RBw98
New Member
Enwin, A Tale of an Orphan Note to Reader
This is my first fanfiction so feel free to criticise or give comments, even on spelling, grammar and punctuation (I normally write in first person so I tried third this time and I probably have mixed it up and put “I”). Wether the comments are good or bad, I don’t care. Some parts of the story may stray from the actual questlines but this is what I’ve decided to write. Also, the first quest that is mentioned isn’t “Unbound”, it’ll come later if I’m ever bothered to write it.
The story comes from my imagination. I don’t have a character like this, but I wanted to write a story about a person in Skyrim doing quests and sometimes there are things about my own experiences and how I personally complete quests.
Also, the ways objectives are completed in this fanfiction are different from the game to make it sound more realistic.
Oh, and there are some spoilers.
Chapter I: A Chance Arrangement
“Get out!” screamed Grelod the Kind shoving Enwin out the Orphanage’s wooden doors causing her to fall on her hands and graze her knuckles. “Gladly!” Enwin screamed at the hag that had made her life miserable for the past twelve years, but now she was out of Honorhall Orphanage, now she was sixteen, now she was free!
Where to now? The only place orphans in Skyrim can go, the Thieves Guild.
It was a busy day in Riften, one of the nine cities of Skyrim, and the Market was so full of citizens going about their business shopping that it was the best opportunity to rob someone blind.
Enwin stood up and dusted her ragged clothes off and began walking along the cobblestone street, across the wooden bridge, and to the Market, her skin being kissed by the midday sun.
It was the first time she had been outside the orphanage in more than a decade and it was more than overwhelming. Grelod never let the orphans outside her small building or little yard, and it took Enwin a while to get a hold of how big the city was to her.
Just as she was about to join the crowd someone grabbed her by the arm, she didn’t even flinch, of course it would be a City Guard. Without thinking she turned to face a bearded Nord in light armour with an axe on his belt.
“You be escaping from the orphanage little Breton?” he asked me, not loosening his grip.
“No Sir, I was just let out today, go ask the old Hag,” she said shaking off his grip.
“No girl you come with me!” he said reinforcing his grip.
“Guard stop,” said a Nord behind him in fine clothes with red hair, “I saw the lass being thrown out by Grelod.”
“Ye sure Brynjolf?” said the Guard eye the man with suspicion, but he still let go of her arm and walked away.
“Lass, what be your name?”
“E-Enwin,” she stammered. This was Brynjolf, the Brynjolf. The thief who gave some orphans hope.
“I guess you’d be wanting to join the guild then, eh?” he said knowingly.
“Yes Sir, can I?” she pleaded.
“Aye lass, but you have to prove yourself. Before I can tell you how, you have to promise not to give it away. Trust me when I say I know people who could make you wish you were back living at that orphanage.”
“Yes Sir!” she couldn’t believe it, she could get into the Guild! She could be starting a new life! And maybe, Brer had made it there too.
“A chance arrangement! Okay lass this is what you got to do,” he explained it too her so quickly Enwin could barely keep up, but in the end she understood. Brynjolf handed her two lock-picks a small knife and a coin-purse.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Gather round, gather round!” he shouted.
“What is it now Brynjolf?” groaned the man Enwin was targeting, Brand-Shei.
They started arguing, and then Brynjolf started his presentation on ‘Falmerblood Elixir’. Enwin crept behind the jeweller’s stall. Thanks to Grelod, she knew how to use a lock-pick. Being one of the older kids, Enwin was brave enough to pick the lock on the pantry’s door whenever there was a pick to spare. It came to the point she rarely ever broke a pick.
“Oops,” she breathed, she’d broken a pick on the wooden door. She held her breath as she turned the second pick.
Click.
She smiled to herself, but it disappeared as she realised there was a strongbox she needed to get into.
“Damn this jeweller,” she thought.
She began on the strongbox, she opened it after a try or two. It took her a moment to realise she was just there for the ring, but there were gems! So many gems! A gold necklace, three glistening rubies, four sapphires, a flawless diamond and at least 200 septims! Not to mention the ring she was supposed to take. She understood what the bag was for, and she shoved everything in sight into it, closed everything up, and casually made her way over to Brand-Shei who was interrogating Brynjolf.
“Ah, but you’re wrong Brand-Shei, this here Elixir will cure everything permanently.”
“Even Skooma addiction?” asked an Argonian.
“Aye,” said Brynjolf, his eyes skimming over to Enwin, then flicked back to the Elixir.
