#brand shei skyrim

[absolutly-not-an-alien]

A strange coincidence (that I didn’t plan)

Also he was raised by Altmer but elves nonetheless.

Lore tidbits for those interested:

I like to build player-ocs by my experience with the game. Lynthrax was unique in the fact that I didn’t know what Argonians were, much less that you could play as one.

So I never knew anything about their culture while starting my journey. This led to a “Well Thats Lore Now” moment, and Lynthrax turned out to be an argonian who’s finding his people and exploring the culture he didn’t have growing up.

It’s also the reason he’s so weird sometimes lol.

I am brainstorming his backstory, but I’m going to wait until I know more about the world to set stuff in stone.

(It will likely matter that the name and suffix in “Lynthrax” is closest to Daedric names)

[mukuuji]

#TES・Fo・Sf版セリフでワンドロ 第91回

Theme of the week: "Quality guaranteed!"

[thana-topsy]

Different anon from the one you just answered...

You know you can take the ring, drop it somewhere- literally, just chuck it from your inventory, go to Brynjolf and tell him you lost it, then - BAM! - Brand-Shei doesn't go to jail and you can still start the Thieves Guild questline! I hope this helps :D

AHHHHH THANK YOU omg

This changes everything. I can't wait to disappoint Brynjolf!!

[gortrash]

Am I the only one who purposefully fails Brynjolf’s very first task of planting Madesi’s ring on Brand-Shei. Like. You want me to put that man out of business permanently? And for why?? Absolutely not, you slimy bastard.

[snowy-weather]

Some underrated dunmer, in my opinion. XD

Brand-shei, dunmer by blood, argonian by upbringing. Romlyn Dreth, the guy with the balls to steal from Maven Black-Briar. Garan Marethi, one of the many cool vampires in castle Volkihar. And Geldis Sadri, the owner of the Retching Netch cornerclub. 

[ervona]

Day 1: Arcane / Beast for @tes-summer-fest

The city of Winterhold coasted on its illustrious history as capital, though it had shared that honor with quite a few cities in the province. Still, it held a charm that set it apart from the rest in the eyes of a courier who had just finished her delivery to the far-flung shrine of Azura. The mountainside view was one to behold, enjoyed by many from afar who'd come to join the work on that lofty statue. To her, the sight of moonlit stone walls called for a night out.

A gleaming eye caught her own, atop the most distinguished, towering structure in the city. Home to many a mage, such as her friend who on this day was waiting for her at the city gates rather than on College grounds. He was but a prentice, and even though he’d started learning a bit late by a naysayer’s estimate, he was bound to become a great mage someday. One could only hope. 

Though not officially enrolled there, she was a scholar of sorts, as well as a courier and self-appointed investigator. Her pursuit of mystery was greater than the sum of its parts. She arranged to borrow a book on occasion in return for running the archivist’s errands, but the path to knowledge ofttimes lay elsewhere.

“Just so you know, that hermit up in the mountain told me you absolutely need levitation!" The volume of her voice sank into the surrounding snow. Only slightly dusted by it, like a sweetcake, he threw his head back in unbridled laughter.

That was how they met each time, continuing their last discussion regardless of how long it had been. Or at least, that’s how she commanded awe with her excellent memory. Usually.

“I missed you too!” His feet dangled in the air when she hugged him, repeatedly hitting her ankle. “And ah- sorry- can’t say I didn’t expect that. I haven't been neglecting my studies, either.”

“She also offered to share arcane secrets, if I-”

“Do some errands for her?” he drawled, mimicking the archivist, who'd come across as the unwitting jester of the faculty.

“No, if I leave her alone for a while. She seemed cross with me.”

Chattering friends beat chattering teeth, and they’d discussed their latest findings all the way down the path that sloped down to arguably a beach. Ancient bones distorted as in a dream were stuck in the glacial gullet of Hsaarik; less ancient ones lay half-buried in the snowdrift.

Deep below the lights of the city, falling prey to something sharp was far too easy, but the fog of breath held no fear. She took the hand offered to her aglow in purpureal light and her step became lighter still, they could skip across the water like stones.

He’d practiced his spellwork on these shores for days on end with only her in audience, a mouthful of dried fish and socks full of water. The days had been longer then, and one could get away with being sodden before a biting chill came upon them. Fortunately he had picked up a flame spell, more for need of himself than her, who braved the Old Holds with naught but skis and high spirits. 

“Now, behold something a bit different.” he said when they’d stepped on frozen ground.

“You’ve finally come around to ice swimming?”

“I wish! No, no, just look.”

The spell looked similar enough to her eye, but the motion to cast it was different. Soon enough the circular shape mimicking his hands elevated his feet ever so slightly from the ground. She clapped, perhaps emboldening him too much to take a less than careful step, after which the next one sent him plummeting into waist-deep water with a wail.

