ails Laxr. Her real name was revealed after Mercer had badly injured Brynjolf and she put an arrow through Frey's chest

"Nocturnal's agent of subterfuge at you're service"

Says Bryn is "the finest trinket I've ever acquired"

Can and will reduce Brynjolf to a stuttering blushing mess at any given moment

Generally ignores her partners cockyness

Before they were married, Brynjolf came back from a job in windhelm and brought Sofie (the little girl selling flowers in windhelm) back with him, he couldn't bring himself to leave her behind after learning she lost her family like he had

Still has the dagger Bryn gave her when they were kids (and yes he pickpocketed it from a guard)

Keeps her hair all slicked back and cool like

Aisha (Khajiit)

She was the only one to survive a house fire caused by lightning at nine months old, Brynjolf's parents adopted her

Acts a lot like her older brother, cocky, smooth and a quick learner

"We are one in the same my brother and I, despite our differences"

A Scottish accent with a elsweyr dialect, along with a raspy monotone voice that is usually on the quieter side, she can be rather mysterious and eerie

Like Raven, she is rather fond of certain spells. Raven is skilled in restoration as her mother was a healer but the dunmer also knows Bound battle axe, storm atronach among other electric arcane attacks and mayhem. Aisha is partial to illusion spells, such as muffle courage and invisibly, magelight and candlelight, her real specialty is telekinesis which she seems to use constantly... she does enjoy some fire from time to time

Jetson (Argonian)

An Argonian dock worker who doubles as a fence and job distributor for sellswords on the wrong side of the guard

Almost looks like talon-jei's twin but has darker green and drity white colored scales and black... hair? (Can you call it that? Basically the top of Jei's head but black)

A thieves guild associate. He does some, let's call them favors, for Brynjolf. In return, he fences for the guild as long as they do some work for him occasionally (by they he mostly means Brynjolf 😉)

The first time he visited the Ragged Flagon, he was looking for Brynjolf. After a retrieval job in Falkreath, the Nord didn't report back as quickly as the middle man Argonian would've liked so Jetson went looking for him in one of the few places he knew he'd be at some point or another

Is rumored to be from darkwater crossing and to have some sort of relation to derkeethus. Brothers? Maybe

"Tsk. Glad to see you haven't died yet"

Smart mouthing is his speciality but knows when to hold his tongue

Does upkeep on honeyside for Raven

Sleeps with a dagger under his pillow... literally and with good reason. He was captured by the thalmor at the same time as Etienne Rarnis, before he had an in with the guild, Jetson escaped and made his way to riften under a fake name (he hasn't disclosed his real name to anyone... yet)

Brynjolf and Thrynn are really the only guild members to take him up on his... wrok. By that I mean, Brynjolf agreed to it as part of their deal and he likes to drag Thrynn along with him

Is sacred to get close to anyone but he's trying

Enter the small print! Hello, author here. I had fun writing this (and trying not to spoil my skyrim fanfics too much..) enjoy my skyrim thieves guild overhaul and feel free to ask about any other characters as my skyrim hyperfixation continues lol

Skyrim thieves guild headcanons

The daedric prince of Hyperfixation is at play here, enjoy my ramblings. Also check out @thequeenofthewinter she writes some really awesome stuff 😁

Brynjolf (aka my fave)

He was recruited by Gallus around the same time as Mercer, he rose through the ranks of the guild quite quickly... a little too quickly if you asked Mercer. Gallus was going to make him the next guildmaster but after explaining he didn't care for responsibility he told Gallus to give the position to Mercer

He's not an easy man to pin down. if he reveals any part of his personality, other then overconfident, cocky and flirty, to you willingly, you should consider yourself special.

Flirts with everyone, lads and lasses alike (especially his guildmates)

He grew up in a settlement somewhere in the riff. The village of about 20 was mostly made up of Dunmer refugees, a handful of Khajiit and Argonians and a couple of Nord families, he sees them as equals and feels as though he can relax more around them then he can around other Nords. It's partly why he often avoids going to Windhelm

Speaking of Windhelm, it's the last place in tamriel he would ever want to go. Not only because of the Nordic residents poor treatment of the other races but also because he prefers warmer weather and doesn't care for the near constant snowfall

As recruits, he was the youngest and only teenager (17 to 19) and Mercer was the third oldest (mid to late 20s)

Occasionally gets caught on purpose for fun and thrills

When someone in the guild ticks him off (usually Mercer) he'll mumble insults in scottish gaelic to avoid the guild fighting amongst itself

If you're on a job with him and things go south, let him do all the talking (he's silver tongued for a reason)

Absolutely littered with scars

*spoiler alert* spells take a lot out of him, once that frenzy spell Mercer put on him wore off, he collapsed and was breathing quite heavily, unfortunately he didn't have much time to recover

Has a general distaste for bandits, however on the way back from a job, he was attacked by three bears and a Nord in bandit armor ran up and started helping him, once the bears were dealt with Bryn excepted the man to attack him or demand gold but the bandit just sheathed his weapon and turned toward him with a smile on his face "Heh, you fight pretty well. Name's Thrynn, mind if I travel with you for a while? There's plenty more bears around here"

Has definitely been told more than once that if he doesn't wipe a smirk off his face, his armor is going in the pond... with him in it

Brynjolf doesn't know Glover Mallory very well but, knowing it would never happen otherwise, took it upon himself to write Glover a letter for his birthday each year, usually a handful of gems will accompany that letter. He also makes the rest of the guild sign said letter and every time Delvin's just like "why would I need to do that?"

