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Fire On The Mountain (A Skyrim Quest)

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Do'azda's Character Sheet
  • Informational
    • Name: Do'azda Khrimnin
    Race: Khajiit (Suthay-Raht)
    Gender: Female
    Age: 22
    Profession: Shaman
    Appearance/Description: She stands at a normal height for a Suthay-raht, that is to say, shorter than most men or mer, but not by too much. Her fur is a warm, rich orange, paler around her muzzle and down her neck, and her eyes are startlingly yellow. Her hair is braided, with rings that jangle faintly when she turns her head too fast. Her robes are basic, and worn from age, but have been fastidiously cleaned.
    Level: 7
    XP: 0/120

    Alchemy: 25
    Alteration: 5
    Archery: 5
    Block: 6
    Conjuration: 40
    Destruction: 5
    Enchanting: 5
    Heavy Armor: 5
    Illusion: 35
    Light Armor: 20
    Lock Picking: 1
    One-Handed: 21
    Pickpocket: 5
    Restoration: 15
    Smithing: 1
    Sneak: 20
    Speech: 27
    Survival: 13
    Two-Handed: 5

    They say it kills cats - Do'azda has few restraints on her inquisitive nature, asking whatever questions occur to her, paying little attention to whether this may be considered rude. Whatever else, at least Do'azda never finds herself regretting her failure to ask about something.

    Dancing the night away - Do'azda is a fine dancer in the Elsweyr style, where dances are not the slow, ritualised partnering of the Altmer, but instead are a whirling piece of performance art, with the dancer's emotions informing the dance more than any practiced steps. Do'azda can feel the music in her bones, and can dance to only a drumbeat.

    In the shadow of the moon - Do'azda was blessed even as she began her journey to become a shaman. A priestess of Azurah, the Mistress of Dusk and Dawn, favoured daughter of Fadomai, received a vision. Azurah's light shines favourable upon her.

    Tangled Tails--Do'azda has had flings before, "Tangled Tails" as the euphemism goes, and she's willing to engage in casual relationships or 'one-night marriages' if the opportunity arises.

    Racial Perks--

    Claws--She has very wicked claws indeed.
    Darksight--She can see incredibly well in the dark.

    Skill Perks--

    Conjuring Efficiency (10): Do'zada knows how to be careful with her Magicka without losing any power when she's Conjuring, and can use such magic more freely and easier when fighting or in other circumstances. (Cojuration)

    Mystic Binding (20): Do'azda gains skill at creating bound weapons of magic, so that she is never without her arms no matter what. She also becomes more skilled at creating bound objects of all types, and begins to study that which might allow one to bind a soul into a gem. (Conjuration)

    Haggling 1 (0): Everything in Skyrim is far more expensive, and so Do'azda should probably try to figure out how to make do with what little gold she has. (Speech)

    Insight (20): One of the key elements of persuasion is knowing what would convince someone. Do'azda now knows how to evaluate what kinds of arguments and reasoning would convince different people if she spends enough time to get a feeling for how they think. (Speech)

    Agile Defender (10): Armor is often hard to get used to, so figuring out how to move with light armor so as to reduce how bad a hit is is something you can only learn by doing… and Do'azda has begun to 'do.' (Light Armour)

    Rahjin Perks

    Laughter-Silvered Wings (Level 5): A flying companion does not simply owe its speed to its physical form, but the strength of its spirit, and so it tends to be faster and more manuverable than its terrestrial version, harder to hit, and a greater predator of the sky.

    (Next at Level 8)

    Blur - Do'azda knows a spell to obscure her features at a distance, to render her indistinguishable from another Khajiit. Up close, it is almost pathetically ineffective, however.
    Clairvoyance - Do'azda is granted flashes of insight into the path to her goal by Azurah - the Goddess of Dawn and Dusk sees much of the land.
    Conjure Animal - Do'azda reaches onto Hircine's hunting ground and recalls the imprint of an animal which perished nearby to fight by her side
    Conjure Axe - Do'azda can create a hatchet from pure magic. It is too cumbersome for effective use in combat, but for cutting wood, it is more than adequate
    Bound Dagger--As she has learned how to better summon such things, she has figured out how to use a Bound Dagger.
    Courage - Do'azda uses magic to inspire in another the will to fight, though currently only to instill confidence in victory, not to cause conflict where none exists.
    Summon Familiar - Do'azda reaches into her own soul to bring forth her familiar, the falcon Rajhin. No mere shade, Rajhin remains with her until slain and can do far more than just fight, but cannot be summoned for a day and a night thereafter if killed.
    Fear - This spell pulls from the mind a fear that the target has, and creates from this the feeling of fear.
    Distraction - Creates sounds and sights on the edge of perception. Sights and sounds determined by the caster.
    Healing Wounds - The caster uses their magicka to seal the wounds of the target. All healing occurs in a single burst.
    Conjure Flame Atronach - Do'azda can call forth a spirit of Infernace, a being of fire, constrained in a form of iron.
    Flames - Do'azda can release a gout of fire from her palm, directly setting alight her foe, though only for so long as she feeds magicka to the fire.
    Lesser Ward - Do'azda can use her magic to create a shield of magical energy, blocking low level magical attacks, reducing high level magical attacks and mitigating the damage of physical attacks.

    Do'azda can make...

