Outlanders (Morrowind Crossover) Options

[WellTemperedClavier]

Episode 1: Outlanders

Chapter 1

Daria decided that she hated Sera Ondryn's smile. Most of the Dunmer she'd seen preferred to scowl, and if a typical Dunmer smile was anything like Ondryn's, that was probably for the best. He kept it on as he introduced himself in a soft and tremulous voice, the solicitous expression made all the creepier by the fixed gaze in his red eyes. Standing at the head of his adobe classroom, its deep and dusty shadows somehow made darker by the flickering light of a half-dozen tallow candles, Ondryn smiled even wider. The students, seated at long wooden benches, writing slates on their laps, remained stone-faced.

"Outlander," he said. "It's kind of a scary word, isn't it? Hearing it makes you feel like you don't belong."

No one had called Daria an outlander to her face, but she'd heard the word plenty of times already. Not, she reminded herself, that she particularly cared what anyone here thought. The boors in her old hometown had been one kind of stupid, and the ones here were a different kind. But stupid never changed.

Daria grimaced. The thick lenses of her spectacles seemed to warp her shadowy surroundings, blurring and stretching the faces of her peers, all outlanders like her except for one Dunmer girl at her side. Daria took the glasses off for a moment and blinked a few times to re-orient her vision.

"But I'm here to help you feel like you belong. Great House Hlaalu is a friend to the Empire, and we believe there's a place for everyone, even outlanders! Outlander just means you're from somewhere outside Morrowind. It doesn't mean that we don't like you."

Daria checked herself. She was the daughter of an Imperial legal advocate and a Nord merchant. Reasonably well-connected. However xenophobic the Dunmer might be, the Empire still ruled them. What the hell.

She put her glasses back on and raised her hand. Ondryn's eyes caught the motion.

"Yes, uh... Doria?"

"Daria," she corrected. "If being an outlander doesn't mean you're a bad person, why is it always used as an insult?"

Ondryn gulped. "Well, uh... look, just let me get through this part, and we can have some discussions later. Anyway, everyone here is welcome..."

Daria narrowed her eyes. She'd hoped to offend him, at least, but Ondryn seemed too squishy to get angry at anyone. This would be a boring session.

The Dunmer girl leaned in.

"Don't expect him to answer any questions. He's got the speech memorized. Just enjoy the nice man's soothing voice."

"How am I supposed to follow him if he's so disingenuous?" Daria wondered again why this Dunmer was with the other foreigners.

"I can fill you in later. I've done this three times."

*********

The weather worsened as Daria stepped out of the Drenlyn Academy compound. Sheets of rain fell from the thick and curdled gray sky, smashing into the adobe roofs and turning the Odai River into a churning soup. Porters packed the streets, bent under the weight of crates and bulging sacks.

Suffused through the rain was the thick and sour smell of the local cuisine. It all came from kwama. Kwama bugs and kwama eggs: smashed into paste, drained and served as soup, roasted in their shells, or served with bitter hackle-lo leaf. But always sour, like bad cheese left out for too long in the sun. The smell seeped into every mud-brick apartment and paving stone in Balmora, and she was pretty sure the rest of Morrowind smelled the same way.

She'd never wanted a loaf of bread so badly in her life.

A gaunt Dunmer farmer walked past, his gray hands clasping the reins of his two-legged pack lizard. Daria was pretty sure the creature was called a guar. Or maybe a kagouti? Its beady lizard eyes studied her for a moment, Daria's pink skin and round face perhaps a novel sight for such a creature.

The Dunmer girl from the orientation stood next to the lantern, her crimson eyes observing Daria. Her gray skin marked her as one of the natives, but her clothes, a shabby red coat and black trousers, were pure Imperial. She wore her black hair in a bob cut, the ends on the ragged side. Her first name, Janieta, shortened to Jane, was also Cyrodiilic.

"What's your story?" Daria asked. "You're not an outlander, so why were you in the orientation?"

"Don't let the looks fool you," Jane said. "I'm as outlandish as you are."

"But you're a Dunmer."