Trying not to chuckle, she stepped close enough to wet her boots. She would be undressing soon anyway, thus without a care. “Could have been worse. What if I were to jump in too?” 

“That’s unneeded. But thank you.” He wrung out what he could with a sigh, and she would have asked him about learning a dry warming spell if he didn't have enough on his plate already.

Once again they joined hands, in a more sodden saunter towards the next islet, a larger one they’d frequented. There lay wood ash and fishbone, remains of their last fire that the wild waves hadn’t claimed yet. Starting a new one with no delay, they sat for a while in silence, broken only by the seabirds’ cry.

The days had grown shorter, giving way to night. Masser, the roseate eye in the tapestry of stars, had seized her beating heart and now looked upon her in anticipation. She strode on the lookout for fish, drinking in the horizon that would at some point give way to the nascent sun. 

In that direction, a once mighty craft cracked in twain on long since melted ice, since then picked clean by beasts and priests. They’d searched it up and down already, finding what they sought and the years had gone by until it was of little interest but a grim omen. 

Strewn across sea-nooks were many such wooden carcasses, cast away at the mercy of the eponymous ghosts that only grew in number. But she couldn’t let that dishearten her. Rather she counted every golden drake, pressed until they were warm, for passage to faraway shores. Though her friend had not complained once, it was her that made their journey troublesome to plan for.

Breathing in the night air, her heart began to play the moon’s tune. Blood rushing to and fro, crawling deep into herself. Her fur was already growing in. It was crucial to disrobe and fold all her clothes into a now empty knapsack, before her shape was truly unmade and remade. She left it to her friend’s safekeeping, who also provided the perfect cover, a novice of transfiguration with a proclivity for accidents in spellcasting. It wasn’t far from the truth, and was of course her idea.

With newfound power and little care for the cold she leapt into the sea, making a grand entrance. Some fish fled, others were fearless, but her teeth snapped around them all the same, not unlike the traps that sought to capture her kind. Each time she surfaced to deposit fish on the rocks, he would look up from his little spell-circle and line them up all orderly. So began their night, with a feast.

Just a step beyond the locals’ taste, the two companions shared a liking of raw fish. It was always nice to spend time with someone who’d never cast a glance of judgment. Not even the subtle ones brimming with dignified superiority, for he didn’t have that streak in him, but she often feared the day that could change. 

At the moment, she feared nothing. In her many years of life, her greatest fears as a youth had reformed into her great solace. It was no longer too much to bear. She felt only the need to delve further into the water, as the call of the forest was much the same on land and sea. Down in the brush of kelp, one could find all manner of things, even sunken treasure. The hunt raged on through the night. 

When she came to, Magnus and Azura had embraced in the sky, and the treasures she’d scattered around were truly nothing to write home about. Fish scraps were stuck in her hair, not her fur, but the hair that hung over her neck now, heavy with water. Trying to balance on the ice, she was growing shaky by the moment. Ever since she’d known of herself, she would regain her merish form with the dawn.

Cold, cold, that sudden cold, was surely the worst part of these trips, fun as they were. And it wasn’t too long until she spotted a familiar figure, ever nearer as he hopped along the drift ice, brandishing her cloak like a banner. She snagged it and made quick work of her knapsack, robes and all, but in pursuit of warmth almost slipped quite a few times before she got her boots on. 

To divert from such a graceless moment, she grabbed one of her sunken trinkets, a worn, blackened chip that may have once been silver and put on her best impression of the Nord merchants at the city market. “Might you be interested in an ancient Atmoran coin?”  

“Just what I’m looking for!” He laughed, rolling it around in his hand. The sun at his back was but a trifle when he beamed. “I don’t mean to brag, but I may be getting the knack of this. Levitation. I’ve been practicing all night.”

“Will you whisk me away to the city, then?”

“Um, not yet. But one day, I hope!”

That she looked forward to, but another sea-walk was certainly more than adequate.

[electoons]

there's no "right way" to play rpgs it's completely up to your choice. but you do have to make your character unhinged and commit atrocities and carry 500lb of equipment on their person because otherwise it's basically just like real life and at that point why even play a game. I can do all this in real life

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Brynjolf: It's quick, it's easy, and it's free: pouring river water in your socks.

Brand-Shei: Why would I do that?

Brynjolf: It's quick, it's easy, and it's free.

[libartz]

Thinking what would happen in traditional Skyrim quests with my Skyrim mermaid AU which includes big deep-sea dunmer.