Has a tattoo of the guild shadow mark on his left forearm and "dying breed" across his shoulders

Doesn't go on jobs alone very often

Kept a journal he lifted off a drunk altmer once, it's mostly just filled with drawings, client information, stuff about the Nightingales and (much like Gallus) plans to make the guild good amounts of coin

Mercer Frey (aka captain backstabber)

Hated Brynjolf's guts from day one and always thought the scottsman was full of himself

Muttered and cursed under his breath more than he liked to admit

Was shocked to hear Brynjolf tell Gallus to make him guildmaster and when he asked why Brynjolf's answers only infuriated him more "I don't care for responsibility" "I'd rather not be a leader" "I just don't want to" etc.

"Brynjolf's a showoff" when Gallus asked why the pair didn't get along.. among some other more direct reasons

Mostly just payed for the upkeep of his house to keep the guild from going through his things and using them as leverage/playing keep away with him/hiding things from him/using his stuff for pranks etc. He only keeps the bare minimum of what he needs on a daily basis in his chest, end table and desk

Would never say it, but he did find Bryn somewhat funny BUT he definitely wasn't laughing when Brynjolf and Delvin dumped two bucket fulls of cistern water on him at 1AM

Gallus told him to teach Brynjolf some magic in hopes they'd learn to get along. Brynjolf however, politely declines the offer, explaining that "magic and I don't mix well" *Mercer nodding* "noted"

Ironically is the first person to start calling Brynjolf "Bryn"

As a teen, Brynjolf used to call him a "grumpy old man"

"I hate to admit it, but Brynjolf is the best person we've got at finding new recruits. That man really knows how to read people"

Delvin Mallory (old man *affectionate*)

The "fun" uncleTm

When Brynjolf was new to the guild, some recruits Gallus was training at the time, thought it was a good idea to mock Bryn's accent. Delvin was the one to put an end to it "just 'cause the boy's young, he's already twice the thief compared to the rest o' you lot"

Vekel "I know better and I'd still say the old bastard has a drinking problem"

Definitely issues all the drinking challenges/games

One of the only guild members who is even remotely or the slightest bit religious

Will begrudgingly pay off a guild members bounty if the guards are really hounding their ass, just feels like he should

Straight up refuses to retire, retirement is a drity word

Can't sneak for very long anymore due to his age so he's usually sent in as a distraction and if you don't know how to sneak very well then he can sure as hell teach you

Hardly ever seen without a bottle of mead in hand

Brynjolf was the one who gave him his opening line when someone asks for sneak training "if you need training, go talk to Delvin. Stick with him and they'll never know you're there"

Thrynn (Ex-bandit)

Very sarcastic and brutally honest

Uses archery targets for punching bags

Can left most guild members above his head

Once after a particularly aggressive troll attack, he carried a very injured Brynjolf back to the Flagon, despite Bryn's protests, which led to him calling Brynjolf "featherweight"

Damages his armor more than anyone else, which according to Tonilia is saying something considering Brynjolf is a bit of an injury magnet

He's pretty good friends with Brynjolf, considering the pair usually do jobs together. They've gotten to know each other quite well, sometimes too well

Can sneak, just doesn't want to

Doesn't quite understand the idea of magic, despite being from Winterhold "so you just hold your hands up and fire comes out of them? Weird"

*someone uses big words/scientific terms* "just get to the point"

Bear hugs/lifting people up from behind unexpectedly is one of his favorite ways to amuse himself

Prefers ale to mead, unlike his buddy Bryn who likes honey in his drink

Tonilia (♡?)