"Yes, I'm Dunmer and an outlander." Her angular face hardened for a moment, but then relaxed. "Just being Dunmer isn't enough for Morrowind. You have to be born here, too. I spent my first five years in the Imperial City."

"Five years away from Morrowind and you're an outcast?"

"Oh, well, those were five critical years. I mean, if you don't get potty trained in the traditional Dunmer way, you'll never fit in."

"Just so long as you are potty trained."

Jane smirked. "Come on, I know a place where they occasionally serve some outlander drinks for people like us. If nothing else, we can dry out for a bit."

Daria tightened her green woolen robe and followed Jane west along the river. Her mother had told her to try and make friends. Jane hadn't done anything to annoy her yet, so that was a start.

"What's that you're wearing over your eyes?" Jane asked, her smoky voice pushed to the limit to be heard over the crowd.

"They're called glasses. I'm basically blind without them."

And basically blind with them considering the rain. She raised a hand to keep the ungainly device in place. It didn't take much for the things to slip off the bridge of her nose. Her family had money, but not to the point where they could casually buy a replacement pair, especially not out here.

"Huh, I've never seen anything like that. Is it a Dwemer artifact? I've heard you can buy those if you're Imperial."

"No, it was made in Anvil by a specialist. If you want to judge me for them, go ahead. I'm used to it."

"Nah, they're a good look. Not often I see something genuinely new in Balmora."

*********

True to Jane's word, the Lucky Lockup was dry.

Daria and Jane sat at a table next to a support post and beneath a reassuringly familiar metal lantern. Faded tapestries covered the rough adobe walls to ward off the northern chill. The smoky air buzzed with murmurs in a dozen different languages. A free Argonian woman sat on a rug in a shadowed corner, her emerald-scaled hands gently beating a pair of hand drums with a tempo as steady and smooth as a spring rain back home.

The publican sold Cyrodiilic brandy, but not at a price either of them could afford. Jane instead ordered a bottle of a local drink called shein, along with a loaf of bread and a bowl of sour-smelling scrib jelly.

"The food isn't bad, but it does take some time to get used to it," Jane said as she dipped her bread into the mashed insect guts.

Her stomach churning, Daria sipped the shein from her earthenware mug. The drink wasn't bad, actually: bitter with a faintly sweet aftertaste. Outside the building, the castle-sized silt strider standing at port let out its long and mournful wail, redolent of the ash-swept land it called home. The whole cornerclub seemed to shake at the noise. At least Daria didn't flinch that time. She must be getting used to things.

"I don't get it, Jane. You've been at the academy for years. Why do you keep retaking the orientation?"

"It's a good way to network. No self-respecting Hlaalu noble will hire an outlander like me to paint them, but there are plenty of upstart outlander merchants with kids at Drenlyn who'd just love to get their images captured by a native artist."

"A native?" Daria raised her eyebrows.

"As far as they know. I paint them in the usual Imperial style so they don't get all uncomfortable. Make the angles a little sharper. That way, it seems suitably native and Morrowind-y. Then they hang it up in their homes and no one's the wiser."

Daria nodded. Life in Morrowind was a lot more complicated than she'd been led to expect.

"My family sent me here to be trained as a savant," Daria said. "In the hopes that someday I can use my knowledge to help rich families avoid taxes and skirt the law."

Jane's lips turned up in a hard smile. "Then you'll have plenty of opportunities here in Balmora."

"From what you say, I'll have to stick with outlander families like mine."

"Oh, not at all."

Daria frowned. "Didn't you just say that Hlaalu nobles wouldn't hire outlanders?"

"They won't hire misfit Dunmer like me. They think I'm a traitor for not being born in Morrowind. You, on the other hand, are Imperial—"

"I'm only half," Daria corrected. "My father's a Nord."

"Trust me, it's all the same to them. The point is, the Hlaalu hate the Empire but love to ingratiate themselves with the Empire's rich. Or failing that, the Empire's moderately prosperous."

"So, in Morrowind, corruption and favoritism are rampant, the nobles stack the deck against everyone else, and life is all around miserable?"

