Brynjolf supposed he quite enjoyed his life now. As a high-ranking part of the Thieves Guild in Riften, he had respect. He had been taught the difference between meaningless violence, and theft, under the instruction of Gallus, and had found a family. Something that he’d always wanted, since being orphaned.

His brown eyes flit lazily to the doorway of the Ragged Flagon. The Ratway was his home. One ringed hand pushes back his shoulder-length auburn hair lazily, as he fiddles with an earring for a moment.

Brynjolf liked being part of the Thieves Guild now. It felt safe. His home. His 6”4 figure casts a shadow in the flickering candlelight of the Thieves Guild’s main room, as he watches the comings and goings of other Guild members.