#honestly the only mer races i like are dunmer and altmer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tastesoftamriel · 5 years

Note

Can we get Talviel's most hated dishes of each race?

I'm really not a picky eater, but Tamriel is a big place with many strange flavours, and some of them are more unconventional than others! Here's a list of the few foods I simply couldn't handle...don't try them the next time you're out exploring unless you really hate yourself!

Nord

Pickled fish (usually river betty, silverside perch, or slaughterfish) is, for some reason, a cornerstone of the Nord diet. Despite having grown up by Riften Fishery, I have nothing but dislike for the jars of sour, slimy fish that the average Nord gulps down every breakfast. Some variants of pickled fish are also fermented, giving it an extremely pungent odour that has made plenty of outlanders throw up or pass out if the jars are mistakenly opened indoors. Pickled fish is also great for catching skeevers when placed in traps. 1/10

Bosmer

Despite having spent almost a year in Valenwood, there are some aspects of Bosmer cuisine that I may never wrap my head around. Thunderbug soup is one of those things. Thunderbug flesh is grilled over an open flame and seasoned with a bit of salt, then stewed in a large cauldron with a copious amount of thunderbug eggs and sometimes other insects (witchetty grubs, grasshoppers, and large spiders are popular). The end result is a hot, lurid green mess that possibly tastes even worse than it looks, as there is no plant-based seasoning to speak of for obvious reasons, and a lot of antennas and legs poking out in various directions which make for a prickly and generally unpleasant meal. Very nutritious though. 4/10

Orc

Smoked bear paw with harpy innards is a classic stronghold delicacy, and one of the most unpleasant dishes I've ever had to try. The bear paw is so tough and dry that it's basically inedible, and the harpy guts and brains are a chewy and acidic grey mess. The best part is the bread that's used to sop up the harpy bile-based sauce, unless you actually touch the sauce itself. 1/10

Altmer

Honestly there isn't much to dislike about Altmer cuisine, but if I had to choose a dish I'm not mad about, it would probably be heron-liver pâté. Wild herons aren't traditional food birds and their diet of frogs, snails and bottom-feeding fish gives their meat a distinctly muddy flavour and stringy texture. This is especially noticeable in pâté form, even when spiced, and no amount of mashing will compensate for the chewiness of cooked heron livers. 4/10

Redguard

Unless you really enjoy the feel of sand in your mouth, I'd recommend steering clear of Alik'r sand-baked camel. The meat of a camel is covered in spices and salt, and lowered into a hot sand pit in the desert and buried for three weeks to "cook". If the jackals or scorpions haven't gotten to your meal before you do, you're in for a dry, dusty treat! The meat becomes so dessicated that you might as well chew on a Ra-Netu, but it has some great crunch from all the sand. You'll be brushing your teeth for days after eating this just to get the feeling of this monstrosity out of your mouth. 3/10

Argonian

Boiled wamasu and swamp jelly salad sounds exotic, but not too terrible, right? Wrong. Wamasu is an acquired taste, but when cooked right it can be quite tasty. Boiling it is absolutely not the right way to cook it, as it becomes slimy and acidic, and develops a nasty oily sheen. Cut that up into chunks and toss it together with raw swamp jellies, seaweed, bitter swamp grasses, and crickets...and you have the makings for Tamriel's worst stomach ache. Definitely not for anybody but Argonians. 3/10

Dunmer

I'm really very fond of Dunmeri cuisine, but I could quite happily live the rest of my life without ever eating guar wrapped in trama root and scathecraw ever again. First off, I love guars, so eating one was like asking me to eat a dog or cat. It turns out that guar meat is extremely tough and ashy-tasting, so wrapping it in trama root and scathecraw is meant to soften it up as it's cooked over a coal grill. The end result is some acrid, bitter and slightly burned-tasting meat that has the texture of an extremely overcooked steak. I believe that the Ashlanders are extremely wise and interesting mer, but I'm really doubting their commitment to good food after trying this. 4/10

Breton

As much as I love Breton food, it isn't really the sort of cuisine for big flavours and spices. As such, you end up with some pretty bland meals, like sweetbreads in pudding. It turns out that sweetbreads are not sweet, nor are they bread (they are usually lamb pancreas, tongues, and testicles), and the pudding isn't pudding (it's a spongy bread thing). In other words, it wasn't the tasty dessert that a young Talviel on her first trip to High Rock was hoping for, but rather a few soggy pieces of breaded mystery meat served with some bizarre gluten sponge and drowned in flavourless, watery gravy. 4/10

Khajiit

Face it, Khajiiti food is fantastic. Well, that is until I made the mistake of reaching for what I thought was a jar of jam for my flatbread one breakfast. I took a big spoonful of what appeared at first be a sweet and fragrant red chutney, and ended up lying down retching for the rest of the day. It turns out that in Elsweyr, many Khajiit enjoy a moon sugar chutney that's made with flaming hot chilies, herbs, fire ants and ant eggs. The acid from the ants only amplifies the capsaicin from the chilies, and most Khajiit don't use more than a teaspoon, let alone a big dollop. It burns, it stings, and nothing you drink or eat after will put out the fire. Consume at your own risk. 2/10

