On my arrival, I met a man in the town square.Īfter more? Dive into the best PCGN long readsīrynjolf, I think. I had heard chatter about the return of the Thieves’ Guild, and given my newfound proficiency in the arts of stealth and subterfuge, I decided to spend the spoils of my larceny on a carriage to Riften. I knew a fence, however, and they were more than happy to take all manner of trinkets off my hands – although they rarely paid well. But as a beggar, it was obvious that this extravagant jewellery was not mine I never even had a family heirloom to pawn, and most shopkeepers kicked me out on sight. The rich folk in Solitude barely even noticed when a ring went missing, or even a Gold Emerald Necklace. Lacking much alternative, I turned to pickpocketing, and found I had a certain adroitness in the art.
‘If only I could do those wonderful things,’ I thought to myself, as I spent my coin down the Skeever. From a side street in Solitude, I watched them with Noster Eagle-Eye, a fellow beggar and fierce friend. Every day he saw the kingdom of Erolgard’s richest citizens while nobody saw him: warriors clad in Ebony armour strolled through the streets, and wielders of awesome magic performed dazzling illusions for more septims he’d see in a year. That’s a little reductive of the truth.ĭespite being born into royalty, unbeknownst to himself, Eslaf Erol became a pauper before he could walk.
It’s important to recognise his often gross exaggerations and shameless distortions: ‘Beggar, Thief, Warrior, King,’ Reven wrote. You might be familiar with the tales of Eslaf Erol from the biographer Reven’s accounts of his adventures across Skyrim.
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