The Last Days of the Fashion Club Options

[WellTemperedClavier]

@Acadian - So the reason things are so stirred up is because the events of Morrowind, the game, are happening at the same time. It's causing a lot of social trouble among the Dunmer, though outlanders like Jeval only have a vague idea as to what's going on.

@SubRosa - Heh, Joan will have her work cut out for her.

Satheri's parents are pretty caring by the standards of wealthy Hlaalu.

At this point, the claims of the Nerevarine are stirring up more trouble than Dagoth Ur. But they both play a part.

@Renee - That's a good question, and one that this story will explore in a bit more detail.

Heh, two drinks is about my limit as well.

Not all of the events of the Nerevarine events have occurred, but they're getting to the point where they can't be ignored. At this point, the Temple's still trying to deny there's a problem and that the Nerevarine prophecies are just nonsense.

Oh, I had no idea you ever had involvement in fashion! Yeah, I can't imagine young me would have liked doing that either, but it is an interesting experience.

So Satheri's not being married just yet. In Chapter 2, it's mentioned that she has to do six rituals at the temple before she goes off to meet her husband-to-be. Since Ulnar is Satheri's dad, he's just making sure the rituals are all performed (though in his case, it's more for show since he's a more modern Dunmer).

A Vegas wedding is definitely simpler than a Dunmer one.

Chapter 6

They retreated to the safety of the Roweni house.

There, Quinn fanned Tiphannia’s face and talked to her as Satheri let the girl’s head rest in her lap. Treads sat on the ground below the couch, a bowl of water in her hands. Tiphannia had sipped from it the first time it was offered, but nothing since.

Meanwhile, Jeval twisted the fabric of his tunic (the way you weren’t supposed to) and wondered how badly he’d screwed everything up. He should’ve just kept his stupid idea to himself.

The seras Roweni were upstairs, arguing about something. He couldn’t hear what, but it sounded pretty intense.

“Hey, Jeval?” Treads had sidled up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“You doing okay?”

“No. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“Just stay calm. Look, you were right about one thing: something was going on with Tiphannia. Otherwise, the ritual wouldn’t have done anything.”

“Yeah, but I might’ve hurt her!”

“Just wait. Think about it: if you suddenly got your regular brain back after years and years of it being messed up, you’d be disoriented, too.”

They waited and watched for what seemed like forever. Treads was about to give Tiphannia some more water when her eyes opened and looked right at Jeval. He could already tell there was something different about her. Usually, it always felt like Tiphannia had her eyes on something behind you and far away. But this time? They actually looked at each other.

“Tiphannia? Are you awake?” Satheri asked.

“Yeah… I’m awake.”

“Are you okay? Is anything messed—”

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice quiet.

“Oh, thank the Divines!” Quinn said.

“Praise ALMSIVI,” Satheri cried.

“Yeah, thank the Divines,” Jeval said. “Tiphannia, do you know what happened?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I remember… all the stuff you said. About how I might’ve been like… cursed or something. You were right.”

“So, you’re not cursed anymore! That’s wonderful!” Quinn exclaimed.

All at once, she and Satheri had Tiphannia between their arms, hugging her as tight as they could.

“Fashion Club group hug, guys!” Quinn said.

“Wait!”

That was Tiphannia. She pushed back at the two, and they let go, both with shocked looks.

“There’s like… so much going on in my head right now. All this time… nothing ever made sense to me. But now, I can like… fit it together.”

She still paused a lot. Maybe that’s just how she spoke.

“That’s good, right?” Quinn asked.

“I… I don’t know. Jeval?”

He gulped. Now he was starting to get why Treads wasn’t so sure Tiphannia would be happy with all this. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. I think. It’s… a lot to deal with.”

“For sure,” Treads said. She knelt next to Tiphannia. “Do you want some time alone?”

Tiphannia didn’t say anything right away, her eyes going around the room as if she’d never really seen it before. She shivered, and then nodded.

“Give her some space,” Treads said. “Tiphannia, do you want to go home?”

“Yeah. I’m not feeling sick… or anything. I’m not like… mad at you guys. But this is kind of… a lot.”

“I can walk you home, if you need,” Treads offered.

“We’ll all walk you home!” Quinn offered.

“No. Thanks… but no. One person’s all I can take right now.”

Treads glanced back at Quinn. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay,” Quinn said. “And Tiphannia, we’re there for you, okay? All of us!”

“Always!” Satheri added.

Treads led Tiphannia out the door. Satheri went up the stairs to tell her parents that Tiphannia had recovered, and her father came back down with her.

“I wish you’d told us before she left! But this is good, very good. I’m sure she’s just adjusting to her restoration,” Ulnar said. But he didn’t look so sure of himself. “Anyway, you girls—and Jeval—are welcome to stay for supper. I’ll instruct Livia to prepare a larger dinner. I think we’ve all had a harder day than expected.”

Treads came back a bit later, and they all stuck around the Roweni house. But it wasn’t much fun. How could it be? Jeval kept to himself as best he could, taking a plush chair in the corner of the living room. He’d never liked visiting the Roweni house. Everything inside was overstuffed, heavy, and delicate. Each time he moved he worried he’d break something expensive.

Everyone else talked in quiet voices, usually about Tiphannia though Quinn sometimes tried to push the subject elsewhere. Meanwhile, Livia, the Rowenis’ live-in maid, prepped roast kwama for everyone. It smelled good, at least.

It was Satheri who came to check on Jeval, her sad red eyes searching.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Huh? I guess. Wondering if I did the right thing.”

“I know. Nothing’s simple anymore, is it? And all this talking makes my head hurt.”

She sat down next to him.

“Thanks for always being there,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re normal. Muthsera Morgendorffer’s always leading things. Tiphannia’s totally out of it until, like, today. Treads is usually kind of mad. Me?” She shook her head and half-laughed, half-sobbed. “I’m just pathetic. But you balance us all out,” Satheri said.

Jeval shook his head. “Whoa, you aren’t—”

“I am. I’m glad you’re here, okay?”

“Uh, sure.”

They were called up to dinner soon after. Livia pulled in another table for the lot of them and it still wasn’t enough, so they squeezed in elbow-to-elbow as the glazed kwama was served with blue-glass bowls of spiced saltrice stew.

Sera Ulnar Roweni carried the conversation, making little jokes that sometimes were even funny. It was after the soup course that Jeval decided to find out what was going on in Morrowind.

“Sera Roweni?”

“Yes, Jeval?”

“Not to get too personal, but what was going on in the temple today? If you don’t mind saying.”

Ulnar’s smile faded, and he slowly exhaled. “It’s fine, I can tell you the basics. As residents of Morrowind, you all have a right to know.”

Satheri’s face crinkled up, and she shot an annoyed look at Jeval. He shrugged, but her dad had already started.

“I don’t know how well most of you know Tribunal theology. The short version is that, thousands of years ago in the First Era, the Tribunal’s champion was one Lord—now Saint—Indoril Nerevar. He was a great hero to the Dunmer people. But he died defending the Dunmer from the Dwemer and the Sharmat.

“Now, there are the so-called Nerevarine Prophecies. These state that Nerevar will be reincarnated—”

“Reincarnation is not temple doctrine,” his wife added.

“Of course, Naldra. Anyway, some believe that Saint Nerevar will be reincarnated as this Nerevarine and bring the old ways back to Morrowind. It’s silly. But you get the occasional crackpot who decides that he’s the Nerevarine and tries to fulfill the prophecy. Always ends the same way, of course. The temple ordinators break up the cult and, ah, correct the would-be savior. Problem solved, everyone goes home happy.”

Treads made the high-pitched hiss she always made when someone said something offensively stupid. Jeval raised his eyebrows. He didn’t believe the ‘everyone goes home happy’ part, either.

“But this year it seems as if there’s a Nerevarine with a bit of staying power. I’d been hearing bits and pieces of this since late spring, but it’s reached critical mass this month. There are rumors—baseless, mind you—that this Nerevarine now has support from the great houses. As if Great House Hlaalu would ever support some self-proclaimed Nerevarine!

“I promise you; things will soon settle down. None of these Nerevarine crazes ever last long, and why should they? The prophecies are all based on a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, this Nerevarine stuff sounds silly,” Quinn remarked.

Jeval still wanted to know more. “What about those preachers? The ones who always talk about Dagoth?”

Ulnar drew back in his chair, his eyes going to the corners of the room. Then he leaned forward, speaking in a quiet voice. “Ah, well you have to understand I’m far too busy a Mer to research heresies in any detail. Suffice to say, Dagoth is the Sharmat—the Devil, if you will—"

A loud pounding came from the door. Ulnar jerked back from the table and the rice wine in his goblet splattered against the wall behind him. He stared at the door with an expression of absolute terror.

“Open up!” came a voice. A human one.

Ulnar relaxed, a little. “Everyone, stay here,” he said. He stood up from his chair and straightened his clothes. “I will see what the matter is. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

But Satheri and her mother were hugging each other, both scared out of their wits.

Jeval had to admit he was kind of relieved to see it was just Mr. Blumius, his face as red as Masser and twice as bright. Satheri and her mother let go of each other and whispered prayers of thanks to ALMSIVI. He didn’t know what they’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “What did you people do to my daughter!”

“Oh crap,” Jeval muttered. He hadn’t even thought about Tiphannia’s parents.

“We merely restored her at the temple,” Ulnar said. “I did find it curious you did not accompany—”

“You have no right to practice these heathen rituals on her!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Were you not aware of this?” Ulnar glanced back at Quinn, who suddenly turned as stiff as a board.

“No, I was not!” Mr. Blumius said.

“I see. I was under the impression that you had been informed.”

“We did tell you, Mr. Blumius!” Quinn said, standing up. “Well, Jeval and Treads told you.”

This was bad. Quinn must’ve told Ulnar that they’d already squared things away with Tiphannia’s family. Because of course she’d said that; why would Ulnar help them unless he thought it was okay with the Blumiuses?

“Who? Wait, this little jungle elf? And his pet lizard?” Spittle flew from Mr. Blumius’s lips as he yelled.

Jeval saw red. Stay calm, he told himself. Losing his temper wouldn’t help him or anyone else. He wanted to deck the guy, though. Deck him hard.