    Potion of Minor Healing - Bruises fade, cuts close, aching muscles relax, this potion provides a little relief from injuries. The first potion a young shaman will learn to brew.
    Potion of Suppress Disease - A potion which will suppress the symptoms of a disease for several days; oftentimes long enough for the body to get the cold or flu from its system. More serious or outright magical diseases will return with a vengeance once the potion's effects wear out, but it is a useful potion to know how to craft.

    FUS - Force
    WULD - Whirlwind

    FUS DAH--Force Push


    Gold Septim (365)
    Trail Rations (x4)
    Fine Rations
    A very nice dress for casual-formal occasions.
    A lovely dress in the gothic style, with an enchantment of illusory power woven into it.
    Iron Axe--An iron axe of low quality.
    Steel Axe - A steel axe of decent quality
    Iron Dagger--An iron dagger of mediocre quality.
    Mage Robes--Increase magical regeneration, but provides little protection, discouraging getting up close and personal.
    Leather Armor--Comfortable, lightweight armor, it counteracts the discouragement from getting up close, though as an extra layer it means it can get extra hot.
    Lunar Steel War Axe--An Axe which can, in the light of the moon, drink in the life-force of its victims and use it to restore that of its weilder.
    Steel Dagger (x2)--A well-worn but very useful steel dagger.
    Alchemical Kit--A very fine kit for the creation of potions. One careful owner.
    Stormcloak Token--A token from Ulfric Stormcloak himself...
    Underclothes--You know.
    One Powerful Enchanted Sword (Rusted)--A sword of unknown value, it has a rather potent and interesting enchantment attached to it.

    Spell Tome: Illumination--A spell tome is a sort of book that can fully teach you a new spell, but it is destroyed in the process. For such a minor spell it is probably only a few hours of reading to fully learn. This allows Do'azda to create a light in the darkness... less useful for a Khajiit, but still a spell of value.
    Spell Tome: Thieves Vision--A spell tome is a sort of book that can fully teach you a new spell, but it is destroyed in the process. For such a minor spell, it is probably only a few hours of reading to fully learn. This simple spell gives one slightly better night vision… but is also notable for being able to see writing hidden by weak illusions, and thus is commonly used by thieves trying to read the secret messages of other thieves.
    Spell Tome: Turn Undead--A spell tome is a sort of book that can fully teach you a new spell, but it is destroyed in the process. A spell of moderate difficulty, it will take several nights of reading to learn it. A spell technically of the "Restoration" school, which puts fear into nearby undead. When cast powerfully, burns them most terribly.
    Spell Tome: Sparks--A spell tome is a sort of book that can fully teach you a new spell, but it is destroyed in the process. For such a minor spell, it is probably only a few hours of reading to fully learn. Allows a mage to fire sparks of arcane lightning, sapping the magicka reserves of the target whilst also burning through their flesh.
    3 Doses of Frostbite Venom in Magicka bottles--Toxic and acidic to living flesh, it has little effect on the glass bottle.
    Healing Potion

    Troll Fat, other ingredients
    100 Septims
    3 gems of good quality.
    Troll Hide
    Troll Skull
    Troll Eyes x3
    Troll Claws

    A Handy Guide to Lockpicks: A book that should teach Do'azda all she wants to know about Lockpicks, and more. Each read will give +1 to Lockpicking, and it can be read thrice to wring out all possible knowledge from it. (2/3 reads remaining)
    Journal of a Potema Loyalist: A journal of some historical merit, belonging to one of Potema's most loyal supporters in her early years.
     
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  • Informational
    • [X] Introduce herself to the Blackbriars, as someone newly arrived.
     
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    The City of Thieves
  • Threadmarks
    • The City of Thieves

    The cobblestone turns to wood as the city passes onto the lake, roads turning to bridges over stinking canals as Do'azda leads them into the Riften Market.

    Across the world, some things stay the same. A market is a market, it is impossible for it to be anything else, the open stalls, the strange and exotic goods, some of which might not be exotic at all, the cries and shouts of the sellers. Come buy, come buy, oh do they cry! There are a thousand things different: more sellers of furs here, a few who look at a Khajiit and see not a customer but a thief, and things that are commonplace in Elsweyr are rare and exotic pieces laid out for only the most curious of buyers.

    Yet the smell of people crowded together, the noise and bustle and confusion even at this late hour, when the business is starting to wind down. Do'azda is in a fine enough mood, following the trail of a vision, doing things quite appropriate for a Shaman. She passes stall after stall.

    A thin, delicate looking Nord man with a fine, waxed mustache is selling "Fine Clothing for All Fits" while a rather drunken looking Nord seems like he's trying to sell another few containers of "Southern Spices, all the way from Elsweyr!" The smell in the air is not quite like any she's smelled, and so she's pretty sure they are adulterated at best. Another Nord, a bellowing, huge woman, is selling cutlery with all the enthusiasm and vigor of someone trying to sell death-dealing weapons. It is truly fascinating to walk through, though she finds herself drawn not towards any phony spices, but towards something more genuine. A Dunmer is carefully arranging and rearranging partially depleted alchemical supplies, roots and flowers, many of them fresh though some of them dried, and spices, small containers that are carefully labeled… all of the supplies that a budding alchemist would want, and as she steps closer she can tell that they're solid ingredients - some of the dried ones look as though they've come from as far as Morrowind. "Good afternoon," she says, pleasantly, because even if she does have somewhere she's going, it pays to know what the local alchemical supply shops are selling.

