Brynn sat on his lonesome, balancing on the last two legs of his chair with his boots on the corner of the table. He hugged his cup of ale in his hands, eyes fixed on a spot on the table as he tried to think of ways to get into the castle. Sending some of them as Vigilants would've worked if they were in Cyrodiil. In High Rock, the Vigil often butted heads with the long-established Knightly Houses and Orders. Their safest bet was to have Gaela and Kiralla pose as envoys from the College of Winterhold, but how would the guards react to two unattended outsiders wandering the halls looking for the dungeons? Brynn and Finch could slip in from somewhere, but once inside, what would they do without a guards' uniform or courtiers' fineries? He rolled his eyes and got up from his seat when he saw some ponce come up to their table and say something about their plotting. He was about to take his collar in his fist and rear back with the other when he recognized the dandy as Finch. “My, my, lad. I'd never thought you had skin under all that dirt.” At the mention of wine, Brynn slapped Finch on the shoulder, “There's never a time where wine isn't of any use.”

With that, he left the table to piss. His friendly smile at the arrival of Finch sank low when he saw two men staring at him from a corner draped in shadow. One was tall for a Breton with a curious curled mustache and the other was a Nord built like a bull. Theirs were not the only eyes he felt, that of a Dunmer seated a few tables away from Brynn and the others. “I'll be back.” He said over his shoulder to anyone listening.

He turned and went for the lavatory, knowing someone was following him. He shut the door behind him and he held himself with one hand and rested his other on the grip of his knife. He barely had time to stuff himself back in his trousers when the door slammed open. Before the tip of his knife could clear the sheath, he was smashed against the wall and held there by what felt like a mountain troll. “We know who you are.”

“Congratulations, you must be proud of yourse-agh!” Brynn struggled for breath as he felt himself squeezed tighter in the big Nord's arms.

“You'll fetch a pretty penny up in Farrun, you know. They want your head up there and we're looking to collect.” The Breton said.

His fear soon turned to anger at that. He could feel his blood boiling and he had to keep himself from yelling. Instead, he seethed through gritted teeth, “Are you two truly touched in the head?”

“I could crush the life out of you if I wanted, little man.” The big Nord turned to the Breton, “Francis?”

“No.” Francis waved his hand and shook his head at the big brute, “You think we can't smuggle you out of here and get you to-”

“Do it! You'd be doing me the biggest fucking favor bringing me back to Farrun!” Brynn growled, struggling uselessly against the brute's strength, “Lordling Rainald is next in line for the ancestral Damarell chair and big hat. Do you really think he'll reward you with gold if you rough up his favorite sellsword and dump him at his feet? Brynn Tiptoe is Rainald's favorite because I can do what needs doing.”

“You're lying.”

“On my fucking honor.” Brynn seethed.

“Word is, Blood-Red Brynn's honor is the size of a louse's cock. I heard Greenwood saw that firsthand and now look at them.” Francis folded his arms and turned up his nose as if he'd struck a mighty blow. “Your gang saw that and now look at you.”

“Don't you dare speak of Greenwood like you were there.” Brynn had to swallow a lump in his throat and he shook his head, “Either way, the second Rainald Damarell knows your names, he'll give me his finest hounds to hunt you down and then eat your fucking corpses.”

“Maybe we'll give you to the other Camlorn guard as some nameless fool in Sev'Ahmet's gang we caught after our shifts. Found you wallowing in horse piss for some reason.” Francis shrugged. 

“We'll be half-way to Hammerfell after they take your head off.” The big Nord grumbled.

Brynn barked out a bitter laugh, “So that's it? You're going to fucking desert with the money you collect from my bounty?” He said, smiling through the pain of being squeezed in a vice-grip that was the brute's arms, “And who's going to be signing a writ of passage through High Rock for a couple deserters?”

Francis opened his mouth like he had an answer then shut it again. Brynn only laughed more, “I've twice as much gold as whatever they'll give you for my bounty.”

“Maybe we'll take it.” Francis smiled.

“I'd pay to see you try that.” Brynn said, knowing the money was tied to a huge Orc. “My point is, I can pay you to unhand me, return to your shifts at the castle. You can liberate some uniforms from the castle armory. After that, it's only a matter of taking in some envoys from the College of Winterhold for a meeting with the court mage.”

“Who's writing their writ of passage?” Francis asked, genuine confusion with a bit of curiosity twinkled in his eye.

“I've a woman in mind.” Brynn said, thinking of Kiralla, “Might be her hand is the one that puts a signature on a writ of passage for two deserters.”

Francis nodded to his big Nord friend, who released Brynn. “I don't know about this, Francis.”

“Leave me to the planning, Vendel.” Francis frowned, “And why are you so interested in getting into the castle?”

Brynn couldn't just up and tell them. He was already taking a risk recruiting these two for his and  his crew's ends. He shrugged, “It's something to do.”