“See this here…”
Enwin stopped listening, this was it, the real test while everyone was watching Brynjolf, I slipped behind the barrels Brand-Shei was sitting on, his coin purse conveniently in his back pocket, but that wasn’t what she was there for. Enwin quickly took the ring out of the little bag, and quickly slipped it into his pocket, he was arguing with Brynjolf and didn’t notice a thing. Enwin crunched up the leather bag into her two hands and squeezed out from behind the barrels. No one noticed but Brynjolf who was facing her direction, he waited for her to get to the blacksmith on the other side of the Market.
“Well that’s all for now I’m afraid, I remind you that the Elixir is only 80 septims!” he said jumping down from the crate he had been standing on.
The crowd disintegrated, but some fools stayed to buy the Elixir. After a few minutes, Brynjolf gestured for Enwin to come over to his stall.
“Nice job lass, couldn’t have done it better than myself,” he said taking the coin-purse from her hand.
“Not to be rude, but will I get paid for that?” she said, put off that he had taken her treasure.
“Here,” he said chucking her the bag with only the gold necklace and 100 septims.
Enwin eyed the Elixir, “Can I have one of those?” she said.
“Falmerblood Elixir? Why?” he asked amused.
“Well… does it really cure Skooma addiction?” Enwin asked regretfully.
“Of course not! You might as well just take more Skooma,” Brynjolf said with a frown.
“Oh,” she said, “well have I proven myself?”
“Aye lass you have, but there is one more thing,” he began searching through his many pockets, Enwin thought she saw some armour under his fine shirt, “You have to find the guild.”
“And how do I do that?” she asked crestfallen.
“Go into the Ratway, and find the Ragged Flagon,” he said handing her an iron dagger, “you may find use for this.”
“The sewers? There are mad people down there!” she said frightened, her green eyes widening.
“Prove yourself,” he said ruffling her hair and walking away.
“The Ratway!” she thought outraged, “Well then maybe the Guild isn’t as good a choice than I thought!”
Enwin stormed over to some goods store called The Pawned Prawn, and sold the gold necklace, bought some clothes, leather boots and a scabbard leaving her 75 septims.
She came out of the store thinking. A swarm of thoughts buzzed in her head, things about leaving the orphanage at last, about the Guild, about the Ratway.
Enwin didn’t think she had much choice. She could become an apprentice at the alchemist or blacksmith, but she was set on the Guild. Brer had spoken so much about it before he left Honorhall three years ago. He would be nineteen now and in the Guild.
“Okay then, tomorrow it is…” she agreed with herself. Tomorrow she would delve into the stinking sewers, sneak past any mad people and rely on her dagger if things went wrong. Hiding wasn’t that hard for her either, after all, how many times had she hidden from Grelod?
After wandering the streets for hours, drinking in the sights she had only heard from behind that prison of an orphanage’s walls, Enwin went to The Bee and Barb, an Inn right by the Market, and sat at the bar.
“Do you have apple and some bread please?” she asked the Argonian barmaid.
“Yes, that’ll be seven septims, and where may you come from? One so young on their own in Riften?” she said eyeing Enwin with the look one gives to a youth when they think they are going to pull a knife on you as she cleaned a tankard.
“Honorhall,” said Enwin flatly.
“You must be glad to be rid of that place, I’ll give you the food for free then, and I’ll throw in some Nord Mead. Will you be staying the night then? Ten septims for a day if you have the money.”
“I have the money, and thankyou for the food.”
Enwin ate in silence, the pub was now full of workers from the Black-Briar Meadery and Fishery, and citizens and travellers. After a while Brynjolf showed up and started gambling with some Redguard travellers, but he ignored Enwin, and she took the message as, “Not here, it’s too public,” or it could have meant that the whole Guild thing was a joke.
Several minutes later, Enwin decided it was time for bed. A male Argonian escorted her upstairs, where she slept undisturbed until late hours of the morning.
Chapter II: The Ragged Flagon
It was nearly midday when Enwin woke; she kept on hanging on to her magnificent dream, and she woke thinking it was real. In her dream she had entered the Ratway, there was no one there and the path was easily shown. She found The Ragged Flagon (which resembled The Bee and Barb) and Brynjolf was there praising her for her skill at the Market the day before and giving her gems and septims for finding the place. But most magnificent was that Brer was there, blue eyes and all, to welcome her to the guild.
So you can imagine her disappointment when she woke up.
“Urgh,” she groaned rolling onto her side, hating life and everything in it. Her eyes snapped open. Today was the day her future was set. Today was the day her life was decided.
All thoughts of her dream were lost, as she stood dreamlike and dressed herself. She was in a trance as she ordered again an apple and bread, then she realised she didn’t even know where the entrance to the Ratway was.
“Um, Keerava, what’s the Ratway?” she asked as she was being served.
