On a note on Elder Scrolls, if I were an Elder Scrolls character, I want to be a Dwemer so that everything I leave behind when I die is a big, deadly, mechanical fuck you to everyone that enters my house because I’m that much of a bitch.
You're a reincarnation of the mortal God, Nerevar, here to stop the fabled Dagoth Ur of the sixth house! You are revered from the Ashlanders, feared by the Temple! Only you can wield the fabled items required to destroy the Heart of Lorkhan!
You're the Dragonborn! You have the Voice, able to bring mortals to their knees in fear. You must stop the dragon, Alduin, dragon Lord of Time from ending the world as we know it!
... Hey... We accidentally didn't think of a safer place to hide the most important item to stop the Oblivion Crisis than a wardrobe in a priory... Despite having a fortified garrison in the mountains... Could you get it back? Once you do, your friend Martin will defeat the main antagonist and you can get some cool armour or something. Maybe be called Champion of Cyrodiil?
Imagine having a casual conversation with Brynjolf after a tough job
A/N: Hey look- Skyrim! Just in time for the Remastered Version- give or take a month or so.
Being Guildmaster for the thieves of Skyrim was rarely an easy task, but if there was one perk (besides the gold) that made the life easier, it was the moments after a job when Brynjolf and you sat at the Ragged Flagon together, either deep in conversation or deep in a profound, comfortable silence.
Brynjolf’s voice was arguably the reason you even got tangled with the Guild in the first place. Nothing he said ever sounded harsh or unpleasant. He could be delivering news of a dragon army attacking Riften and it’d still sound relaxing. It was even nicer to hear when he was praising you for a job well done.
“I still cannot believe you were able to rob that jewel right off his neck.” Brynjolf shook his head as he sat with a bottle of ale on his right hand. You lightly crossed your arms, “A custom-made gift from the Jarl and two hundred gold from Delvin in one night? I can definitely believe it.” Leaning back, you shot a small smirk Delvin Mallory’s way, shaking the pouch of coins you had won after he bet you couldn’t pull off a theft like that. Delvin snorted and shook his head in disbelief from his seat across the tavern.
“Things have really been looking up. I’ve been hearing whispers from time to time about heists we apparently pulled off. Did you know we stole the high king’s crown?” Brynjolf took a sip of his ale.
“That’s a good thing. That means the people know we’re back and better than ever.” You took a bite of a sweet roll, a mischievous glint in your eye. “As they should. We’ve gotten back on our feet, regained our hold in Skyrim, and we may even need a second vault to stash all the new treasure coming in,” Brynjolf tapped the ale bottle lightly, “all thanks to you.”
You shrugged, “I do what I have to, but just because I’m the Guildmaster doesn’t mean our success is all my doing.”
“You exposed Mercer Frey’s treachery, returned the Skeleton Key to Nocturnal, and took on countless jobs all over the province. I’d say most of this,” he gestured to the Flagon’s rather pleasant patrons, “is your doing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Brynjolf. You and Karliah helped put an end to Mercer, and you’ve been a great help, keeping the Guild running while I’m off… adventuring.”
“I’d never sell myself short; you know that. Just accept the praise, alright?”
You smiled, “Fine, but you’d better not start paying me random tributes- you know how often I get stopped on the road by thieves who want to pay me?”
Brynjolf chuckled, “Sounds like you don’t enjoy the extra gold.”
You put a hand on your chest, “Oh no, I like the gold, but I gotta admit, I still expect them to ask me for all my money.” “That’s the perk of being Guildmaster. Every thief sees you as their leader- which you are, I suppose. No one with a bit of sense would cross the Guildmaster of the Thieve’s Guild, but any thief with business sense knows that the Guildmaster would be a useful friend to have.”
“So… they’re, what, bribing me?” “I wouldn’t call it ‘bribing’. Giving you an incentive to keep an eye out for your friends, more like.”
“So I’m accepting friend bribes, now?”
Brynjolf just made a face that clearly said “You said it, not me”. You just stuck your tongue out at him and kept eating your sweet roll. This earned another chuckle from Brynjolf, and you both finished your drinks in a nice silence.
“You know, those two get along too well, Delvin.” “Ah, you jealous, Vex? Of which one?” “I’d be careful, Mallory, otherwise you’ll get an up close and personal look at my boot in your face.” “Come on, now. You and Tonilia are so hostile whenever I bring up those two. Why can’t I ever get a little love?” “When you stop getting ‘firs’ and ‘furs’ confused. That’s right- I still haven’t forgotten that heist.” “… Forget I said anything.”
WHY THE FUCK IS MILK DRINKER AN INSULT? Like are y'all mad that this piece of ass is going to have stronger bones than you? Bitch my bones are gonna take more than 3300-4000 N to break because I drINK FUCKING MILK. YOUR BONES ARE GONNA SNAP IN A STIFF WIND HOE!