    "Good afternoon, are you looking for anything in particular?"

    "Not necessarily yet, but this one notes that they're solid ingredients. Though," she considers it. "This one would not want the dried Blue Mountain Flower for more than a weak potion." She of course cannot make that much more than that, or rather she is in the process of learning and it has been… interrupted. "But the spike grass, Do'azda has not seen finer." It is true enough, because she doesn't see much of it, but she knows it is a good ingredient for tearing out and 'capturing' poison, as well as both harming and helping one's magicka supply. It has to do with the bristles on the pod, and the natural clinginess.

    "Yes, yes," he said, and now he looks up, hollow, sunken eyes interested. "I'm Brand-Shei, and… ah." He sees Bathes-In-Steel and gives a sort of half-bow to her, his eyes bright.

    "Brand-Shei?" Bathes-In-Steel asks. "Are you an Argonian?"

    "I was raised by Argonians, after I was found by a river in Black Marsh," he says, calmly. "So Brand-Shei is my name, and I left only to find my way in the world. And… a magically inclined Khajiit, so far from home, in the company of an Argonian and a Nord? Am I to assume you are a Shaman, Do'azda?"

    "She is," Do'azda says, wide-eyed. "Have you met many Shaman?"

    "There are many Shaman in the Black Marsh, some of them caring and tending to the Khajiit communities there, and others… doing other things." Scheming and plotting for the restoration of an independent Elsweyr, no doubt. There is something to be said about the way that Shaman get everywhere.

    "Are there many of us here?" Bathes-In-Steel asks, suddenly.

    "Of us?" Brand-Shei echoes, "Argonians?"

    "Yes," Bathes-In-Steel says, "I have heard there are a lot of us here, but I have never been to Riften before."

    "There are," Brand-Shei says carefully, "A lot of Argonians, both at the docks and in the city. Generally, I am not considered one of them."

    Bathes-In-Steel looks, for a moment, baffled.

    "Have you not licked the sap of a Hist?" She asks. "Were your parents negligent in this?"

    "No, they were not," Brand-Shei said, and for a moment a memory seems to steal across his face, something she's seen on Argonians before, that moment of… something. Then, his expression darkens. "Some in Riften do not consider that sufficient," Brand-Shei says bitterly, casting a black look over Do'azda's shoulder.

    Turning, she sees an Argonian across the market, with a crest of red feathers and two nubby horns in the middle of his head, his stall festooned with jewelry - necklaces, tiaras and rings.

    "This one does not know who that is," Do'azda says, "But she trusts the word of Bathes-In-Steel more than his, at least."

    "That's Madesi," Brand-Shei says, "Upjumped prig who thinks because he was the 'first traditional Saxhleel Jeweller in Skyrim', he's the arbiter of who is and isn't a real argonian."

    Do'azda only vaguely knows what Saxhleel jewelry is, but she also knows what this is about.

    "Ah," Bathes-In-Steel says, a syllable that contains multitudes. "I know Argonians of this sort. If Brand-Shei were not here, Madesi would find another Argonian who does not count."

    "I thank you for saying so," Brand-Shei says, "Now, ah- it has been lovely to speak with you, but were you going to buy anything?"

    "This one is just browsing for now," Do'azda says apologetically, "She will come back another time - this one is an alchemist, and the quality of your product is very impressive."

    Stepping away from Brand-Shei's market stall and back into the market, she's scarcely gone five feet before there's a hand on her upper arm, large and firm.

    A nord has stepped out from behind his stall - selling 'troll-fat salve' of all things - to stop Do'azda in her tracks.

    "Casing out the market, lassie?" He says pleasantly, "Walking from stall to stall, not buying anything… You've the look of one with an eye for things of value that are perhaps in danger of being… misplaced?"

    Do'azda looks at him, takes in the lank red hair and scruffy beard. Here, then, is the man that Noctra would have her seek out. Does he know, she wonders, that Noctra, the Mistress of Shadows, has called upon her to find him?

    "This one is listening," Do'azda says neutrally, "If you have things to tell her, then do so."

    "I'm sure you know, lassie," He says, "The Guild runs Riften. Elsewhere, lowlifes bring the Art into disrepute, but here, if you want to go thieving, you do it through the Guild. You and your crew'll need to sign on if you want to work in the walls."

    Somewhere behind her, Do'azda hears Ingne mutter "Her crew?" and Bathes-In-Steel shushing her.

    "Very well," Do'azda says, "How do we join your Guild?"

    The nord smiles. It's not a nice smile, even if it is by all appearances a "friendly" one. "Oh, lass, not here. Friendly faces have unfriendly ears, you know? We'll head over to the Bee and Barb, I'll get in a round of mead and we'll talk about a little errand that needs doing, hey?"





    The Bee and Barb sits on the corner of the market, half on land, half on stilts over the canal. An argonian woman tends the bar, whilst an argonian man sweeps the floors, bare wood worn smooth through years of use. Even now, comparatively early in the evening, the tavern is passing busy - a richly dressed Dunmer sits alone at a table, surrounded by tankards and empty earthenware bottles, dead to the world, whilst a grubby breton sits at another table, eating a horker loaf that he's dipping in a dish full of mead, and a statuesque blonde Nord woman sits in a corner booth, a two-handed axe resting on the wall behind her as she pours over a journal, quill in hand, brow furrowed in concentration.

