#silentvigil

"I’ve no doubt of that. A young, agile lass like you? There’s no mistaking who will tire first."

I hear he also abhors visitors, but seeks new recruits.

There was no doubt about it;  Riften was the asshole of Skyrim.  It was as filthy as it was smelly, bloated with criminals, and run by the undeserving few.  It was rife with conflict and intrigue, and he had felt unclean simply being in the tavern, the one clean place, it seemed, in the entire city.  He wouldn't have come if it hadn't been for the fact that he had been told that there was someone here to talk to about trade, but Florian, as it turned out, had little interest for mead.  There was little he could use in Riften, and he regretted coming, not only for this, but for another reason as well.

It had been on accident, really, that he had caught sight of his younger brother.  He hadn't been prepared to see Garan there, in the tavern, seated on another man's lap, his hands in the fellow's hair.  It had stopped him, there on the stairs as he had come down for his dinner, and it had prompted him to turn right back around, shaken and dismayed.  It would be a stretch to say that he missed Garan, and, frankly, Florian was glad for his exile.  On the other hand, this wasn't the sort of exile he had in mind.  Perhaps, when he returned to HIgh Rock, there might be something he could do...

But the thought had fled from his mind the moment he had laid his head down to sleep, and in the morning, Garan (and all thoughts of him) was gone.  Tired and frustrated with his lack of luck, Florian had brought his guards, had his horse brought to him, and rode out of Riften.  

It wasn't even evening before, as they took a rest near a stream where the horses could drink, that Florian spotted something moving through the trees.  Something large, something grey, and-- Ah, a horse and rider.  Odd, that they weren't on the road.