#drama in the whiterun market

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Arcadia: Do you have any gourds?

Carlotta Valentia: Yes, right here.

Arcadia: How much?

Carlotta: Four septims a pound.

Arcadia: It's usually two septims.

Carlotta: Yes, in the summer.

Arcadia: *pauses* *grabs two gourds*

Arcadia: I'll put it in a soup.

Carlotta: Oh nice, what kind are you making?

Arcadia: You will not fantasize about my soup.

[tastesoftamriel]

Into Oblivion, part 1 (a long tale by Talviel)

[Welcome to my magnum opus! This is a massive project that took me a hell of a long time to write, so for those of you who enjoy reading my work or like long stories, there is plenty for you to devour! Thanks for reading, and as always I appreciate your feedback!]

Sundas, 2nd of Last Seed, 4E 208. I was back in Whiterun after years away, catching up with old friends as I made my way back east to Riften. However, one afternoon as I was shopping for ingredients in the Plains District, a courier bounded up to me, handing me a crumpled roll of parchment. I tipped him and went back to The Bannered Mare to read it, curious as to what it contained. Unrolling it, the parchment bore no content except the sigil of the Nightingales, with the word “Raven Rock” scrawled messily underneath. The mark of Nocturnal. I looked at my shortsword, the Nightingale blade, lying in its scabbard on the table next to me. My gut wrenched with the thought of any harm coming to Brynjolf or Karliah, my fellow Nightingales, and what could be happening on Solstheim that demanded such a cryptic message. I had sworn that my Guild days were over, and yet I had taken the oath to Nocturnal. This was something I could not ignore. Deciding that if I had to go all the way to Raven Rock with no explanation, I would make it worth my while and finally convinced Geldis Sadri to teach me how to make his famous sujamma after many persuasive letters. Upon my triumph, I reluctantly left Skyrim and set off on the long journey back east.

Since my first visit to Solstheim in the year 202, Raven Rock had really transformed from being a sleepy village to a booming ebony mining town, with miners from all over Tamriel coming over hoping to strike it rich. When I stepped off the boat, the first thing I did was to stop by Glover Mallory’s forge to say hello and sharpen my sword and kitchen knives. Glover was surprised to see me, but as usual complained about how his brother Delvin in Riften never bothered to come over instead. “This has nothing to do with the Guild, Glover, you know I haven’t been with them in years! Besides, you know Delvin always complains he doesn’t have the stomach for the ship ride over.” I said as he got to work on my knives, trying not to think about the Guild business I was definitely involved in for the love of the Nightingales.

The next stop was my slightly neglected house, Severin Manor, that I had acquired through a long and complicated series of events involving House Severin that I won’t mention here. I had hired a live-in housekeeper to look after the place and give a local a roof over their head, but I visited only when I happened to be in the area, which is rarely. Still, the manor was well kept and tidy, and the fireplaces were lit for my arrival. My housekeeper, Felayn, greeted me warmly, asking if he could assist with my luggage or anything else. I declined, having never gotten used to anyone doing anything for me, despite my growing fame through Tamriel.

After settling in, I decided it was time to peruse the marketplace before heading over to see Geldis. The mining boom had brought in a colourful array of folk, including Redguards selling exotic spices, fabrics, and weapons, to Argonians with medicinal herbs from Black Marsh and Khajiits with their usual hodge-podge of items found during their travels. It was a far cry from the single alchemy shop, general store, and ash yam stall from when I had first set foot in Raven Rock. Sellers called out, advertising their wares. I bought an abundance of ash yams and spices, and treated myself to a new scarf. Happy with my purchases, I turned to head towards the Retching Netch, only to feel a hand on my shoulder. I whipped around quickly, reaching for my knife.

“Easy, lass. Was hoping for a warmer welcome but that’s my fault for startling you.” Said a familiar red-headed man dressed in Thieves Guild armour. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Brynjolf? What on earth are you doing here?” I exclaimed. “You never leave Riften!” It was only then I noticed his eyes were darting around nervously. “Got a quieter place we can talk, lass? Here probably isn’t the best.” “Of course,” I said, and we headed back to Severin Manor in silence.

“Are you hungry? I can make us some ash yam casserole.” I offered. Brynjolf set down his weapons and satchel, settling wearily into a chair. “Aye, that sounds good, lass. It was a bumpy journey from Windhelm to here so I could do with a bit of rest before getting down to business.” “You had me intrigued at ‘business’. What’s this all about, Brynjolf?” I asked, putting on my apron and setting out my ingredients and kitchen equipment.