    Brynjolf takes a look around, signals the barmaid and heads towards a door to one side.

    "Keerava'll be through with mead for the table," He says over his shoulder, "Come in and take a seat, I'll explain everything."

    The furnishings in the private room are no different from those in the main tavern - four rough-hewn chairs sit around a large table, lit by sputtering candles and a fire that Brynjolf stops to throw a log into.

    "So," Do'azda asks, "You have a job for this one and her crew before she can join the Guild?"

    Brynjolf shakes his head.
    "No no, I insist you have a drink first! After all, you've had a long trip, haven't you - from Whiterun, if I'm not gravely mistaken."

    The Argonian barmaid - Keerava, Do'azda assumes - chooses that moment to enter, carrying a tray with four bottles of Black-Briar Mead, which she sets down before each of them, before leaving. Throughout the entire interaction, she doesn't say a word, and her eyes never leave Brynjolf.

    "Now, drink this carefully," Brynjolf says genially, "Your Whiterun mead - the Honningbrew stuff? - there's no doubt it's better than this swill, but there's not a mead in Skyrim that'll knock you on your arse like Black-Briar."

    Ingne laughs, "Black-Briar is nothing - the mead we brewed in Old Hroldan…"

    "Ah," Brynjolf says with a smile, "I can't speak for backwater hooch! Drink up then, lass."

    Do'azda sips carefully at the mead - it is undoubtedly stronger than any mead she has had before, nearly as strong as some of the wines from Torval in Elsweyr, and she wants to keep her wits.

    They pass some time in companionable silence, until Brynjolf wipes his mouth and sets down his - now empty - bottle of mead.

    "To business, then!" He says, clapping his hands, "Unless you'd like another bottle? Loosen you up a touch more?"

    Do'azda blinks slowly, without moving. "This one is impatient to hear what she is being asked to do."

    "That's fair!" Brynjolf says, "Very fair, lassie. To business, then - you've a three-woman crew, which is perfect for this - no one'll need to pull a red eye, and no one'll be doubled up tomorrow, either."

    Do'azda's mind races - if the job starts tonight, but isn't reliant on there being people in the market; which it cannot, as Brynjolf is in no rush, but is clearly based in the market-

    "Which stall do you need this one to rob?" she asks, and Brynjolf breaks into a wide grin.

    "Ah, you're a quick one, to be sure." Brynjolf says, "You saw him, I reckon - Madesi, the Jeweller. One of you'll need to be the cracksman on that; he's got a strongbox under his stall with a… frankly middling lock on it. Once you get it open, there's a ring in it - beautiful thing, truly beautiful - gold with a mammoth-ivory inlay, couple of beautifully cut sapphires. Take it later tonight and get it to me, I'll run it to our fence and be back with a costume duplicate. Put that back in the strongbox, so Madesi can't tell."

    "Why can't you do it?" Ingne asks, "If the lock is only middling, I mean?"

    "Guards know my face," Brynjolf says ruefully, "They see me walk into that market after dark? Every last damn one of them'll be on my arse."

    "This one wonders what else is needed?" Do'azda asks.

    "Of course!" Brynjolf exclaims, "I let myself get distracted! The other jobs are easier - I'll distract everyone in the market, and one of you, the Sneak-thief, will have to slip back into Madesi's strongbox - unlocked now, during the day - and slip the costume ring out, then palm it to the other, your fisher, who needs to get the costume ring into the pockets of your friend, Brand-Shei."

    Do'azda frowns. "Why?"

    "Our Brand-Shei saw something he oughtn't have," Brynjolf says, "And a night in the cells - afore they realise the ring's not real and let him go - should let him know he shouldn't go shooting off his mouth 'bout it."

    "How will they know to check if Brand-Shei has the ring?" Bathes-In-Steel asks, "He does not appear the sort to have a reputation."

    "Madesi," Brynjolf says confidently, "Will accuse Brand-Shei immediately, no fear on that front."

    The plan seems bafflingly complex to Do'azda - why not simply steal the ring and be done with it, and put the costume ring directly into Brand-shei's strongbox?

    She opens her mouth to say as much, but Brynjolf holds up his hand. "I don't want to hear about the plan's complexity. Take it up with Mercer, the plan's his, and there's to be no alterations."

    She shuts her mouth again.

    "So," Brynjolf says, "Who'll be doing what?"

    Cracksman:

    [ ] [Lockpicking] Do'azda - a khajiit's nightvision will prove useful, trying to pick a lock in the dark of night, though she also… does not have much Lockpicking skill.
    [ ] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [ ] [Lockpicking] Ingne - Ingne's not exactly used a lockpick before, but a job done in the dark, out of sight? That suits her a lot better than the others. She's not a criminal!

    Sneak-thief:
    [ ] [Stealth] Do'azda - there's little in Tamriel lighter than a Khajiit's paw when they put their mind to it.
    [ ] [Stealth] Bathes-In-Steel - Sure, she's in heavy steel armour, but Bathes-In-Steel promises to think quiet thoughts as she makes her way over to Madesi's strongbox.
    [ ] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.

    Fisher:
    [ ] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again.
    [ ] [Pickpocket] Bathes-in-Steel - Two Argonians chatting in a crowd is hardly notable, and Bathes-In-Steel is a professional in this regard.
    [ ] [Pickpocket] Ingne - It is a well-known fact that guards in Skyrim, and certainly in places such as Riften, truly do not believe that a pretty young nord woman could be a criminal of any kind, so she would go utterly without reproach here.