"Yup!"

"Nice to know some things are the same the world over."

Jane took a bite of bread. No longer able to deny her own hunger, Daria tore off a piece. Bracing herself, she stared at the bowl of scrib jelly, gray and glistening in the lantern light. She took her bread, scooped up a big chunk of the stuff, and jammed it into her mouth before she could chicken out.

A roiling shock ran from the tip of her tongue to the pit of her stomach the moment she tasted the jelly, thick and viscous and oh-so-sour. She forced her teeth to close on the bread, the familiar texture fighting a losing battle with the slick alien condiment. Something crunched, maybe a tail segment or a leg. She didn't want to know.

Somehow, she choked it down. She swallowed and then grabbed her cup, raising it to her mouth for a deep gulp. The harsh taste of fermented comberry obliterated the jelly's noxious flavor.

Jane gave a little cheer and clapped. "You did it! Trust me, it gets easier."

"How do you people eat this stuff?" Daria wondered. She drank some more shein.

"We people?" Janieta raised an eyebrow. "Far from me to defend Morrowind, but when bugs are all you have, you get creative with what you consider edible. This stuff will fill you up."

"I guess it was pretty hearty," Daria said, feeling a little abashed. She didn't like the Imperials who looked down on the Mer, Beastfolk, and other races of Men. She was half-Nord herself. Dunmer society was awful—she knew they still enslaved Khajiit and Argonians in the remote parts of Morrowind—but it wasn't like the Empire forced them to stop.

It was just that nothing about Morrowind felt like home.

"The Lucky Lockup's not a bad place, as Balmora goes," Jane said, her eyes settling on a party of nervous gold-skinned Altmer, their narrow shoulders draped by mantles of still-fluttering dragonfly wings.

"I haven't seen many other places here, so I couldn't say."

"The Lockup gets lot of visitors. Caravaners from the South Gate, pilgrims spilling out from the strider port, Bitter Coast fishermen coming up the Odai. I sit here and I get ideas, and then I paint them. Or sketch them, at least."

Studying the transient population, Daria could see what Jane meant. The place felt like everywhere.

And also nowhere.

*********

The rain stopped by the time they left the cornerclub. Dark clouds fled at the rays of the setting sun, red as blood in the west. The air was clean, at least, no longer heavy with that doused campfire smell that usually hung over Balmora.

"I should probably get home," Daria said. "It was nice meeting you."

"Sure."

"Do you live around here?"

"My brother and I rent an apartment in Labor Town, not far from the Odai."

"Okay. I'm in the Commercial District. My mother—"

Daria paused as a familiar, high-pitched voice made itself heard over the chatter of the late afternoon traffic.

"... pastel yellow is so in right now! Everyone in Cyrodiil is wearing it."

The sight of Quinn's red hair, so bright and bold in the drab streets, confirmed it.

"Everything all right?" Jane asked.

"See that redhead over there?"

"The overdressed one?"

"Yeah. That's my sister," Daria said. "Overdressing is what she does."

Quinn walked with a quartet of Dunmer girls her age, all of them garbed in robes stitched with elaborate abstract patterns. They listened intently as Quinn neared the door of the cornerclub next to the Lucky Lockup.

"You said she's your sister?" Jane's voice tightened.

"Yes—"

"Daria, just trust me on this."

Jane bolted toward Quinn. The younger Morgendorffer didn't notice until Jane jammed her booted feet into a muddy puddle right next to her. Daria distinctly saw her new friend kick the filthy water right onto Quinn's gown before running off toward the riverbank crowd. The resulting screech could probably be heard throughout the entire province.

Quinn looked down at her ruined yellow dress and then at her friends. And then her eyes locked on Daria.

"You! This is your doing, isn't it!"

Daria blinked, too confused to react.

"Come, Lady Morgendorffer," said one of the Dunmer girls. "We can get you cleaned up inside—"

"No! I can't be seen like this! I have to go! You can blame my... my cousin over there!"

Quinn stormed off with her face buried in her hands, her wailing audible at some distance, until the silt strider repeated its lonely call. The Dunmer girls who'd been walking with her simply shrugged and walked away.