Brand-Shei getting arrested for allegedly stealing a ring that is way too small for him to steal

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch.1:

No Risk, No Reward

Next: Ch.2 - All Eyes on Us Fic Masterpost

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.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,781

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

AN: I have nothing to say for myself other than that Brynjolf is one of my favorite Skyrim characters, and this is an excuse for me to flesh him out both as an individual and in relation to the player. Has this probably been done a thousand times? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not. Thanks for reading! (and let me know if you want to be tagged in updates, I'll do so if you like!)

--- --- ---

Brynjolf had a headache.

He’d had a faint one building behind his eyes for most of the day, but after listening to Keerava complain- loudly- that the Guild was asking more than she could afford for protection and that if he knew what was good for him he’d jump of the pier…his head was well and truly pounding. 

“Want me to top that off for you, Bryn?” 

Brynjolf blinked, and looked up to see Vekel looking at him expectantly, a flagon in his hand. 

“Sorry lad, what was that?” 

Vekel chuckled, and filled Brynjolf’s tankard with ale. 

“You’ve been distracted lately, my friend. Better not let Mercer catch you staring off into space like that.” 

“Now there’s an earful I don’t need,” Brynjolf agreed, lifting his tankard in acknowledgement before taking a swig. 

“Well, go on then,” Vekel prodded. “Tell us what’s going on in that big brain of yours.” 

“It’s nothing lad, just a headache,” Brynjolf said, but Vekel shook his head.

“I’m not just talking about today, Bryn, you’ve been off ever since you pulled that job on Brand-Shei.” 

“Have I?” Brynolf asked, and Vekel nodded.

“You have. Which doesn’t track,” Dirge piped up, walking over to the bar. “Because you said that the job went off without a hitch.” 

“So if you’re not thinking about the job, what are you thinking about?” Vekel asked. 

A face came to Brynjolf’s mind unbidden, bright eyes and sharp features framed by dark hair, but he pushed the image away. 

“You know as well as I do that the Guild’s seen better days, lads,” he said, taking another sip. “Just trying to work out how to bring her back to her former glory.” 

“Aaaah, so that’s why you’ve been distracted these past few days,” Vekel said knowingly. “You think you’ve found another recruit, don’t you?” 

“So what if I have?” Brynjolf demanded, arching an eyebrow at the barkeep. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: what this outfit needs is some fresh blood.”

“Except the last three recruits you tried to bring on board washed out before they could make any serious coin,” Dirge pointed out, and Brynjolf frowned.

“At least I’m actually trying to solve the problem,” he said. “If we ever want to get back on our feet, the Thieves Guild needs to actually employ some master thieves.” 

“Aaaand, the last few kids you pulled into this mess were ‘master thief’ material?” Dirge asked, and Vekel snickered. 

“Give it up, Brynjolf,” he said. “Those days are over.” 

Brynjolf sighed.

“I’m telling you, this one is different…” he began, but Dirge scoffed.

“We’ve all heard that one before, Bryn! Quit kidding yourself.” 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to reply, but paused. Beneath his friends’ ribbing and the quiet clinking of cups on tables and forks on plates from the Flagon’s few other patrons, there was another sound. The sound of boots on stone, the steps slow and cautious as they approached. 

“It’s time to face the truth, old friend,” Vekel said. “You, Vex, Mercer…you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing!” 

Brynjolf turned, saw exactly who he’d hoped he would, and a smile spread across his face. 

“Dying breed, eh?” he repeated. “Well what do you call that then!” 

The woman was slight, an Imperial by the looks of her, and she had a bow drawn, one arrow knocked loosely on the string.

“Well well, color me impressed, lass,” Brynjolf said, nodding to her. “I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again.”

The woman’s eyes flitted around, lingering on Dirge for a moment before eventually slinging her bow over her shoulder.

“Getting here was easy,” she said, stowing her arrow in its quiver. 

Brynjolf chuckled.

“Reliable and headstrong? You’re proving to be quite the prize. The name’s Brynjolf, lass.” 

“Ariene,” said the Imperial.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Brynjolf said. “So... now that I've whetted your appetite with our little scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?"

Ariene frowned, shifting her weight.

“Deadbeats?” she asked. “What’d they do?” 

“They owe our organization some serious coin, and they’ve decided not to pay,” Brynjolf explained. “I want you to explain to them the error of their ways.” 

Ariene nodded thoughtfully.

“Sounds good…who are they?”

“Keerava,” Brynjolf said, ticking the marks off on his fingers, “Bersi Honey-Hand, and Haelga. Do this right, and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization.”

“And…how do you want me to handle it?” Ariene asked carefully.

Brynjolf sighed, his mind drifting back to the insults that Keerava had thrown at him that morning.

“Honestly? The debt is secondary here. What’s more important is that you get the message across that we are to be ignored.” He frowned, and looked pointedly at the bow strapped to Ariene’s back. “A word of warning though…I don’t want any of them killed. Bad for business.”

To his surprise, Ariene’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and she nodded.

