dredhwen / COMPANY WE DON'T KEEP

[Brynjolf .]

they know what everybody knows

better sit,
a letter from a thief says

TAG: Dredhwen! Words: 654

ONE LAST THING: I was originally going to just go with Riften, but I figure this is a better way to let them have an encounter (if she was still sent after him) that finds him out of his element. XD Hope it's okay!

”What is your business in Windhelm?”

Long before approaching the gate to the city of Ulfric Stormcloak, Brynjolf had expected resistance from the guards. As he turned on them, neatly revealing his face from underneath his hood to make sure the Stormcloak soldier would see him as a fellow countryman, the thief answered in a matter-of-fact tone. ”I have news for Jarl Ulfric from a few…influential sources.” From out of a small pocket inside the cloak that mostly covered him, Brynjolf produced enough coin to sway three or four guards, much less two who seemed annoyed to have to move long enough to check on the city’s visitors. Once he noticed the eyes of both guards starting to glisten at the sight of the ”Obviously, it’s fairly important news.” Purposefully putting all of the gold in the nearest guard’s hand to make sure that the two became occupied with dividing it up, Brynjolf said nothing else as he passed by and stepped into the gate behind them. They didn’t bother to pursue, though he did notice one of them, apparently having no idea that Brynjolf had already left them, saying something akin to the reasons why the thief could enter. Straightening his hood over his head again, Brynjolf smirked and stalked into the city.

His business in Windhelm actually had not a thing to do with the now-infamous jarl and leader of the Stormcloaks that sat in the palace in the city’s rear. Brynjolf couldn’t have given less of a damn about Jarl Ulfric, outside of wanting to get his hands on some of the rather impressive loot that the man had accrued of late. The city wouldn’t fall victim to any robberies that Brynjolf orchestrated, either. No, Brynjolf turned away from the well-off section of the city and instead made his way down one of the more plainly-adorned alleyways of the residential section, indifferently passing a guard as he did so. Brynjolf simply had a contact to meet. And, speaking of him, Brynjolf rounded a corner to find the other cloaked man tucked behind a stream of the torchlight that lit the streets of the old city at this time of night. They weren’t discussing any particularly incriminating business, but out of habit, Brynjolf checked over his shoulder for those who might poke their noses where they didn’t belong. He was too used to Riften – every nose was up every back-end that those noses could find in his current home city. Here, though, people weren’t likely to care about business of a guild that didn’t affect them overmuch. They were far more concerned about Imperial troops marching up to the gate. So Brynjolf trusted his instincts – they were alone. ”Give me what you’ve got.”

And the man would do just that, spending a good half an hour exchanging information back and forth with Brynjolf that was interrupted occasionally by someone coming a bit too close for them to continue speaking so frankly with one another. On one occasion, a pair of guards coming in their direction to inspect some curiosity at a nearby house drove them further back and away from the center of the city, and they wrapped up their conversation in a completely unlit area near the city’s antiquated sewage system. As usual, they didn’t leave as a pair. Brynjolf hung back in place as the other man left, giving him ample time – around ten minutes – to reach the gate and be well on his way to his next stop before Brynjolf finally stopped his propping up against a broken piece of wall and start a slow exit himself, trudging on down the alleyway and considering picking up a drink and getting a bit of sleep before leaving to scout out the bit of “business” that he’d come to Windhelm to discuss. A night’s sleep in something other than a ratway did sound like a worthwhile way to spend his evening…

finally when everybody sleeps

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[dredhwen .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,5,true][atrb=style, background-color: #a32424; width: 450px; padding: 5px, bTable][cs=3] EVERYBODY WANTS YOU DEAD

[atrb=style, width: 145px;][atrb=valign,top] BRYNJOLF/ KENT FOUR FIVE SEVEN HEHEHE, STOKED. OUTFIT HERE