    VM AN: Exciting! Welcome to the Thieves' Guild. You can fail this quest.

    TL AN: A person can't do two different parts of the job, so balance it well. Also yeah, Brand-Shei's an interesting sort!
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Really love this take on Brand-Shei- such an interesting character concept given generally gestures at Eastern Tamrielic history and anthropology
    (need a better word for that in this context...)    , so under-utilized in Skyrim other than to confirm that the Telvanni are still kicking.

    Plan: By The Gray Fox!
    [X] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [X] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.
    [X] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again.

    I suspect Do'azda will be uncomfortable with this, but this *is* the Noctra-inflected path we've chosen. I think this plan works to our party's strengths, though admittedly Ingne is the odd one out here.
     
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    [JK] laugh in his face and start plotting the assassination of Maven.

    Been around Skryim enough times to absolutely hate that person and am mad she's not only unkillable but gets off scott free no matter what. There's a lot of railroading in the thieves guild quest in fact...
     
    Plan: By The Gray Fox!
    [X] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [X] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.
    [X] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again
     
    [X] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [X] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.
    [X] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again.

    I expect the guild to be rife with even more intrigue and backstabbing than was shown in vanilla Skyrim.
     
    [X] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [X] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.
    [X] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again.


    These seem to be the best options. I'm slightly concerned about how clearly they're pointed out as such, but it's not like I have any better ideas.
     
    veteranMortal said:
    "Have you not licked the sap of a Hist?" She asks. "Were your parents negligent in this?"

    "No, they were not," Brand-Shei said, and for a moment a memory seems to steal across his face, something she's seen on Argonians before, that moment of… something. Then, his expression darkens. "Some in Riften do not consider that sufficient," Brand-Shei says bitterly, casting a black look over Do'azda's shoulder.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Considering what the Hist can do, i wonder if he's Internally more Argonian than Dark Elf?

    ESO Apparently has a Dunmer take a potion to temporarily turn into an Argonian, so it might be possible for the Hist to do more.
     
    [X] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [X] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.
    [X] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again.
     
    Half Moon said:
    These seem to be the best options. I'm slightly concerned about how clearly they're pointed out as such, but it's not like I have any better ideas.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    I worried about that as well, but A) I don't recall our QMs doing trap options and B) these seem to play to our party's strengths anyways, so worst dase scenario we build credit with the Thieves Guild with either jail time or a daring dash to the Ratways?
     
    [X] [Lockpicking] Bathes-In-Steel - being a high up in a criminal organisation, Bathes-In-Steel is adept at all manner of criminal enterprises.
    [X] [Stealth] Ingne - No one is going to look twice at a nord woman wandering around the market, so the risk of Ingne being discovered is very low, even if she doesn't think so.
    [X] [Pickpocket] Do'azda - She's spoken to Brand-Shei before, and he won't be suspicious if she does so again.
     
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  • Voting
    • Scheduled vote count started by veteranMortal on Sep 7, 2024 at 9:13 PM, finished with 11 posts and 6 votes.
    [lockpicking] [stealth] [pickpocket]
    Click to expand...
     
  • Voting
    • A Chance Arrangement New
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    • A Chance Arrangement

    The room that Brynjolf acquires for them is in the tavern's basement, down on the lower level, closer to the lake, with two beds of decent quality - the furs are clean, soft and warm, and there's a blanket to pull over if it is too cold in the night, but the floorboards are rough and unsanded, and there's a persistent clamminess to the room from proximity to the water's edge.

    They sit in silence at first, waiting - they can't make any noises that would alert anyone. This means they are left with their thoughts, and Do'azda allows her own to run wild. She finds herself back in Elsweyr.

    There are moments just a little bit like this. The place is not as good, but one of the people who mentors her shows her a room dug out that is meant to be a hiding place. It smells of wet cat, and sweat, and just a little bit of urine. It is not any of those things, but those smells are spread around the outside edge. Anyone who gets too close would think it is nothing more than a dumping ground, but if you dig just a bit, there is a handle and pull it up and a small, cramped little hiding space is your reward.

    This place and that share nothing except for the fact that they serve the same purpose. Neither is meant to be a long-term hideout, but more a place to rest while waiting for the next step. It smells far cleaner, for one, and the beds… she is sure that the hidey-hole had no such holes.

    Do'azda is a clever Khajiit, and she has awareness if one makes sensible decisions. Now she eventually decides to try whispering. "Can you sit closer?" They're not far from each other, but surely if they were essentially in each other's laps, or at least closer, there'd be less risk of discovery if they did say anything.

    Bathes-In-Steel considers this and nods, but Ingne has been staring at the far wall.

    She mouths something. 'Is. This. Necessary?' It is true that she's been traveling with The Dragonborn for a few days, and so far they've both killed bandits and agreed to help criminals. If there is a vision of the perfect kind of neutrality, then it is in this fact. But then what ideology or what set of ideals can be grasped and picked clean of the moment and the situation?

    So when Do'azda nods, all she can do is--no doubt--try to ponder where the necessity is. She is sure this is not the arbitrary and random deeds of someone without a plan, but the full scope of it… is getting in with the local Thieves important?