"What the hell was that?" Daria uttered, still trying to parse what had happened. She hurried toward the river market. Her supposed friend was still there, tightly gripping the fabric of her thin red coat.

"What was that all about?" Daria demanded. "Normally, I'm thrilled when someone takes Quinn down a peg, but what did she do to you?"

Jane exhaled. "Nothing. I was doing that for her, not to her."

Daria hesitated. She sensed this was serious. "Okay, I'm listening. But I don't know if I can forgive you for temporarily rousing my long-dormant big sister instinct."

"Your sister was about to step into the Council Club. That's not a place for outlanders."

"So what? It's too special for some dirty Imperial to visit?" Maybe Jane wasn't as open-minded as she'd seemed.

"No, you aren't listening! That's where the Cammona Tong meet. They. Do. Not. Like. Outlanders. People disappear there, Daria. And whoever those friends of Quinn's were? They knew that. You need to tell her not to spend time with them."

Daria shivered in spite of her thick robe. Only now did she realize how far from Cyrodiil she really was.

"Thank you. Is Quinn in danger?"

"Maybe. Now that I think about it, the Cammona Tong would've probably just thrown her out. Even they wouldn't be crazy enough to kill some Imperial teenager who wandered in. But you do not want to cross the people in the Council Club. Being an Imperial—or acting like one—won't always be enough to save your hide out here."

Jane had been smart about it, Daria realized. Quinn would have never listened to a warning from a total stranger, not when she was trying to impress her friends. Thus, best to make it look like an accident or a prank.

"I'd better get home and talk to her. Will I see you at school tomorrow?" Daria asked.

"That's the plan. Take care."

Daria hurried up the street, wondering how she was going to fix the damage.

*********

Daria returned home to find her mother, Helen, seated at the office, still poring over a stack of documents. Mom had spared no effort in ensuring that her base of operations befitted a legal advocate trained in the time-honored Imperial ways. Tomes and scrolls filled the polished rosewood bookshelves, and not so much as a speck of dust dared touch the flagstone floor. Candles burned in the small marble shrine to Julianos embedded onto the far wall, the god's symbol of a triangle over an open scroll recreated in a mosaic above a basin filled with scented water.

Mom did not look up from her work. Her scribe, a young Breton woman named Marianne, smiled and nodded at Daria's entry.

"I need to talk to my mother," Daria said quietly.

"How important is this, Daria?" Mom replied, still not looking up. "I'm up to my ears in cases from the local merchants! Honestly, I don't know why they think Imperial law will protect them from bad local investments!"

"Potentially very important."

That time, Mom paid attention. She knew the tone of voice.

"Marianne, you can head home for the day. It's almost night, anyway," Mom said.

Once Marianne left, Daria explained the situation. Her mother's face turned white as soon as she mentioned the Cammona Tong.

"Quinn!" Mom shouted. "Get down here this instant!"

Even Quinn's footsteps sounded sulky as she descended the staircase. "What's wrong?"

"Were you at the Council Club today?" Mom demanded.

Quinn's expression changed to one of calculating innocence. "Of course not, mother! I was studying—"

"I'm serious!"

She pouted. "Okay, fine! I was! But I made a really nice friend named Synda, and she wanted to show me around!"

"I don't want you spending time with this Synda!"

"Why not?"

"Listen to me, Quinn. There are some very bad people in Balmora, and they run the Council Club. It's a dangerous place for people like us."

"What? The only danger I was in was from that weird girl who was with Daria! She completely ruined my dress!"

"Jane did you a favor," Daria said.

Mom reached out and grasped Quinn's shoulders. "I need you to understand something: we are very, very far away from the emperor's light right now. Balmora is mostly a safe place, but there are dangers for people like us. I forbid you from going to strange cornerclubs."

"But mom! This is all some prank that Daria—"

"Daria, that goes for you as well."

Daria blinked. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, but restricting you both is impartial, and it's common sense. Girls your age have no business being in sketchy taverns. Maybe when you're married and established professionals, but not now!"

