I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

"Smash my skull? Here, 200 septims. Put your money where your mouth is." Ibnor tossed a pouch of coins to Dirge.

"A brawl? You're asking me for a brawl?" Dirge weighs the pouch on his hand.

"Yeah. Why? You scared?"

"Oh, you're on! Vekel, be our witness." Dirge threw the pouch and one of his own to Vekel, the barkeeper.

"Alright, but don't take it too far, Dirge."

"Can't promise anything. Rough is rough, but when someone pulls a dagger, fun time is over."

"You hear that, rookie?" Vekel asked Ibnor which only served to agitate him further.

"Loud and Clear."

Without wasting any time, Dirge unleashed a wide left hook but Ibnor saw the move as being slow as a snail crawl. Using subtle head movement, the hook missed him by an inch and he retaliated with a slap to the side of the head. Augmented by his newfound strength, the seemingly simple slap caused Dirge to tumble to the ground, unmoving. 

"Eh?" Ibnor raised his brow when Dirge dropped multiple colored balls. Pretending to check up on Dirge, he knelt beside him while collecting all the colored balls.

[Physique +0.2]

[Strength +0.4]

[One Handed +0.3]

[Physique +0.3]

Dirge awoke from his brief loss of conciousness and jumped to his feet.

"You caught me by surprise. I can still go on."

"Good." Ibnor replied, intrigued by his discovery.

Dirge pressed forward, trying to get a hit on Ibnor but with a twist on his heel, Ibnor spun around Dirge and delivered another slap at the back of his head, tumbling him forward. Ibnor eyed the dropped colored balls. 

[Physique +0.1]

[Strength +0.1]

[Physique +0.2]

[Strength +0.1

[Resist Frost +10%]

He repeats it a few more times and realizes two things. One, he still can get the colored balls dropped even if his target is alive and two, a hit to the target's head will drop extra colored balls.

"Time to end this." Ibnor muttered. 

Dirge lunged at Ibnor, his teeth gritted and fists clenched. But Ibnor effortlessly sidestepped the attack, a smirk playing on his lips. With a swift counterattack, he delivered a powerful blow to Dirge's chest, sending him reeling. 

Dirge, taken aback by the force of the strike, recovered quickly and retaliated. His strikes were heavy and deliberate, but Ibnor, with his superior agility and reflexes, dodged each one with ease. Dirge's frustration grew as he realized that his brute strength was no match for Ibnor's skill and finesse. 

Ibnor seized an opening and unleashed a flurry of attacks, each one more precise and powerful than the last. Dirge, overwhelmed by the onslaught, was forced to retreat. Ibnor pursued relentlessly, his every punch a blur of motion. With a well placed blow to the chin, Ibnor brought the fight to an end. Dirge, defeated and exhausted, collapsed to the ground. Ibnor stood over him, considering his next move. 

Taking a glance around he saw Vekel's uneasy expression, Delvin's furrowed brows, Vex's curious eyes and Tonilia' agitation. Despite their varying expressions, they have something in common, the readiness to jump in should he cross the line. 

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he walks through all the colored balls and absorbs them before going to the counter to collect his earnings and places a Potion of Extreme Healing for Dirge on the counter. 

"Give this to him. Should be as good as new." Ibnor said to Vekel, motioning this thumb to Dirge. 

"I'll be damned… You do realize that the potion is worth more than what you earned, right?" said Delvin. Vex nodded her head in agreement. 

"It was never about the money." Ibnor replied leaving Vekel, Delvin, Vex and Tonilia unsure what to say.

"Vex, you said you're the best infiltrator, right? I would like to hire the Guild for an urgent task. I'll pay double the regular fee. Can I count on you to get it?"

"I won't say no to more money but what is it you need me to do? I don't have to remind you of the Guild's rule, do I?"

"No worries. It's in line with what you're best at. I need you to go to the Dwarven Museum in Markarth, break into the laboratory of a wizard called Calcelmo and make two copies of the Falmer Translation Guide found inside."

"That's oddly specific... But I think I can do it."

"Triple."

"Consider it done." Vex said as she turned around to leave.

"Vex…" Ibnor called, stopping her. 

As she turned around, Ibnor tossed a pouch of coins at her. Catching it effortlessly, she weighs it and looks at Ibnor with confusion. 

"Upfront payment. It's a long way from Riften." 

"It'll be in your hands by tomorrow." Vex grinned and rushed out. 