Imperial

Like Altmer cuisine, I really don't have something I actively dislike with Imperial food. However, I am pretty squeamish about the very upper-class delicacy of fried dormice dipped in honey and stuffed with herbs, cheeses, bacon. Admittedly, they're pretty tasty, but the little feet and faces are absolutely horrible to look at, not to mention the amount of tiny bones you have to spit out. 5/10

#Worldbuilding #Tes #The Elder Scrolls #Food #Fantasy #Argonian #Nord #Dunmer #Bosmer #Khajiit #Redguard #Breton #Imperial #Altmer #Orc

197 notes · View notes

bdfanfic · 5 years

Text

On His Mane’s Secret Service - Chapter 13

“There,” Number One said triumphantly. “Even the Argonians recognize the truth of the future we have seen, even if they don’t believe in our ability to affect it. Surely now you can see the wisdom of this alliance?”

The Mane whispered something to Isdra, who addressed the meeting next.

“We would like a moment to consult privately, honored guests. Perhaps five minutes?”

Ra’Jirra stood, interrupting and knowingly breaking protocol.

“Wait one moment. I have one question first,” she began. She could feel the eyes of Isdra on her, but she ignored her for the moment.

“The images we just saw here... This is exactly what I was shown before. Why is that? Can you see another scene from this future?”

The Altmer murmured among themselves before Number One gave his answer.

“One of our greatest mages was able to pierce the veil of time to bring us the images you saw. It was his life’s work to do so, and brought that to us some years past. Only our greatest magic users are able to reproduce that summoning at substantial cost, but we have not yet been able to fathom much of what goes into the magic - just to reproduce it. Unfortunately the mage has been lost to us since. Until we can fully understand how it is done, this is all we are able to produce visually.”

“So,” Ra’Jirra continued, ignoring protests by Isdra, “what we have seen may just be one part of a wider world. It could be that Tamriel has become segregated in this future. Would you not concede that there could be many explanations for this vision beyond all our kin having been wiped out?”

Number One became visibly incensed, responding with an increasing vehemence, “The visuals we have shown you here are not our only evidence of our impending extinction, young Khajiit. They are simply the easiest method of exhibiting that doom to others who do not know the way of scrying such things. But the signs are there, be assured! They are obvious, if you look for them!”

Ra’Jirra may have been stung a bit by the ‘young Khajiit’ reference, but she sat back down, having made her point. She felt it was important to sew some doubt in the Mane’s eyes after the Argonians and the Hist had seemingly reinforced the Altmer’s interpretation.

“Thank you, Number One,” Isdra concluded. “Let us confer privately then - but please let us remain inside the conference room. Our meeting here must come to some decision on this matter, and do so today, we are agreed. Such a meeting of our races cannot be assumed to be something that can become commonplace.”

“Agreed, Prime Concubine. We do not request specifics in this meeting, but the Mer are a proud people. We do not look for alliances from other races on a whim. We expect not to be clear on our actions yet moving forward, but we do expect a resolution to be made that such action is necessary and that we can all agree on its objectives. This is the time, and this meeting cannot end without a resolution, one way or the other.”

With that, the three Khajiits rose and adjourned to a small area far from the center conference table where they spoke quietly in Ta’agra.

“You will not interrupt me again, Ra’Jirra,” Isdra said sweetly but with menace in her voice when they sat down.

Ra’Jirra began to offer her apology, but the Mane interrupted. “Now Isdra, I wanted Ra’Jirra here specifically to offer her insights, and she made a good one - one which, by the way, no one else could have noticed I’ll point out.”

“Still, decorum demands…” Isdra responded irritably.

“Decorum be damned. She’s here to speak her mind. I won’t have her be silenced by decorum.”

Isdra nodded, chagrined.

“That being said, I still have to lean towards agreeing with the Altmer. Racial politics aside, we’ve had our own suspicions that our future is in jeopardy. Of all the intelligent races of Tamriel, ours is the the most fragile. Ra’Jirra, let’s assume for a moment that their argument is valid. Would you have us go the way of our brothers the Lilmothiit, without a fight, only because one of our allies is headed by the Dominion?”

“Interesting you bring the Lilmothiit up,” Ra’Jirra replied. “considering it was most likely the Argonians that wiped them out. No, no need to argue. I like the Argonians. They don’t meddle in others’ affairs for the most part. But I just don’t see any way to stop the Humans’ advances. Honestly the civil war between Hammerfell and Cyrodiil is probably the best way. However, I just can’t in all conscience agree to assist in slaughtering millions of innocents just because they are too successful! Whatever the future holds for us, unless the Humans are actively trying to massacre us, I can’t rectify such actions as being… well… Good.”