Quinn drew back, eyes already filling with her on-call tears. "I hope you know you've ruined my social life!"

She spun around on her heels and stormed up the stairs. Mom leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples.

"Where's Dad?" Daria asked. "He should know about this too."

"Late night for him; they're having a networking session in High Town." She sighed. "I did not think living here would be so difficult."

"Wait, hold on. Why can't I go to cornerclubs?" Daria asked. "It's not like Jane's going to lure me into some seedy den and rob me. Well, she won't rob me at any rate."

"Like I said, it's not a good look. And as foreigners, we are under scrutiny. I don't want the Dunmer to think Imperial girls are a bunch of cavorting hedonists. If you absolutely must go somewhere, I'll allow you and Quinn to visit Eight Plates, so long as you have an adult chaperone."

Daria crossed her arms. "I see. And I suppose you'd be giving me the same talk if I were your son?"

"I don't make the rules, Daria. I just try and live by them."

"Yes, because following rules is the best way to get them changed."

"I'm not in the mood right now. What's important is that you keep an eye on your sister."

Sighing, Daria nodded. "I will."

Musical Closer - Everlong, by Foo Fighters



This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Nov 27 2024, 01:45 AM

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 4

The Taloris went all out with dinner. Appetizers of fried saltrice strands and gelatinous eyestars paved the way to a heroic main course of ornada (an ornada resembling a cat-sized ant that tasted like lobster) braised in comberry wine and served in its still bright-red carapace, its fat legs curled tightly under its thorax. Bowls of marshmerrow pulp mixed with shredded ash yams served as dessert. Servants refilled emptied cups with imported rice wine from central Cyrodiil. Having grown up off the coast of western Cyrodiil's grape country, Daria reasoned that she probably found the drink just as strange as the Dunmer did. Strange, but by no means bad.

And a welcome relief.

Some of the families put aside bits and pieces of their meals for their servants, who stood in a state of famished torment as the feast's riot of sweet and sour smells filled the enormous room. Other families didn't bother.

Daria kept staring guiltily at Jane, who looked completely absorbed in her artwork. Jane's plan had been to make a quick and flattering painting of the Morgendorffers and show it around to advertise her skills. Never a big eater, Daria put aside a generous amount for her only friend.

All the while, the room buzzed with conversation. Words snapped in and out of her ears, never enough to piece together a full conversation. Mom took note of every missed opportunity, she was sure, but how could anyone talk on and on about getting good deals on Solstheim furs or exactly how much money the Sloan family had? Quinn and Jolda talked, or at least Quinn did, Jolda nodding and smiling in response. Dad seemed interested in whatever Jolda's father had to say.

Thoughts of the attack kept replaying in Daria's mind, undeterred by her cup of rice wine. All the while Synda ate her meal at the neighboring table in complete serenity, Daria's pain no more than an amusement.

How many of the other Dunmer would find it equally amusing? Not fair to think that, she noted. But she couldn't quite get it out of her head.

Finally, the meal ended, and the social mingling began. Daria stood up and took the bowl she'd reserved for Jane, complete with a full ornada leg.

"Hey, give Jane some of ours, too," Dad said, piling some marshmerrow into the bowl. Mom and Quinn followed suit until the small vessel threatened to overflow.

Pleased at her family's generosity, she added a spare fork to the meal and walked over to Jane, who was still busy at work.

"Got this for you," Daria said. "Sorry it's so late."

Jane's eyes widened as she took the bowl. "Wow, I was not expecting—a whole ornada leg?"

"I think so?" Daria said. "Hard to know, given I've never seen an ornada before tonight."

Jane grabbed the segmented leg and ripped into it with her teeth, tearing off the translucent red carapace before biting into the white flesh beneath, flecks flying off the side of her mouth.

Daria blinked in surprise. "Uh, I also brought you a fork," she said.

"Forks are for rich people," Jane mumbled between bites.

"I don't think socioeconomic status affects one's ability to use utensils."