Mr. Blumius wasn’t done yet. “I never gave them permission! Quinn should have sent her mother. Helen at least has credibility!” Mr. Blumius was shouting loud enough to get attention now. Through the (real) glass window in the front, Jeval saw shuttered windows opening and faces peering out.

Quinn raised her index finger, like she was making a point. “But your daughter was like, cursed. And she’s better now! We should—”

“That’s not the point! Tiphannia’s my daughter! Gods know what those ash-creeper priests did to her brain.”

“It was a standard restoration procedure, the same as she’d have gotten at the cult shrine,” Ulnar said quietly.

Quinn looked scared now. “But why would she be upset? This is a good thing—”

“It’s not a good thing! I am her father. Adoptive father, yes, but I am still her father. Maybe she was cursed, but how did it matter? Tiphannia was very easy to manage. We had plans for her. Now, you and your… savage lackeys have thrown everything awry.”

He turned his attention back to Ulnar. “And you Dunmer! Superstitious ingrates, all of you. After everything the Empire has done for your benighted province…”

Ulnar’s eyes narrowed into red slits. “You forget yourself, Sera Blumius. I’ve contributed far more to the Empire’s efforts in Morrowind than have you. Perhaps I must remind you that I am a member in good standing of Great House Hlaalu.”

He said each word of the last three words very slowly and loudly, and some of the bluster went out of Mr. Blumius’s face.

“Now these damned provincials think they can lord it over us! We’re too soft on you savages,” Mr. Blumius fumed.

“Clearly there was a communication error. Regrettable, but such things happen. We can discuss this further in our own time. If you’ll pardon me, I’m entertaining guests.”

“You haven’t heard the last of this!”

“I’m sure. Good evening, Sera Blumius,” Ulnar said, before shutting the door. He let out a long breath and leaned against the wall. Sweat glistened on his brow.

“It’s my fault, Sera Roweni,” Quinn said, her eyes downcast.

“No, it’s mine,” Jeval said. He was the one who’d gotten this whole thing rolling.

“Quinn: why in the world did you tell me that Mr. Blumius had given his permission? You are someone with a level of respect in the community. That you would—”

“But we wanted to help Tiphannia, Muthsera Roweni! I mean, we couldn’t just leave her cursed, right?”

Ulnar rubbed his brow with this thumb and index fingers. “I should say not. But you can’t expect a parent to not to be concerned.”

“And I can’t believe the horrible things Mr. Blumius was saying!” Quinn exclaimed. “You know must of us Imperials aren’t like that, right guys?”

“Totally,” Jeval said. Though he mostly said it to make Quinn feel better.

Ulnar made a dismissive wave with his free hand. “Of course, Quinn. Blumius was simply… venting. However, you cannot go around a father like that. A parent has certain rights when it comes to children. That’s true across all Tamriel, I imagine.”

“I am sorry, Muthsera Roweni,” Quinn said, lowering her head.

“We did try to tell him,” Treads said. “He wasn’t ever going to listen to us.”

Would he have listened to Quinn? Or her mom? Jeval couldn’t help wondering.

“Whatever the case, it’s done. We broke no law in helping Tiphannia. But even someone in my position must be careful. Reputation matters a great deal.” Ulnar straightened up, closed his eyes, and breathed in and out.

A moment later, all the tiredness was gone. He hurried back to the table, flashing a smile. “Now, where we were before that unpleasantness? I believe I was telling you about some of the fashion in Narsis. I daresay you’ll find the sartorial future of Morrowind in that city…”

Jeval wondered how Tiphannia felt about all this.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Oct 22 2023, 08:37 PM

[SubRosa]

Your description of the scene with the girls clustered around Tiphanna suddenly has me thinking of a classic coterie of antebellum Southern belles all fanning themselves furiously because Mr. Darcy walked by soaking wet from swimming through the pond. I know I am mixing sources, but so what?

So Tiphanna is back. Sort of? She is speaking in quicker sentences at least. I hope the real problem is not that she picked up a magical flail from the Hyena Folk...

I can relate to Jeval's feeling of unease in the loudly wealthy Roweni home, especially when it comes to worrying about breaking something priceless. It is a nice subtle nod to their differences in class. You are keenly aware of these things when you are poor.

Ok, so those were the Dissident Priests making such a fuss at the temple, not Dagoth Ur's minions. That is a nice inclusion into the story. We hear about the dissidents in the game of course, but in the game we only see them as people who have been imprisoned, or otherwise in hiding. The game itself would not have been capable of depicting anything like the scene you described at the temple, or any sort of protest or march. It was just beyond their technology at the time. So you filling in that gap was some solid world-building.

The Nerevarine is around and has gained the backing of the Great Houses? Way to go Joan! Well, whoever is the Nerevarine in this universe. Maybe it is January of Detroit, or Blood Raven - Queen of Witches. It sounds like the main quest to Morrowind is very near its conclusion, and things are going to change dramatically, and rapidly, in Morrowind. Especially for the Tribunal Temple.

Don't hold back Blumius, tell us how you really feel about Jeval and Treads...

Yep, there it is. Tiphanna was easy to manage. He liked having her cursed. For the same reason lobotomies were so common in asylums, and then thorazine. They are so much easier to warehouse when they can't think. Now I wonder if he did it to her in the first place? Like how the Kennedy's had Rosemary lobotomized and put in an asylum.

I too, wonder how Tiphanna feels about all of this?

[Acadian]

Wow, it looks like there was something to Jeval’s theory that Tiphannia was indeed somehow cursed. Hopefully the Fashion Club is right that a bit of time is all Tiphannia really needs now to adjust to her new upgraded brain.

Tiphannia’s dad continues to be quite the piece of work, spewing invectives at everyone in sight. Little jungle elf (Buffy’s heard that one before), pet lizard, ash-creeper priests, savage lackeys, superstitious ingrates, damned provincials . . . did we leave out anyone?

And the dirtbag wanted his daughter to remain cursed so she was ‘easy to control’?!? Looks like Tiphannia’s parents rival Synda’s at being unfit to raise children.

Satheri's father is a righteous dude and this episode really highlighted the good hearts that reside in Quinn's Fashion Club.

[WellTemperedClavier]

@SubRosa - Heh, I can definitely see that.

Tiphannia probably didn't run into a magical flail per se, but in regards to this and your last point, I actually never gave much thought as to exactly how she got cursed. I suppose I figured it was common enough in Tamriel that it just might have happened. I don't think Mr. Blumius got her cursed, since he's not really that clever. Just racist and sexist enough to assume this was "normal" for a Keptu-quey.

Yeah, it's always a little anxiety-provoking to be around so many nice and fragile things.

Not quite the Dissident Priests; they're still in hiding. Basically, it's at the point where a lot of people are talking about the Nerevarine coming back (by this point, the Nerevarine's already fulfilled a decent chunk of the main quest), but the Temple hasn't yet admitted it. But the regular Dunmer are all scared.

You'll see how Tiphannia feels a few chapters from now.

@Acadian - Jeval got it right.

Mr. Blumius is a pretty rotten person. Smug, self-satisfied, and deeply bigoted. Mr. Roweni has some issues perhaps, but he's a much better person.

Chapter 7

“Still don’t know if I did the right thing,” Jeval said.

His voice echoed along the deserted nighttime river market as he walked Treads back to her house. Now that it was late, all he could really think about was how mad her dad would be when he brought her home. But it couldn’t be helped.

“You lifted a curse. That’s pretty good, right?” Treads said.

“I think? But I messed things up for her.”

“Tiphannia’s life was already messed up because of that curse, however she got it. But Jeval? The only person who can say if it was right or not is Tiphannia. After talking to her a bit, I think it’ll be a while before she makes up her mind.”

Jeval breathed out a puff of steam and shoved his hands into his pockets. It was too damn cold for late Hearthfire.

“What if she decides I screwed up her life and hates me?”

“She won’t only hate you, Jeval. We all went along with it.”

“But it was my idea.”

“Yeah, well, who’s worse? The fool, or the fool who follows the fool? Is that how it goes? Maybe there wasn’t any clean solution to this one. We either let Tiphannia spend the rest of her life in a magic daze, or completely upend everything she knows.”

Seeing the Duke Vedam Dren Bridge leading to Labor Town, Jeval turned left to cross. But Treads made a gurgling growl deep in her throat.

“I hate this bridge,” she muttered.

“What? Why?”

“Because of who it’s named after. Duke Vedam Dren owns slaves. Mostly beastfolk like me. And the Dunmer and the Empire both love him.”

Jeval fell silent, feeling a bit stupid for not thinking of that.

“Yeah, to hell with him,” Jeval said. “Uh, we can cross at Foreigners’ Span. It’ll take a little longer. Hope your dad won’t get too mad.”

“He’ll already be mad at us for being late, so we might as well commit. He should be mad at this!” she said, pointing to the bridge.

“No kidding.”

“Wish I could break it.”

Anyone could hear the anger in her voice. Anger at something that’d been horrible for thousands of years and never seemed to get better. Jeval knew he couldn’t make it go away. But he wanted to make her feel better—make someone feel better—if only for a bit.

“Uh, I could pee on it, or something,” Jeval said.

He’d said it without thinking. But the words hung in the air, already spoken.

“Seriously?”

Had he offended her? He couldn’t tell. So, he kept going.

“Hey, I drank a lot of rice wine back at Muthsera Roweni’s place. I’m ready to go!”

His pointed ears burned, and his heart pounded. This was stupid. But no one was around. All the Dunmer were praying over this Nerevarine thing, and the outlanders didn’t care.

Treads started laughing.

“I don’t think you’ll do it,” she said, between laughs.

He grinned at her. “Oh yeah? Watch me! Wait, no, don’t watch me, that’s gross. But I’ll do it!”

Jeval jogged over to the bridge. He wanted to laugh at how silly this was. But he unbuttoned the front of his trousers, took it out, and let it flow.

Treads kept laughing, a low guttural laugh that she kept quiet to keep anyone beyond them from hearing. Jeval looked back over his shoulder and saw her doubled over, laughing like he’d never seen her laugh before.

And then he was done. He buttoned up and ran back, grabbing Treads by the forearm.

“Come on, let’s go!”

