He made his way back to the Ragged Flagon a week later. He was furious. Having woke up in a field, bloody, aching, and sore, he'd stolen enough to stay at an inn until he recovered at least enough to walk without wincing before hiring a cart back to Riften. Walking into the Cistern he ignored the hails of the other guild members, instead walking straight towards Brynjolf. Niruin was not wearing his happy face. "What happened lad? You were gone for longer than we expected." He ignored the concern in Brynjolf's voice, and tempered his anger into a pointed understatement. "It did not go well." The quiet fury which Niruin was emanating caused Brynjolf to use his most tactful voice. "Are you alright? What-" "I'm fine. Just fine." Niruin snapped. "I told you not to send me, I told you it wasn't the sort of thing I did, and everything went wrong, and-." He stopped, anger rising to a pitch that prevented him from speaking. He took a breath. "If you want something like that doing again, I suggest you send someone else. Perhaps your new best friend, seeing as he's so good at everything." "Now, that's uncalled for-" Niruin walked off before Brynjolf could finish speaking. "I'm going to practise my archery. If you need anything, I suggest you ask someone else for now." He strode away, not caring for whatever reaction he left behind him. Let them kick him out, he had other options, dammit. He went to the area where he practised, his spare arrows where he left them, the targets all lined up. He walked over to the furthermost target and, taking out a piece of paper and a dagger, pinned the note to the target. He then spent the next four hours shooting at it until it disintegrated. He had found it in his pocket when he woke in the field. As each arrow thrummed home he cursed them under his breath. Stupid. Bastard. Altmer. Eat. Their. Fucking. Hearts. Long after the note was just shreds of illegible paper he shot, trying to forget the words those mocking smug arrogant bastards had written him. ‘Thank you, come again.’ Bastards. Bastards!
Re: Summerset Surprise 5/5
"What happened lad? You were gone for longer than we expected."
He ignored the concern in Brynjolf's voice, and tempered his anger into a pointed understatement.
"It did not go well." The quiet fury which Niruin was emanating caused Brynjolf to use his most tactful voice.
"Are you alright? What-"
"I'm fine. Just fine." Niruin snapped. "I told you not to send me, I told you it wasn't the sort of thing I did, and everything went wrong, and-." He stopped, anger rising to a pitch that prevented him from speaking. He took a breath. "If you want something like that doing again, I suggest you send someone else. Perhaps your new best friend, seeing as he's so good at everything."
"Now, that's uncalled for-"
Niruin walked off before Brynjolf could finish speaking. "I'm going to practise my archery. If you need anything, I suggest you ask someone else for now." He strode away, not caring for whatever reaction he left behind him. Let them kick him out, he had other options, dammit. He went to the area where he practised, his spare arrows where he left them, the targets all lined up. He walked over to the furthermost target and, taking out a piece of paper and a dagger, pinned the note to the target. He then spent the next four hours shooting at it until it disintegrated. He had found it in his pocket when he woke in the field. As each arrow thrummed home he cursed them under his breath. Stupid. Bastard. Altmer. Eat. Their. Fucking. Hearts. Long after the note was just shreds of illegible paper he shot, trying to forget the words those mocking smug arrogant bastards had written him.
‘Thank you, come again.’
Bastards.
Bastards!