    Do'azda sees all of this, but there is no way to fully explain things. She needs to be closer to this matter because she has seen a vision, and because at the end of the day the interests of the Khajiit, here and everywhere else, do not rest entirely on law, nor entirely on crime, but instead on anything that might be useful to her and for that matter Khajiit in general. This is the reality of being a shaman.

    All the same, another part of the reality is that she'll have to wait. She looks around the gloom, and lets herself drink it all in. She turns to Bathes-In-Steel, and they wait. But eventually it is time, and when it is time she has no role but to just wait and be on hand, just in case. Her real work will be tomorrow, but she still has to be here anyway, just in case.


    Madesi is the worst sort. So she feels even less bad than she might otherwise. And she does not usually regret what she does. Now is a time for good little boys and girls to be asleep. While she thinks she is good, she knows others will disagree. Thus: she is awake.

    Bathes-In-Steel looks around the deserted marketplace. There is little there to draw the eye. People do sneak around here sometimes, she's sure. Sometimes people leave things behind by accident. These are usually stolen. There are guards that patrol for this reason. She flicks her tail dismissively. She's not afraid of guards. Bathes-In-Steel slips forward.

    She is no cunning rogue. But she is not bad at this. None of the guards get a glimpse of her. She knew how to move. There was a secret to movement that gave nothing away. This is how to do it: you move, and you do it in a way that is unseen.

    What? You think there is a trick? She teasingly and gently mocks the hypothetical person in her head as she reaches Madesi's stall. Everything is all locked up. Madesi is no fool. No, this is a lie. Madesi is a fool. But he is a different kind of fool.

    Bathes-In-Steel pulls out the lockpicks. She's been given them: best not to waste them. This is not her usual job. But a criminal who is good at only one kind of crime isn't very good at crime. There was something restful about it: the way that she just had to move her fingers like so.

    There was a click, and she moved onto another tumbler. She kept on fiddling. You had to get it just… so. Unfortunately that was not actually it. She frowns and tries it again. This time, she gets it right.

    Stealing a ring to make a forgery to plant it to frame someone in a way that lets them be absolved so that they know that they could have been framed for real is absurd. It is stupid. She is baffled that these are the people who are able to make demands of her. Or, perhaps they are not quite the same people.

    Lackeys.

    Henchmen.

    She considers this and straightens up. She can hear a guard coming. He is loud. He is very Nordish.

    There are a lot of very Nordish people in Skyrim. Some people complain about the weather. But she finds it decent enough in a way. Cold and miserable? Yes. But interesting. The people, though… she finds as much kindness as she can for all of them. This is a lot of kindness. She is sure this man is doing her best. She is doing her best not to be caught by him, for her part.

    They are in this together, actually.

    This almost inspires her to hum, but she needs all she can to sneak through and take each and every step.

    (He probably thinks there are seven-thousand steps, she darkly thinks. Then she thinks more kindly. Peace and goodwill are fundamental elements of all hearts: they must be. Violence is too common otherwise. Simple peace and friendship are beautiful and nice. Thus they must be preserved.)

    She slips away and reenters the basement. Do'zada is there, watching her, tail shifting, and ear tilting and jingling just slightly. She nods: it is done.


    Morning comes, and Do'azda has another dream, though this time she cannot fully remember it. And it does not feel as if it is one of those dreams. She cannot be sure, but there is a different character to dreams that are sent by Gods, spirits, or other stranger things, as opposed to ones that are just odd. She sniffs a little as she wakes, as if she will be able to somehow smell the magic and divine influence on herself.

    She goes through a morning of porridge, and when the time comes she turns to Ingne and says, "Do'azda is sure you will do well. This is important, but simply do your best: they will not suspect you."

    Ingne seems to understand just why it is, and nods solemnly, as if she is being asked to go off to her execution… and perhaps there is a degree to which she is being asked to bend her values.

    Do'azda cannot help it, she needs everything to be just so.

    And for now that relies on Ingne.


    Ingne doesn't quite understand how she got here. A series of increasingly bold decisions, not one of which ever quite crossed the line to 'rash', had taken her from Old Hrolden up the Throat of the World and down again, and now she's in orbit of the Dragonborn.

    The castle had been bad enough, but now she was involved in crimes.

    She tries to think through it the way Do'azda might. She's chasing something here, that's obvious. She's a Shaman, and that means mysterious and strange things, and that even fits the Dragonborn. She knows that Do'azda is no pretender. In the span of just a few days she made absurd progress at the Voice… and she knows that this means it has to be important.

    She tries to distract herself, and at least that is a bit more efficacious than her efforts to understand Do'azda. The market was in full swing, but she gets fewer glances and glares than she had when she walks with Do'azda. Indeed, she even gets fewer people trying to sell things to her for a moment in some places, and others yelling twice as loud to compensate, assuming she must have disposable money because she is a Nord.

    It is a burr in her heels, something that leaves her less certain of everything, but she makes her way towards the right stall, and thinks about culture. She's stealing from one Argonian to frame another, that's clearly how Bathes-In-Steel views it. But it's also just as clear that Madesi does not. She keeps her hands at her side, and does not do anything too fidgety. The sun is shining, and she can smell the spices and the human bodies both pressing in on her.