“Will I get a cut?” she asked, and Brynjolf laughed.

“Of course you’ll get a cut. We take care of our own.”

“Then consider it done.”

“Alright then lass, get going. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

The woman nodded and turned without another word, heading back into the ratways the way she came.

Brynjolf grinned, and turned back to Dirge and Vekel.

“Anything to say now, lads?”

“Sure, she made it down here,” Vekel said dismissively. “But that doesn’t make her a master thief. A hundred septims says she’ll turn out just like all the others.”

“I told you Vekel, this one is different,” Brynjolf insisted.

Still, as he sat back down at the bar, it was hard to ignore the facts. He’d been trying to breathe new life into the Guild, but Vekel and Dirge had a point. Previous recruits hadn’t stuck around long. Some didn’t keep up a high standard of work, others realized how poor the Guild’s standing really was and abandoned it. A few had even been caught and either killed or imprisoned. 

Brynjolf knew Mercer was running out of patience with his attempts, but he didn’t see any other options. They couldn’t rely solely on Maven forever, and the way Brynjolf saw it, their dwindling reputation and cash flow needed to be addressed, or the Guild, and everyone in it, would be history.

You’d better come through for me, lass, he thought, bringing his tankard to his lips. Because I’m putting my last bet on you.

--- --- ---

Despite his high hopes, part of Brynjolf was worried that the woman would simply take the money for herself and disappear after shaking down her three marks. After all, it’d taken her several days to reappear in the ratways after the job on Brand-Shei, and Brynjolf had been doing this for a long time. 

His gut told him that she would pull through, but having a contingency was just as important as having good instincts. He’d put the word out to his contacts within the city guard to alert him if an imperial woman fitting Ariene's description tried to skip town, and he had a few others keeping eyes on the docks and weak points in the city walls in case she tried to slip out that way. 

Mercer had given him the usual grief about wasting manpower, but Brynjolf knew that if the coin came through, he’d let the matter go. And as the day drew to a close and no runners came bursting into the Flagon to tell him that his recruit had killed one of the marks or vanished with his gold, the more sure he became that this had been a good call. 

“I still don’t know about this, Bryn,” Delvin grumbled. “Even if this new recruit of yours is as good as you say, that don’t mean that the curse ain’t gonna affect them, same as the rest of us.”  

Brynjolf rolled his eyes. 

“Mentioning the curse in every other conversation isn’t going to make more people believe you, old man. It’s just going to make them think you’re crazy.”

“You can call me what you like,” Delvin said, shrugging. “Don’t change the facts.” 

“Brynjolf,” Dirge called, and Brynjolf looked up to see Ariene walking towards them, a sack of gold in her hand. 

“Well well, look who’s back,” he said, shooting a smug look over his shoulder at Delvin, who just shook his head and took a sip of his ale. 

“So lass,” he said, getting to his feet. “Job’s done, and you even brought the gold.” He spotted movement behind her, and saw one of his runners slip into the Flagon. They flashed him a quick hand signal, and he smiled. “Best of all, you did it clean. I like that. Dumping bodies and keeping the guards quiet can be expensive.” 

Ariene nodded, and held out the coin purse. 

“Here’s what they owed us,” she said, and Brynjolf took it. 

“Well done, lass. And it would seem I owe you something in return.”

He turned and picked up a few potion bottles from the table behind him. 

“Here you go, I think you’ll find these quite useful.” 

Ariene took them, examined them for a moment, then nodded, slipping them into a satchel at her side. 

“What’s next, then?” she asked.

“Well,” Brynjolf said, hefting the bag of coin in his hand. “Judging from how well you handled those shopkeepers, I’d say you’ve done more than simply prove yourself.” 

He looked back at Delvin and raised an eyebrow. The man nodded, and Brynjolf smiled at Ariene. 

“We need people like you in our outfit.” 

Ariene looked around, and Brynjolf saw her eyes linger on the rickety tables, on the grime covering the tankards, and the empty seats covered in dust. She looked up at him, and after a moment of meeting his gaze, she nodded.

“If there’s more gold where that came from, then I’m in.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Brynjolf said, grinning. “Larceny’s in your blood…the telltale sign of a practiced thief. I think you’ll do more than just fit in around here.” 

Brynjolf turned to lead her to the cistern but she hesitated.

“Before we go, I have to ask…” she trailed off, and looked around the room again.

“What’s on your mind?” Brynjolf asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Word is your outfit isn’t doing…well.” One side of her mouth ticked up in a half smile, and she gestured vaguely around them. “True?”

Brynjolf chuckled. 

“You’re a sharp one, lass. Aye, we’ve run into a bit of a rough patch lately…but it’s nothing to be concerned about.” He let out a sigh, then flashed her a small smile. “Tell you what. You keep making us coin, and I’ll worry about everything else. Fair enough?” 