“I understand, young Khajiit. But in my position, you must accept that sometimes you must act against common morality for the well-being of your people. I’m afraid this may be one of those times. I see my purpose as just this - to safeguard Elsweyr and the whole of the Khajiit race, and this is exactly the threat I need to recognize. And if we make this agreement, we need not get directly involved in a war, after all.”

“Just facilitate it,” Ra’Jirra muttered, but she recognized the truth of what the Mane said. She realized just how much she would hate to wield such power. Decisions this man made, for good or ill, would change history, and he had to make them with insufficient information every day.

The three rose and resumed their place at the table. The Altmer too returned from where they had been conferring, though the Argonians hadn’t left the table at all.

Once they had all sat back down, Isdra began again. “Histess, have you - or the Hist - anything to add concerning the question of this future? Is the vision just a local thing, or does this future portend our extinction?”

The Histess rose, and began to pace around the table, all eyes following her.

“The future they see is the future the Hist expects to pass. In it, no Khajiit, Mer or Argonian will inhabit the entirety of Nirn. The vision is not mistaken, nor just a local scene.”

She stopped at a window, seemingly daydreaming as she looked up at the clouds beyond.

“The Hist have more to say, but it is not my place to utter it. I see them only dimly, and I am the best suited for my role of my kind. We hold onto intelligence so fiercely, compared to you, because we know what it is not to have it. The Hist have been so kind to us, and we will never be grateful enough. But to you, who come by intelligence naturally… You could commune with them so much more clearly than we can. We will always be their servants, as long as they will have us. But you… you may become their equals someday.”

She had turned around and was looking directly at Ra’Jirra now.

Number One stood up and faced the Histess.

“You talk in riddles, Argonian. Speak clearly. What do you mean? The Hist, whatever the hell they really are… they don’t speak to us!”

The room went quiet when Ra’Jirra spoke up.

“They speak to me.”

The Histess nodded, and walked back towards her place.

“It is time, Ra’Jirra. Let the Hist speak through you. I cannot understand them as well as you. You are needed now, Khajiitmother, favored of the Hist. Tell these what the Hist tell you. My role here is almost complete. It is your time.”

“What does she mean?” Isdra demanded.

“I… Two days ago I drank of Hist Sap, at the Hist’s request,” Ra’Jirra began. “Apparently it allows some sort of conduit to them, if they allow it. They have allowed it for me. I can talk to them, in a way.”

“You?!” Number One stood. “Why you of all creatures?! What do they tell you?”

The Histess interrupted before he could finish. “It is not for you to say who the Hist chooses to reveal themselves to,” she said, then turned a bit mirthful. “Besides,” she said, hefting her ample breasts tauntingly, “I wouldn’t let you near these pretty things!”

Number One scowled in disgust, but Ra’Jirra had closed her eyes and was seeking that place in her mind where she met with the beings known as the Hist. They asked something of her then. At first, she recoiled, but then she reconsidered. They wanted to speak through her - to let her allow them to use her voice and the parts of her brain that controlled it and formed it into words. They had rescued her fiance from the Alfiq curse, after all. She relented, putting them off for one more moment.

“I am going to be speaking for the Hist now, Mane. If you approve,” she said, allowing the leader of her race to decide.

The Mane nodded, speaking for the first time at the conference table. “Please do, Ra’Jirra. What does the Hist have to say?”

Then she released herself to the beings known collectively as the Hist, closing her eyes as she performed what she could best describe as a translation with no original language.

“We are the Hist of Argonia,” she began. No change in tone could have been detected, because Ra’Jirra was still fully present. She felt she was just reciting lines in a play, but the words came from outside herself rather than text on a paper.

“We bring you greetings, assembled Altmer, Dunmer and Khajiit. We have knowledge which you need now, in order to make this decision. You are afraid of the Humans. You are right to be afraid. The Humans wield much power, and will wield even more in the future as magic fades. The future of Nirn belongs to them.”

Ra’Jirra heard the murmurings around her, but continued on.

“However, not all here need fear for your own kind’s future. Nirn is not enough for all of the races as you grow. But there is more than Nirn. The Lilmothiit have left this world already, but their numbers were few. Yours are many. Your transport must be much more powerful than theirs.”

Ra’Jirra felt weird, realizing that she was learning from her own words, while the gasps from the other attendees were audible around her. But she kept her eyes closed, continuing to translate.

“For thousands of years we have been growing the vessel that can accomplish it. Thousands of years more must pass before it is fully grown. But the vision the Altmer have shown, while true, is not complete. In time they may be able to view more of the future, but even then it will not be enough - for they cannot view the entirety of the future. The have not seen the event wherein some races will be shepherded from Nirn to their new home. They have not seen the grieving that the Humans will wail when they are left alone on this world, for they are not to blame. A mother has left you races here to grow in this nest, but the nest cannot hold all of you forever. It is for this reason the Hist were sent here. We will help some of you fly from the nest. But not all.”