"Alright. See you guys tomorrow." Ibnor said, waving his hand as he left.

Not long after Ibnor left, Brynjolf entered the Ragged Flagon. With his sharp instinct, he noticed something amiss with the occupants.

"What's goin' on?" he asked Delvin as he took a seat next to him.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I never walk into the Flagon with it being as silent as today. Did the Guild have another issue?"

"Nothing like that… It's just…"

"What? You're killin' me here."

"Our new recruit…" Delvin couldn't find the word to express his thought.

"He is something else." Vekel interjected.

"Oh? Did I miss something?" Brynjolf asked.

Outside the city…

The wind howled, carrying the icyness of the Skyrim winter. Ibnor, cloaked in shadow with his new armor, moved silently through the forest, towards Goldenglow estate. All the accumulated negative feelings that he had left him agitated. He sought solace, not in meditation or prayer, but the thrill of the hunt. Tonight, he is out for blood.

The Goldenglow estate is a formation of three small islands located in Lake Honrich. Making his way to the bee farm, he swims to the rocky outcrop to the west of the beehives and then clamber ashore, hidden by a small wooden wall. Veiled in the darkness, he observed the mercenaries, taking notes of their position. When the opportunity presented itself, with a silent prayer, he launched his attack, moving with the grace of a shadow, his footsteps muffled as he utilized the Sneak skill. He first quickly burn three beehives with a portable fire starter. Soon, most of the patrolling mercenaries come rushing to investigate. 

Using the fire as distractions, he moved with the swiftness of a striking serpent as his dagger, gleamed under the night, found its way to the mercenaries' throats. One after another, they fell, their cries swallowed by the howling wind. As the last mercenary fell, Ibnor stood amidst the carnage, his breath ragged and his heart pounding like war drums. The violence had been cathartic, a release of the pent up rage that consumed him. Yet, a sense of emptiness lingered, a reminder that he only found a temporary solace. 

Rage is not his problem, it's his circumstances. How he wished he could give up and live a simple life within the confines of modern comfort. However, he also knows that it is not possible. Even if he wanted to live a quiet farmer's life in this world, the world wouldn't let him. Being powerless is a sin in this world. Just to survive he'll need power, let alone living comfortably. 

With a sigh, he once again focused on the job. Entering the front door, he spotted two mercenaries flanking the double doors, their vigilant eyes scanning the shadows. Ibnor crouched low, analyzing their movement. With a deep breath, he launched himself forward, using the element of surprise to his advantage. In an explosive flurry, his knee connected with the first mercenary's gut, sending him crumpling to the ground. Without a moment of pause, he pivoted to face the second guard, ducking under a wing and countering with a sharp elbow strike that sent the man reeling. 

The door swung open as the fight erupted, echoes of chaos filling the air. The interior of the manor was lavishly appointed, but Ibnor didn't spare a glance at the opulence; his focus remained on the task at hand. Rushing through the foyer, he felt the adrenaline surging through his veins as more mercenaries flooded down the grand staircase, alerted to the commotion. 

"Get him!" one shouted, brandishing a battleaxe. 

Ibnor's body moved on instinct, sliding under a sweeping strike, and before the mercenary could recover, he swept his leg out, knocking the man off his feet. One down, but the others surged forward. He danced through the oncoming onslaught, a flurry of fists and feet as he engaged one mercenary after another. Precision strikes peppered with fluid movements showcased his prowess, each kick and punch accompanied by the rhythmic, almost poetic, movement of his body. He ducked and rolled, using the mercenaries' momentum against them, redirecting their aggression with devastating counters. 

As the battle intensified, Ibnor found himself facing a hulking Orsimer brute among the mercenaries, one who wouldn't go down easily. The brute charged, fists raised like battering rams, and their clash sent vibrations through the air. Ibnor weaved in and out, landing rapid jabs, but the brute retaliated with bone-crushing counter attacks that pushed him back. 

Sweat mingled with instinct as he calculated his next move, finding an opening in the brute's defense. With a daring leap, he delivered a spinning kick that connected with the brute's jaw, staggering him just long enough for Ibnor to press forward. He cut off the tendon of the leg, immobilizing the brute before finally plunging his dagger into the brute's neck. Another mercenary jumps in and the fight rages on, bodies crashing against walls, and the ornate decor of the manor barely untouched as the scuffle continues. 