Ariene nodded slowly. 

“Fair enough.” 

“Now, if there are no more questions? How about you follow me, and I’ll show you what we’re all about.” 

Brynjolf led Ariene through the back room, sliding away the false panel in the storage cupboard and stepping through to the passageway beyond.

“So everyone in the tavern back there, they’re all members?” Ariene asked.

“Not everyone is,” Brynjolf explained. “Vekel owns the Ragged Flagon, and Dirge works for him. Tonilia, well, she’s got her own business. But they all work closely with us. We keep coin in each other's pockets and watch each other's backs.” 

“And you lead the Guild?” asked Ariene, and Brynjolf scoffed.

“Me? No, lass. I’m just a lieutenant. I keep things running as smooth as I can, but I’m no Guildmaster. Mercer is the one who makes the decisions around here. And speaking of…”

He led her into the cistern, where Mercer was waiting for them on the dais in the center of the room.

"Mercer?” he called. “This is the one I was talking about...our new recruit."

Mercer sighed and folded his arms.

"This better not be another waste of the Guild's resources, Brynjolf," he said. 

He turned to Ariene, and looked her up and down slowly. A frown spread across his face, and he folded his arms.

"Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear,” he said, addressing her. “If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions... you do what we say, when we say.”

Ariene raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, mirroring Mercer’s pose.

“Do I make myself clear?" Mercer demanded, and Ariene glanced over at Brynjolf. 

“Rules?” she asked, looking back to Mercer. “We’re thieves. What’s the point of rules?

Mercer took a slow step forward, stopping only when he was mere inches away from her face, and Brynjolf grimaced. 

“I'll let that comment go because you're new here,” Mercer growled. “Ask things out of turn again, and we have a problem. Now, are. We. Clear?" 

Ariene, to her credit, didn’t react beyond a slight tensing of her shoulders, and she nodded once. 

“Crystal,” she said evenly.

“Good,” Mercer said, stepping back. “Then I think it's time we put your expertise to the test."  

“Wait a moment,” Brynjolf said, frowning. There was only one job going on at the moment that Mercer was concerning himself with…a job that Brynjolf had not intended for a fresh recruit to try and take on all alone. “You’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you?” he asked, and Mercer nodded. “Even our little Vex couldn’t get in!”

Mercer just raised an eyebrow. 

“You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let her prove it.” 

“Goldenglow?” Ariene repeated, and Mercer turned back to her. 

“Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients,” he explained. “However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details." 

He turned, clearly signaling that the conversation was over, and Brynjolf folded his arms. 

“Mercer. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm?” he looked back at them, and Brynjolf looked pointedly at Ariene. “Oh, yes. Since Brynjolf assures me you'll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you're in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.”

He turned and strode away, and Brynjolf blew out a breath before smiling at Ariene with what he hoped was a reassuring expression. 

“Well he’s cheerful,” Ariene said quietly, a grin playing at the edge of her mouth, and Brynjolf tilted his head.

“How much of that ignorance was on purpose?” he asked, and she shrugged. 

“I wanted to see how he’d respond to confrontation. Evidently, not well.” 

“Well, I could have told you that,” Brynjolf said with a quiet laugh. “But never mind that now. You’re in. Welcome to the family, lass. I'm expecting you to make us a lot of coin, so don't disappoint me."

Ariene nodded. 

“So how do I get my cut of the spoils?” she asked. 

“Simple,” Brynjolf replied. “Do as you're told and keep your blade clean. We can't turn a profit by killing.”

“Fine by me.” 

“You should talk with Delvin Mallory and Vex. They know their way around this place and they'll be able to kick some extra jobs your way. Oh, and talk to Tonilia in the Flagon... she'll set you up with your new armor.” 

“Speaking of the Flagon, I could use a drink,” Ariene said. “Let me buy you one too…as an apology for upsetting Mercer.”

Brynjolf shook his head. 

“I told you lass, you just worry about making us coin. I’ll worry about everything else, and that includes Mercer, alright?”

“Well then...consider it a thank you,” she suggested. 

“A thank you?” he repeated, and she actually looked a tad sheepish.

“I can tell you were taking a chance, bringing me in to all of this,” she said, her voice quiet. “It was a risk; a risk that you didn’t have to take. And I…appreciate that.” 

Brynjolf smiled.

“Well, I suppose I have time for a quick drink. A drink, and a toast to the newest member of the Guild.”  

Ariene brightened, and turned to head out of the cistern and back into the Flagon. Brynjolf went to follow, but glanced back over his shoulder. Mercer stood at his desk, leaning over a set of plans with a frown on his face. 

“Tell you what lass,” Brynjolf said slowly. “You go on ahead, introduce yourself to the others. I’ll join you in a moment, and we can discuss business.” 