“The Ratway? Oh dear, you mean to join the Thieves Guild don’t you? Mark my words Enwin! You have no place amongst that rabble, they’ve been reduced to nothing in the past few years and thieving only gets you in trouble with the law.”
“Please, I have no choice, I can’t be an alchemist or a smith, or a stable girl, who would hire me? A street urchin?”
“Do as you wish girl, but expect no help from me!” said the Argonian as she stormed off to get more mead.
“The Ratway you be looking for?” said a man who worked at the Fishery, “I can tell you where it is for a price.”
“Name it,” Enwin said, glancing at Keerava.
“50 septims,” the Bosmer said.
“Not a chance! 25 is as high as I’ll go!” she hissed.
“Deal,” he said with his hand extended.
She handed him the gold, “Now where is it?”
“It’s to the south, under the town plaza,” he said.
“Town plaza?”
“Market,” he said going back to his mead.
Although this new was a great asset to Enwin, it gave her no excuse to delay. Slowly she ate, slowly she drank, until midafternoon. She then finally realised she had no choice but to start the next chapter of her life.
She walked quickly through the streets, down the stairs, and she finally saw the gate, and behind it a rusted door. Enwin gripped the cold handle and turned it with trembling fingers, entered, then shut the door behind her. Next came the iron door, she prepared to sneak and opened it, the door was surprisingly oiled, and made no sound as she opened or closed it. Shutting out the light she realised it was almost pitch black but for one torch down the corridor and at the end a fire was blazing. There were two lowlives arguing over something.
Letting her eyes adjust to the almost non-existent lighting she stood for several moments with fear of detection. Enwin thought that maybe she should come back at night when the men were sure to be sleeping, but she had given half of her money to find this place, and she knew that if she’d left she’d never come back.
Slowly she crept forward, feeling the uneven stone wall and floor, purposefully dodging a skull and without thinking picking up a woodcutter’s axe from the ground. It was then she remembered her iron dagger, and slowly pulled it out of its scabbard with trembling hands, now holding two things that very well could save her life.
Then she began thinking, what if these men weren’t aggressive? What if they’d just let her pass out of common decency? The thought was not altogether comforting, as Enwin knew that it would only lead to her death. These men weren’t good they were bad, that’s what she needed to be thinking.
“I swear, another one of them new Thieves Guild recruits comes along here again, I’ll rip their head off. This ain’t no road, if Mercer Frey wants them to get to The Flagon so bad why not create a secret passageway?” said one in a husky disused voice.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said the other yawning, “must be about sunset, I’m going to sleep.”
She came to the end of the corridor, as they spoke slower she moved, holding her breath, not daring to utter a sound. She was still under the cover of the shadows, but she knew that one more step and she’d be seen. One of the men went to a bedroll on the floor, while the other stood turning a skeever around on a spit.
Come on, go to sleep, go to sleep like your friend! Enwin thought frantically to herself.
She could not hold her breath in any longer, she exhaled as slowly as she dared, the lowlife heard nothing.
I can’t wait all day, Brynjolf probably thinks I’m not coming…
Before she knew what she was doing, Enwin slipped behind the cooking man, and hacked the woodcutter’s axe in to his back, of course he yelled, and Enwin couldn’t believe the sight and blood spilled from the wound in his back. Leaving the axe in his back she lodged the dagger into the right side of his neck, he fell on his face choking on his own blood, crimson liquid streaming like a water fall from his toothless mouth.
The other man awoke; he came charging as fast as the confined space permitted with a steel mace and iron shield. Quickly she dug the axe out of the writhing man’s back, adrenalin overcame her. Letting her dagger fall she held the small axe with two hands, and swung for the man’s head a feet higher than her eyelevel, the man’s swing was deflected by her almost comically weak blow, she aimed a knee at the man’s groin and hit home. He doubled over, Enwin took one swing at the back of the man’s neck severing tendons and sending beautiful, bloody gore flying leaving his head half hanging off.
Alone, and covered in blood Enwin began shaking.
I have just killed to people. She hysterically thought.
“Brer? Brer, where are you?” she wailed quietly, tears streaming from her green eyes and falling down her round pale face. But truthfully she didn’t want Brer, she wanted Skooma. Skooma. Grelod’s worst torture was not giving the addicted Skooma. Enwin had her first taste at ten, when she really did escape the horrid Honorhall. Now, a hopeless addict, it’s a surprise she lasted two days without it. This was Grelod’s way of keeping her in line and a punishment for growing up. By the Gods, how much she hated that old Hag!
Enwin did not know how long her craving passed, but she eventually retrieved her dagger and shuffled forward trying to make as little sound as possible.