“Well, first of all, you’re no longer with the Guild, so I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but I trust you lass, and could probably do with some help.” He began. “The first thing was to convince Glover to come back to the Guild and help establish a new branch over here in Solstheim, since the mine is open again and there’s gold for the taking. He may be hard to sway, but Delvin gave me a letter to pass to him that just might change his mind. No idea what it says, and I don’t really care as long as it brings Glover back into the fold.”

“And what else aren’t you telling me?” I asked, dicing up the ash yams. “Ah lass, we’ve got a big job on our hands. Real big. You’ll never believe it, but the High King sent us an emissary for the job. As soon as he opened his mouth, nobody wanted anything to do with it. Even our little Vex said no, that’s how dangerous it is. The pay is so big we can’t afford to say no though, and nobody says no to the High King in the first place.” He rubbed his face, looking worried. “So that left just me. And now you, I guess.”

I stopped chopping. “What makes you think I’m going to help with Guild business? And did you know I’d be here?” Now I was suspicious.

“No lass, I didn’t. I was just as surprised to see you in the market as you were to see me. Talk about good fortune, I guess. I know you’d rather not have anything to do with Guild business, but you did help out the last time in Riften so-”

“Brynjolf,” I interrupted him, “that was picking a few pockets for the thrill of it. Whatever you’re about to say sounds dangerous, and for fuck’s sake, I’m a chef. I’m no longer a Nightingale, or the Dragonborn, or whatever else I was back then. I just want to live a quiet life with as little drama as possible.” I mentioned nothing of the message I had received in Whiterun, knowing now that it was sent by Karliah and suspicious of what her intentions were.

Brynjolf looked despondent. “Please lass, I’m begging you.” He said quietly. “If this were anything else I’d go alone, but even with a whole army I wouldn’t be able to guarantee we’d get out alive. You’re probably the best fighter I know. Just hear me out, please.”

“I’m listening.” I said, leaning against the kitchen bench with my arms folded. “The High King got word that a gate of Oblivion has opened for the first time in over 200 years, here on Soltsheim. And he wants me to go in and retrieve the great sigil stone from within. But I can’t do it alone.” He explained, growing paler by the second.

“That’s not possible. Neither a gate of Oblivion or a sigil stone have been seen since the time of Martin Septim. Are we talking the Deadlands? Mehrunes Dagon? The bloody Amulet of Kings or a bloody Septim Emperor that we don’t have? This is insane. This is a death trap, Brynjolf, why on earth did you agree to this? This is a job for the Fighter’s Guild, or the Dark Brotherhood, or…someone else. Why the Thieves Guild? Why us?”

“The High King thought it best to ask us since he wants us to filch every bit of treasure we can find beyond that gate. It’s the job for a thief, and no one else. And in return he’s promised us three million septims and a guarantee that the Guild will be protected and immune to any criminal repercussions within Skyrim, no questions asked, for a minimum of eight generations. I couldn’t turn it down, lass, you’ve got to understand. Please, help me. You can help yourself to whatever we plunder and I can promise you at least a quarter of the gold the High King promised us.”

“Brynjolf, did I ever tell you that you’re completely insane? First the Eye of the Falmer and now this?” I spluttered. But my mind was ticking. Almost a million gold and valuable objects we may never see again in our lifetime stirred the thief within me. I would never have to work again, could build a mansion outside of Riften for my parents and I to live in, and settle down happily ever after.

“I know, lass. But you’ve got some of that insanity in you too. Don’t forget, you’re a Nightingale and always will be, whether you like it or not. You took the oath. So as a fellow Nightingale, I’m asking you in the name of Nocturnal, please, just this once, help me. Please.” He walked over to the counter next to me and opened a bottle of Alto wine, taking a large swig.

“Brynjolf, if I didn’t love you, I’d tell you to get out of my house right this instant. But as a fellow Nightingale, I accept this quest. I will follow you into Oblivion.” I said after a minute’s silence. Brynjolf paused with the bottle halfway to his lips, looking stunned.

“You…you will?” He stuttered, looking more relieved than I’d ever seen him in the many years I’d known him. “Lass…I don’t know what to say, but I promise you it’ll be worth your while. It’ll be an adventure, just like the old days, eh?”

“Yeah, except in the old days we wouldn’t be faced with dremora and clannfears and Talos knows what else is in the Deadlands, if these rumours are true.” I muttered. “Pass me that goddamn wine. We have dinner, then we rest, and we plan our attack tomorrow.”

“Agreed. I can’t say it enough, but thank you, lass. I know I’m asking too much, but thank you.” He moved closer, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me on the forehead.

“Don’t play me like that, Brynjolf.” I muttered, swiping away the tears that had suddenly welled up in my eyes. “Now you can do me a favour and chop the blasted onions. Thinly sliced, if you please.”

End of part 1