Ariene nodded, and Brynjolf watched her go, waiting until the door to the Flagon closed behind her before turning and striding across the room.

“Mercer!” he said, and Mercer glared up at him. “We need to talk.”

--- --- ---

Next: Ch.2

[thebanneredmareinn]

i've been thinking of writing from a courier's pov on skyrim. i have a character semi-fleshed out but i'm having trouble deciding his name. he's a bosmer, but was raised by nords in riften. should he have a nord name, like brand-shei has an argonian name? thoughts and suggestions are welcome :)

[dawns-beauty]

LOVE your mods, skyrim nis in desperate need of lore-friendly npc appearance mods. have you considered adding brand-shei to your list of old elves? he was born during the red year after all

Thanks!

That's a great suggestion, I was planning on changing up Brand-Shei by giving him some Argonian flair anyways

[wispstalk]

have a sneak peek at the first section of Seadhna's story. Under a cut and unrebloggable bc it's still pretty drafty, but I'm almost done with the thieves guild plotline, which takes place before the bulk of my skyrim story.

----

Seadhna used to have this great scam running:

She steals a toy. She places it in the path of someone walking — some outsider, preferably, most natives of Riften know to keep a sharp eye on their surroundings. They step on it, and Aventus starts bawling.

(She never saw him cry for real, even though he had plenty of reasons, but that kid could turn the waterworks on at will. It was almost scary.)

Then in comes Seadhna, the angry 'big sister,' even though they looked nothing alike, her with her freckles and him with his dark-dash brows and olive skin— but the mark, the oblivious dumb-assed adult, sees first a crunched toy beneath their boot, second a ragged crying child, third a ragged furious one with arms crossed and eyes blazing, fourth the crows on the roof behind her croaking ominously. They want out of this bind quickly. They practically dump their whole purses out.

If the mark proved tight-fisted or hesitant, she would start crying, too— our father carved that, it’s all we had left — and they split whatever was left after buying a replacement toy at Brand-Shei’s stand. Aventus thought that they could get more money for the fancy articulated shalk made of real shell, but Seadhna argued that a cheap toy looks more pathetic, and pity coins often stack higher than those of restitution. She always prevailed, because she was older and wiser.

(Stupid Seadhna. He’s tough as nails but still little — probably wanted the fancy shalk toy just to have, for a while, even though it would only get broken. Maybe the tears weren’t so forced after all.)

It was good while it lasted. The best of her schemes so far, generating enough money that sometimes she had a coin or two left over at the end of the day, for the first time ever. Then Grelod caught him sneaking out and shirking his chores. She screamed at him right there in the street, beat him back into Honorhall with a broom in broad daylight for everyone to see, and all Seadhna did was hide in an alleyway and wince.

(It’s not like anyone else did anything about it, to be fair. Everyone in Riften knows what goes on in that orphanage.)

Grelod must have stopped letting Aventus do the outside chores, because he didn’t show up for days. Seadhna lurked around the back of the orphanage at night. One of her crows tapped the shutters until someone came to it, some other bleary-eyed grubby-faced kid that never sees the light of day, and fetched Aventus. She gave up all she saved so he could slip out and get on the next cart to Windhelm. There is no one waiting for him at the old house, he said, but it would be better than this shithole.

So she lost her partner. She is small for her age; she can pass for twelve if she stands right, holds her face a certain way. Still a little too old to turn into a puddle over a broken toy. Her fury, by itself, is not enough to part fools from their money.

Almost enough to make two silver pieces. That was how much she gave him. It has been two days since she passed the money through the window and she does not know how she is going to make it back.

She wanders aimlessly toward the market. Tries to shoo her crows away, because Grelka will start hollering if they get too near her goods, but when Brand-Shei sees her coming he scatters a handful of crushed beech nuts on the cobble to lure them over.

He leans across his stand and places a wooden figure down for her inspection. “They’re called nix hounds,” Brand-Shei beams. “For you, only two coppers.”

She runs a finger down the long toothy things coming from its mouth. Some sort of bug— everything in Morrowind is bugs, as far as she can tell— with a double-humped body and long, spindly legs. The wood is shiny and smooth as glass.

“It’s nice,” Seadhna says, “but I’d probably just break it.”

[wellthebardsdead]

To deny Godhood pt8

Part 7 here

———

Shamat: *seated in the main chamber of the 6th house now mourned, going over scriptures and copying them to new parchment, just busy work to keep from going insane, not expecting to give blessings today* …

Councillor: *the replacement of the expelled former high councillor* Lord Dagoth. There are worshippers expecting blessings outside however they are not scheduled for service. Shall I tell them to leave?

Shamat: *looks up and sighs visibly seeing the younger dunmer look down in fear at his three red eyes* no. I will not turn away any who come to me seeking help. Let them in.

