The Weaving of Yjarrn - იარნის გამოქსოვა

Part 1: The Weight of Gold

          This is it, Yjarrn thought to himself as he scampered through the streets of Riften. This was one joke that just might have been stepping too far over the line. How on earth do you explain to Helga that her tenants might like her statue of Dibella more with a bit of make-up? Well, it was certainly not by saying she was worth looking at now. Yjarrn had no idea she would take the comment so personally, nor that she would call the guards on him for trespassing when he refused to apologize for "stating an obvious fact."

Yjarrn was not exactly sure where he was going. The wooden structures of the city all looked pretty much the same, and the lack of light reflecting off Masser and Secunda did not help. He crossed the bridge and tore down the alley behind the Bee and Barb, but when he neared the marketplace, a guard stepped out into his path.

"Well, now, thought you could get away, huh?" the guard asked. "You're going to be spending some time in the dungeon, rat. We have enough trouble with crime here to put up with vandals."

Yjarrn had never actually done anything to the statue of Dibella, though to be honest, he still thought it lacked a bit of flare for occupying such a prominent place in the Bunkhouse. When had suggesting vandalism become synonymous with committing it? Ever since the Imperials had taken back Riften, the city guards had become exceedingly difficult, feeling they needed to prove they still had a reason to exist. Yjarrn did not begrudge them this. No one in the city wanted Maven to think they were no longer useful, but for some reason, rather than strong-arming the real criminals, the guards started coming down a lot harder on the small transgressions or finding infractions where there were none. Just the other day his friend, Wujeeta, got fired from the fishery because one of the guards "found" skooma on her. What a load of skeever droppings!

The guard took a threatening step forward and drew his weapon. "Are you coming quietly?" he asked. "Or are you going to make trouble?"

"Well," Yjarrn stammered nervously. "I'm not really guilty of anything."

"Oh, really?" the guard asked, obviously mocking him, but he lowered his blade slightly. "Then why are you running?"

"It seemed the smart thing to do when Helga pulled an ax out from behind her counter," Reeves said, still eying the guard's sword. "I'm a little afraid of blades."

The guard smiled wickedly and raised the tip of his sword back up. He also heard the footsteps of at least two other guards coming up behind him, and his heart sank. It seemed as though once again he had found the exact wrong thing to say in the situation. It looked like he would be spending some time in the dungeon. He raised his hands in surrender, but suddenly the guard lunged forward, the tip of his sword aimed squarely at his chest. Looking back on it later, Yjarrn had to admit it was a rather girlish scream, high-pitched and far louder than it should have been, but it worked out in his favor. He managed to swerve out of the path of the weapon just in time, and the guards behind him collapsed on the stone roaring with laughter. The guard in front of him gave him the strangest look, but Yjarrn did not wait for the man to regain himself. He bolted, leaping over the howling guards who were now effectively disarmed and nearly worthless, and squeezed himself into the small gap between the Pawned Prawn and the Black-Briar Meadery.

Sucking in his gut, Yjarrn was just able to get between the buildings, and he quickly forced himself several feet through the small crevice. He twisted his head up and around to see the guard who had tried to stab him sticking his sword into the open space behind him. Yjarrn felt throwing up, though he did his best to hold it in thinking about how much of a mess it would make in such a confined space. The guard was yelling and cursing, but Yjarrn barely heard him. He squeezed out the back and found himself on a small section of stone wall overlooking the dock with the rook of the Meadery in front of him. With one last look at the floundering guards behind him, he hopped onto the roof. He had intended to run down to the end and find a way off the front side of the building, but the wooden slats were half rotten. A sickening crunch accompanied his foot sinking into the roof, and he subsequently lost his balance, rolling down the slats, and landing hard on the solid timbers of the dock.