They ran, just the two of them. They ran without thinking where to go, other than the hell away from the scene of the crime.

“By the gods, Jeval, that was so juvenile! I love it!” she said.

“Promise me you won’t tell Quinn.”

“Can you imagine her reaction? She’d be so grossed—oh, gods, you actually did it! That’s amazing! Stupid, but amazing!”

“Shut up, shut up,” he said, trying not to laugh too loud, all the while panting as he ran. Oh, this was so stupid.

But he felt great.

They didn’t slow down until they reached the Foreigners’ Span, near the south wall.

“Let me catch my breath,” Treads said. She sat down at the midway point, letting her feet dangle above the Odai’s sluggish waters.

Jeval sat down next to her. He put his hands on the bridge’s rough surface and leaned back, turning his eyes up to the stars. Secunda was in full blue glory that night, but Masser was just a red sliver.

“So, uh, I’m thinking I might start doing courier work with my dad,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Could be fun. Sucks you won’t be around as much.”

“It won’t be that bad,” he explained. “Balmora’s going to be my main base, so we can still hang some of the time. But I need to do more than I’m doing. Help my folks out.”

“I hear you. It’s not like my warehouse clerk job helps much. My dad keeps telling me I should enlist in the fleet. I don’t think he actually wants me to. But whatever happens, I can’t stay in Morrowind forever. I won’t.”

“Hey, just had an idea,” he said.

“Please tell me it doesn’t involve peeing on infrastructure.”

“What if you did courier work with me? We could watch each other’s backs, build up some cash. When we get enough, we go somewhere else.”

Treads turned her head to look at him. Jeval couldn’t see the scales around her eyes shift in place like they always did when she was thinking about something, but he knew they were.

“I like that idea, Jeval. But it’s not safe for me. An Argonian on the road, even with a friend…”

Deflated, Jeval looked down at the water. “Not to tell you how to do things or anything, but my dad does know an Argonian courier who runs out of Vivec.”

“It’s more…” Treads trailed off.

“More what?”

“I don’t want to go and see the slavery that’s there in the countryside. Maybe I should go. Maybe it’s bad of me to hide in Balmora and pretend it’s not there. But I can’t handle that, not right now.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. How about this: you keep on doing the clerk stuff and I do courier work. We both save up some money, and when we have enough, we ditch this place.”

“Heh. I like that idea. Where do we go?”

“Cyrodiil, maybe? Wait, no! Hammerfell!”

“Huh. Any particular reason?” Treads asked.

“Always sounded like a cool place to be. Like over there you can’t even go to the cornerclub without having a heroic adventure or something.”

Treads chuckled. “Think that might be a little exaggerated.”

“Yeah, sure. But maybe there’s some truth to it, you know?”

“Could be. The climate there’s a bit dry for me. But I’ll manage.”

“We’d live by the coast, anyway. That’s where all the cool cities are. Deal? We save up, and then break for Hammerfell?” He looked at her, waiting.

Treads made that rumbling sound deep in her throat, the kind that meant she was happy. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s shake.”

They did, her scaly palm pressing against his soft skin.

“I always got your back, Treads. I mean that.”

“And I got yours, Jeval. Whatever happens.”

They stayed there a bit longer, talking about Quinn, Drenlyn, Hammerfell, and what seemed like everything else as the moons moved through the sky. But eventually, they had to go.

But he got scared again as they got closer to Treads’s house. Worse, Jeval felt like he’d let down her dad. Sure, the thing with Tiphannia gave them an excuse. But him peeing on a bridge and then running halfway across town?

That’d been stupid. And dangerous. And not really fair to whoever had to clean up the mess, who’d probably be some poor stiff like him.

If that made Mr. Flowers mad, Jeval couldn’t blame him.

As it turned out, Mr. Flowers was already waiting outside and leaning against the door. Jeval thought he looked like a dragon ready to strike, and then felt bad for thinking that.

“Late again. It’s past midnight. What do I have to do to get basic self-preservation through your skull, Treads-on-Ferns?”

“It’s my fault, Mr. Flowers—”

“Shut up, Jeval,” he growled.

Treads hissed in anger. “Why don’t you get mad at something worth getting mad about, for once in your life? There’s a lot worse going on than me staying out too late!”

“No, there isn’t! Because you’re my daughter, and you matter to me!”

“Which is why you took me to Morrowind. The only province in the Empire that enslaves people. Most of them, by the way, being people like us!” Treads shouted back.

Jeval already knew that this fight was going to be worse than the last. But he didn’t have a clue what he should do.

“Oh, you feel so strongly about this?” Mr. Flowers crossed his arms and took slow steps toward his daughter. “Then why don’t you do something about it. Go enlist with the Imperial Fleet, like I told you. You hate slavers? Then go kill them, with the emperor’s blessing.”

“Are you kidding me? The fleet and legion don’t do [censored]! All the Dunmer have to do is bribe a commander here, a ship captain there, and then they’re in Black Marsh, killing and kidnapping our people!”

“Treads…” Mr. Flowers growled.

“You know why, dad? You know why? Because your precious Empire makes money off it! Because the slave labor here means cheaper goods in the rest of the Empire! You honestly think anyone in the Empire is going to stop it? Are you that naïve?”

“I’m the only one here who has a clue! The Empire’s the only thing keeping our family safe. I’ve seen what Tamriel looks like without the Empire, and I’m telling you, you have no idea—”

“I don’t care!” Treads bellowed. “You’ll just keep making more excuses! How can you even stand living here? Fine, whatever. I’m not coming home.”

Treads immediately turned around and walked in the other direction.

“Where are you going?” Jeval asked. Her father asked the same, just louder and angrier.

A high-pitched rasping sound escaped her sharp-toothed mouth. Argonians didn’t shed tears. But she was crying.

“Treads?”

“I have some Argonian friends,” she said, her words interrupted by sobs. “Damp-with-Dew and Acclesia. I’m staying with them tonight.”

“Uh, okay,” Jeval said. He looked back. Her father was shouting, and windows were opening up. “I’ll come—”

“It’s fine, Jeval. I need to be by myself for a while. Or with them—by myself—I don’t know. I really, really didn’t want you to see that. Just go home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Helplessly, Jeval stood in place as his best friend stormed away, consumed by demons he’d never understand.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Oct 26 2023, 03:54 PM

[Renee]

Hey, quick question: what is your writing/editing process? I'm just curious because is Last Days all new material? Because I seem to remember Outlanders was written and posted on that other forum in the past, but then when you posted here, you made some changes here and there. Hope I got that right.

Here's the novella I wrote this year as a companion piece to Outlanders.

Are you still writing portions of it now, though? Or is the entire novella already written? Just curious. If you're still writing, how far are you into the future with the story?

An example. Acadian and Rosa write their stories months in advance. From what I understand, they're not even publishing until many months have passed. And there are drafts, edits, re-edits, long-term comparisons, and so on. From what I understand, Mrs. Acadian would oversee all the Buffy stories before they ever got posted here. 📚

In contrast, I've always been more of a 'deadline' writer. My mom wrote and later edited for a local newspaper before she retired, and I think I picked up those genetics. With newspapers, you're always publishing the latest stories, you're always pushing for what's happening now, and that is my process. My storywriting is rarely more than a month ahead the written word here in the forum, if that! I've got three or four Laprimas written roughly, and with Joan I'm maybe two weeks behind the actual story.

The upside from my perspective is I always feel "close" to the story, I always feel the excitement of the chase, I guess. The downside is plot holes, stuff which contradicts in the long run, character development which is supremely focussed towards the end, but a little lost early on, and so on. It's harder to make long-term adjustments to a story which is being written week-to-week, you follow?

Just curious what your approach is, because I delight in the fact we've got different methods. Hmm, maybe that wasn't such a quick Q!

So Satheri's not being married just yet. In Chapter 2, it's mentioned that she has to do six rituals at the temple before she goes off to meet her husband-to-be.

Eeesh. I'd rather make my own mistakes. Anyway, where were we?

Is somebody noticing Jeval as he twists up that fabric? Seems like Quinn might be thinking you're not supposed to do that! Or is that from WellTemperedClavier's perspective? .. Or maybe just from the general perspective overall, the opinions of many in regards to how tunics should be treated?

Whoa, this is intense. Tiphannia really has been a different person all this time... lost underneath layers of *whatever* was holding her back. Yet she's still also the same, in a way. Huh. Sort of slow. But she doesn't seem like she's stoned anymore.

They're talking about the Nerevar now, yet even at this pleasant dinner discussion there are divergences. It's all so much like religious beliefs here on Earth, right? Most of us can't agree on any one thing, even within our own doctrines, sects, creeds, and so on!

But you get the occasional crackpot who decides that he’s the Nerevarine and tries to fulfill the prophecy.

Ha ha I Love that line! Anyway, I wonder who this Nerevarine-who's-gaining-acceptance could be? Do you have your own canon Nerevarine, Clav? Hmm. If so, maybe this could be who Ulnar's talking about: somebody with "staying power" in his words.

Uh oh, Blumius is here and he's MAD!!! Wow... jungle elf??? Hey, how can Jeval be from the jungle if he spends an hour a day primping before a mirror?

Wow, it sounds like Blumius was happy the daughter was cursed, right? He had 'control' over her. Whatever that means.

Oh gosh NO don't pee on the bridge... what the? Ugh. This isn't gonna end well...

I love how BIG Jeval's thinking is. He's trying to decide his future with the lizard. That's awesome. Seems a lot of us make BIG plans like this while we're young.

This post has been edited by Renee: Oct 26 2023, 07:29 PM

[SubRosa]

who’s worse? The fool, or the fool who follows the fool?
Thank you Obi-Wan.

“Uh, I could pee on it, or something,” Jeval said.
I laughed at this unsolicited response from Jeval. But now that he mentions it...

It reminds me of the Lions Led By Donkeys podcast, which once inspired an African man to piss on a Rhodesian Nazi's grave

I just hope an Ordinator does not see him, and arrest him, or worse.

This was a nice bonding experience for Jev and Tred. Maybe they will have an excellent adventure in the future?