As quartermaster, she basically does everything Brynjolf or Mercer/dragonborn doesn't want to do

Gets annoyed easily

Met Vekel after she joined the guild

It's a rumor that her and Brynjolf are having an affair, what happened was some drunk in the Bee and Brab was trying to get a bit frisky with the fence and Brynjolf stepped in saying "the lass said no and so do I" Mercer saw them walk out of the inn, arms linked, he couldn't hear what was said but he watched Tonilia thank Brynjolf and hug him. Now, Mercer being the asshole that he is started the rumor of her and Bryn being a little too "friendly"

Probably had a girlfriend at some point in the past

Sapphire (💙)

Sapph and Brynjolf have an interesting relationship, it goes beyond friendship, more like a brother and sister who haven't seen each other in a long time but were never particularly close. They both lost their families and each have a deeper understanding of the other because of it

Her and Bryn were out and about in riften and ran into someone she knew before her family... well you know, when they asked who Brynjolf was she introduced him as her brother for lack of a better explanation

Vex is older than Sapph by nine years, Tonilia is younger then both of them but has been with the guild longer

Mercer would never tell, but Brynjolf saved his life. Sapphire's last order from the dark brotherhood was to assassinate Mercer Frey, it was the middle of the night when she snuck into the guild's hideout, Brynjolf and Mercer were up late working. Brynjolf convinced her to follow along with some jobs and she'd be payed more than what the dark brotherhood offered, she agreed on the terms that the guild was to not meddle in what she called "personal affairs"

Has a few coin purses filled with her collection of stolen sapphires in her end table

Viper the fleet (🙄..)

Was one of the last recruits to tarin with Gallus before he was murdered, Brynjolf picked up where his predecessor left off

Even Bryn can't stand how lustful this man is, Brynjolf's flirtatious jokes are one thing but Viper takes things too far in the the opinion of the senior thief

The last time the second in command caught Vip trying to bed Sapphire, he told Thrynn to trouble shoot his brain (bash it in..)

Has two heads but only enough blood supply to run one at a time

He can be a good thief but only if he would actually get his head out of the gutter

If it had been up to Bryn, Viper would have been fired from his position... MULTIPLE TIMES

Vex (our little vex <3)

Was a drifter, ended up in riften and has been there ever since

Second oldest female in the guild, the first being Karliah

Over heard Braith and Lars arguing while on job in Whiterun, Braith reminds her more of herself than she'd like to admit

Second best in a fistfight, first being Thrynn and third being Brynjolf

Usually slaps the back of someone's head if they piss her off

Her parents told her stories of the dragonborn but she never believed it until the the last dragonborn became part of the thieves guild

Much like the redhead she deems annoying, no one really knows where she's from

Curses the most

Vex: *punched Brynjolf in the shoulder as he walked past her* Brynjolf: *stumbles forward, look's at vex with a smirk* "I like that lass" Vex: 😳

Her closest friend in the guild is Sapphire

Rune (🪨..)

When Brynjolf heard Rune's story, he started asking the male Imperial to accompany him and Sapph on their outings. once the three got to know each other better, Bryn explained that he and Sapphire had lost their families as well

Him and vex were the only Imperial members of the guild for a long time

His little rune rock is his most prized possession, understandably

Most of the long time guild members have in someway attempted to decipher the symbols, if you were to ever get your hands on the second in commands journal (which he keeps in a locked dewar in his desk) you'll find a page with Rune's well, runes drawn on it, surrounded by notes of what they could potentially mean

Can be very blondeTm sometimes

Is happy that Sapph and Bryn have fond memories of their families but it also saddens him sense he can't remember his own, the other two notice this however and try not to bring it up too often

At a time when thoughts of home, wherever it may be, was weighing heavy on his mind, Brynjolf slung his arm over Rune's shoulders and claimed him as his younger brother

Is at least two or three years younger than Bryn

Second closest to Brynjolf, the first being Thrynn

Enjoys spiced wine occasionally (if you catch my meaning...)

No one's sure how but he says he has "connections" with the Whiterun guard

Lived in Whiterun for a period of time

The Inconspicuous drunk, you wouldn't know he was drunk until he tries to stand

This all I got for now, might reblog this with my ocs from my thieves guild fanfics 🤔

[myszkina]

Shadow and Steel - a Skyrim fanfiction

FF.net

Archive of Our Own

Chapter 3 - Smoke on the Water

The whole city knew that the Thieves Guild made their home in the Ratway. But those who had attempted to find them often died trying, lost in the maze. The thief's tools of deception and misdirection kept their home safe; the Ratway was a patchwork of old sewers and tunnels dug as escapes by lords and smugglers alike, layer upon layer deep underground. The remnants of the old city, burned to the ground by fire many years ago, boarded up and forgotten, had been absorbed into the maze. The stone lower levels of houses that had sunk beneath the waves, buried under the lake. Basements, underground warehouses, treasuries, cells from days past... All had become part of the City Beneath the City, sprawling under Riften. Not even the thieves knew the full extent of the tunnels.

As for the Cistern, it's location was a closely guarded secret, one that had to be earned, and one that the thieves had been tasked and trained to keep. But even if they did break, no one was likely to believe that it lay hidden under one of the finest manors in the city. Over the years it had been built into an odd mix of side rooms and tunnels off the original hall. The office was a fairly recent addition to the ancient Cistern added by Mercer’s predecessor, discovered by accident much like the senior members’ rooms and the larger dormitory, when the aging walls separating them from the main Cistern had weakened and started to collapse.