Ra’Jirra opened her eyes, expecting some reaction from Number One, but all sat watching her as if transfixed by an Oracle. She continued…

“The Argonians, our beloved race, must leave with us of course. Without us, they cannot hope to vie with the Humans or the other races, and our genetic modifications cannot transform them quickly enough into self-intelligent beings. But we have longed for others to join them. The Lilmothiit were a gentle people, but were being destroyed before we were able to help. They were natural to be the first fruits of our labor. They have gone ahead, and even now thrive on their own planet, not far from here, in a sense.”

“The Khajiit, however, were too violent. Only with the recent advances in your civilization have we realized that you have become mild enough for you to join the Argonians when we depart. You will accompany us, via Khajiitmother’s offspring. Khajiitmother’s children, and their children’s children, will be our communication with the Khajiit-kind. When that time comes, as a chick knows when the nest has become too crowded, they will know it is time to leave. And they will join us in the Great Tree.”

“So you just expect us to abandon the world for your Panacea?” Number One interrupted. “Just leave the whole of Nirn to the Humans on a promise of some other world?!”

“No, Altmer,” Ra’Jirra said, looking directly at him. “You and your kind will remain with the Humans. For as long as you are able. But magic is fading, Altmer, and with it your precedence in the order of things on Nirn. Once you were the masters of this world. In the future, you will be slaves. Until you are no more.”

Number One’s composure was shattered.

“She lies. She’s making this up! How dreadfully convenient, Ra’Jirra, that it just so happens that you are the chosen of the Hist, isn’t it? You, who have thwarted the Dominion at every turn, just happen to be the same cat that magically can now talk to the Hist? You and that naked lizard over there made this whole thing up, didn’t you?! Why on earth would the Hist pick you? Of all the Khajiits, why you?”

‘Because, Altmer,” said the Hist through Ra’Jirra, “she knows you best. She is the right person, at the right time and the right place.”

Oddly, Number One sat back down, though his eyes still flared. Ra’Jirra felt more than saw the Histess rise from her seat while she continued translating...

“She knows why you can never be taken. Some Mer may become gentle enough in time, but not the Altmer. You are too proud.”

“Is she the only Khajiitmother then?” Number One asked, while whispering to the female Altmer to his right. “Is she to hold a privileged rank among the Khajiit as the herald of this new Hist-Khajiit race? Maybe you’d better think twice, Mane, before she usurps your position!”

“She is enough. Generations will pass. Her posterity will be many. Some may rise to the rank of Mane, but they will remain wholly Khajiit. We will not cause a rift in a race we admire so.”

The Histess was standing beside her now.

“And now, Number One,” Ra’Jirra said, opening her eyes again. “Do what you must do.”

She was no longer translating. Instead, the Hist had just provided her with their vision of the future in a flash. The immediate future. The outcome was unclear, but there was no time to act. She knew what was about to happen. She braced for impact.

The magic users were on their feet, hands outstretched, and a powerful glow indicated an imminent release of power. She heard Isdra scream for the guards as the Prime Concubine fell over the Mane protectively. But the blast was already on its way and it’s target was Ra’Jirra’s unprotected breast.

“Then die, Khajiitmother!”

#the elder scrolls #fanfiction #khajiit #argonian #prequel adventure #rajirra #spyjirra

0 notes

mazurah · 6 years

Text

Lost in Time Ch. 38: Prejudice - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Fayrl and Ma’zurah arrive in Windhelm. Several disappointing things happen.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for fantastic racism.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 38: Prejudice

They arrived at Windhelm mid-afternoon of the next day. It became noticeably cooler the farther north they went, but it was not the temperature Ma'zurah minded so much as the wind, which blew her fur in the wrong direction and dried out her nose. Though there was no snow on the ground and the local plants were in their summer bloom, the wind was biting and chill. Ma’zurah wrapped her face in her scarf and tucked her tail into her skirts.

As they approached the stables outside the main gate, they were greeted by a cheerful Altmer with a Cyrodiilic accent. “Hello there! Here about the stables? I’m Ulundil, stablemaster here. Fine horse you have there!”

Fayrl paused, mid dismount, bristling at the unexpected sight of the Altmer before them. “We are,” he replied with an uncharacteristic lack of warmth in his voice, “and thank you.” He held out a hand to assist Ma’zurah.

She took his hand and slid awkwardly out of the saddle, giving Ulundil a cheeky wave. “We need a place for our horse to stay for the night, possibly longer.”

Ulundil grinned and patted the horse’s nose. “Certainly! My rates are a flat fee of twenty five gold, plus an additional twenty five gold per night. That includes feed and grooming, and exercise on days when you will not be back for her.”

“Reasonable, I suppose,” Fayrl grumbled. “We accept. Would you like the first night up front or do you prefer the full bill settled at the end?”

“I usually take the flat fee up front, then settle the bill at the end, but you can pay up front if you like,” the Altmer told Fayrl amiably. “Does she have a name?”

Ma'zurah stroked the horse’s mane. “We only just got her. We have not named her yet. Perhaps Isharsha. She is a very sweet-tempered horse. A very good horse.”

