Chapter 3: III
"So… today is the day?" the old one asked with a coy smile as he stepped down to the central level of the throne room. Where steps away a low and brisk laugher accompanied the pouring of ageless and smooth grey wine. Made from the corpse of an old and unusual volcano. One of few to breath as much life as it has extinguished.
"Yes," the second confirmed with a smile of his own before raising a glass in both hands. His blood red eyes showing a shift of a subtle glow as he looked to his peer. "Let us share a toast." After reaching the sterling corner table and sneaking a whiff of the rare wine, the power and heat more than enough to smother one's senses, both glasses tilted upward.
"To the most mysterious ruler of the wild lands."
"To one of Tamriel's greatest kings." Both downed their glasses full within a blinks time. Letting out deep exhales after. The first eyed his glass for a moment after. Catching the reflection of his collection of wrinkles and healed open wound, where in-between the scarred tissue of skin and cheekbone and meat were as reachable as teeth. His voice had trailed dark and low in his few words after. As if memory alone had poisoned the good wine itself.
"May your end be as vibrant as your breton skies."
5E
At the barb, there was always something new to be heard. New information to be gained, exploited, sold, or simply shared for a laugh. The most common knowledge in the rift in recent years were the new paths travelers and wanderers should avoid due to the scattered and unrelenting groups of bandits upon the edges of the rift. They were always sure not to operate too close within the region to attract the jarl's full attention since she'd took the throne, but it wasn't a secret how well Riften has done for itself compared to the other holds of Skyrim. The kind of individuals that freed time to make visits to see and meet the leader of the new rift. And all did were hardly made equal; some had a way of watching certain roads, waiting to pounce like wolves, and alternating to another source of income or meal before too much word could spread. Some tended to fail in a single plan, and fell into the hands of Riften guards without a break of sweat. And some payed no heed to the obvious sources of wealth, because the real prizes would never come cheap. And there are many opportunities for a source of power to make coin in Skyrim, many indeed.
Locals tended to know everything under the warmth and cold before too long, but those a long ways from home tend to always be willing to pay good coin for safe passages after word was clear on the worst case scenarios, where instead of a rabble of thugs, a group of cutthroats with experience and skill received push back instead from the sources of food or wealth instead of following instructions. One did not pay for security for nothing, but one did not wish to lose their lives for coin as well. It is expensive, but when a passage is bought, the customer is never harmed or bothered. Not a single time.
Of the high and low of Riften, Jak knew the most aside from the powerful that reside in Mistive Keep. And he had learned long ago how to pick up on tendencies and odd occurrences, and when to keep his theories to himself.
But despite the spurring conversations and pouring of mead by waitresses, the yelling of the drunk and so on… Jak continued to keep to himself as usual. Continuing to wipe his sparkling clean glass with a focused eye. He was not like other bar keeps, he did not fix the drinks, order the meals or secure the rooms, in fact he barely even spoke. But still, everyone who sets foot in Riften knew who he was, and how to treat him. There were not many who could hold a candle to how loved and respected the jarl of Riften had become, but there is one, and Jak not only saved her life, but now served directly underneath her. There was no such thing as trouble barb for that reason alone. And that fact covered all facets of Skyrim's hierarchy in it's people.
Jak set down his glass for another, almost inseparable in quality, and began to wipe away. Unbothered by the newcomer who had just entered the inn, and stood out more then a bird gliding in the heat of battle. Most let the man be as his eyes swept the crowded floor and theirs briefly found him. But in no time at all he began to make his way to the counter where the tender and keep stood nearly a foot and a half over him, silent as he checked the reflection of the glass again before quietly deciding more work was needed.
The bird swallowed as he looked the large keep up and down before finding his words. But before one could escape his lips, the keep spoke with simple tone and finality.
"Take a seat." the keep said. The young man crunched his brow. "Thank you, but I am not here for a drin-"
"I know who you are," the keep said before raising his glance briefly once more, "Take a seat."
After a moment of thought and hesitation, the newcomer did as recommended and waited, and waited until the crowded floor of conversation was gone, replaced with the dimming of light and quiet. A few here and there left among the empty chairs, likely trusted regulars.
For the hundredth time of the night, Jak sat a glass onto the counter, catching the newcomers attention just before his eyes crept to a close. He said nothing as the two exchanged glances, before turning to the wall of stone behind him. Where now a gap now stood present at its center between shelves of beverages and supplies, wide as a doorway presenting a pathway deep past a single flame set onto one of the walls of the corridor.
The young man jumped to his feet after noticing. He knew it. Stepping around the counter with a hint of caution, sure to find the bartender's glance once more as if for permission. Yet now he did not stand with a glass or rag in hand to entertain or deflect. Now he only eyed the thin man. His gold eyes seemingly able to look through and examine another when called for.
"She is waiting." The newcomer swallowed before offering a nod to the keep, then turned to enter the path between stone. Only remembering to offer his tanks as the wall came alive to close off the path with a sound boom.
Soon he set off and followed the long and dark path lit only by sparse torches upon its inner stone walls. One found every few minutes as if a reminder that forward was true, and not a single opening or second path for doubt. And so forward he kept, on and on as the path bent right and left and so on until he had no idea if his steps remained within then city of Riften let alone the region of the rift. But his faith did not wane once, and was rewarded when eventually his legs that now moved without thought was forced to stop in front of a single door made of thick wood and dark metal embedded in its form. The first and only obstacle stood before him, face to face among the old walls of stone around him. Without a semblance of thought left in his mind, he knocked twice. And the door slowly opened, without the sound of one lock or bar.
Within sat a woman at desk, with a depth of brown hair running down her shoulders, yawning before moving her autumn gaze to the door and removing her glasses.
"… would you happen to be Ms. Robin?" The woman gave a smile as she leaned forward. "
"Your new."
"Y-yes ma'am. I am Acuris, one of the new set of couriers. Sent by King Forn. I apologize if I was late, finding you was rather tricky."
"He really doesn't hold a shred of. A high elf serving a breton king, by the gods."
"I speak the truth. I do not mean to disrespect yo-"
"Of course not," Robin said with a wave. "We will have to do something about that confidence. But you did well. Come in, I am sure we have much to discuss."
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
-- Power
stone