Author's Note: The story will be in first person when it's in my OC's perspective, third person for other characters. This is my first Skyrim fanfic. Please be nice.

It was midnight. A few miles outside of Riften, a single horse-drawn carriage tottered lazily along the cobbled road. From the wooded area beyond, Brynjolf observed the vehicle, calculating the value of the contents of the chest it carried. The passenger was a Nord woman that he recognised to be Jarl Gray-Mane's right hand. He had noticed her presence in Riften while she consorted with the Black-Briars. He had no interest in her affairs with the elite, he just wanted whatever was in that chest. A woman of her status was sure to be carrying something valuable.
His associate, a young Khajiit named Wadargo, was poised in a tree above with a bow and arrow aimed at the passing carriage. Brynjolf knocked twice on the trunk, giving the signal. The arrow sliced through the air and hit the driver in the side of the neck causing him to fall off his seat and onto the ground. Brynjolf's features twisted in anger.
"Hit the horse, not the horseman, you fool!" he hissed, but the Khajiit had already pounced on the carriage taking the passenger by surprise. He sighed, rushing out from his cover to grab the now panicked horse's reins. He struggled to control the animal and regretted he hadn't a large enough weapon to put it down. He couldn't risk losing the carriage so he tried detaching it from the animal.
Brynjolf wasn't sure what was happening between Wadargo and the woman but there seemed to be a struggle of sorts. There came the flash of a frost spell, a cry of pain from Wadargo and the heavy thump of his body hitting the ground. Before he could fully register the situation he was in, the woman had sprung to the driver's seat and sent Brynjolf stumbling backwards to the cobblestone with a swift kick to the chin. He landed heavily on his tailbone and watched through a spinning view as the carriage rushed passed him and beyond.
"Damn," he said, wiping blood from his chin and wincing from the pain in his lower back. He could then hear the singing of a healing spell near him. Wadargo was lying on his back where he had fallen, one blood stained paw glowing a healing spell over what appeared to be a stab wound. Brynjolf approached him, concerned for the Khajiit's life. He was only a young Khajiit, barely into the years of adulthood and one of the newer members of the Thieves Guild. This was his first proper heist and it had all gone terribly wrong.
"Wadargo," Brynjolf said, "Are you alright? Speak to me, lad." The Khajiit gave a weak smile, his breathing shallow.
"I don't understand," he said, his silken voice broken with pain, "That ice spike should have killed her."
"It was just a mistake, lad," said Brynjolf, searching his satchel for a healing potion, "Can you make it back to Riften? Will you need to be carried?"
"No," the Khajiit sat up, concern crossing his feline features, "It should have killed her. I've seen Bretons with some powerful Dragonskin abilities but not as powerful as hers."
He suddenly had Brynjolf's interest.
"But she's a Nord," he said, "Isn't she?"
"Half Nord," Wadargo replied, checking his wound, "I could smell the Breton in her blood."
"Now that is interesting," Brynjolf mused to himself, "A half-blood Breton should only have half to ability of a full-blood."
"She's stronger than a full-blood. She resisted my magic like nothing I have ever seen. It was like throwing water at a stone wall."
The gears in Brynjolf's head began to turn. He had heard folk tales when he was a boy of people who were completely impervious to magic or anything from the realm of Aetherius. They were known as the True Mortal, borne of the earth and independent from the influence of the divine or the other-worldly. Was there some truth to these children's stories?
"I had not counted that she may have been armed also," said Wadargo, interrupting Brynjolf's thoughts. He ceased the healing spell, seemingly content that he had healed enough to be able to walk. "I hope this does not affect my initiation into the Guild."
Brynjolf smirked. Of course, he had almost forgotten why had brought the Khajiit here in the first place.
"Consider this one a warm-up, lad," he said, "Let's get back to the Cistern so we can talk about our next job." And have a chat with Karliah, he added mentally, who will be very interested in our Dragonskin woman.