Walking amid the thin stone pillars, she came to bridge, but the bridge was up and not accessible, she looked down and saw a skeever. They were bigger than even she imagined, at least a metre long. Knowing she had no choice she jumped down, but the landing was higher than she anticipated and she fell onto her hands and knees, spraining her ankle. The skeever lashed out biting her left shoulder, with her right hand she jabbed the knife into its abdomen several times before she left it twitching in a pool of blood.
She came along other skeevers who she left only maimed and who left her with bites that looked infected, was thrown down the stairs when a log hit her full in the stomach which took her at least half an hour to recover from, but she was not going back, not even if it almost killed her.
Enwin came to a closed door, by now whenever she came to a door or staircase she checked for pressure plates and tripwires. This one had a mechanism that connected to the door so whoever opened it would trigger the trap. She cut the wire and hid in the shadows. Out burst a man with nothing but rags and a pair of hide gloves that were faintly glowing. He looked around wildly, skimming over her exposed hiding place and scrambled to the end of the stone chamber. She crept up behind him and stabbed him in the stomach. This did not faze him, he was an animal, and with almost inhumane speed he turned and started pummelling her face in. She pointed her dagger horizontally towards the man (she had lost the axe in the fall down the stairs and had not bothered looking for it) in front of her face causing him punched the dagger, making Enwin punch her own face. Blood splattered her as the man’s fingers were detached from his hand. Wailing he aimed another punch which she dodged and stabbed the man in the stomach, then sliced his neck.
Don’t think about it Enwin, he tried to kill you it was self-defence!
Enwin needed to believe it, or she would think herself a murderer, but a thief is not much better.
The man’s gloves glowed more after he stopped breathing. Enwin thought it was strange, she took one from the undamaged hand and put it on. Immediately she felt strength surge through her arms, and she understood that these were enchanted gloves, gloves that made your punches more powerful. A man this frail could never throw a punch as hard as he just hit her.
Enwin took the other bloodied glove and concluded that she could just go to the blacksmith to get them repaired and wash the blood off, then sell them. Hanging them on her scabbard she then gingerly patted her right eye, which was already swelling to a great extent, and felt her infected skeever bites. Looking like she had just walked out of a war zone was not the first impression Enwin wanted to give the Guild.
Her spirit was standing upon the edge of a knife, she did not want to go forward, she did not want to go back; she just wanted to stay there and sleep. But that of course would mean her death and she would not allow that, no matter how torn her soul was, no matter how many people she killed, she needed to get into that Guild. It just made sense, made her feel like she had a purpose in life, to be the best thief known to the world. It just seemed to be the right to her.
She stumbled forward, “It can’t be long now,” Enwin whispered to herself, wiping her bloodied dagger onto her now filthy dress as she went.
The next door didn’t have a trap, but she still moved slowly both with caution and exhaustion. It led to the closed well in the town plaza, shafts of moonlight came through the cracks of the boards, it must have been mid-evening, in the dim light she saw an great war axe stuck into a big tree stump.
To her left there was a passage with candlelight. She kept against the wall as she crept around. Peering into the room she saw another lowlife leaning against a table reading something. She snuck up her, and killed the woman before she drew her sword. Looking up, Enwin saw the bridge and a lever. Extremely pissed off that the entrance to The Ratway was so close to what to her hours to get to, she went and let the bridge fall flat. That was it, a dead end, and her gut told her only one more door to go.
Turning to the door, she limped over to it, there was a strange symbol on the wall. Enwin opened the door and went into The Ragged Flagon.
It was nothing like The Bannered Mare, nothing. The Ragged Flagon was on the other side of a pool of murky water, either side of the door Enwin just entered were two caverns full of skeever droppings, cobwebs, barrels and crates. Enwin couldn’t help but feeling very, very, disappointed.
Still limping and holding her left elbow against herself to try and stop the bleeding of her shoulder, she made her way to the main part of The Flagon.
“I don’t understand, she should be here by now,” said a voice Enwin recognised as Brynjolf.
“She’s probably dead in The Ratway, Brynjolf, send Dirge out to check,” said a man tending the bar.
“You’re probably right, I shouldn’t have led her into this. She was a wee lass, just out of the orphanage, I thought she could’ve handled it.”
“I’m here!” Enwin coughed.
Brynjolf turned and looked astonished when he saw how battered and bruised Enwin was.
“Colour me impressed lass! Did you take the long way? Why didn’t you take the bridge!” he exclaimed.
“I would’ve if it was down!” she said shaking and passing out.
If you can change it, that would be lovely. If not, I would be glad to strain my eyes later when my head isn't spinning so much. 