Jane paused. "Seriously, Daria, I don't know how to use one. And I'm not going to waste time learning when there's this delicious meal in front of me! And thank you again for bringing me this!"

Daria looked at the drying painting while Jane ate. Jane had made the image in swift, broad strokes, trying to capture as much as she could in the limited time available. For all that, her intent had come through: the Morgendorffers as refined and tasteful members of the merchant class. The painted Daria, smiling and sans glasses, engaged in conversation with a Quinn who noxiously managed to look even more graceful and lovely on canvas than in reality.

"It's beautiful. But if you think that's how we look, then I think you might be the one who needs glasses," Daria said.

Jane shrugged. "Hey, a lot of the people in these walls hire artists to flatter. Not many want paintings of what they really look like."

"Kidding aside, it is excellent. How did you do it so quickly?"

"I took a few shortcuts. Most people won't notice." Jane tossed the now-empty carapace on the floor. "That's the nice thing about selling to the artistically illiterate."

"Not to mention ethically bankrupt," Daria added.

"Now come on, I need your help once this dries out," Jane said. "Remember, I'm your menial, so you need to break the ice for me. Wouldn't look good to have a lowborn like me pestering all these good people. Plus, it gives you a chance to network."

"Mutual exploitation is the foundation for any good friendship."

Jane shrugged. "Seems to work for Hlaalu and the Empire."

"Let me get another one of these, first," Daria said, taking her empty cup and filling it to the brim with warm rice wine. A nearby servant watched her initiative with a disapproving frown, which she chose to ignore.

*********

Karl the Unctuous (though he knew he'd one day be called Karl the Lover, or perhaps Karl the Golden like his father) observed the wondrous array before him and hid his gut-wrenching terror behind a smile.

Dinners like this were the perfect opportunity to meet new and interesting people. And from there, well, anything could happen, and his heart soared at the thought of soft kisses and perfumed arms. He'd left nothing to chance, styling his curly red hair and shaving with great precision to avoid any unsightly nicks or scratches. His extravagant yellow coat gleamed in the lantern light. And he had one more way to make himself (hopefully) sound and look like the man he wanted to be.

The three lunkheads from Drenlyn were again drooling over Quinn and arguing as to the best way to woo her.

"Girls like dancing, so we should ask her to dance!" Jonus said, drink and heat rendering his face almost as red as his coppery hair.

"There's no music, dummy! I don't think this is that kind of party," Julien disagreed, perspiration causing his lank black hair to stick to his brow.

"So two of us could like, sing, or something," blond Jeval suggested in a voice that sounded too deep to come from his skinny frame. His black Bosmer eyes were fixed on the object of his fascination. "And the third one dances with her."

"Sure," Julien scoffed. "I volunteer to dance with her while you two suckers sing!"

"No way!" Jeval protested. "It was my idea; I should be the one to dance with her."

Karl announced his presence with what he hoped was a knowing chuckle. It got the trio's attention, at any rate.

"What's so funny, weirdo?" Jonus demanded.

"Simply observing your intense but perhaps myopic ardor for the admittedly stunning Quinn Morgendorffer."

"Does anyone know what the hell he's talking about?" Jeval asked.

Karl straightened up and tugged at his coat's silver-threaded lapels. If he spun this the right way, he could make a tidy profit from his plan.

"Gentlemen, I believe we pursue the same goals," he announced, thrusting a bony index finger into the air.

"Get lost! We saw Quinn first!"

Karl cleared his throat and let his arm drop. "I mean, we'd all like to win the hand of a lovely maiden. I certainly would not intrude on your quest for the luscious younger Morgendorffer. But mortal Men and Mer that we are, it'd certainly behoove us to smell our best, so to speak."

The three stared at him with blank expressions. Karl waggled his eyebrows and reached into his coat, taking out a long-necked porcelain bottle he'd carefully tucked away.

"I present to you none other than genuine Telvanni bug musk, the finest cologne in all of Morrowind—nay, all of Tamriel!"

He uncorked the bottle and held it out just a bit so that he could pull back if any of the goons tried to grab it. A spicy and prickly scent drifted out from the open vessel, redolent of eastern Morrowind's arcane darkness.