No one really believed Delvin’s rantings about signs and curses, but they could all see what this meant: Their headquarters was dying, falling apart along with the Guild, and it was going to take a lot more than bricks and mortar to save it. They were going to need a miracle.

Light footsteps echoed softly through the empty Cistern as Zarja stalked down the stairs from the city above. Her cloak billowed behind her as she swept through the tunnels, her wet, filthy boots trailing mud. The bag in her hand bounced against her leg as she walked, the cloth stained a deep crimson from its contents.

The door to Mercer’s office lay at the other end of the massive room, and was currently shut. But she knew he was in there, and that he was waiting for her.

Zarja also knew that this meeting was important. The letter she had received in Windhelm had given nothing but orders to return, but being called back from an assignment was almost unheard of. Ordinarily, after so long an absence, she would’ve taken the long route through the city to catch up on what she had missed. Today that wasn’t an option; no one kept the Guildmaster waiting. Not even she was exempt from that rule. The wooden door creaked on rusty hinges as Zarja flung it open.

She knew instantly that something was wrong. The tension in the room was stifling. The other senior members of the Guild were already gathered. The only one who acknowledged her was Brynjolf, who gave her a quick nod in greeting, a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Zarja stalked across the room, her eyes locked on Mercer. Without a word, she strode right up to the desk and tossed the sack onto the scuffed wooden surface. It slid the last few inches across the papers.

Mercer finally moved, straightening slowly. He undid the knot keeping the sack closed with a sharp tug and pulled out its contents - a severed hand, golden flesh grey and stiff. The sickening reek of decay filled the room.

“It's done, then?” Mercer finally said lowly.

“Did you expect anything else?” Zarja replied, bronze eyes distant. She could feel Brynjolf’s eyes on her; after eight years of this, she knew the grim set of his face even when she didn’t see it.

Mercer didn’t respond, turning the grotesque trophy over in his hands, studying it. Finally, after a too long moment, he nodded his approval, throwing it carelessly back into the sack.

Zarja turned and stepped back, leaning against a bookshelf. “So what's so important that you couldn’t say in a letter?”

Vex snorted derisively, but didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Zarja.

Zarja ignored the Imperial, schooling her features into neutrality as she studied the other thieves, taking in every detail in a matter of seconds - Vex’s white-knuckled grip on her leather gear, the high, defensive cross of her arms; the almost painful-looking set of Delvin’s jaw; the way every thief refused to meet her stare. Mercer, infuriatingly, remained impassive. Zarja hated that unreadable mask, the absolute mastery of his expressions and temper that Zarja had never quite been able to match.

“Anein was caught in Markarth.” Mercer said finally.

Zarja sighed through her nose, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. This was why he’d called her back.  “If you had another assignment for me,” she drawled, pushing back a strand of golden hair. “You could have just said so.”

She had never liked the Dunmer. Well over a hundred years old, the former member of the Morag Tong - as he constantly liked to remind them, as if it somehow made him better - had tried to undermine her at every turn since he’d joined several years ago, hungry for her position in the Guild.

“I’ll head out in the morning.” She continued. “Though the mine will likely take care of him for us.” Or perhaps she’d drop a hint to Nazir, she mused privately. A debt owed by the Brotherhood held all sorts of possibilities.

“You aren’t going to Markarth.” Zarja’s brows shot up at the sharpness of his voice, and she blinked in surprise.

Then the Nord thief shifted, bronze eyes narrowed. The other thieves focused on anything but her. Whatever had happened, they knew.

“You're going to finish the Goldenglow job.”

Zarja froze, her stomach twisting and a roaring noise filling her ears. “‘Finish’?” She demanded, straightening away from the bookshelf. Her lips pulled back into a snarl. “What do you mean ‘finish’?”

Suddenly everything made sense - the strange silence, not even the barest shred of a rumor from here to Shor’s Stone, the tenseness of her fellow thieves.

Zarja bit down hard on her shock, fighting to keep a hold on her temper. Mercer had gone ahead with Goldenglow without her? They had barely started planning when she’d left for Windhelm.

“Yes,” Vex snapped, and Zarja’s head whipped toward the other woman, realizing she had spoken aloud. “We actually went ahead and did our jobs without the great Zarja Goldshadow.”

“And yet, here I am.” Vex’s brown eyes flashed when Zarja gave her a little smile that she knew made the Imperial’s temper flare. Zarja turned to Mercer. "You should have waited for me." She growled lowly, so only Mercer could hear. The Guildmaster's eyes turned thunderhead dark, and Zarja's words died in her throat. She clenched her jaw, not flinching from his gaze, but taking a quiet step back. She crossed her arms. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Dar’Ranir is dead.” Her former mentor said indifferently, twirling a blackjack point down on the desk.