[atrb=style, width: 265px;][atrb=valign,top] like the night, a shadow among murders and thieves, she spread herself over the city of windhelm in search of her target. it had been a long time since it had been this difficult to track down a person of this significance. having a vague idea why her master wished him dead, she followed his orders blindly, eventually leading her to the city of windhelm, the city of ulfric stormcloak. the thought brought a soft smirk to her lips. the warrior ulfric stormloak, warshiper of talos, having his city infiltrated by the champion of molag bal - the champion of a daedric prince. the thought made her want to chuckle, but being like a shadow meant that silence was key. sneaking through the alleyways of the residences, dredhwen kept to the walls, staying out of sight but hopefully causing some tension. with her mace at her side, she finally caught sight of her target, just about to go in for the kill when another man showed up. as much as she wished the man she had targetted dead, she didn't wish to draw too much attention to herself. so, as patient as a cat waiting for a mouse, she stayed in her spot, listening in on their conversation and moving back every time the duo did so. it seemed that dredhwen wasn't the only one sneaking about. once the conversation was finished, the dunmer watched as the unfamiliar man left her target for her own taking, "finally..." she breathed before she started to follow her target. there was no way that she was going to be losing him now. bring her mace from her hilt, she held it in one hand as she snuck up behind the man. grabbing him by the throat, she pushed him up against the wall. her iron like grip causing the man to choke and wheeze, "you dare betray your master..." she snarled before lifting her mace and showing it to him, "i will show you what happens to those who do not let their loyalty lie within the one true prince." she stated as she let the man go. he felt ot his knees, coughing and wheezing as he held his throat, "bow down to molag bal!" she shouted as she started to beat the man with her mace, not holding anything back. the man screamed and begged for his life, but it only urged the dunmer champion on that much more. his begging for mercy causing her great pleasure. eventually, the man stopped screaming, only because there was hardly any throat left to scream from. wiping some of the blood splatter off her cheek, she licked it from her fingers, smirking to herself, "pathetic..." she growled before she spat on what was left of her target.

[newclass=.track]height: 320px; -webkit-transition: 1s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 1s ease-in-out; transition: 1s ease-in-out; overflow: hidden;[/newclass]
[newclass=.track:hover]height: 435px; -webkit-transition: 1s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 1s ease-in-out; transition: 1s ease-in-out;[/newclass]

[Brynjolf .]

they know what everybody knows

better sit,
a letter from a thief says

TAG: Dredhwen! Words: 544

ONE LAST THING: Don't make Brynjolf angry! You won't like him when he's angry! Or you maybe will, since this is gonna be epic.

As he puffed out a foggy breath, Brynjolf felt glad that the same chill that hung in Windhelm’s air and clung to his exposed face wasn’t present in Riften, though not as much for his sake as for that of the recruits. What talented thief in his right mind would join up with a guild in this weather? Made Brynjolf wonder if there really was anything to the rumors he’d been hearing about some thieves trying to organize themselves in this part of Skyrim. Let them build and freeze if they so wished. Brynjolf’s own guild would see that any “new” guild were provided a rather unfriendly greeting if they so much as dipped their toes into the Riften guild’s waters. Maybe Brynjolf would spend that extra night in Windhelm, just to ask a few questions to residents, who would be in their beds until morning, about any thief-related rumors. He nodded his head to himself, settling on that plan.

Brynjolf’s thoughts occupied him long enough to see him cross a couple of the streets that led his way back towards the linear central pathway of Windhelm. Silence had hung to the night after Brynjolf had parted from his associate, but a pair of ears sharpened by his stealth-filled occupation picked up on a faint sound, not far from a cough – a weak cough. The thief’s feet stopped moving so he could listen in. It was no secret that, due to the war, some of the dirtier business going on in the streets of Windhelm tended to be overlooked. As long as no one was stabbing Jarl Ulfric in the throat, the guards, as Brynjolf’s companion had informed him, were skimming over the bulk of the questionable activities taking place among the less-important residents of this city. The coughing and…gargling…continued for a few seconds, before Brynjolf picked up on a female voice. His face scrunched up intently, and out of more curiosity than concern, he let a few easy steps carry him in the general direction of the sounds.

The concern would come only a moment later.

Screams tore through the night, and Brynjolf took off, cloak flowing behind him and his hood losing its grip to his head. He was forced to leap a fence to carry him closer, and once he landed on both feet and a hand, forms became evident in the dim night light. The screams…someone was attacking someone brutally, his mind registered, though who and to what extent were still mysteries to him. Only once Brynjolf had his daggers in his hand and closed most of the remaining distance did the attack subside, and Brynjolf could see why. All that remained on the ground at the feet of a female Dunmer was a bloodied mess of clothing and flesh. Brynjolf refused to admit to himself at first that he knew the victim, but staring long enough, he let the anger well up in his chest. This was his fellow guildsman who lay dead.