Aaaand so much for the nice John Hughes movie interlude, and back to the ugliness of reality as Treads and Dad have it out over Dunmeri bigotry and Imperial greed. I know you are not big on podcasts. But you might want to check out Cool People Who Did Cool Stuff, it is all about people who did the kind of things that I feel Treads is about to.

[Acadian]

Be careful, Jeval. Only Nords are allowed to pee on bridges with impunity. In fact, it’s expected of them I think.

Very nice how you manage the flirting as they are on the bridge. Dreaming together of future plans. It does seem Treads is letting her hatred of slavery sabotage her future. . . or perhaps, dictate her future.

“Late again. It’s past midnight. What do I have to do to get basic self-preservation through your skull, Treads-on-Ferns?”
- - I knew this was coming after Treads and Jeval spent so much time peeing and moondreaming. Ya know Dad’s pissed when he calls you by your full name. You bring out quite a conundrum with the Treads/Dad debate. The Dunmer keep slaves and the Empire somewhat looks the other way. On the other hand, Dad is right that it would likely be much more dangerous for the beastfolk without the Empire.

My gut tells me that Treads may be heading for involvement with a smuggle slaves to freedom group. If so, I look forward to Jeval’s reaction to that. After all, the two claim to have each others back. . . .

[WellTemperedClavier]

@Renee - So the stuff I've posted here (including The Last Days of the Fashion Club) were all finished well before I started. However, there were some other sites where I was posting as I went, which could get messy (especially since there were sometimes pretty big gaps between stories in Outlanders).

These days, I try to get at least most of a story finished before I start sharing it. I don't want to risk running out of steam or writing myself into a corner. I get what you mean about feeling "close" to the story, though. While I've sometimes planned stories out, I usually get distracted and end up going in a different direction. Ultimately, you can't know what the right course will be until you actually get there.

I just figured twisting fabric was a bad idea in general. But Jeval's nervous.

Yeah, the Fashion Club never really saw the real Tiphannia. And the real Tiphannia didn't see them. Now that she's here... things won't be the same.

I didn't come up with a canon Nerevarine for this, though if I did they'd probably be Khajiit or Argonian.

So the "jungle elf" epithet is because Valenwood is a tropical jungle (at least, in the old lore--I'm not sure if it still is or not). I use "elf" pretty rarely in this series, since most folks in Morrowind would just use "Mer".

Jeval is making big plans. But he's at the age where he has to start.

@SubRosa - Heh, sometimes that's the best way to get a point across.

Don't think there are usually many Ordinators in Balmora. But given the Nerevarine controversies, who can say for sure? Regardless, he wouldn't want to be caught by a guard, either.

All I'll say at this point is that real life is going to crash very heavily into Jeval's plans.

@Acadian - Thing is, slavery is an inescapable reality for Argonians like Treads, even if they are free. She's right--she can't live safely in Morrowind (or arguably anywhere near the province) because of it. So in that sense, she has no choice but to acknowledge this in her future plans.

It's hard to know exactly what the ideal outcome is. Tread is also right about the Empire benefiting from slavery. While the average citizen is against the practice, too many people also benefit from it (even if indirectly). We know that from previous eras, the factions of Tamriel are apt to fight each other constantly without someone to keep them in line. Then again, the Empire has had more than its share of civil wars (War of the Red Diamond, War of the Camoran Usurper), rebellions, and other problems (Imperial Simulacrum Crisis).

Of course when the Empire goes, things will be terrible because so many factors depend on the Empire. Will they get better eventually? Eh, that's pretty doubtful. Even without the Septims, someone's going to try and take their place.

Now, I'm speaking strictly about Tamriel as presented in these stories, not Tamriel in TES. I think the best option might have been for the Empire to adopt more of a federal system, similar to what Archduke Franz Ferdinand tried to do with the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This would give the constituent provinces more autonomy while still allowing for trade, travel, and some degree of common governance.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States...Greater_Austria

But even this doesn't actually solve the problem of slavery. Great House Hlaalu, at least, bans slavery after the events of Morrowind (supposedly, so does Dres, though I don't find this believable). But even if Hlaalu did, I'm not sure Telvanni would particularly care. You'd basically need to exert enough Imperial will to do something about this (and being a federal system would probably make it harder).

Maybe there was a short chance for Chancellor Ocato to force the issue after the Tribunal fell. Hlaalu would have supported this. But then Red Year happened, and then Ocato got assassinated, so yeah.

Chapter 8

Jeval didn’t like working at the Lucky Lockup. But he didn’t exactly hate it, either.

It gave him a safe place. Here, he didn’t have to worry what Tiphannia thought about being restored, or what was going on with Treads and her dad. All he had do to was keep track of drinks and wipe down tables. Folks from all over came to the Lucky Lockup, so there was always good people-watching.

He hadn’t heard from anyone in the Fashion Club since Tiphannia’s restoration. All he’d done since was return the book to Jolda.

It was on a rainy Tirdas afternoon that Mr. Flowers came by for a visit. Jeval’s stomach sank to his feet as the massive Argonian sat at a table in the middle of the parlor. He looked calm, at least.

But even now, Jeval wasn’t great at reading Argonian emotions. At least for anyone other than Treads.

Okay, well he was at a semi-respectable cornerclub. Mr. Flowers was a legion vet. Didn’t like chaos or mess. Maybe he just wanted to relax.

Gulping and taking a deep breath, Jeval walked up to check on his best friend’s dad.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Flowers. Can I, uh, get you anything?”

Mr. Flowers blinked. “Oh, Jeval. I didn’t know you worked here. Yes, I’ll take some Free Estates wine if you have any. Mazte, otherwise.”

“We do have some bottles of Free Estates,” Jeval said.

He hurried over to the bar and grabbed a pewter cup (one designed for snouts instead of lips) and a bottle of the stuff and returned to the table.

“Four septims,” Jeval said, putting the bottle and cup on the table.

Mr. Flowers handed him a five-septim coin. “Keep the change,” he said.

“Thanks. Uh, sorry again I couldn’t get Treads home on time.”

Mr. Flowers waved it off. Maybe he didn’t want to talk. That was fine by Jeval.

“No, you don’t need to apologize. Heh, I know my daughter. There’s no way you can convince her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

Jeval grinned. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“She’s a fighter. And I love that about her,” he said. “Do you have a few minutes, Jeval?”

“Uh, hold on.”

Jeval checked with his boss, who said it was fine. Then he sat down across the table from Mr. Flowers, wondering exactly what the old man wanted to talk about. Mr. Flowers had already filled the cup and was drinking from it.

“Wait,” Jeval said, the sight of Mr. Flowers drinking making him think of something Treads had told him. “Can Argonians get drunk?”

Mr. Flowers put the cup back down and smiled, the cheap wine staining his sharp white teeth. “We can. But not from the kinds of drinks you get here.”

“You like the taste of wine?”

“Not especially. But even though I have scales and a traditional Argonian name, I’m Cyrodiilic down to my bones. And when the men of Cyrodiil are scared and sad, they drink wine. Thus, when I’m scared and sad, I do the same.”

Jeval simply nodded. If he had to take a side, it’d be Treads’s. But he didn’t want to hurt Mr. Flowers, either.

“I don’t know if Treads told you, but we’d been helping Tiphannia.”

Mr. Flowers nodded. “She did. Took me a while to tease out what happened. She’s, ah, not speaking to me much these days. But you made the right call. Not fair to the girl for her to live under a curse.”

“Yeah. Just hope it didn’t mess things up for her.”

“You can’t always know the long-term consequences. If that had been me under the curse, I’d be glad.”

“No offense, but it wasn’t you.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. We’re stuck never knowing exactly what effect our actions will have. I think my daughter has trouble understanding that.”

“How do you mean?”

“She wants to make a better world. And she should. At her age, that’s a good thing.” He took another draught, nearly emptying the cup, and then refilled it.

Jeval wasn’t sure what Mr. Flowers was getting at. “What’s the problem then? You didn’t like what she said about the Empire?”

“Well, she isn’t entirely wrong. The Empire doesn’t care as much about Argonians—or Khajiit—as it should. But for all of that, it’s the best bet we have.”

Jeval forced a smile. “Sure, I’m all for the Empire,” he said.

Actually, Jeval didn’t much think about the Empire. It was just there, like the sky and the sea. And like the sky and the sea, there was no point in getting mad at it.

“You’re too young to remember the Imperial Simulacrum Crisis.” Mr. Flowers said.

“My dad was around for it. That’s why he got out of Valenwood.”

Mr. Flowers nodded. “I know some terrible things happened there. My unit was stationed up in Skyrim, in the Reach, right when the War of Bend’r Mahk broke out. All of a sudden you had these armies of half-naked Nords howling as they charged south to kill and burn everything in their path.

“As the legion, it was our sacred task to protect the Empire. Except we didn’t. Because the False Emperor Tharn wanted chaos. He wanted dissension, confusion, and terror to undo all Tamriel. The word came on down that the legion was to stand by and let the slaughter happen.”

“What happened?” Jeval asked.

“We obeyed orders, as soldiers do. At first, we thought we were simply holding position until reinforcements could arrive. No point in fighting a war if you don’t have enough troops to win. But when no reinforcements ever came, we figured something was up. My commander sent me and a few others to scout the city of Karthwasten, which the Nords had recently seized.

“It was a horror. Blood-covered streets and burned houses as far as the eye could see. People stumbling bloody through the frozen mud. I saw little children whose heads had been bashed to putty on the stones of the Karth River. These were kids, Jeval. Two, three years old. What could possibly justify that?”

Mr. Flowers’s eyes got bigger as he spoke, like he was seeing it again for the first time.

“That’s when I learned what happens when the Empire fails. People die. Not a few but thousands, and in the worst ways. If you want to envision Tamriel without the Empire, think of the scene I just told you about and imagine it across the entire continent, in every place you’ve ever called home, to everyone you’ve ever loved.

“But maybe, if we follow the law and abide under the Septims, it’ll slowly get better. That if we give people little jobs and distract them with stupid baubles, they’ll someday forget the hatreds of their fathers and grandfathers. That all the races and cultures in Tamriel will one day simply be neighbors. Maybe a little petty, maybe a little greedy. But no one that much worse than the other. No one so bad that you’d want to bash their children’s heads against the rocks.

“If all that happens, if we keep going in that direction… then Treads-on-Ferns will never have to see the things I saw.”