“What?” Zarja demanded. Dar’Ranir, the grinning thief she had trained and trained with as often as Rune and Brynjolf since the Khajiit had joined, who’d somehow managed to fit in despite all reservations, coaxed laughs from her with horrible jokes or lewd anecdotes, had impossibly made a home under the lake he’d hated. Even Vex had liked him. “How?”

“Aringoth hired an army of thugs.” Brynjolf bit out. Zarja turned toward him, and under her rage felt a pang of sympathy for her friend; she knew how much responsibility he felt for the thieves in the Guild. He looked like he’d aged five years in less than a month. “Threw out whatever guards we might’ve had on our side. Almost like he knew.”

“They caught us on the second floor.” Vex forced the words out. “Rune by the hives. Dar’Ranir didn’t make it out.”

"You're a thief." Zarja hissed. Her voice, usually the cultured tones of Cyrodiil, roughened into the harsher lilt of the north. Her voice was a low growl; every word rasped past her lips like it had been dredged in gravel. "And he was your partner. You're supposed to be able to get in and out of places without being seen and make sure he does the same, and failing that you're supposed to watch his back!" Her fists clenched and unclenched, barely inching to the dagger on her hip as she took an unconscious step forward. She heard Brynjolf’s low warning, saw out of the corner of her eye Mercer tense dangerously and the blackjack freeze. She ignored both of them. “You had two thieves with you to carry the weight and you still managed to fuck it up, and on top of that you left him there.” “You would’ve done the same!” Vex snapped, matching Zarja’s step and refusing to back down from her glare.

Zarja slammed her hands onto Mercer’s desk, rattling the glasses. “I would’ve killed them all to get him out of there!”

“Enough.” Mercer snapped. Zarja and Vex didn’t move, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Stand down,” he murmured, and Zarja wasn’t sure if the warning was for her or Vex. She unconsciously tensed at the order out of habit either way. “Her patience has limits.” For Vex then. “As does mine.”

A muscle feathered in the Imperial’s jaw, but she wisely retreated back against the wall, averting her eyes.

Zarja rolled her neck, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Is Rune all right?”

“He’ll live.” Brynjolf said. “Nothing that’ll keep him down for long.”

"What happened to Dar’Ranir’s body?"

"They burned it, from what we can tell. Didn't want any evidence floating around of a break in." Delvin finally spoke for the first time since Zarja had walked in.

"And a warning to anyone who would try again." Brynjolf added darkly.

"Because they know we're going to.” Zarja stated, speaking to all of them but watching Mercer, who merely toyed with the knife. “But this time, we will not fail."

A watery sun sat shone dimly from behind the clouds, the last remnants of the storm that had settled over the countryside for the past two days. The brilliant colors of the Rift were muted, reduced to dull greys and browns in the fog.

On the northern bank of Lake Honrich, the dark shape of the thief was indiscernible. From her post under a ledge near the road in a hollow between two boulders, wrapped in her cloak against the cool autumn air, Zarja surveyed the island, keen eyes watching the distant, ant-sized figures of the mercenaries.

It seemed like Aringoth knew very well the danger he was in. Zarja had rarely seen this kind of security outside of a Jarl’s palace. She counted roughly a dozen outside, patrolling over the bridges and around the main building, all heavily armed and armored and some leading dogs. She assumed there would be just as many inside the house. An increase in security, from what Brynjolf had told her before she left.

Then there was the island itself. The estate composed of three main islands, connected by bridges high over the water. A high wall wrapped around one of the smaller islands, protecting the beehives from the elements on all sides but one. Sharp rocks and high ledges surrounded most of the islands. The main house sat on the largest island, two stories high in the fashion of most houses in the Rift, on a rise in the middle of the island. Boulders and a few trees broke up the landscape, along with a few low watchtowers, with plenty of open ground between them.

Zarja rose with a quiet groan, stiff limbs aching in protest as she carefully hauled herself onto the ledge above her. Even with the bits of information she had gathered over the course of the morning and the day before, as she made the short trek back to Riften, her mood was grim.

The moons were sinking behind the western mountains when the thief returned, hidden behind a thick covering of clouds. The islands and the estate were dark shapes against the water. The torches were burning low, dim light struggling against the rain.

The swim in the freezing waters of Lake Honrich had not been pleasant, and the trek through the sewer even less so. Zarja’s damp armor clung to her body uncomfortably as she crouched at the entrance of the sewer, listening through the gaps in the wooden grate for any sign of the guards.

Hearing none, she scrambled up the ladder, damp and slippery with moss. The scrape of wood against stone seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet night as she eased the cover open, but didn’t seem to draw attention as Zarja hauled herself out of the sewer.

The sewer let out at the rear of the house, as promised, but it was further away than anticipated.