“That is a lovely name!” the Altmer exclaimed. “I'm sure she will be a delight to care for.”

Fayrl rolled his eyes and dug through his coin purpose to retrieve the gold and handed it to Ulundil. “Thank you for looking after her.”

Who was this Altmer anyways, he thought. Where did he get off acting so friendly? As if they had time to name the horse. Maybe Fredas Delight would be a good name. They could name her just in time for it Turdas evening. He did not understand why Ma’zurah was being so nice either. The Altmer was just a stablehand.

Ulundil took the gold and pocketed it, then pulled a writing tablet from his apron to write them a receipt. “No, thank you.”

Ma'zurah grinned at him. “You know, you remind Ma'zurah of an Altmer she once knew on the Bitter Coast of Vvardenfell. He was a lovely mer named Arille, and he helped Ma'zurah get on her feet when she did not have much to offer. You seem like a nice person like that.”

“Aw! Why thank you! You seem like a nice person yourself! I'd love it if you wanted to stay and chat.”

“Oh!” Ma'zurah looked pleased, though taken aback by the invitation. “Perhaps when we return for our horse. We need to find a place to stay before it gets dark.”

“Oh my! You’re heading into the city? You might want to cover your face more and avoid the guards. Don't bother with Candlehearth Hall. The woman that runs the place doesn't seem to like anyone who isn't a Nord. Just be careful. Mer aren't always too kindly looked upon by the Nords around here, and beast races really aren't allowed inside the city.”

Fayrl tapped his foot. “Thank you for the information,” he said and held out his arm for Ma’zurah. He didn’t trust this mer. He was up to something. Why would he want them to stay longer? Was he fishing for information? It was just so suspicious. He did not like or trust this mer, not at all.

Ma’zurah took Fayrl’s arm, and wrapped her face more closely with her scarf. She waved at Ulundil and the pair walked down the long bridge to the gate of Windhelm.

“Why are you humoring his foul intentions?” grumbled Fayrl as they headed towards the gate. “He’s just a stablehand.”

“Foul… intentions?” Ma’zurah shot Fayrl a skeptical glance. “He was nice.”

“Too nice,” Fayrl muttered under his breath.

The main gate was a huge stone affair, adorned with the carved heads of birds of prey. As the pair approached, the bored guards waved them inside without taking a particularly close look at them.

Ma’zurah stopped as they passed through the open doors, taking in her first sight of the City of Kings. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but she hadn't expected it to be so… grey. There was hardly any plant life to be seen, and almost everything was made of the same grey stone. A sign in front of them declared the building directly ahead to be Candlehearth Hall.

Fayrl’s brow furrowed in confusion. There was an inn where the Mages Guild once stood. The Guild had been an apolitical organization devoted to learning and the preservation of knowledge. What could have happened to see it removed? His attention was momentarily taken by the thought.

A harsh, gravelly voice broke into the pair’s awareness. "You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"

Ma’zurah glanced to her right and spotted two Nord men confronting a Dunmer lady. One of the Nords was dressed in rags, the other in rich clothing. Both of them were at least somewhat drunk. The Dunmer held up her hands towards them in a pacifying gesture. "But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight."

The Nord in rags leaned toward his companion. "Hey, maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

The Dunmer looked incredulous. "Imperial spies? You can't be serious!"

The better dressed Nord grinned at the Dunmer maliciously. "Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are."

The Dunmer recoiled with a look of fear on her face. The two Nords turned and stumbled drunkenly towards the inn, snickering together.

Fayrl strode over to the woman. “Are you alright, sera?”

“Yes, thank you. Honestly, this is nothing new. Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far.” She shook her head.

Ma’zurah walked up behind Fayrl and stood quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to herself.

“Rolff?” asked Fayrl. “Was he one of those two just now?” Fayrl already saw the two as his next gifts to his Prince. “The drunker one?”

“Yes. Rolff Stone-Fist. His brother is Ulfric’s housecarl, so he thinks he’s much more important than he really is. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Grey Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. A real charmer, that one. But where are my manners? I’m Suvaris. Suvaris Atheron. Might I ask your name, traveller?” The Dunmer smiled and held out her hand to Fayrl.

“I’m Fayrl, of House Alari.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “Such a shame that one who claims to be so high can act so common as a drunken beggar.”

He glanced around for potential eavesdroppers and leaned closer to Suvaris. “Why did those Nord accuse you of being a spy? Are there prying eyes around to be aware of?”

Suvaris sighed. "Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us. And it isn't just the Dunmer they hate--they make a target of the Argonians as well. In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying. You really must be new here. Fresh off the boat from Morrowind I take it? Who is your friend there?” She gestured at Ma’zurah.

“Oh, how very rude of me.” Fayrl held out his hand for Ma’zurah. “This is my wife, Ma’zurah. She’s a bit shy around new people. Particularly here in Skyrim where everyone seems so willing to be rough. Indeed, we have only arrived in Skyrim not a week ago. I must say, I was here once before in my younger days, though it seems like it was two eras ago.” He laughed. “I suppose we stick out like a cliff strider at a coronation.”