One by one, the mercenaries fell, but with every victory, there arose new challenges. Bloodied and breathless, Ibnor cut through their ranks like a storm. Finally, he reached the office door where Aringoth sat, the sweat glistening on his brow as he bore witness to the chaos unfolding. 

Ibnor slowly walked through the door, locking eyes with the man who was both a tool and a victim of a conflict.

"Aringoth," he stated, voice steady despite the tumult. "We need to talk." 

The Bosmer paled, realizing the danger he was in. 

"You think you can barge in here and demand anything?" he retorted, though fear flickered in his eyes. 

"We both know why this happened, and I have no intentions on leaving empty handed," Ibnor answered, his tone cold and calculated as the sounds of distant fighting resonated beyond the walls. 

Behind him, the final few mercenaries rushed in, but Ibnor's resolve set in. He spun around, ready to finish the job. The brutal fight had drawn him closer to victory, and failure was not an option. With a flash of his dagger, he engaged the last defenders, determination fueling his every move until both silence and blood finally fell over the room. Standing amid the aftermath, Ibnor faced the trembling Aringoth, the weight of his purpose clear. 

"Now," he said, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, "let's discuss how this is going to go down."

"Worthless mercenaries. I didn't think Maven or Mercer would allow me to get away with this, but I had little choice." Aringoth spat.

"I want the key to your safe."

"I can't. If I do, I may as well cut my own throat."

"What makes you think I won't? Ibnor asked.

"Fine. Take it! Once the new owner finds out I gave in, I'm as good as dead anyway. Now go, leave me in peace." Aringoth tore the key he wears as a necklace off his neck and threw it to Ibnor.

"No… She won't. Stay low for a while, far from Riften. Give and take, one year. After that, I'll help you with Maven. And, give me that." Ibnor said, pointing to a bee statue behind Aringoth.

After getting all he needs from the safe, Ibnor starts to collect all the scattered colored balls, which leaves Aringoth questioning his sanity. He did the same with the bodies outside the manor. Just as he started to find the task tedious, luck seems to be smiling upon him. 

[Archery +0.2]

[Shield +0.4]

[One Handed +0.3]

[Telekinesis]

Ibnor

Status

Slightly injured

Stats 

Strength

25.6

Agility

26.2

Mental

23.1

Physique

25.9

Sub-Stat

Charm

15.2

Actife Effect

[Resist Frost +10%]

Skills

Passive

[Peak Human Condition], [Close Quarter Combat - Expert], [Dragon's Tongue - Beginner], [Dibellan Arts - Intermediate.], 

Active

[Archery (38.2)], [Blacksmithing (24.3)], [One Handed (48.6)], [Shield 1.7], [Sneak (37.3)], [Lockpicking (38.2)], [Pickpocket (31.2)], [Telekinesis], [Shout - FUS]

Not only did his stats improve, but most importantly, he managed to get the telekinesis spell, which would solve his issue of needing to get closer to collect all the dropped colored balls. Testing the spell immediately, soon, he started to get a hang of it and can already use it proficiently. He also noticed that the [Resist Frost +10%] that he got from Dirge falls into a new category, active effect and it seems to be permanent. 

"If I recall correctly, only the Nords have Resist Frost 50% as default. What if I get another? Is it possible to get it to 100%? Oh, oh, oh! Argonian waterbreathing!! Should I kidnap some and slap it out of them? No! What the hell am I thinking?" Ibnor is having a debate with himself. 

After all the colored balls had been collected, he made his way back to the city and decided to spend the night at the Bunkhouse. The tango began and this time around, he turned the table as he applied his new collected skill and managed to raise it up. The rhythm of their dance varies, at times slow and another, fast. The pair tried different moves, face to face, side to side and even one direction. At one point, Haelga could no longer keep up with his steps and simply lean to him, allowing him to do as he pleased. At the peak of their dance, Haelga could no longer hold on and collapse, tired but satisfied, leaving Ibnor with the smile of a victor. It couldn't be helped, for someone who just discovered it, the experience is akin to drugs, exhilarating and he could help but wanting more. 

The next day, The Ragged Flagon…

"Word on the street is Goldenglow's been hit. Good job, lad." said Brynjolf when Ibnor arrived.

"Yeah. Here's what was in the safe."

"Let me take a look at what you found. Aringoth sold Goldenglow? What's that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury when she's been cut out of a deal, but I'm certain he'll find out. If only this parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol. Any idea what that might be?"