Merging with the shifting patterns of light and shadow thrown by the moon, the thief blended into the dark, matching the rhythm of trees and clouds as they stirred in the breeze. Slowly, as to not draw attention with errant movement, she crossed the distance to the door.

Zarja was grateful for the rain, even if it meant foregoing her usual mask to not further impair her already weather-limited senses. Thankfully, the downpour also meant that the guards outside of the house didn’t notice her slipping right past them. The second floor was fairly high up, but the window was darkened, and the latch was easily unlocked from the outside. She’d mapped the house already, in the days she had spent watching the island. If she was correct—and she was certain she was—that window led right into the second-floor Aringoth’s room.

Listening carefully, she waited until the guard was looking the other way, and began to climb. Her boots found their grip on the slick wood between logs, hands wrapped in a white-knuckled grip on the gutter.

Zarja kept her eyes and ears open, but no guards rounded the corner of the house. In a few moments, she was at the sill of the study window. The guard below didn’t even look up at the house towering behind him. Top-notch guards indeed.

One glance inside showed a darkened room—a desk littered with papers with a dimming candle at the far side of the room, a wardrobe, and a four-poster bed.

The thief hauled herself onto the ledge, and the slender knife from her boot gleamed dully as it wedged into the slight gap between the window doors. An angled jab, a deft flick of her wrist, and—

She eased the window open. One of the hinges creaked quietly, but the other swung away without a sound. Carefully, holding her breath, she eased the windows shut again.

Zarja landed in a crouch, her leather boots soundless on the ornate rug. The dim lanternlight showed a comfortably furnished home of a wealthy merchant; tastefully decorated, the walls were adorned with glittering decorations and colorful tapestries, and the wooden floors were covered with soft rugs.

The tiniest creak of floorboards under Zarja's feet as she moved, loud as thunder to her sensitive ears, was lost in the myriad of sounds around her. The house was alive around her; the sharp whistle of wind outside, snaking inside through tiny gaps in the outer walls and the patter of rain on the roof, the bear-like snoring of at least one guard of the house, the footsteps of another just outside the door. She pulled her mask up over her nose and started her search.

A quick sweep of the room showed no sign of a safe or keys. Papers were scattered on his desk, a ledger opened to yesterday’s date covered in the elf’s messy scrawl. Zarja doubted he would leave whatever she sought out in plain sight, but with no clear idea of where this thing even was, it was a good place to start.

A faint glitter at the far side of the room, caught her attention. It was a small bee statue, solid gold from the look of it, and it had a satisfying weight in her hands. Her mouth quirked into a small, satisfied smile as she tucked it into a pouch on her belt, and she crept towards the door soundlessly.

She moved through the room to the door, only to pause, fingers barely brushing the handle as her ears pricked at a muffled sound from the hall. She instinctively rolled out of the way, ducking behind a wardrobe just as the door was thrown open hard enough to bounce off the wall, and Aringoth stormed in.

"Useless mercenaries." He ground out. His hands clenched and unclenched as he walked, not even registering the silent, unmoving shape just a few meters away, or the wet footprints on the floor. His muttering hid the whisper of the thief's boots on the polished wooden floor as she turned back to the door.

The floor creaked under her.

Zarja's head snapped up as Aringoth started. Too far from the window to run, a guard outside the door, and no cover to hide her, Zarja could only watch with her heart in her throat as Aringoth turned toward the sound. They both froze, watching each other for too long a moment, both too shocked to respond.

Zarja moved first, the world snapping back into place around her. She dashed across the room, crossing it in three long strides. She didn't think, simply acted in a fraction of a second, drawing the blade on her hip. A half formed yell died on Aringoth's lips as a gloved hand clapped over his mouth, and the blade sliced across his throat.

Zarja emerged from the sewer back where she started, on the northern side of the island. A faint lightening in the eastern sky signaled that dawn was fast approaching.

She started to climb up to the wooden walkway above her. Her leather boots, while supple and supportive, felt traitorous on the slick stone surrounding it. She carefully navigated the rocks, staying as low as she could to avoid detection. Her boots slid, but her gloved fingers grappled onto the wooden supports. She managed to scramble her way up, risking a peek over the bulwark, and was greeted by a pair of boots directly in her line of vision. She immediately ducked back down, biting her lip to contain her curse. Above her the guard paused, suddenly alert. But in the early hour and the fatigue that accompanied it, and with nothing apparently wrong, he relaxed, slumping against one of the nearby crates. Zarja let out a quiet breath. She'd come this far; failure wasn't an option.

Gloved fingers gripping the rough wood above her, her feet carefully moved along the slanted support beams as she climbed further down the dock. Further down the bulwark, she pulled herself up and behind some stacked crates with little difficulty and took her bearings. On her left was the main house, surrounded with mercenaries who patrolled the walkways. On her right were the hives, which seemed unguarded.

