A Night in the Candlehearth ||closed with tamaretheimperial||
The inn was bustling that night, moreso than it had the last time he was in Windhelm. Brynjolf finished a job for the guild and was now sitting at the bar, warming himself with a mug of ale. It did the job better than the watered-down swill served at the Bee and Barb, but with Maven’s prices on her mead, he understood the need. She was a crooked business women through and through, which made her the perfect safeguard for the guild.
Resting his elbow on the counter, he used his other hand to run his finger along the lip of his mug, going around in circles. His mind was occupied with worry for the guild; the coffers were tight and jobs seemed far and few in between. Skyrim was losing faith in the guild’s ability to come through, and several usual clients deemed them not worth the coin. Freelance thieves were running rampant through Skyrim, either getting caught or killing their marks in the process: both of which gave those belonging to the Thieves Guild a bad name.
“You okay, hun?” the barkeep asked him.
His attention was immediately given to the woman, accompanied by a warm smile. “We all have something we drink for, eh, lass?”
She returned the smile. “That we do. Want another?” she asked, motioning to his near-empty mug.
“Aye. I’ll take another,” he replied.
The barkeep refilled his mug and moved on to the other patrons after giving Brynjolf a sympathetic smile. He took a large swig from his drink and let out a satisfied sigh. For all its issues, Windhelm certainly had a fine inn.