Councillor: yes my lord. *bows and steps out closing the door only to open it again a few moments later allowing several hooded figures to enter* I will be outside if needed. *closes the door allowing privacy*

Shamat: *staring at the figures in concern and caution* I welcome this unexpected visit. How may I serve you as head of the 6th house?…

Hooded figure: Shamat?

Shamat: *blinks recognising that voice* I- miss Maryon?

Brelyna Maryon: *pulls back her hood showing her face* oh gods, archmage it really is you!

???: shhh keep your voice down we don’t know whose patrolling this place.

Shamat: brand-shei?

Brand-shei: *pulls his hood back* I go by Brandyl now actually, thanks to your work I found my family again. But that’s not important right now. Right now we’re here to devise a plan to get you out of here.

Shamat: we?

???: yes. We. *pulls back their hood revealing a very familiar mane of red hair, and the symbol of the morag tong painted on her forehead*

Shamat: Irileth?!

———

*Meanwhile back in skyrim*

———

Xelzaz: *steps into breezehome, exhausted from his journey but relieved to hear Neloths word reached everywhere before his arrival* gods- GODS?!

Vivec & Sotha Sil: *both turn their heads to look at him* yes?

Kaidan: *walks past them and hugs him* you made it. We got word you’d be here nearly two weeks ago we’re ready to act this plan of Neloths what took you so long?!

Xelzaz: I- had to seek out a few friends of ours for help… they’ll be waiting for us in solstheim when we hopefully arrive to find Shamat successfully rescued.

Kaidan: friends?…

———

*meanwhile on solstheim*

———

Neloth: you had better appreciate that robe. It took me days of backbreaking labour to enchant it. *looks up at the sky hearing dragons roaring as they land around the tower, ready to receive orders from their charge*

Miraak: *pulling on his mask* it’ll do…

[snowy-weather]

Brand-shei. Because I like him. ^^

--

Please consider reblogging my art. It tells me you like it and helps me stay motivated and keep drawing so I can give you more art! ^^

[maysoulrose]

The Thief and The Moon chpt 1

You guys i’m doing it. I’ve been writing a fanfic about one of my skyrim oc’s and her relationship with Brynjolf because i’m a sucker for the man. I posted the first chapter on Fanfic . net if you’d rather read it there, but I’mma try and post here too!!!!!!!!!!! I finally finished enough chapters to where I feel like it could be at a stopping point, in case I take a long break or something, so here they come! I’ll try to link each chapter on every post for convenience sake!

here’s my story on the website of the fiction : @ maysoulrose

ALSO this whole thing started because I stumbled upon THIS STORY ABOUT FARKAS AND I’M DYING. it really inspired me to write my own.

it’s freaking steamy as HECK so get your eyeballs READY.

Chapter 1

“Pay up.” Brynjolf held out his hand in anticipation. The two guards at the front gate of Riften eyed each other. Bashfully, the one on the left scratched the back of his head before confessing.

“Sorry Brynjolf, the only person who came through today saw right past our scheme… and…”

“She scared the pants off of us!!!” the other guard burst out. Brynjolf gave his eyebrow a good raise.

“Really?” He folded his arms in thought.  “What did this person look like?” 

“Terrifying” The guard on the right said, followed by a smack on the back of the head by the other.

“He wants physical features, dimwit.”

“Oh. uh…” He collected his thoughts for a moment. “Tall, really long hair, like, super long. Dark elf… I… I think.” 

“... Fine.  But I expect payment later. Don’t mess the next one up.” Brynjolf jabbed the closest guard in the shoulder.

“Yessir” the two say in unison. Brynjolf swings open the giant gate and enters the city. 

It was just past midday. The market was gathering the usual attendees. Brynjolf scoured the crowd. No sign of this mysterious Dark elf. He had been meaning to find a new recruit or two for the guild and since she caught his little shake down, maybe this elf would be a good fit. She’s probably still here in the city since the guards hadn’t seen her leave. 

“Better take my usual spot at the snake oil counter and see if she shows.” He muttered to himself. He adjusted the quilted fine hat that sat atop his head and straightened out the matching tunic.  He felt a little uncomfortable in the getup he wore, for his merchant ploy to lure In a possible victim- I mean… Customer.. But it helped with the whole … ‘outfit.’

He leaned his hips against his booth and took in the crowd. Grelka was her usual angry self. Marise was over there, chiming about her crispy carrots.  Brand-Shei…  just waiting to be framed. 

“Where’s my little guinea pig…” he whispered. Balimund was working away at the forge. That one fisherman walked by, who definitely was having secret love affairs. He scoffed at the thought, then glanced back over toward the front gate.

An unfamiliar figure was making their way across the bridge and over the canal. That had to be her. Probably just coming from a visit to the town alchemist. 