Francis cracked a grin and nodded, “I like that.” He said, “Only promise me that the Lordlings won't come to harm.”

“Aye.” Brynn nodded.

“How are you getting in? Someone's bound to recognize Blood-Red Brynn's face at some point.” Francis asked.

Brynn grinned, “Someone's going to collect on my bounty.”

[h3]Two Days Later...

                    ...The Kingsway, Main Avenue from the Gates to the Castle[/h3]

Brynn felt the first rain on his face, soft like a kiss on a lover's thigh. It took him back to his days in Morthal during the storms when a dragon's form could be seen on the horizon every couple days. He'd turn his face up to the skies and dare the lightning to strike him as the Skyrim rain slapped his face with stinging cold. This rain was softer, gentler, he smiled and opened his eyes as he met the gaze of the passing crowds. Seeing the disgust in their eyes, seeing the fear, seeing the hate. He remembered Fiona's was the same, much like everyone else's he called his own gang. He wondered how it felt to have him in rope binds, so vulnerable. He wondered if she'd cut him down, or if she'd hand him over to the guards peacefully. He followed after her and Faruq as they walked on, grim-faced through the crowd, not uttering a word.

The people parted for them, ogling Brynn. They just couldn't believe that Blood-Red Brynn was but a man, just like them. How could a man do such things as Brynn did? Easy, he thought, practice. His smile faded quick, his eyes opening were like the opening of a gate to Namira's realm, he felt. He was struck in the chest by a tomato and the anger seized hold of him quicker than lightning as he lunged forward, feeling no need but the need to bite out the tomato-lobbing, sneering gray-head's throat and spit it in his face.

Even as he was yanked back by the rope tied around his neck and he fell on his back on the wet cobblestone, Brynn saw the contempt in the old man's eyes turn to fear as quick as his own wistfulness turned to fury. He laughed out a harsh thing into the chill morning air at the quivering lip of the old fool. “You know how many of these bounties I've escaped? How many bonds I've slipped?” He bared his teeth in a snarl, “You've sons, old shit?” He had to turn around as he felt the rope around his neck getting tauter to keep the old man in his murderous gaze while Fiona and Faruq kept walking, “I'll be looking for those sons of yours!” Spittle flew from his lips as he yelled, those in the crowd stepping back as if Brynn was a wolf gotten into the sheep pen.

He smiled. Maybe he was. As the gates to the castle loomed up, they met a gaunt-faced guard clad in fine padded cloth and a brown tunic. He nodded to Fiona and Faruq, the two nodding back. Wasting no time, the guard turned on his heel and blew  his horn to signal the gatekeeper, “The bounty hunters have arrived! They've got a member of Sev'Ahmet's gang with them!”

“Open the gates!” Brynn heard someone yell from on high, and so the gates did.

The large slabs of wood and metal parted and Brynn was met with a courtyard adorned with white marble pillars, floors polished to a mirror-like sheen to reflect the guardsmen and courtiers that stood upon it. He looked at the battlements, knowing somewhere up there were Finch and Cedric, who'd taken a grappling hook to a section of wall rife with footholds that he and Finch had spied a day before. Or at least they'd better be. Walking among the nobles and courtiers in the castle proper that dominated the scene before him were Gaela and Kiralla, very much not in chains or burdened by the uniforms of guards and having to pretend at patrolling the battlements. It was they he most envied, their pass into the halls being a forged letter written by the College's Archmage, or by Kiralla, anyway.

Those he took solace in not being were those crawling through the tunnels he and Finch had to wade through the night before. They'd discovered that it took them straight to a cavernous drop-off that looked like certain death if you took one way and to the dungeons if you took the other. Not a glorious way to enter, but most certainly the one of least resistance. He still liked being in binds more than he liked wading through shit-water. “How much d'you think they'll give you for me?”

No one had time to answer as a man whose leather-armored shoulders and splendidly polished plate were rounded out with a flowing white cape billowing behind him as he walked with an entourage of chainmail wearing guards walked themselves over from a large door that led into the castle proper. “This is the man, yes?”

“Aye, I'm him, you poncey-looking fuck.” Brynn smiled. The back of a gauntleted hand was all he got in response.

“Take him.” He said to the men at his side. This was Brynn's ticket into the dungeons, where he'd find this poor little lordling cowering in some corner. As he was dragged away by the guards, their arms hooked under his armpits, he smiled to Fiona and Faruq.

“See you in a bit.” To anyone, it was a threat. To them, it was a reassurance he'd do his job. Or at least, he hoped they took it as such.

As his boots clattered against the cobblestones as he was dragged oh-so-helplessly to the dungeons, he managed a smile, “You know, I never thought I'd be locked away in some noble's dungeons for a second time.”

One of the guards laughed, “Dungeons?”

“You're going to the block, you shite.” The other guard smiled, and his laugh was like mud in his ear as he was dragged oh-so-fucking-helplessly to the chopping block. The two guards laughed, “Chop-chop!”

“Fuck.”