Ma’zurah stepped forward, taking Fayrl’s hand and nodding to Suvaris.

Suvaris blinked. “Welcome to Skyrim then,” she said politely. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for a warmer welcome, you've come to the wrong city. Windhelm's a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking. But perhaps you would care to join me for a drink?"

“It would be my great pleasure to join a lady as eloquent and graceful as yourself. Would we not be honored, my dear?” Fayrl turned and smiled to Ma’zurah.

Ma’zurah grinned behind her scarf and nodded.

“Oh my!” Suvaris laughed. “Such a charmer! Well, if you’ll follow me, I’m afraid the only place we Dunmer are welcome in Windhelm is the Grey Quarter. This way.” She gestured and led them off to the right.

Fayrl did not like the sound of a “grey quarter”. It meant the city was segregated, something that disheartened him very much to hear. How badly had the Pact’s tenets fallen apart? How bad had things become?

Their path led downhill, and the road became progressively muddier the lower they went. They turned into a great chasm that appeared to have been carved into the bedrock of the city. The walls of the canyon were lined with precarious wooden bridges and structures and the doors of dwellings. The sun shone in at an angle as it sank lower, illuminating faded, tattered flags that fluttered across the narrow stretch of sky, proclaiming homage to saints in jagged Daedric script. Ragged and half naked Dunmer children shouted and played on the rickety stairs to shops and houses, and harried mothers with squalling babies strapped to their backs walked swiftly along the dirty streets.

Ma’zurah’s eyes grew wide as she took in the poverty of the Grey Quarter. She gripped Fayrl’s hand tighter. This was nothing like the clean, sunny streets of Whiterun or the maze-like stone stairways of Markarth. It was worse than the slums of southern Balmora, into which Ma'zurah had needed to venture to report to her superior officer in the Blades, Caius Cosades. It was worse even than the waterfront district of the Imperial City near which she had lived after leaving Elsweyr.

Fayrl’s heart sank as he saw just how terrible the conditions had become. He recalled how merry Windhelm used to be, Dunmer, Nord, and Argonian all drinking and dancing together during celebrations. Sure, there were occasionally those Nords who would shout insults of “Fancy man!” or “Grey face!”, but they were few and usually scolded if they made any kind of a scene.

This level of poverty was different; this was oppression. This was the way that the Dres had treated the Argonians after the formation of the Pact. To treat another group of people in such a way, as though they were animals, as though they were trash, it was abhorrent. Fayrl’s stomach turned. This was unforgivable.

Suvaris pointed ahead to a sign that read “New Gnisis Cornerclub”. “It’s just ahead, there. Probably the nicest place you can get a drink in Windhelm if you’re of the Merrish races.”

“Thank you,” said Fayrl. “You are so very kind to guide us.” He had to remind himself not to give any indication that he noticed the stench of foulness that lingered in the air.

The pair followed Suvaris up the stairs and into the cornerclub. The darkened interior smelled of smoke and Morrowind spices that made Ma’zurah’s heart ache for Vvardenfell. The sudden rush of recognition the familiar scents conjured within her nearly brought tears to her eyes. She gripped Fayrl’s arm hard and clung to his side.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The place was worn, but clean. There was a long bar with a Dunmer barkeeper, and several Dunmer patrons scattered at tables around the room speaking in low voices in Dunmeris.

"Welcome newcomers,” the barkeeper called as they entered. “Welcome, Suvaris. Have a seat, there should be plenty of space."

Fayrl smiled at the man. “Thank you, my good mer.” He turned back to their host. “This is quite a nice establishment. Thank you for recommending it. Do they serve proper drinks here as well?”

“They get imports from Solstheim, but those are more expensive than the local brews.” Suvaris seated herself at a table on the left side of the room near the bar. “You can get a proper sujamma if you like though.”

“A sujamma would be lovely,” said Fayrl. “Haven’t had one since I left Morrowind. It feels like so long ago and far away.”

Ma’zurah sat down and unwound her scarf from around her head. Suvaris blinked at her. “I wondered if your name sounded Khajiit! Well, you won’t get any trouble in the Grey Quarter unless that wretch Rolff shows up again. Nobody has any desire to bring the guard down here.”

“Ah, yes,” interjected Fayrl, “we thought it best if we did not bring attention to that fact where the guard is about. These Nord guards seem to take issue with everyone except their own kind.”

Ma’zurah grinned. “Ma’zurah will take any sweet wines they have here, please.”

“Ambarys!” Suvaris called to the barkeeper. “Bring a couple of sujammas and a sweet wine if you would be so kind!”

“Coming right up!” the barkeeper responded and moved to bring them their drinks.

“So,” began Suvaris, “What brings you to Windhelm?”

“Oh, we are just passing through on our way to Winterhold,” said Fayrl. “But that is hardly important. Tell me more about yourself, Suvaris. I am quite curious why it is you remain here if the treatment by the locals is so terrible. Could you not find a safer haven elsewhere?”