Brynjolf ran through his mental list of introductions and tried to pick the best one for her as she approached the market. 

"Here we go."

His eyes traced her form from head to toe. She had a fur hood and covered most of her face with a scarf. A pouch of coin strapped around her waist. She definitely wasn’t afraid of showing a little skin. She wore a set of fur armor. Bare shoulders and arms with a thin strip of fur across her chest. Her hips draped with assorted pelts and skins. 

He continued his gaze downward… Through the fabric shifting as she walked,  Brynjolf got a glimpse of a dagger strapped to the inside of her thigh. Already promising to fit in with his crowd. 

The woman pulled back her hood, revealing a fountain of white hair, cascading down her chest and past her hips. A very small hint of purple shimmered off the waves when the sun hit it just right. 

“Wow. They weren’t kidding.” Brynjolf recalled the guard’s description of her. She then tugs on her scarf and tucks it under her chin. Brynjolf felt his heart twinge with excitement. 

She was beautiful. The closer she got, the more he felt himself entranced by her. She was elegant in the way she held herself. She was tall, and all of her features seemed to be just a bit longer than your average passer by.  Her skin is on the lighter side, for a dark elf, and a bit warm in tone. Almost purple, rather than gray.   A hint of pink revealed itself on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her skin seemed to have a velvet texture that shimmered like glitter. As if a diamond was crushed into pure dust and was sprinkled all across it.

By the time he realized he was gawking at her, she had caught his eyes. Hers were white, with only a hint of a pupil if you looked closely. Brynjolf snapped his jaw shut and approached her. 

"So… you're the little lady that sniffed out my scheme at the front gate."

The elf stopped in front of him; he had her full attention. 

It's a good thing he was skilled in the art of speech otherwise her otherworldly eyes might've made him stutter. 

"I admire how you were able to catch that shakedown, and even more with how you handled the situation."  He continued. "How about doing a little job for me, eh? Should be easy for a Lass like you." He paused for a moment, but she just kept her eyes on him. White lashes lining her lids. 

"... not much of a talker, I see." He clears his throat. "I have a bit of an errand to run, But need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, that extra pair of hands always gets paid. Handsomely." He waited for a response. 

She shifted her weight to the other side, extending out her leg slightly, and folding her arms. 

"I'm listening." Her voice was smooth and low, almost a whisper.  Brynjolf grinned at her response. 

"See that argonian over there?"

————————————————

"EVERYONE, EVERYONE!" Brynjolf stood at his makeshift booth, waving his arms. "Please! Gather 'round. I have an AMAZING new product." 

Everyone in the market groaned and shuffled over to him.

"What is it this time?" Brand Shei huffed.  Murmurs and eye rolls were plentiful among the onlookers. 

The mysterious elf watched the crowd and disappeared into it the moment everyone had their attention on the presentation. Quite literally it seemed. One moment Brynjolf was giving her the nod of approval, the next it was as If she never existed.

She slipped away, disappearing into wisps of shadowy smoke. The Argonian had left his booth, just as Brynjolf had planned. She tackled the lock of his cabinet and the Strongbox within. As expected, there lies a silver ring. Swiping the piece of fine jewelry, and softly closing the cabinet behind her, She made her way to Brand-Shei. 

The dunmer had sat his rump on a pile of crates next to a couple of barrels.  She reached an arm between two of them, just behind his back, and slipped the ring into one of his pouches.

Brynjolf continued on about his new "limb growing serum". He scanned the crowd, and almost jumped when he saw those moonlit eyes staring right at him, as if she had never left.

"Uh, that's all from me for today! Please! 20 gold per bottle. It'll change your life!" He shook around the tall potion container, appealingly. 

Once the crowd dispersed, he jumped down from his platform and approached the mystery woman. 

"Done without a hitch! You continue to impress.. Here's your share." He handed her a small pouch of gold, holding about 200 septims. She took the bag and dumped the contents into the satchel already on her hip.           

Just a few paces behind them, sounds of a guard promptly arresting Brand-Shei for the planted ring filled the air. Brynjolf took a step closer to the lady elf and lowered his voice. 

"Listen, if you're interested in doing more jobs like this, come meet me in the ratway. Just a test to see if you really have what it takes. We could use somebody with your skills." He smirks at her. 

She ponders the invitation for a moment and shuffles around her freshly filled coin purse. 

"Sounds like a deal~" flashing him a smile. 

Brynjolf exhaled a breath of relief. He was really hoping she'd say yes.

"Good on ya. Do you have a name?" He asks. It takes her a moment to respond, like she's considering if she should trust him with it.

"... Allustria." She whispers with her alluring voice. Brynjolf smiles.

"Fitting"

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7

read it on the fanfiction site