"I don't know. I've never seen that symbol." Ibnor said, casually lying through his teeth.

"Blast. Well, I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer. But for now, you're off to speak to Maven Black-Briar. She asked you by name. Head to the second floor of the Bee and Barb."

"Maven? What does she want from me?"

"That's between you and Maven, and I prefer to keep it that way. Don't worry about it. Maven's business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people."

"And, speaking of which.."

"Of course… your pay. Hahaha! You're smart as whip, lad. Keep doing right by us and there's plenty more where that came from." 

"I guess it's about time I meet Maven."

"Don't sound so eager, it's not a social visit. It's business."

"Exactly. She needs us, not the other way around. True, She gave us lucrative contracts and opportunities, but that's business. She request, we deliver. Everyone should stop tip-toeing around her."

"That's a dangerous thought you have, lad. You best be more careful with what you say."

"Have some faith, Bryn. We are 'the' Thieves Guild. Not some underling for random people. Like you said, it's business, so we have an image to maintain." Ibnor said. After that he went to talk to Delvin before leaving for the Bee and Bard. 

"Here, I know you've been looking for this little beauty." He said before placing the Queen Bee Statue in front of Delvin.

"Well, well… Look at that. If you happen across any other unusual trinkets like this again, be sure to bring them to me. I promise it'll be worth the effort" said Delvin.

"Sure… I told you I was going to find all the items in your list, didn't I?"

"That you do… That you do…" Said Delvin, still admiring the statue. Ibnor leaves him and greets Dirge.

"Hey Dirge. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. Hey… I uh… Sorry if I sounded mean the other day. My brother always said I have a big mouth. Here, have one on me." Dirge tries to apologise and hands him a bottle of ale.

"No worries, Dirge. You're a bouncer. It's your job to sound mean, right. We're cool. Cheers!" Ibnor replied, and clink his bottle with Dirge's. 

After that, as instructed, he finds Maven on the second floor of the Bee and Barb.

"So, you're the one. Hmm… You don't look so impressive." 

"And Skyrim looks calm and peaceful, but we both know it isn't true."

"Is that confidence I hear… Or is it arrogance? Stange how often they're confused."

"Neither. Confidence is the feeling or belief that one can have faith in, or rely on someone or something, while arrogance is having or revealing an exaggerated sense of one's own importance or abilities. I did not find any correlation between them and my answer for I am simply stating a fact."

"Perhaps. You have to understand, it's been a long time since Brynjolf's sent me anyone I can rely on." 

"I was under the impression that you have a need for our service. While I don't mind spending more time with a powerful woman such as yourself, I do believe that you are currently taking time out of your busy schedule. Shall we get to it?"

"You're a firebrand, aren't you? It's about time Brynjolf sent me someone with business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar's guild over there. And no, not the Guild's but yours. Brynjolf claims you possess some sort of uncanny aptitude for your line of work. Quite frankly I find that hard to believe."

"Mine but not the Guild? Don't you have any faith in the Guild?"

"Faith? I don't have faith in anyone. All I care about is cause and effect. Did the job get done and was it done correctly. There's no grey area."

"While I can see where you're coming from, I regret to inform you that my service is part of the Guild's exclusive, which means I won't be available for anyone on personal capacity. Should you agree and we continue, rest assured, the Guild will provide you with a satisfactory service this time."

"I hope so. This is an important job. Very well, have it your way. I have a competitor called Honningbrew Meadery that I want to put out of business. I also want to know how they managed to get the place up and running so quickly." Maven decided to put a stop to their little battle of words and went straight to business.

"Both shill and investigative job? Are you sure?" 

"You only have to find the document he kept while you're there and bring it to me. Head to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun and look for Mallus Maccius. He will fill you in on all the details."

"Alright. I shall take my leave now." As Ibnor was about to descend the stairs, Maven called out to him.

"One more time in case I wasn't clear. You butcher this job and you'll be sorry."

Ibnor stops in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to Maven.

"Earlier you asked if it was confidence or arrogance. It reminded me of a saying that said, "arrogance is a mask for insecurity and disrespect is a reflection of character" and "confidence is silent, insecurities are loud". Thank you." 

With that, he left.

Ibnor went to the Riften stable, which is located just to the right of the main gate into Riften. As he walked to the carriage which was waiting for a potential customer, a voice reached him.

"Hey, it's you."