“Well I personally stay because I managed to get a good job with the East Empire Company’s major competitor in the area, Shatter-Shield Shipping. Torbjorn Shatter-Shield wants the shipping operations to bring in cash, and I make it happen. I get paid quite well for it, too.”

The barkeeper came by with their drinks. "Don't you ever find it demeaning, working for that Nord family?" he asked Suvaris as he set the drinks down on the table.

"Look, Ambarys,” Suvaris snapped, “I just came here for a drink. I don't need a lecture."

"Fine, then,” the barkeeper said with a snide sniff. “I guess some Dunmer are content to be the Nords’ pets.”

Suvaris put a warning hand on the other Dunmer’s arm. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, and you're going to leave me alone. Deal?"

Ambarys rolled his eyes and walked back to the bar.

Fayrl shared a glance with Ma’zurah, before turning back to Suvaris with an amused smile. “Seems like everyone here is like one big family; everyone worried about everyone else’s business.”

Suvaris laughed. “Sounds accurate. But where was I? Oh yes, why people stay. Basically, after the Red Year, there were so many refugees with nowhere to go that the Jarl ‘gifted’ us the entire Grey Quarter. It’s been nearly two hundred years, and for most of us, it’s our home now. Would you want to leave your home, sera?”

"Things have been a lot worse around here since Ulfric took over,” Ambarys called from his place behind the bar. “His father was much more concerned about the wellbeing of all the people instead of the accumulation of power.” He wiped the bar with a tattered cloth, obviously bored and listening in on their conversation.

“Ambarys….” Suvaris said in a tired voice.

“Right, sorry. I’m going.” The mer moved further down the bar and struck up a conversation in Dunmeris with another Dunmer.

“Is that so? Hmm.” Fayrl paused in thought, wondering. They had met this man, Ulfric, being taken to Helgen just before the Dragon attack. He wondered if Ulfric had returned to his city or gone into hiding.

“I am sure it is none of my business,” he began, “but perhaps if an outsider were to voice concerns, the Jarl might listen better. I wonder, is it easy to get an audience to speak with him? I think I might be able to explain the situation quite well.”

“Well, I doubt you would be able to get an audience with Ulfric himself,” Suvaris said thoughtfully. “He hasn’t held any public audiences since he started this whole civil war. You might be able to request an audience with his steward, but I doubt it. I’m sure I appreciate the gesture though.”

“Of course,” Fayrl said. “I was a diplomat back in Morrowind, so I try to do my best by my people. When my House heard there was trouble in Skyrim, of course the first thought I had was of our kin in the north. Tell me, how has this war affected life for our people here? And when did you first notice the changes? Was it just before the war? Surely there were signs of change in the air.”

Suvaris frowned in thought. “Well, there was restlessness for years, ever since the end of the Great War and the signing of the White Gold Concordat. The banning of Talos wasn’t really too much of a problem among most of the Nords at first. Talos isn’t in the traditional Nordic pantheon, so it wasn’t a problem until Ulfric escaped from the Thalmor shortly after his father’s death. He had to write his father’s eulogy from prison, you know. Once he took power he started making speeches about not letting the Thalmor dictate who the Nords could and could not worship. He never really got into the whole governance part of the Jarlship, he just went straight to fighting the Concordat. The Dunmer got treated worse the more Ulfric talked about ‘throwing off the shackles of the elves’ or whatever his nonsense was, but it didn’t get really bad until Ulfric marched into the Blue Palace in Solitude and Shouted High King Torygg to death.”

“Oh, I see,” said Fayrl gravely. “Yes, this is a very serious matter indeed. It may be even more serious than my superiors believe.”

Ma’zurah leaned forward and put her wine back on the table. “Wait, he Shouted the king to death? He cannot be Dragonborn… Ulfric is… a Tongue? Like the old stories from Resdayn?”

“Oh! Yes, didn’t you know?” Suvaris looked startled. “He was sent to study with the Greybeards at a very young age, and he was going to be a Greybeard, but he apparently ran away to fight in the Great War and abandoned his apprenticeship.”

Fayrl glanced at Ma'zurah, worried. The mention of Ulfric having some of the same powers as Ma’zurah and having been taught by the same group that had summoned her would likely cause her some stress; and what with her being Nerevarine, hearing about a Jarl engaging in such activities would likely not sit well with her either.

“My dear and luminous host,” he addressed Suvaris, “might we beg one final favor from you?”

Suvaris raised an eyebrow. “Possibly, what do you need?”

“In light of the current animosity towards our kin in the city, would you recommend a place for the both of us to stay? I assume the inn at the front gate would be ill-advisable. Is there anywhere a bit more… accommodating to our kind?”

“Well Ambarys does have beds for rent, but they aren’t exactly private. I agree though, I doubt you would be able to get a room at Candlehearth Hall, and your wife most certainly wouldn’t. Ambarys!”