    It is no poor day, all things considered. It might even pass for a fine day, in other circumstances. "Come see, come see, I have some particularly fine remedies today, and they are no miracle, but good honest alchemy," Madesi calls, "And while you are here, see the only genuine Saxhleel Jewelry in the city." He calls it out on repeat, drawing people in towards his stall, and she allows herself to be one of them, to slip forward and wait until he's distracted. She thinks she knows the trick, and it's to make it feel like she's not doing anything at all. She isn't stealing anything, so she isn't tense, and nobody can notice anything if she doesn't think about what she's doing even as she does it faster than the speed of thought.

    She reaches out and grabs the ring from a box already open and ready, slipping it into a fold of her clothing. Nobody says anything, and she shifts and leans in, the better to look at the products Madesi is offering.

    They are a rainbow of jewelry, all of it glittering and gleaming, polished up to a shine far greater than any they'd be keeping from day to day. All the same, there is something to be said for the designs and patterns, and the ones based on trees--or most likely the HIst--even manage to be affecting. There was an odd sort of solidity and even nostalgia to it.

    Ingne hates that she can appreciate the fine details, and takes some tiny pleasure in noting a flaw or two, or that some of them are essentially reversed versions of each other. All the same, she does not linger. Guilt and distaste both drive her to slip out of the way. Then, once she's got some free time, she slips the ring onto her finger and holds it out, careful to make sure nobody is watching. If they are, hopefully all they'll see is a woman who has a ring.

    The ring really does look exactly like the real thing… and then she begins to look at it closer, and the flaws begin to be apparent. Someone has worked hard at this, someone has tried to make a knock-off that is at once similar, but not so similar that it cannot be discounted once the information comes in and it is examined closely.

    Why?

    Normally if she hears of this she would think something like, 'Who even knows the minds of criminals?" But now she knows that the mind of a criminal isn't that different from anyone's mind normally. Or at least, she knows her mind and she knows that she has not changed that much just by stealing a ring. But now she has a ring, and she makes her way through the crowd and marvels that nobody sees her differently. There are no shocked expressions, there is no moment where suddenly she is an outcast from all the world. She slips it back away, so that nobody can spy it any more, and she bites her lip. It shouldn't be this easy.

    Do'azda waits near the entrance of the market. She looks entirely at ease, standing in the morning sun, her tail flicking quickly as she idly scans a stall's wares. Perhaps it is a trait of the Dragonborn, this sort of effortless confidence?

    Ingne meanders towards her, her heart in her throat, fiddling with the ring in her pocket, not quite able to stop her nerves.

    The actual handover, such as it is, is almost disappointingly mundane - she brushes past Do'azda, the ring held loosely in her hand, and feels Do'azda's dexterous fingers close around it. And then it is done, and she is walking away, fighting to control her breathing.


    Do'azda cannot help but be glad that she is last, because it means that now she has to trust in herself. If she fails, she fails. If she succeeds, she succeeds. She doesn't have to do her job and then fear that someone else will make a mistake. The tension and pressure has her nervous, but she knows that she cannot allow herself to show even a little bit of this.

    She decides to wander the stalls for a moment or three. She even takes the time to look over some of the spices. She sniffs at them, but most of them are old and dusty, all fragrance long since faded, and certainly not worth the septims asked for them.

    The market is in fine fettle, cheery and even relatively bustling, but a closer look reveals the truth of it - stalls run by nords are staffed by the old, the young and the crippled, with tired eyes and strained smiles, all the stalls are just a little faded, a little patchy, and the market is well within the square; there are whole areas of swept cobblestone without stalls. More than Whiterun, Riften is a city involved in war, and the consequences have marked her people.

    So it cannot be terribly surprising that the people are receptive to a con man, not truly. It still, however, makes Do'azda jump when she hears Brynjolf's voice cutting through the crowd with the practiced skill of a salesman.

    "Everyone! Everyone! Gather 'round! I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention!"

    He isn't at his stall - it is instead manned by a sullen looking brunette in leather armour, the only person in the market not paying attention to Brynjolf as he stands atop a barrel in a storage area, waving a horn with a stopper in it.

    "Oh, what now?" Brand-shei says, meandering away from his stall. Do'azda moves as subtly as she can to stand behind him in the growing crowd.

    "Patience, patience, Brand-shei." Brynjolf says with a wide, open smile.

    There are a lot of people who make a sport out of claiming they can judge someone's character by their smile or their handshake. People like Brynjolf rely on this - they have practiced open smiles and firm handshakes.

    "I suppose this will be like the wisp essence again," Madesi says caustically, "Another fine waste of our time, nothing but nirnroot and skeever blood."

    "That," Brynjolf laughs, "That was a simple misunderstanding, my scaled friend. This is the real deal! Genuine authentic Falmerblood Elixir, sourced from the depths of Avanchnzel by my brave associate Sapphire, at great personal expense! A cure for whatever ails you, granting any wish you may have, makes your dreams come true! Only twenty septims!"

    Brand-shei leans forwards to peer at the horn Brynjolf is waving around. Do'azda glances around quickly and doesn't see anyone obviously watching them.

    It is the work of moments - she doesn't even need to reach into his pocket, as she would if she were taking anything. She only has to take out the ring and drop it into the open pouch on his belt.

    She's breathing heavily from the stress when she steps back, bumping into a Nord woman who looks at her with disgust and suspicion, before openly checking her coinpurse is still on her hip.