And she spit on him.

Forgetting himself, Brynjolf let out a low, angered yell as he rushed forward to tackle the Dunmer that had performed this act, ready to see her answer for this in some way or another, and the sooner she did, the better.

finally when everybody sleeps

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[dredhwen .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,5,true][atrb=style, background-color: #a32424; width: 450px; padding: 5px, bTable][cs=3] EVERYBODY WANTS YOU DEAD

[atrb=style, width: 145px;][atrb=valign,top] BRYNJOLF/ KENT FOUR SIX FOUR HEHEHE, STOKED. OUTFIT HERE

[atrb=style, width: 265px;][atrb=valign,top] her job was not complete and dredhwen felt more than satisfied with her work; the man who lay before he was unrecognizable and thus would be easy to cover up. as much as the dunmer wished for her work to be known, there was little she could reveal without finding herself in jail. such a dreadful place; so damp and cold - enclosed and tiny. dredhwen didn't do well in small places and the one time she had been caught, the guards didn't last long before they were mangled messes on the floor. men, they were so easy to seduce and even easier to kill. women had mystery about them that dredhwen always had loved and feared - all of the most dangerous opponents she had faced had been woman. the champion was about to take her leave, when she noticed someone standing before her, staring at the man at her feet with an expression that could only be relayed as terror. a sinister grin appeared on the young woman's features before she spoke, "i'm sorry, did you know him?" she questioned it soon answered by the man's yell and his sudden charge at her - yes, another fight. getting into a battle stance, she grabbed her mace prepared to use it once again, even though it's charge was low. when he collided with her, it had been a harder impact that dredhwen had suspected, and the dunmer found herself on her back, the man on top of her and attempting to make a corpse out of her. growling under her breath, she lifted both of her legs and managed to get them under his stomach before pushing him up and off her with all the force she could muster. when the man was now on his own back, the dunmer crawled on top of him, straddling him and putting the mace right up against his throat, "i would calm myself, if i were you - theif." she snarled, leaning her head forward so their faces were almost touching, "as much as it pains me to say it, i have no business with you and thus have no intention of killing you." her words were low and almost calm, but they held and edge that only a freshly sharpened sword could hold. holding him beneath her, she recognized his face; when she had been with the brotherhood, they had ties with the thieves guild. it was obvious the man before her was a thief, but upon closer inspection she realized just how important to the guild this man was. letting out a low chuckle, she sat up straight, "you're a long way from home, brynjolf." once again, her words holding the same tone as before, "the world outside of riften is a dangerous one, i'm surprised someone of your stature has lasted this long..."

[newclass=.track]height: 320px; -webkit-transition: 1s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 1s ease-in-out; transition: 1s ease-in-out; overflow: hidden;[/newclass]
[newclass=.track:hover]height: 435px; -webkit-transition: 1s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 1s ease-in-out; transition: 1s ease-in-out;[/newclass]

[Brynjolf .]

they know what everybody knows

better sit,
a letter from a thief says

TAG: Dredhwen! Words: 535

ONE LAST THING: Bleh, this post. D:

Brynjolf knew, somewhere behind the anger that fueled him, that his mad rush was a doomed tactic from the start. The assault connected, though, and for the moment, Brynjolf could take some satisfaction in feeling the woman collapse underneath him and crash on her back against the ground. That was all of the damage he would do from such a position, though, with one wrist painfully throbbing from having ended up underneath the woman’s back and the other helping to heave Brynjolf up so he could hopefully finish off this murderous Dunmer. Like any half-decent fighter knew to do against a wilder opponent, though, the killer pushed her legs up and sent Brynjolf against the still-burning wrist. Obviously, it was no support, and after a couple of seconds he found himself with a shoulder in the blood of his comrade and an elf atop him, probably eager to perform a similar atrocity against him as to the battered body. Brynjolf managed to calm his storm a bit, doing the only thing he really could to defend himself by bringing the tip of his dagger up under the Dunmer’s chest. His stab could miss. The mace wouldn’t hit something harmless in his neck. Brynjolf remained still, chest only heaving with his breaths. Advantage to the elf.