“Yes, Suvaris?” Ambarys slid down the bar, smirking.

“You have any spare beds for these two?”

Ambarys gave the pair an evaluative look. “I’ve got a couple bunks available so long as you don’t mind bedding down in a roomful of grumpy Dunmer.”

“Well there you are,” Suvaris said turning back to Fayrl. “Ambarys doesn’t have enough room to run a proper inn, so he has what is basically a bunkhouse here instead.”

“If you want the beds I can show you which ones are available now,” Ambarys offered.

“And I should get going.” Suvaris gave Fayrl an apologetic look. “I have an evening shift today.” She finished her drink in one long draught.

“Thank you so much,” said Fayrl earnestly. “You have been beyond helpful. I shall strive to do what I can to seek a solution to the plight of our people and other groups within the city.” He raised his glass and nodded his thanks, then turned to Ambarys. “My good mer, we would be most grateful if you had some room for us.”

“It was lovely meeting you!” Ma’zurah told Suvaris. Suvaris smiled and passed Ambarys some coins for the drinks. She waved and walked out the front door.

Ma’zurah finished her wine and stood. “Alright, where are these bunks?” she asked Ambarys.

“Right this way, seras.” Ambarys motioned them toward a door in the back wall.

Fayrl rose to follow Ambarys and held out his arm for Ma’zurah. “Shall we?”

Ma’zurah smiled at Fayrl and shouldered her pack. She took Fayrl’s arm and followed Ambarys up a dark stairwell to the second floor of the building. Ambarys motioned the open doorway to the next room, which contained two rows of bunks. “There you are! The last two bunks in the far corner on the right should be free for your use. Feel free to use them at your convenience, just try to stay quiet after dark. The cost is ten gold a night for the both of you.”

Ma’zurah sniffed the air. “You do not have skooma addicts sleeping here, do you?”

Ambarys’ brow furrowed. “I should hope not. I can’t stand the stuff.”

Fayrl placed a hand on Ma’zurah’s arm. “Come, my love, it is not polite to accuse people of such things.”

He turned to Ambarys. “Thank you so much for the beds. I do not know what we would have done without your kindness. Shall we pay you now or in the morning for our beds?”

“Ai, sorry!” Ma'zurah interjected. “Ma’zurah is not accusing. She could just swear she smells…” She trailed off and turned in a circle sniffing. She walked in a slow spiral that ended under the stairs that led to the third floor. “Ziss, Ma’zurah knew it!”

Ambarys scowled and walked over to her. His mouth dropped open when Ma’zurah pointed to a small bottle partially obscured behind some storage crates. The bottle had fallen on its side and a large drop of whatever substance it contained hung from its imperfectly sealed cap. Ambarys broke into an impressive string of invectives in multiple languages. “Where in Boethiah’s bollocks did this come from?” he asked when his cursing slowed. “Who put--why would--n’chow!” His eyes widened. “This has to be a plant! Oh gods, they’re going to call the guard and put me out of business!”

Fayrl watched the scene with passive curiosity. “Has someone been trying to have your business shut down, my friend? Who might do such a heinous act to a good and proper business owner?”

“Gods! I don’t know! The Nords maybe? I have to get rid of it before whoever it is calls the guard down here!” Ambarys gripped at his hair. “What to do, what to do?! Going to have to take the blighted thing down to the docks and throw it in the fetching river!”

“Good!” Ma’zurah said emphatically. “Skooma is an abomination to the gods! Ma’zurah cannot stand it!”

Fayrl gave Ma’zurah a pointed look to let her know that she was not helping.

“Allow us to take the bottle out of your establishment,” he offered Ambarys. “If we are caught it will not confirm any suspicions from anyone. It is the least we can do for your having helped us out with a space to sleep. I would not look forward to having to beg Nords for a pile of rotting straw. Please, allow us.”

Ambarys stared at Fayrl. “I… you know what? Just take the damned stuff. Just don’t come back with it and I’ll be happy.”

Fayrl bowed. “It will be our pleasure.” He stashed the bottle away in his bag. “We shall get rid of this and return to you.” He held out his arm for Ma’zurah. “Shall we go and take care of this, my dear? I know the perfect spot to dispose of it.”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together, wrapped her face in her scarf again, and took Fayrl’s hand, following him back down the stairs and out into the street.

End Notes:

Velothi Translation: Isharsha = Silky One

The Velothi language is a conlang being developed by the wonderful @chameleonspell. You should read their writing!

Context: Julan used to call Ma’zurah Isharsha in his native language. She’s considering naming their horse that because she misses him and it’s nice to have a reminder of him. Plus, their horse is very silky. Look:

If you haven't seen it yet, there's new art of Ma'zurah and Fayrl here, here, here, and here.

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

#TES #Elder Scrolls Lore #Skyrim #ESO #Morrowind #My Writing #Fanfic #Lost In Time TES Fanfic #Fayrl Indoril #Ma'zurah the Khajiit #Fantastic Racism #Rated T

6 notes · View notes