Jonus sneered. "There's no way you got your hands on the real thing."

"On the contrary, my good man. My father's a deputy of the East Empire Company after all, and I am something of an, ahem, unofficial company agent," Karl said, following his words with a grin.

Being an intern was just like being an unofficial agent, he was pretty sure.

"So, are you going to share that with us?" Julien demanded.

"Share? No, not share; there are limits to even my generosity. But I may be willing to sell some portion of this enchanting aroma. There should be enough here for the four of us."

That way, if wearing the musk failed to win him any lovelies, he'd still have coin to go toward a finer suit of clothes. Another brilliant plan!

The three went into a huddle, voices low and murmuring. They turned to face him once they finished, eyes wide with hope and mouths set in doubt.

"Before we pay for this, we want to see you try it out. Put some on yourself and then ask Quinn to dance," Julien said.

"No, you idiot! What if Quinn decides she likes him?" Jonus interjected.

Jeval settled it. "Put some on yourself and ask some other girl. Maybe that sister of hers or whatever."

Karl smiled and bowed. "Very well. Prepare to see the power of bug musk in action!"

He didn't actually know if this would work. Everyone said it smelled enchanting, though it hadn't smelled all that great to him. Taking it from his father's cabinet had been a big risk—but how could he deny opportunity? Karl opened the bottle again and poured out some of the clear liquid onto his right hand. He dabbed it on his neck and brow, stifling a sneeze as he got a stronger dose of the stuff.

Now or never. Puffing out his chest, he headed straight toward Daria Morgendorffer and the Dunmer girl she was often with. He ran his fingers through his hair, dreaming of the passion the two (or maybe three) of them would soon enjoy. Daria was no beauty, but she certainly wasn't unattractive, in spite of the awkward spectacles barely balanced on her nose.

"Ah, if it isn't the lovely Miss Morgendorffer," he said, giving a florid bow. Already, he imagined her senses intrigued by the powerful fragrance that clung to his body. "So often I've seen your beauty gracing the drab halls of Drenlyn Academy, yet we've never had the chance to interact. So, pray tell, where have you been all my life?"

He leaned close. Would she go in and kiss him after the preamble? Did girls do that?

No expression stirred her stoic face, her eyes cold and distorted behind the thick lenses. "I've been staying as far away from you as humanly possible, something I intend to continue doing for the rest of your life."

She turned and walked away with her friend.

Karl tried to halt the panic rising within his chest. "I'll be here when you lovely ladies are ready," he said.

The trio was already jeering.

"I knew it! Whatever he has in that bottle isn't the real thing," Jeval huffed.

"It absolutely is the genuine item!" Karl protested, his voice getting reedier as his words quickened. He knew that for a fact!

Brainstorming for an excuse, he continued. "But perhaps I didn't use enough. I know exactly what to add to the mixture to make this bug musk live up to its reputation. Rest assured, I am a proficient alchemist!"

He'd taken a few alchemy lessons, at any rate. Karl looked for an escape route. "I'll be back shortly!" he said, hurrying deeper into the manor home, heart pounding and very much needing a few moments to recalibrate himself and his cologne.

*********

"I guess you had to run into Karl the Unctuous sooner or later," Jane said as the skinny Nord hurried away.

"Whatever connections he has can't be worth it," Daria said. "And I think even my mom would back me on that."

"His dad does run the East Empire Company's Balmora office."

"All the more reason to avoid him."

"It's a pretty dinky office, anyway. So one unworthy prospect shot down; a few dozen more to go." Jane eyed the crowd.

Daria sighed. "You know these people better than me. Who isn't awful?"

Jane frowned. "Hmm, that might not be the best metric by which to pick. Hey, how about Serjo Talori himself? Since you're already giving into corruption, you might as well go all out."

Daria glanced at the master of the house, who was chatting with a wealthy-looking Imperial couple. He did seem at ease with outlanders. Though his own wife had still been seated at the other outlander table, matrimonial bonds be damned.

"I guess I don't have a choice."