Mr. Flowers suddenly grabbed Jeval’s hand, gripping it so tightly it hurt. “And that’s worth any price to me.”

The gills on Mr. Flowers’s neck flattened, his eyes quivering in their scaly sockets. He was terrified. Not just of his memories, either. Jeval sensed something else, maybe all this stuff about the Nerevarine and the Tribunal barreling down on Morrowind.

And everyone knew the emperor was old.

“Could you let go of my hand?” Jeval asked.

Mr. Flowers blinked, and then let go. “Sorry,” he said, eyes downcast.

“What happened in the Reach? Were you guys able to, uh, fix things?” Jeval asked. Maybe that’s how Mr. Flowers had got those scars: doing something badass to avenge the dead.

Mr. Flowers didn’t say anything at first. Then he shook his head. “No. By that point, the Nords were too well-situated in the cities they’d seized. Our commander, a fine man named Haptallus Mantus, did take action. We found refugees—Redguards and Reachmen mostly, plus some Nords in the wrong place at the wrong time—and guided them to safety across the border when we could. Fought off a few raiding parties. That’s how I got these.” He gestured to the scars.

“That’s brave.”

“We were disobeying orders. But the Legion is the Empire. And my unit fulfilled that, in spirit if not in letter. Of course, they punished us later. That’s why I’m in Morrowind. They cut my pension, so I needed to move someplace with low cost-of-living. Plus, as a colonist I get a few tax breaks.”

“But you were the good guys!”

“A soldier understands that you have to maintain the chain of command. We all knew what we were getting into when we disobeyed.”

“Still seems messed up.” For maybe the first time in his life, Jeval regretted not paying more attention in Dimartani’s history class. “What about after the crisis ended? Did you kick the Nords out of, uh, Karthwasten?”

“No. I already said, the Nords had taken the place. It’d take another war to remove them.”

“But they stole it!”

“Yes, they did. And they claimed that the Redguards had stolen it from them, hundreds of years ago. Of course, the Nords stole it from the Reachmen before the Redguards were ever on the scene. Whatever group the Reachmen took it from probably doesn’t exist anymore.

“You know, sometimes I wish I could get my old unit together. Then team up with other units that did the right thing during the crisis. We’d fix Tamriel for good. We’d take out every separatist, every slaver, every petty king who’d kill babies to get his name into the history books. And then maybe the world won’t need us anymore.”

He let out a long sigh, the muscles in his neck relaxing.

“Have you told Treads about what happened to you?” Jeval asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m scared. I’m scared she’ll throw it back in my face the way she always does when I talk about the Empire.”

Jeval hesitated. “You don’t want me to tell her this, do you?”

Mr. Flowers blinked a few times, and then laughed, the same warm hissing laugh that Treads made. “No, no. That’d be silly. A man must tell his own stories. But I wanted to talk to someone. You’re a good listener, Jeval. That’s a rare quality, especially at your age.”

“Uh, thanks.” He’d never really thought about that before.

“I know my daughter will do what she wants. But would you look out for her when you’re together? Whatever time that is?”

“Always,” Jeval said. That was an easy answer.

“Thanks. That’s all I ask,” Mr. Flowers said.

Jeval sat there a few moments longer. Finally, he excused himself went back to work, wondering why he felt so heavy all of a sudden.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Oct 29 2023, 08:44 PM

[Acadian]

Ahh, we get a good glimpse inside the retired Legionnaire. And my opinion of him continues to grow. He did the right things for the right reasons. His frustrations over some of the futility of his profession and his fervent wish that warriors could somehow fight their way into obsolescence strikes close to home. But that’s the nature of the business – to see and do messy things so others (hopefully) don’t have to.

[SubRosa]

I cannot help but compare Jeval here and his thoughts about the Empire to similar thoughts a young farm boy from Tatooine had about another Empire. It's all so far away from here...

Mr. Flowers had a good look at what happens when good people stand by and do nothing, which is all evil needs to win. I see he eventually did stop standing by, and wears the scars for it. He has some good reasons for wanting the Empire to endure. I expect he can foresee the same happening again in the near future, and Treads being a part of it, as her revolutionary zeal is taking her in that direction.

I really do like how this has moved from the Daria story to the Jeval and Treads tale. The first was obviously a witty, biting, sarcastic comedy inspired by the TV show. But this story has a life of its own, and takes itself much more seriously, given the harsh realities it dives headfirst into.

[Renee]

Sorry for questions, I just get curious. That is incredible though, Last Days was already completed before being posted here.

I can see Jeval's perspective. The Lucky Lockup seems like it's be a fun place to work, sometimes. But also kind of dangerous. And some customers are rude and annoying.

Ah, so the book they 'borrowed' DID get returned! Phew. I was worried it'd get damaged or waterlogged or something. My prediction for a Leave it to Beaver awkward outcome did not fulfill.

They have differents cups for reptilians! How clever. I wonder if "not from the kinds of drinks you get here" he's talking about hist.

Wow, he's talking about Jagar Tharn. Tapping into some early lore, there. Mister Flowers has seen the devastation which can occur if stability's not a factor. But he's also aware that there's an opposite side, as well.

I think I'd have a hard time not paying attention in Dimartini's history class. Firstly, I always got As in history, secondly, the TEACHER talks like THIS!!! 🧑‍🎓

Can't help but wonder where all of this is going, in regards to the Argonian's lecture. How does this fit into the Last Days Of The Fashion Club? Was that lecture just a distraction, a sidebar to the rest of the story? Will Jeval become a courier as he was pondering? or join the military? Guess we'll find out.

I didn't come up with a canon Nerevarine for this, though if I did they'd probably be Khajiit or Argonian

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 2 2023, 03:46 PM

[WellTemperedClavier]

@Acadian - For Mr. Flowers, I drew upon various veteran accounts that I've read and heard. He knows the problems of the Empire better than most. But he's also seen what it looks like when central authority falls apart in Tamriel.

@SubRosa - Mr. Flowers can sense the instability roiling beneath the surface. The Empire never totally recovered from the Simulacrum Crisis, and even though things seem fine now, a lot of the power players and local lords know that the Empire can only do so much to hold them back. It's a little like in my comment to Acadian for the last chapter; Tamriel needs to change to survive, but most folks don't want to acknowledge that. And the ones who do don't have any clear answer.

(I still think that maybe a federalist system is the best answer, but I'm not sure if there's enough precedent for that to be even slightly viable).

Thanks. I really wanted to use this story to go into some of the heavier themes that Outlanders touched on but never quite had the opportunity to explore. Daria can dodge a lot of these inequities, but Jeval and Treads are more limited.

@Renee - No need to apologize! I love talking shop.

It could be confusing for someone who stumbles into it.

Pressure does help, I find. Knowing that there's an expectation can really trigger that inspiration. That said, I'm leaning more toward finishing or mostly finishing a story before I start posting, mostly because I'm afraid of writing myself into a corner and leaving folks disappointed.

Lucky Lockup's not a bad place. It's a traveler's tavern, so there are a lot of people coming through. But they're usually more interested in business than fighting. Actual dust-ups would be pretty rare. Customers can be rude or annoying though. That's true in any establishment, sadly.

Heh, yes, the book is back. Wouldn't want to cross Ranis Athrys...

So I took some poetic license here. In-game, Argonians are as affected by alcohol as anyone else. But the lore says they're immune to poison, which alcohol technically is. So I decided that they can't really get drunk on wine. Mr. Flowers was talking about hist sap, but probably some other unusual beverages that you could only find in Black Marsh or Argonian neighborhoods.

I was the same way in history. Easiest class for me, and I was always engaged. Honestly always had a hard time figuring out why my classmates weren't; people enjoy stories, right? And history is all about stories. I suppose they aren't always well-told or easy to relate to. Plus, I did have a few very boring history teachers who'd clearly stopped caring (but also some excellent ones passionate about the subject).

A lot of this is Jeval learning about the world around him. He's been sheltered in some ways, and he's starting to understand that. Each perspective he gets in this story is another step.

Chapter 9

With his face hidden in steam, and hot water up to his neck, Jeval tried to relax.

He’d gone to Marius’s Baths, a public bathhouse in Labor Town that was close enough to the Foreigner’s Span that it didn’t look weird for a Commercial District guy like him to be a patron. Used to be he’d take baths at the Spick and Span near Drenlyn Academy. But joining the Fashion Club meant he had to take more baths, and Marius’s was cheaper.

It was as crowded as always, mostly with day laborers and riverside stall merchants. The place was gender-segregated, like all bathhouses in Morrowind (he’d heard most other provinces had coed bathhouses, which sounded like another good reason to get out of Morrowind). The water was a little cloudier than it should be, but that was Labor Town for you.

The conversation around him turned into a vague buzz as he thought about what Mr. Flowers had said. How simple that’d be. Just take out the bad people.

Jeval wasn’t a brain. But he knew that some of those bad people also had cities and towns under their rule. How many regular folks would you have to cut through to get to the bad people? Regular folks like the ones who’d been murdered at Karthwasten?

Would it be worth it? Maybe, if it really did stop anything bad from ever happening again. But what were the chances of that?

Jeval took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sank into the bathwater. He only heard his heartbeat and the swish of the water around him.

He wanted to be clean.

Then he exhaled, a storm of bubbles escaping from his lips. He came back up from the water, opening his eyes and taking in a big breath of damp air.

*********

The next day, he decided he was sick of waiting and would just go talk to Tiphannia and see what was going on.

He left the Lucky Lockup the moment work ended and walked north along the crowded river markets. More priests that day, telling all the Dunmer to worship the Tribunal. Weirdly, there was even a priest of the Imperial Cult telling outlanders to keep worshipping the Nine Divines or “the legally permitted regional faiths of your choice”.

But that was just background noise to Jeval. He remembered how, in weekends on the old days, Quinn would sometimes bring the rest of the Fashion Club down to his neighborhood and knock on his door, telling him there was a new coat or hat at Clanler’s that he’d just look great in.

It always was something he’d look great in. Affording it was trickier. But it’s not like the Fashion Club always bought stuff on their visits to the market. Not even Satheri had that kind of money. It was just window-shopping, and he was cool with that.