The sound of creaking wood and thudding footsteps announced the presence of another patrolling guard on a nearby walkway. Zarja waited for him to pass before she climbed out from her hiding place. She headed toward the bee hives, carefully dodging guards as she went.

A distant shout from the other side of the island briefly drew her attention. There was commotion near the house, and it was slowly starting to spread across the estate as an alarm was raised. Stealth now a secondary priority, she quickened her pace.

The buzzing sound of the insects grew louder as she neared the center of the six hives. The combined drone of the bees and the patter of rain on the lake drowned out all other sound, and settled uncomfortably on her already frayed nerves. She tossed a quick look over her shoulder and, satisfied that no one had seen her, knelt down and pulled out her flint and steel.

The sparks crackled and died in the rain, costing her precious time. When the fire finally came to life, it leapt eagerly to the little wooden fortress. The fire made quick work of the hive and jumped to the next, the flames greedily devouring the hay and wood.

Shouts of alarm mingled with the crackle of the flames as mercenaries realized the hives were ablaze, and her satisfaction quickly turned to alarm.

Shielding her eyes against the smoke, Zarja searched for a way out. With the walkways blocked by the incoming guards, and with no time to navigate the rocks, she turned to the fence. But her boots couldn't find purchase on the smooth wood, and the wall was too high to jump. Behind her, the mercenaries were getting closer, and the sickeningly sweet smoke was blinding.

She sensed the attack a heartbeat before it happened. Zarja whirled and ducked, and the swing that would've cut her in two sailed harmlessly through empty air over her head and embedded itself in the wood above her, throwing the guard off balance in a shower of splinters. She came up with fast blow to the point of the man’s jaw; the guard was out before he hit the ground. She pivoted out of the way of a second guard's swing, and let her momentum carry her into a spin, bringing her leg up and delivering a solid kick to the man's side. Not an incapacitating blow by any means, with the brute protected by his thick leather armor, but it wasn’t meant to be, and it served it's purpose. He staggered and wheezed, and it took little effort for Zarja to grab his shoulders and force him down as her knee came up. There was a sickening crunch as the man's nose shattered, and he collapsed with a groan, blood trailing sluggishly down his face.

The entire sequence took less than four seconds.

Yells from the bridge reminded her that she wasn't out of danger yet. She turned, and the dull glint of the sword still buried in the wall just above waist height caught her attention. She took a few steps back and drew her elven dagger, paused briefly to make sure the contents of the safe were still secure in a pocket of her armor and the bee statue was undamaged, then ran at the wall, bracing one foot against it and pushing herself up so the other rested on the hilt of the sword. The blade shifted, threatening to give out under her weight, but she was already moving further up, sinking her own blade higher up on the wall. She grit her teeth against a lash of white-hot pain in her arm as she scrambled higher.

Her other hand gripped the edge above her, her dagger providing the added leverage she needed to pull herself up. She made it to the top just as the mercenaries reached the hives, ripping her blade free of the wood.

"There!" Too late, one of them spotted her through the thick smoke, but she was already gone, diving into the dark, frigid waters of the lake.

Zarja swam hard for the shore, letting the current carry her away from the island. She was nearly blind in the murky water, but she didn't dare swim on the surface in case the mercenaries were smart enough to carry bows.

Finally, lungs burning and muscles aching, she hauled herself up onto the muddy bank. She collapsed onto her back with a groan, staring up at the dark clouds above her. The only sound was her ragged breathing, and in the distance the faint yelling of panicked guards.

After a few moments a dull throb reminded her of its presence in her left arm. Her right hand came up, feeling for the source of the discomfort, and it came away red and sticky. Looked like the guard had managed a lucky hit after all; he had nicked her just under her leather pauldron. The cut wasn't too deep, but it burned beneath her hand, and was starting to itch. Lying in the mud probably wasn't doing it any favors either.

Zarja forced herself up against her complaining muscles. But it didn't stop the satisfied smirk that curled under her mask as she watched the distant figures of the mercenaries scurrying like ants around the burning hives. Despite their incompetence, she wasn't worried. With no wind, and the steady rain, the fires were already going out and remaining hives were in no danger, but two were already past saving, and the third was unlikely to survive.

She pulled the letter she'd found in the basement safe out of her pocket, thankfully undamaged from the swim, staring at it before a wicked grin stretched over her features. The letter clutched in her hand was proof that she had done it.

Within hours the entire city knew that Goldenglow had been hit. Half of the estate’s hives had been destroyed, the house stripped of valuables. The island and the lake were being searched for whatever was left of Aringoth; his room had been found in chaos, a bloody mess on the floor. No one expected him to be found.

The door to the Ragged Flagon flew open with a crash, drawing the attention of the few in the bar.