    "If it can grant wishes as you say," Madesi is saying, puffing up from his sense of superiority, "Why are you still only a poor salesman, hawking potions at the edge of Riften market?"

    Brynjolf must have been keeping an eye on her somehow, because he rapidly begins to wrap up his pitch, expertly managing to wilt under questioning.

    "I can see my audience is not receptive," he says, "Alas, I will take my marvellous elixir elsewhere, I suppose!"

    "Gods, what a waste of time." The Nord woman says, still with one eye on Do'azda, "Don't rightly know why I still came to listen to the old windbag."

    Do'azda shrugs, as though to say she doesn't either, then drifts away. The job is done, now only to see if the absurd complexity of it comes off.


    It is maybe fifteen minutes before Madesi checks his strongbox, and they spend all fifteen of them on tenterhooks - Bathes-In-Steel seems unbothered, but Ingne is gnawing on her lip so badly Do'azda is surprised she hasn't drawn blood, and for herself, she's been watching Brynjolf openly, trying to gauge whether their plan has been exposed.

    "Where is it?" Madesi's voice is raised, almost frantic. "I know you took it, Brand-Shei!"

    "What is it now, Madesi?" Brand-shei sounds tired, "You cannot accuse me of theft every time you lose something."

    "Lose something?" Madesi says, "Lose something, he says! Scratch marks on my strongbox and my craft-ring is missing! You know enough of my people to know how precious such a thing is! Who else but you could've done this? Guards!"

    Brand-shei scoffs. "You ridiculous fool! Why should anyone entertain any of this!"

    They've drawn the attention of more or less the whole market now, and a pair of solidly-built guards have made their way over, inscrutable under their full-face helms.

    "Make it easy, Brand-shei," One of the guards says, "Just turn out your pockets. When you don't have it, we can all go about our day."

    "I'm telling you, I don't…" Brand-shei pauses, pulling the costume ring out of his coinpurse with a trembling hand, "Wait, what's this ring? This isn't mine! I swear!"

    "I know," The guard replies, hand on the hilt of his sword, "It's Madesi's. You'd better come with us to the gaol, sneak-thief."

    "Hold on!" The Nord lady from earlier cuts in, suddenly, "I don't know about all that, you know. I saw that cat over there slinking around near Brand-shei earlier! Might be that she planted the ring, you know what the beast-races are like!"

    Do'azda's ears flatten against her skull as the guards turn to look at her, but before she can say anything, Brand-shei interjects.

    "No!" He sounds almost angrier than he was at being accused himself, "I didn't do this, but I won't let you just blindly accuse the nearest Khajiit of being a thief! Do'azda is an upstanding citizen, an alchemist like myself. I'm sure this will all be ironed out, but I'd swear by the Hist itself that she had nothing to do with it!"

    Do'azda feels lower than dirt as Brand-shei is led away, but she does not hand herself in to stop it, nevertheless.

    This is what victory looks like: they are forced to clear out, and they move through the town, Do'azda's eyes darting this way and that to make sure nobody is following them. The suspicion is quick to fall away, though. Once they all leave the market, in a loose group, nobody beyond it knows who they are. They are able to dodge any shoving and Do'azda takes a breath and looks at the sky. There are clouds starting to drift across it, and a cruel fall wind leaves her shuddering. But she's still in a good enough mood… good enough, in that she's done enough to get in favor with the Thieves Guild representative. This is a path forward, but she still does not know where she is being guided, or by who.

    She has had a dream, and she knows that dream has a purpose, but there are all sorts of gods and spiritual beings out there. She knows who the usual patrons of thieves are, and that's a thought that she has to turn around in her head. Noctra trying to get through to her would be unusual, but perhaps it is not all that unexpected if so. But… why?

    There is no way to know for sure.

    When Brynjolf steps out from a nearby alleyway, only Ingne jumps, and Do'azda feels a little bad when the man snorts.

    "Jumpy, aintcha? Still, things could've gone worse, lassies. Caught a little heat, but old Brand-shei's got more amiability than sense, and honestly, the way our organisation's luck has been lately… Ah, nevermind that. You've done more than enough to earn an invite to the Guild - just make your way to our base, down in the ratway; the Ragged Flagon. Might be I can line up more work for you, hey?"

    He has a way of stampeding like a bull through conversations, and Do'azda blinks, letting the words wash over her.

    "This one would appreciate it," She replies, "She will not let down the trust you have placed in her."

    "Of course, of course!" Brynjolf says lightly, clapping a hand on her shoulder, "Cause we both know what'll happen if you do, hey lass?"

    He tightens his grip, just momentarily, and then disappears back up the alleyway. Do'azda peers down it, but all she can see at the far end is an overgrown graveyard.

    She shakes her head, exasperated.

    "Are… we going into the ratway?" Ingne asks, "Because I don't mind! I know I was a little nervous today, but I promise I'll do better with this sort of thing!"

    Truthfully, Do'azda herself feels a sort of shaky, anxious guilt in her gut at the thought of more of this sort of work, but she is here following a vision.

    What is Do'azda going to do now?
    [ ] She has a job, no matter how badly she feels about it. Make her way into the Ratway, to head for the Ragged Flagon and the Thieves Guild.
    [ ] The Ragged Flagon will keep a day. She should do something less morally dubious - investigate that orphanage, perhaps.

    VM AN: I'm really sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy it.

    TL AN: The murder orphanage is, of course, far less morally dubious.
     
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