"Just remember to bow," Jane said. "Both when you meet him and when you leave. Refer to him as Serjo Talori—nobles always get the 'serjo'. Keep your eyes a little downcast, like you can't quite bear to bask in his radiance. Give your parents' names before you give yours. Talk him up about being part of Hlaalu; he'll love that. Make sure your hands are open, not balled up in fists like they are right now. I think that's it?"

"You think? Maybe you should do this, Jane."

"You're not noble, but you are respectable. Us Llayns are proud menials. Come on, you'll be fine. Serjo Talori does a lot of business with outlanders, so he's used to the occasional screw-up."

Jane put her hand on Daria's back and nudged her forward. Daria's booted feet shuffled on the flagstones.

"Oh, don't shuffle either," Jane warned. "Forgot to mention that."

Resigned, Daria took proper steps, her stiff clothes fighting her every inch of the way. When she reached Sedrane, she bowed and waited expectantly. He continued chatting. Daria glanced at Jane, hoping for a hint. But Jane had her gaze on the floor, hands clasping the edge of her canvas.

"Excuse me," Daria said, a bit louder than she'd intended to.

Sedrane stopped in the middle of describing saltrice investments in the Ascadian Isles.

Trying to strengthen her position, Daria met Sedrane's gaze head-on. "Uh, good evening, Serjo Talori. I'm Daria Morgendorffer, and I wanted to thank you for this lavish meal and for inviting me and my family. Uh, congratulations on being a part of House Hlaalu."

Only then did she remember that she wasn't supposed to look him in the eyes and that she wasn't supposed to have her hands clenched. She released her grip but didn't turn her gaze.

"And who are you?" Sedrane asked.

"I just said—" she stopped, remembering that she was supposed to introduce her father. "I mean, I'm Jake and Helen Morgendorffer's daughter." Her words came out more acidly than she'd intended.

"Oh, of course. My daughter suggested your family." Sedrane chuckled. "I've heard of your father; he helped the Hlerso family close that deal in Seyda Neen a few months back. Impressive work."

"He did," Daria said, remembering the transaction in question. "Anyway, I'm training at Drenlyn to be a savant. And uh, this is my friend Jane, who is an artist."

Weight lifted from Daria's shoulders the moment she diverted Sedrane's—she'd be damned if she ever thought of him as Serjo Talori—attention to Jane.

"Thank you, Mistress Daria," Jane said, her voice suddenly crumpled up like old parchment. "The Morgendorffers were kind enough to request my services so that I might capture the honor of your invitation in paint. This is but a practice draft, but I pray I was able to portray the refinement and grace of my employers."

Chills ran down Daria's spine. The confident Jane was gone, replaced by a bowing and cringing girl she barely recognized. Sedrane leaned in for a closer look at the painting.

"Not bad," he said. "The brushwork gets a little lazy at the edges."

"My apologies, Serjo Talori. And to you, Mistress Daria: I assure you that the finished product will not be marred by such carelessness."

"I'm a bit of an art aficionado myself," Sedrane said. "I tend to prefer traditional Dunmer styles. In painting, if not in wardrobe," he added with a chuckle, turning slightly to show off his coat.

"I've seen some more traditional work from Jane. It's excellent," Daria said.

Sedrane faced her. "Given that you're an outlander, how would you know what makes for good Dunmer art? Anyway, I have plenty of native artists I can choose from. I can tell that your artistic menial isn't from Morrowind. But I'm sure plenty of other outlanders would love to hang her scribblings on their walls. Good evening, ladies."

Daria was too angry to remember to bow.

"How could you stand that?" Daria demanded as they walked away.

"It's just how it is."

"And how did he know you're not from here? You're both Dunmer. You're wearing Imperial clothes, but so is he."

Jane shrugged. "People talk. Plus, I don't have any tattoos to show off where I'm from, not even tiny ones. That's a giveaway. Anyway, one more on the reject pile. Who else?"

"Is 'nobody' an option?" Daria asked.

Musical Closer - The Sweater Song, by Weezer

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Nov 27 2024, 02:26 AM