Mostly, he liked that Quinn would take the trip down to the poorer, dirtier part of the Commercial District to include him. And they went to Labor Town to pick up Treads, too, sometimes. Not that they hung around Labor Town; not much window-shopping there. Still, everyone had a place in the club.

Quinn hadn’t visited in a long time. Work kept pulling them farther apart.

Jeval soon reached the Blumius house, just a block away from the fancy shops in St. Roris Square. Now he had to figure out how to get in touch with Tiphannia. He probably wasn’t real popular in the Blumius house after the whole restoration thing.

But he needed to know how Tiphannia felt about it.

“Jeval?” drawled her familiar voice.

She was just coming in from St. Roris Square, a basket full of ash yams on her arm. What’s more, she was dressed casual, in a simple beige wool dress with an old brown cloak made of the same. It fit well, and her lustrous black hair was brushed, so she still looked at the top of her game.

But different.

“Hey! Can we talk?”

Tiphannia looked over at her house, and then motioned for him to come to her. That was new. He’d never seen Tiphannia take charge like that.

Jeval breathed in, breathed out, and walked toward her. Time to find out if he’d made her life better or worse.

“Are you mad at me?” he blurted out when he got close enough.

Tiphannia didn’t say anything. For a second, he wondered if the curse had come back.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

Somehow, that felt worse than a “yes”.

“Uh, is your dad giving you trouble?”

She made a face. It was the first he’d ever seen her annoyed at something other than poor fashion choices. “Not… exactly. He’s saying a lot. He wants me… to get a job.”

Work had never been in the cards for her before.

“I don’t mind,” she continued. “But even though I understand things better… it’s hard. Like my brain gets it… but my hands don’t. I get confused. And I do want a job. But for me… not for him.”

“Makes sense,” Jeval said.

“I sold… a bunch of my old dresses. The nice ones.”

Wait, what? Tiphannia had been more obsessed with her clothes than anyone else in the club!

“Even the cyan one?” he asked.

“Yeah. But I don’t think… I got enough money for it. Quinn always used to handle that kind of… thing.”

“Okay. Well, bring her in. Or maybe I can help! I can’t get a deal as good as her, but I can do some haggling.”

He was better than Satheri, and about as good as Treads.

“I sold it all… already. I’m going back to Cathnoquey.”

“Whoa. That’s pretty far.”

“I know. I’ll have to like… save up for a while. But I can’t stay here.”

The Fashion Club was finished, Jeval realized. Satheri would be gone in less than a month. Tiphannia was pissed and planning to leave. He and Treads weren’t going to stick around either.

Dammit. He knew they were being pushed apart, but why so fast? Why not have a few more years where they saved up money as friends, hanging out and killing time?

“Did you talk to Quinn?” Jeval asked.

Tiphannia’s eyebrows went vertical. “Didn’t you hear what I… said? I don’t want to talk to her after all this.”

“Whoa, Tiphannia: this is my fault. Not hers.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “That’s not what I mean! It’s like… all this time she was making all the decisions. She never, like… asked me.”

“Yeah, but you were cursed. Or attribute damaged. Whatever they called it.”

“Why did you all… want me around? Like I was just some dumb girl you could all like… laugh at?”

Jeval raised his hands. “Wait! We all like you, Tiphannia. I mean, you were strange. But we all were. The Fashion Club was basically the Weirdo Club. But who cares? It worked.”

“I do like Satheri. But Quinn used me to… look good. Treads was like… really mean. I remember all those things she said about me. And you went along…”

[censored], Jeval thought to himself. Because yeah, Treads could be a little mean. He hadn’t seen the harm. It’s not like Tiphannia got any of it. Except she had, sort of.

“Look, I’ll talk with Treads. She likes messing with people sometimes. As for Quinn, don’t you remember that big fashion show last year? You had that, uh, Keptu-quey getup for your dress. That was you. And she loved it!”

“She probably… loved that someone in the Fashion Club had, like… won. I got into a big fight with her two days ago. She got all like… upset. Saying she’d tried to be nice to everyone.”

“Tiphannia, she was nice. But no one’s perfect!”

“You’re just saying that… because you still have a crush on her. Which is… pathetic. It’s been years. It’s not going to happen.”

Why did he have to deal with this crap? He’d gotten Tiphannia restored! She should be happy!

“Forget this!” he said. “I don’t know what you expect. Yeah, okay, I have a thing for her. But I’m not wrong! Quinn made a place for us. What do you think would’ve happened to you without her, huh? You’d just be some dumb loser the entire school looked down on. But Quinn gave you a chance. Same as she gave all of us. Yeah, she’s not perfect, but so what? None of us are.”

Tiphannia took a step forward. Short though she was, she was as tall as him, which he hated. She leaned in.

“[censored] you,” she said, and then walked back to her house.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Nov 2 2023, 05:18 PM

[SubRosa]

Jeval is starting to sound like Anakin Skywalker. Not the one from the movies, but the actually well-portrayed one we got from the Clone Wars TV show. Just take out the bad people. How many other people do you have to kill in the process? Who decides how many of them justifies it? Shouldn't someone just do it unilaterally, because it is the right thing to do, and let democracy and ethics sort themselves out afterward? Doesn't the galaxy need someone to just do what is right to restore order?

I was going to say something last time, but decided against it because I felt like I was being too soap-boxy. So I might as well get my Thomas Paine out now then. As much as I can empathize with Mr. Flowers and his admittedly horrific experience in the Simulacrum War, I cannot find much empathy for the Empire itself, or in the justification for its existence.

Now granted the reason is because of real world empires, and how they behave, which I am admittedly projecting onto the game world here. In reality empires exist for one reason. For the conquering state to extract wealth from the conquered. That can be natural resources, or it can even be people, either in the form of slaves, or even in the form of soldiers.

For example, the British built railroads in their colonies. But those were not made for the convenience of the people living there. They were made to take the wealth extracted from the interior and send it to the coast, where it could be loaded on ships and sent to Britain. At the beginning of WW2 the British Empire was the largest single state in the world, with a bit over half a billion people. Her military was filled with colonial troops from places like India, Nepal, Africa, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, etc... Especially India. That wealth, and that manpower, made Great Britain the most powerful nation on the planet in 1939.

I think Bethesda wants us to believe that the Cyrodiilic Empire, especially that of the last of the Septims, was a kinder, gentler entity that any real world empires. But then again, they have the East Empire Trading Company in Morrowind. It has a monopoly on just about every resource unique or notable to the province, like ebony, glass, etc... Clearly it is at least inspired by the RL British and Dutch East India Companies. These again, existed solely to extract wealth from far flung places and bring it back to the centers of their empires.

But back to Mr. Flowers in particular, I am reminded that Tamriel was not always ruled by an Empire. The reason it is now is because Tiber Septim conquered all the other provinces. He did those same sorts of war crimes that Mr. Flowers witnessed in the War of the Simulacrum. The Empire would not exist without it. Nor could Tiber Septim have done it without foot soldiers like Mr. Flowers himself, or at least his analogues from that period. If I recall correctly after the Battle of Sancre Tor Tiber Septim sold all the Breton and Nord prisoners he had taken into slavery. Then when he got the Numidium he was going to use it to murder the royal families of all the neutral states in Tamriel. That was why Zurin Arctus betrayed him, in order to stop it.

So the Empire's hands are definitely not clean, and never have been. Even barring how they turn a blind eye to slavery in Morrowind because leaving that power structure in place is something they ultimately benefit from as well.

The flip side of this coin however, is that the current Empire does provide stability. IRL, the decolonization that took place after WW2 provides a clear example of that, especially in India. Most of the time the old empires like Britain deliberately kept the native population out of any form of self-rulership during their periods of empire. Then when they withdrew they just dropped it all in the laps of people who had absolutely no preparation for taking over and running a modern, industrial society. That is not because those people were infantile, or stupid. They were deliberately prevented from learning these skills by their colonial masters. Then they were just abandoned. The end result is almost always chaos and civil war, like with the Partition of India, which the British thoroughly cocked up.

But the flip side of the flip side, is that the alternative is maintaining the status quo. That just retains the same corrupt, one-sided, predatory systems of power that have always been oppressing people. Real change does not take place nicely and neatly. It's messy, and ugly, and often people completely undeserving pay terrible prices. It is why the United States exist. Why the 40 hour work week exists. Why slavery was ended (well, mostly). Etc...

We have the advantage of being able to see somewhat into Tamriel's future. So we know the cataclysm coming to Morrowind in the near future, and across the rest of the continent to one extent or another. This Empire is not going to transition slowly and methodically to de-colonization. It is going to be here one day, gone the next. In some regards it can indeed make one pine for the good old days of the Empire. OTOH, those days were really not all that good.

So what I am I saying? I don't know. I think that reality is messy and ugly. There aren't any shining knights and perfect heroes. Stability often comes at a price that is just a formalized form of brutality and oppression. While change is a democratized form of the same, since then everyone can do war crimes, not just the ancien regime that used to be in power. None of it is wonderful. I suppose the best we can try to do is make that change meaningful, so that it was somehow worth the suffering it required to come about.

For example, World War 1 and 2 did eventually lead to the European Union, which I do think is a vast improvement over the warring states period that existed in Europe for centuries before it. Now it is inconceivable for France to go to war with Germany. It is just heart-breaking that it took so much horror to get there.

Ok, off my soap-box now, I promise.

So Jevvie is out on the streets, and all the priests are saying "Totally go on worshiping the traditional way" and "Nothing to see here." We are clearly in the final days of the Tribunal Temple.

Tiphanna is dressed in.. brown? beige? An old cloak? Whoa. Things have changed a lot!

So Tiphanna is going back to Cathnoquey. I can certainly see why she would want to get away from her father. While she seems better, she does not seem entirely right as well. She still has these... pauses where she seems to have to stop to gather her thoughts. Maybe she is just choosing her words with care, because she does not want to say the wrong thing. Or maybe she is still recovering from the curse, and having to search to find the words at all. But it is still an improvement.

Well that could have gone better. But then again, as I said when I was back on my soapbox, change can be really ugly and messy. I can certainly see why Tiphanna would feel hurt about everything and lash out. Treads even warned about this. One can only hope that she can make a better future for herself in Cathnoquey.

