——— ◆ ◇ 𝕋ℍ𝕀𝔼𝔽

              By now, the father was so frustrated with the boy and his wife’s stubborn insistence on the wild creature’s rehabilitation, he let slip a scandalous truth. When one of the wardens had initially questioned her on the appearance of the boy, the wife of the farmer had falsely claimed him as the son of a distant cousin. No further inquiries were pressed. Sounded right as midsummer rains. A few sour neighbors assumed it the lost bastard child of the husband’s, but all these were untrue. Clearly. But, in anger, the husband then snapped at his wife for continuously defending “that ungrateful ass of an orphan” time and time again. He deeply regretted his poor wording immediately as, upon this confession, his wife not only broke down into tears but Brynjolf was taken into custody once more. It was revealed to authorities then that he was a troubled cub to begin with. He had all the fire of Ysgrammor but with such a want for trouble that his passions, his talents in particular, were misplaced. Word was sent back to the village closest to his old home, asking around for family who would claim him. 

              Brynjolf had been clever, or so he’d thought. No longer did he go by his birthname but a similar alias of it. After all, the most legendary in their work did not keep their real identities. Not really. ‘Brynjolf’ was a name he’d donned as soon as he departed the wilds. He had assumed that, with no kin able to identify him, he would be released, able to return to the woman whom had since acted as a mother to him. 

              Brynjolf is, and always has been, an opportunistic, optimistic, and odd character. He’s had a penchant for charlatan business since he could hear and understand those darling fables of gold. Although his mother gave a valiant attempt to curb her only son’s eagerness for trouble, he ultimately embraced his “line of work” very young. Thankfully, the good citizens of Riften were spared his mischief for many years; both Brynjolf and his mother lived in a shambling hovel far in the woods. They were located in the Rift, but the shack he’d called home did not neighbor the city walls. Immersed in poverty with no foreseeable break from it, he fell in love with the concept wealth from one of the many books his mother had scavenged. Unable to hold a job, she performed simple chores, odd tasks, occasional prostitution, and acted as a meager trader for what little funds were offered by brief employers.                When she passed away due to Syphilis, Brynjolf was left on his own. He was the lone figure who buried his mother with a few, favored possessions. Fearing infection himself, Brynjolf hastily took to traveling after it. He dropped by a passing farmhold, where he stole away eggs and milk in desperation, but was promptly chased off by a very upset wife who’d mistaken the starving child for a creature of the wilds. He did not thrive while on the roads. Being scarcely above the age of twelve, he was a poor hunter (at best) and lacked a certain faith in his human brethren. With little food, he was gaunt in figure and his complexion was rarely free of muck. He slept in barns, sheds, abandoned homes, and empty camps until he staggered into Ivarstead. He snatched whatever food items were either discarded or left open.

Skeever Sketch By Ray Lederer