Letting loose a sigh through clenched teeth and trying to glare daggers through the woman as she leaned in, Brynjolf had his first chance to study the face above him, more closely than he would have liked. He barely cared to let the familiarity of the features register on him, but ignoring her words, the face and the name associated with it started to shape itself in his mind. Recalling faces was a huge part of Brynjolf’s job, as it was. The face above him he knew well enough for a sickened feeling to knot up in his stomach. This elf had, at one time, been an ally. Judging by the battered body, she had truly left that allegiance behind. Brynjolf thought he caught a hint of recognition in the Dunmer’s eyes, as well, and as she leaned back, so did Brynjolf’s dagger lower.

Brynjolf regarded Dredhwen, whom he knew to be a one-time member of the Dark Brotherhood, with eyes still narrowed. She had, though he hadn’t known her as well as the predominant Brotherhood leadership, been as reliable as the rest of the assassins who worked out of the south of Skyrim, though Brynjolf never put extensive trust in any of them. Word had reached them that she’d left the Brotherhood. That meant she got no special protection, especially not after she’d killed one of the last good informants – and good men – Brynjolf could rely on outside of Riften. ”So this is what happens after one of you leaves the Brotherhood?”, Brynjolf bit back at her, disregarding her attempts at insulting him and starting to raise his shoulders out of the blood now painting part of his cloak red. ”You start goin’ after the ones controlling the coin. Is that what this is, Dredhwen?” All he knew was she better have some damn good answers. Brynjolf might have missed once; he wouldn’t go making the same mistake again.

finally when everybody sleeps

TEMPLATE BY: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE MIKEY ! @ CAUTION.

[dredhwen .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,5,true][atrb=style, background-color: #a32424; width: 450px; padding: 5px, bTable][cs=3] EVERYBODY WANTS YOU DEAD

[atrb=style, width: 145px;][atrb=valign,top] BRYNJOLF/ KENT FOUR SEVEN NINE OMG THIS TOOK SO LONG I'M SO SORRY. OUTFIT HERE

[atrb=style, width: 265px;][atrb=valign,top] a champion of molag bal was always strang a wild, filled with rage and power. dredhwen was no different; though a mere mortal, the mace gave her strength in which seemed inhuman and supernatural. it had become an extension of her own arm and the dunmer weilded it with passion and bloodlust, something that couldn't ever be tamed within her. the brotherhood had always seemed so promising and though the hailed sithis, an aedra, molag bal was always to be the woman's master. that was why the ties with the brotherhood needed to be cut and they were, quite sharply and cleanly. astrid held no grudge against her and thus that was the only reason why her head was not on a contract. she knew of her place in this world and it was alone with no one to lead her but molag bal himself. she would follow no rules but the ones given to her by the prince of domination, praise no one but the prince who had raped her. he had given her the gift of the mace and the power to do his bidding, there was not much else she needed at this point in her life. now that she had this man beneath her, pinned to the ground and threatened by the mace that was against his throat. one of the leaders of the thieves guild now lay between her legs, unable to move or break free from her grasp. a small smirk crept across her lips as she saw the recognition in his eyes. though they may have only met once or twice, it wasn't uncommon for someone to recognize dredhwen. her hair was blue as the ocean and her eyes red as crimson blood, many found her an odd looking creature, and feared her all the same. grinning at his words, she rose off him, still holding her mace in a defensive status before she spoke, "i didn't do this for the coin." she stated, simply before she watched the nord rise to his feet, "i did this out of the pleasure of serving my master." her words were calm and casual, as if it was the most obvious thing. eying him up and down, she tried to make of what sort of threat he was to her now. tehy recognized one another and obviously still held some sort of respect for one another, but she had just murdered someone of importance to him. in skyrim, that could cut any bonds with anyone, including someone as close as ones own kin. dredhwen knew that he had every right to attack her adn avenge that of what he had lost, but that in no way meant that dredhwen wouldn't go down without a fight, "so, who was that man? he seemed of importance to you." she explained, now circling him like a vulture does it's prey.

[newclass=.track]height: 320px; -webkit-transition: 1s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 1s ease-in-out; transition: 1s ease-in-out; overflow: hidden;[/newclass]
[newclass=.track:hover]height: 435px; -webkit-transition: 1s ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 1s ease-in-out; transition: 1s ease-in-out;[/newclass]