[Acadian]

Nothing like a hot bath to help one think and try to sort out the world’s problems. A far cry from Jeval’s concerns back in the heyday of the Fashion Club where his biggest concerns were would that new hat look as great on him as Quinn promised and how to pay for it.

Probably a good idea to find out directly if Tiphannia is mad at him.

Well. . . that could have gone better. Though I sort of understand Tiphannia being upset, Jeval has the right of it, said the right things and it is too bad Tippie’s not listening. Kind of a mess all right, but not your fault Jeval. And sadly, it does seem the Fashion Club is in its last days. . . .

[WellTemperedClavier]

@SubRosa - Jeval's wondering all that, especially in regard to Mr. Flowers. Since there's no way Mr. Flowers can do what he wants--however well-intentioned--without a lot of collateral damage.

The soapbox is fine here because The Last Days of the Fashion Club is the big "political" story. I'm not necessarily trying to provide answers--I'm not smart enough for that. But I am trying to point to some of the questions I think we should all be asking.

Since you're right: empires are extractive institutions and the Septim Empire is no exception.

I think the nature of the Empire gets a little blurred in some of the later games. Oblivion has you explicitly defending the Empire from a much darker threat. Skyrim, IMO, kind of fumbled in its attempt to showcase the pros and cons. I'll admit that I always side with the Empire in Skyrim, both because the Stormcloaks rub me the wrong way, and because I get annoyed at how hard the game seems to be trying so very hard to make me like the Stormcloaks.

But the problems of the Empire are pretty clear in Morrowind if you pay attention. While the Dunmer leaders aren't necessarily sympathetic, the Empire is still looting the province for its own benefit (and, of course, benefiting from slavery).

The Septim Empire probably is a kinder gentler empire than most of the real world ones... but it's still an empire with everything that entails. These are all things I touched on in Outlanders, but Jeval and Treads have to grapple with it in a way that Daria never quite has to worry about.

It's important to note that Tiber Septim wasn't Tamriel's first power-mad conqueror. He was just the most successful. And like all successful conquerors, he was incredibly brutal, as you said.

You pretty much got the question I was going for here: what price stability? And is stability worth tolerating injustice? For someone like Mr. Flowers, who's older and devoted to his family, he'll take the stability. Treads (and his son) come first. But he's also a bit naive about just how much danger his kids are in living in a place like Morrowind, all because of the Empire's greed and apathy. The stability may not help him as much as he thinks.

But he's also seen the alternative. And that's not something he'll ever countenance or support. Even if something better does come from the Empire's dissolution, it'll be a long and bloody march. He's not willing to sacrifice Treads for the possibility of a better future.

Maybe after all the chaos, you'll end up with an EU, like our own Europe did. But if the Cold War had gone nuclear (and it once came close due to a computer glitch of all things), it'd look a lot different. How much success is dumb luck? It's hard to know.

Tamriel's actually a rather poignant case, since we do get to see into its future, and things aren't great. The Mede Empire certainly isn't better than the Septim Empire (and is probably worse). The Aldmeri Dominion is definitely worse. An-Xileel doesn't sound great. Morrowind might eventually become better, but I have to admit I'm skeptical they'd stay abolitionist once Hlaalu and the Empire are gone (though they might use fewer slaves due to no longer relying on cash crops for their economy, which might make smaller farms more practical as seen in Redoran territory). Maybe independent Hammerfell is nicer; don't think we have any solid data on the place as of yet.

And yes, we're in the final days of the Tribunal. The Fashion Club isn't the only thing passing into history.

@Acadian - Yeah, Jeval's having to face this all at once. It's a lot for a guy to deal with, and that calls for a bath.

It's a tough situation with Tiphannia. Jeval did the right thing. The Fashion Club watched out for Tiphannia, but they did kind of treat her like a mascot sometimes. Emotionally, it's very complicated for her.

Chapter 10

Jeval went over to Quinn’s house after the thing with Tiphannia. She’d just gotten home from the Portollos, and even though she’d done her best to look perfect, he could tell something was bothering her.

But she said she needed to be alone.

He went home. On the way, he passed a flower-seller and bought a fire petal. It seemed kind of silly, now. But that was the last bit of fashion advice that Quinn had given him. Once he got it, he pinned it on his shirt.

It did look good.

Jeval spent Fredas working at the Lucky Lockup and helping his mom with chores. Dad had already gone on a long courier run to Ald Velothi; Jeval had been too busy with the recent drama to ask about going, and Ald Velothi was pretty far. But he’d go for sure next time.

Not like he had much reason to stick around in Balmora.

A cold drizzle hit the city just after sundown on Fredas and turned into steady rain by Loredas morning. The rain drummed on the adobe rooftops and splashed down onto the Commercial District’s flagstones. The shadows in the small rooms of Jeval’s house seemed to get bigger and darker as the morning hours wore on. Seleynia and mom argued about whether to use more candles.

If Jeval stuck around any longer, he’d get drawn in. Better to try his luck out there than inside.

He threw on his dad’s spare netch leather cloak and snuck out of the house. Balmora was all about business and didn’t normally let rain get in the way. But the street was quiet that day. A few stall merchants called out their wares, though their hearts weren’t in it. Workers and walkers moved quickly, like they didn’t want to be seen.

Hardly anyone was a Dunmer. Must have something to do with that religious trouble. It made him think of the riot last year, which had started as protests that had slowly simmered until they’d boiled over. Hopefully, the folks in charge were paying more attention this time.

They probably weren’t.

Jeval decided to take a chance and see if Treads was off work. Once at her home, he knocked a few times. Lucky for him, Treads answered.

“Oh, hey!” she said.

“Hey. You off today?”

“I wasn’t, but they gave my shift to Occitus. I was glad they did; it’s too nice a day to work there. I was going to go over and see what you were up to.”

“Oh, neat! Hey, I got the fire petal, like Quinn said. Think it works?”

“Yeah, has that vibe. Dashing without being rakish.”

“Sweet, that’s what I wanted to hear. Anyplace you want to go?”

Treads thought about it a bit. “You ever been to the Spiked Scrib?”

Jeval tried to remember if he’d heard that name before. “Don’t think so.”

“It’s a dinky little cornerclub in the middle of Labor Town. Nothing special, but I like the place. Damp-with-Dew introduced me to it.”

“Sounds good to me. You’re hanging out with him a lot?”

“Damp-with-Dew’s okay, though he can be a pain sometimes. I like his girlfriend, Acclesia, a lot more. If we’re lucky, they’ll both be there. If it’s just Damp-with-Dew… well, he’s all right. Just don’t let him get under your skin.”

“Lead the way.”

Treads said a quick goodbye to her family and then stepped out. She sighed in delight as the rain poured down on her scales, the brilliant greens as bright as gemstones.

They tramped through the puddles as the rain crashed down around them, the paved streets by the river soon giving way to mud.

“I decided I’m not going to go out at night anymore,” Treads said.

“Oh yeah?” Jeval wondered if her dad had told her what he’d told him.

“I’m not wrong. Argonians are never going to be safe here, day or night. But it scares my dad, and he’s already dealing with a lot. So, I’ll stick to the day to make things easier for him. Plus, a few beastfolk have disappeared recently.”

“For real? What happened?”

Treads blinked slowly, which she always did when Jeval missed the point about something. “They disappeared. No one knows. Hopefully they just left town in a hurry but… I have to be careful.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else. There’s nothing we can do about that right now.”

“Sure. Uh, I talked to Tiphannia. Didn’t go too well.”

Jeval told her the story and she listened. Hearing it out of his own mouth, Jeval wished he hadn’t lost his temper at Tiphannia. Though he didn’t think he’d been totally wrong.

“It’s got to be hard for her. And I didn’t make things easy for her,” Treads said.

“Oh?” Jeval had left out the part about Tiphannia being pissed at Treads. Maybe he shouldn’t have, but he didn’t want Treads to get mad at Tiphannia and make things worse.

“I made fun of her a lot, because, well… I’m kind of mean. Shouldn’t have done that.”

“Things were fine until I figured out Tiphannia was cursed.”

“Would you do it differently, if you knew?” Treads asked.

Jeval thought about it a bit. “No.”

“Exactly. You couldn’t leave her cursed.”

“Maybe you’re right. Should I say sorry to Tiphannia?”

Treads sighed and shook her head. “No. Just leave her alone for now. Quinn visited me, yesterday.”

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t say much. Think she wanted to pretend things were normal, so we just poked around the markets for a while. Sorry I didn’t invite you, but we weren’t out for long.”

“It’s cool, I was working yesterday anyway. You know, even after all this, I’m still kind of amazed anyone like Quinn exists. She’s, uh, great.”

But it felt weird to say, now. Not because he didn’t believe it. Maybe because things just didn’t feel the same anymore.

“No offense, Jeval…” Treads said.

Treads knew that Jeval knew nothing would ever happen between him and Quinn, so she almost never brought it up. He braced himself anyway.

“… but I think you’re over Quinn,” she finished.

Jeval did a double-take. “Huh?” He hadn’t expected that.

“You’re not in love with her anymore. But you’re so used to thinking that you are that you haven’t realized you aren't. Think about it. You used to say you’d always be near her, and now you’re making plans to ditch Morrowind.”

“Uh, well, Quinn could go with us to Hammerfell,” he said. Sure, that’d be a little weird. But it’d work.

Right?

“She won’t. What’s more, you don’t want her to. And why should you? You’re a free agent, Jeval! Quinn was special. She made a huge difference in our lives. But our lives have changed.”

No. No way. Quinn was the one true thing for him all those years at Drenlyn. Well, that and being friends with Treads-on-Ferns.

“I can’t get over someone that easy,” he said. “I know it won’t happen. But that’s just how I am.”

“If you say so, Jeval.”

They passed by another one of those weird Dunmer preachers. This guy was a mess: he was shirtless, and his gray skin was pulled tight against his ribs. Oozing sores covered his back and right side, and black veins stood out in his red eyes.

“You shall hear Lord Dagoth’s sweetness in your dreams, and the dreams will become flesh!”

Then the preacher opened his toothless mouth wide and let out a long keening sound. It lasted until his voice gave out, but he started again a few seconds later, the pitch of the second almost identical to the first.