Delvin looked up with no small degree of surprise. No one had heard from the Nord woman in almost three days, and most had started to assume the worst. “You’re back! How did –“

“It’s done.” She said simply, giving him a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The mood in the bar lightened considerably, the patrons throwing curious questions at her, but she didn’t stop to elaborate.

In the Cistern, she headed straight to Brynjolf, acutely aware of Mercer’s gaze following her across the room as soon as she entered.

Brynjolf grinned as she approached, relief washing through him and the tension lifting from his body as pulled her into a quick hug. She winced at the contact, and his relief quickly turned to concern. He pulled his hand away reflexively, and it came away red and sticky with blood.

“Lass –“

“Looks worse than it is, I promise.” She interrupted quickly, her lips curving into a faint smile. She pushed aside the torn, bloodstained sleeve of her shirt, revealing the hasty wrappings around her arm. “More importantly,” With her uninjured hand she pulled out the letter from the inner lining of her armor. “The contents of Aringoth’s safe.” She raised a brow at his surprise. ”You doubted me?” she teased, but there was a warning edge in her voice.

“Not for a second.” He grinned, unfolding the letter. He skimmed over the document quickly, his easy smile fading with every word. “What about the elf?” he asked, his voice suddenly very serious.

Zarja looked somewhat surprised by the question, but answered, “Dead.”

“Good.” Her brow inched higher in a silent question. “Whatever you did, lass, it was a kindness.” Brynjolf said darkly, his green eyes glittering in the torchlight. “Aringoth sold Goldenglow. Maven would’ve skinned the mad bastard alive.” He shook his head, examining the paper more closely. “There’s no name on the certificate, just this odd symbol. Any idea what it means, lass?”

Zarja took the proffered parchment. The symbol was strange, but there was something almost familiar about it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a shadowmark.” She frowned, handing the letter back. “But it’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.”

“Blast. I’ll check my sources and speak to Mercer. In the meantime,” He said, folding the parchment and turning his attention back to Zarja, who was stifling a yawn. Hidden in the shadow of her hood, her eyes lacked their usual brightness above dark circles of exhaustion. “Get some rest, lass.”

"But I still need to-"

"Whatever it is, it can wait. You're a wreck." Brynjolf said bluntly. "Go get some sleep. You've done your part. I'll take care of the rest." When she didn't move he added, "That's an order, lass." With as much authority as he could muster.

Zarja snorted – they both knew he didn’t have any actual authority over her - , but inclined her head slightly. "Yes, sir." She said dryly to the Guild Second. Brynjolf waved off her teasing, shaking his head, and Zarja headed for her room, but sleep was the last thing on her mind. She pulled off her armor, gingerly maneuvering her injured arm out of the leather curiass and the sleeve of her tunic, and tossed it into a pile at the foor of her bed before heading to the improvised bathroom separated from the rest of her room by a wooden screen.

While not as advanced as Solitude or Markarth, The Rift had its share of dwemer ruins, and over time the hold's inhabitants had managed to replicate some of their more simple technologies - most importantly, the ability to heat and carry water through endless meters of pipes. The thieves simply tapped into the pipes installed by the nobility.

The old pipes groaned, only releasing a short trickle of water into the tub. Zarja frowned, urging the piping along with an impatient kick. After an unnerving shudder and one final loud complaint, water sputtered forth, growing into a steady stream. The water smelled of a faint metallic tang from the endless feet of piping, but it was still infinitely better than the freezing green waters of Lake Honrich.

Zarja soaked until the water was tepid, letting the heat and sweet smelling soaps soothe her aching muscles and growing headache, and changed into a fresh tunic and breeches - dark colored like most of the things she owned. She started on the chore of repairing her armor. It was slow, methodical work, but relaxing.

The peaceful silence didn’t last long. News of her return had spread quickly. By the time she’d finished caring for her water-damaged armor, half the Guild had come to her for the story. She’d given them enough details to satisfy their curiosity, but for the most part remained tensely silent.

She paused her task to talk to Tonilia about materials for repair. Returning to the Cistern, she saw the door to Mercer's office open, and Brynjolf leaning over the desk, his back towards her as he spoke to the Breton. She knew him well enough to recognize the tense set of his shoulders, and the cause wasn't hard to guess. The Guildmaster was furious over the news of Goldenglow’s sale. He glanced over at Zarja once, the unreadable expression sending a chill down her spine. There was something almost like approval in the look, but there was also something very dangerous that she couldn't name.

Zarja kept her face carefully neutral, turning back to her room and her chore. She pushed the uncomfortable feeling from her mind as she set to cleaning her weapons. The cleaning rag came away stained red with blood.

She stared at it for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek. She roughly shoved the Aldmeri blade back in its scabbard, throwing it onto the pile of gear at the foot of her bed. Pausing only to throw a change of clothes, and some coin, she stalked across the Cistern, strapping on her weapons belt and her cloak as she went. No one stopped her when she slipped out of the hidden entrance and into the city streets.