Treads glared at the preacher but said nothing.

Not far past the preacher, Treads stopped at a narrow door set into a big and crumbling adobe building that ran half a block. The place looked like it was sinking into the ground. Burn marks stained the walls.

Jeval frowned. He wasn’t afraid of dirt the way Quinn was, but this place still looked kind of sketchy. But Treads had already opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open with one hand.

Warm air washed over Jeval’s cold and wet body the moment he entered. Candle lights bobbed in the darkness, and a fire pit at the far end burned red and sooty. As his eyes adjusted, he made out more details: rushes on the ground, faded tapestries on the walls, and a long bar behind. Maybe a dozen people were inside, including the publican.

“Hey, Treads-on-Ferns!” called a voice.

Jeval followed the sound to a low table, where two Argonians sat, a big pot of steaming tea on the middle of the table. The speaker was the taller of the two, and he sported two horns on his head: one whole, the other broken. He must be Damp-with-Dew.

“Hey, everyone,” Treads greeted. “Brought my best friend along. You met him last week.”

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, what’s your name again?” Damp asked.

“Jeval. You’re Damp-with-Dew and you’re Acclesia?”

“You got it,” the second Argonian said. She was about Treads’s size. “Yeah, I know. I’m the one with the lame Imperial name.”

Jeval shrugged. “I kinda get that. My dad took on a fake surname when he first moved to Cyrodiil in the ‘90s. Before I was born.”

When Jeval was a kid in Cyrodiil, dad always introduced the family as the Whitethorns. But it had probably been a year since any of them had used that. Didn’t seem to matter so much out here.

“The things we do to fit in,” Acclesia sighed. “Not like it ever makes a difference.”

“Sit down, sit down,” Damp said.

Jeval did. There was already a big pot of tea on the table. Since they were seated close to the bar, Acclesia stood up and asked the publican for a few more cups, which he provided. A moment later, Jeval had his drink. He put the earthen cup to his lips and took a sip: it was bitter, earthy, and hot. Perfect for a morning like this.

“How did you two and Treads meet?”

“Don’t call her that,” Damp warned.

Jeval froze. “Huh?”

Treads snorted at Damp. “Take it easy, Jeval’s known me longer than you have.” She turned to Jeval. “It turns out that in Black Marsh, it’s rude to use the first word of someone’s name unless you know them well. Remember that for Damp-with-Dew. Unless you guys become good friends or something.”

“Saying the entire name denotes respect,” Damp-with-Dew said, slowly.

“It’s cool, I’ll remember,” Jeval said. “Thanks. So yeah, how did you meet Treads-on-Ferns?”

“Treads and I work in the same warehouse,” Acclesia said. “We’re the only Argonians there. Later I introduced her to my boyfriend here.”

Looked like Acclesia knew Treads well enough to go by first-word basis.

Damp-with-Dew spoke up. “Brought her into our circle of two. Now we meet in shady cornerclubs, drink tea, and plot how to shake the world down to its foundations.”

Things started to fit together in Jeval’s head. This was why Treads had gotten more aggressive lately. She’d been hanging out with these two.

“Mostly,” Treads said, “we drink tea and complain about our jobs. Bringing the world down is a distant third priority.”

“In case you’re wondering, Jeval, I work as a shellbreaker,” Damp-with-Dew explained.

“Cool. I clean tables, but I might be a courier like my dad pretty soon.”

The four of them got to chatting. Well, three of them. Jeval didn’t talk as much. It’s not that they were snubbing him. More that they already knew each other. But he joined in, made some jokes, laughed along with theirs.

It sure beat hiding in his house and mourning the Fashion Club.

After a few hours, the conversation turned to the whole weirdness with the Nerevarine.

“I don’t give a damn about Dunmer theology,” Damp-with-Dew said. “But I do like that this is scaring them. Cults like the Nerevarine’s and Dagoth’s are more examples of how the whole system’s falling apart, from here to Summerset.”

“What happens when it falls apart?” Jeval asked, thinking about what Mr. Flowers had said.

“Justice happens. We Argonians get our payback.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Acclesia added.

Jeval just nodded, not sure what to say. But, apparently, not saying something still constituted saying something.

“I can read Mer expressions, Jeval,” Damp-with-Dew said. “So I can see that you aren’t too sure. Did Treads-on-Ferns ever tell you what I used to do?”

“No.”

“Former Imperial Navy. Spent a couple years as a hand on the TEM Southern Sun, a cutter hunting pirates off the coast of Black Marsh.”

Tension crept along Jeval’s shoulders and up his neck. He remembered what Treads had said to her dad about the Empire’s ships ignoring slavers. He was about to hear the truth firsthand.

And it was going to be horrible.

“There we were, the protectors of justice! The first line of defense against Akavir! We escorted merchantmen, hunted pirates, did all the stuff the navy’s supposed to do. Except stop slavers.”

Damp-with-Dew leaned in over the table. His hands shook slightly.

“First time I saw it, I didn’t believe it. We had the ship in our sights. We heard it. We heard the wails and screams of people like me and Treads-on-Ferns begging for help. But Captain Tovanius didn’t do [censored]! She’d already been paid off, you see. What does she care about some lizard people, right? Just wanted more money to add to the fat pension she’ll already get.”

Damp-with-Dew gave a rattling sigh. He slammed his fist down on the table, and it shook from the impact.

“Who paid her off?”

“Great House Dres,” Acclesia interjected. “Or at least somebody who works for them.”

“I wasn’t going to take this,” Damp-with-Dew continued. “I told her to her face that we had a duty to protect these people. You know what she did? She had me flogged! My own mates put me down and scourged the scales off my back! But I didn’t give up. When we docked at Archon, I went to the authorities. Thought I’d put my captain in prison. They listened, took some notes. What do you think happened after that?”

Jeval tasted bile. He looked down at the table. “Nothing,” he guessed.

“Worse. The next night, they dragged me to a cell where a couple of big Nords told me that I should stop lying about the honorable Captain Tovanius, and that a sailor with a disciplinary record like me lacked credibility. Also that Black Marsh is a big place where it’s real easy to get lost and never be seen again.

“Then they shipped me to Nivalis, a frozen little island town in northeast Morrowind, surrounded by cold seas and slave country. I scrubbed hulls there until my commission ended a year ago. Not easy for someone like me to move around Morrowind, and I only got to Balmora before my money ran out.”

Damp-with-Dew started taking deep, gulping breaths. Acclesia put her hands on his shoulders, gently stroking them.

“You’re okay, you’re with us,” she said.

“Yeah, except we’re not safe here. Anyway, this whole Nerevarine thing is the first step,” Damp-with-Dew said.

“What happens after?” Jeval asked.

“Who can say for sure? But at least we’ll be able to do something. The Dunmer are soft and lazy. We’ll burn their cities and enslave them, so they know what it’s like.”

“We don’t need slaves!” Treads said. “We just need to get to the point where we can protect ourselves and bring the people who’ve hurt us to justice.”

Damp-with-Dew chuckled. “I dunno. Dunmer slaves sound pretty fun. We can watch them rot to death in Black Marsh. Maybe throw some Imperials in the camps, too. I bet they’d sell each other out to be foremen. Imperials just can’t help doing that.”

Jeval imagined that happening to Satheri or Quinn and felt sick.

“You don’t need to worry, Jeval. The Bosmer never did anything to us,” Damp-with-Dew said, his voice suddenly tired. “The only ones who’ll lose from the Empire falling are the Imperials, the Dunmer, and maybe some Orcs. You Bosmer can probably team up with the Altmer again.”

Jeval shook his head. “Uh, no. My dad said the Altmer did bad things to us, before the Empire.”

Damp-with-Dew blinked. “Sounds to me like Empire propaganda to make the Altmer look bad.”

“No, it’s not. His grandpa—my great-grandpa—lived through it! Things like massacres, work camps. They put him in one until he escaped into the jungle. Didn’t come out until, well… a while later.”

He’d come out when the Empire showed up. But Jeval didn’t say it. He wasn’t stupid enough to defend the Empire in front of someone who’d suffered so much from it. If the Altmer under the Dominion had done terrible things in Valenwood, the Empire had done—or at least permitted—terrible things in Black Marsh and Morrowind, and probably other places as well.

“I don’t have anything against regular Altmer,” Jeval continued, mentally checking himself to see if that was true. “Just to be clear.”

“We’re not Imperials, Jeval. You don’t need to pretend to be tolerant here,” Damp-with-Dew said.

“I’m not pretending!” he protested.

Damp-with-Dew made a noncommittal shrug. “Well, there will be a lot more fighting when the Empire falls apart, so get ready. Imperials set it up that way, so we’d all be too afraid of each other to break away. But that’s how it is. Old-timers call Tamriel ‘the Arena’, because that’s what it’s been for all of history. They’re not wrong.

“The way I see it, if the Empire’s gone, at least we can protect our own kind. So what if there’s violence? Violence is already happening. But I’d rather die for Argonians than for Imperials or Dunmer. You probably feel the same way about Bosmer.”

Jeval barely even knew any Bosmer outside of his own family and a few of his dad’s friends. He liked who he liked, and that’d always been enough for him.

Though it might be nice to not have to literally look up to everyone around him for once.

“Speaking of protecting our own kind,” Acclesia said, looking at Treads, “old Rolfjorn’s wife isn’t going to last much longer. I’m setting up a fund with some of the other warehouse workers so he can cover funeral expenses.”

She took out a small purse and opened it up, jingling its contents.

“Poor guy. Yeah, I’ll pitch in,” Treads said, putting in a ten-septim piece.

“I see someone’s changing the subject. But I’ll do it. For you,” Damp-with-Dew agreed, handing in some coin.

“I’ll help,” Jeval said, and reached into his pocket to give in a little more than was smart. But he didn’t care.

The conversation shifted to other things. Jeval realized that he’d been sitting in a cornerclub for a good long while and hadn’t yet had any booze.

He needed to fix that.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Nov 5 2023, 05:30 PM

[Acadian]

We now have a pretty good idea where Treads is getting her militant activism from. So it seems Damp wants to destroy the empire and replace it with equally cruel Argonian rule. I’m sure that’ll work out well. It’s clear that Jeval is the wisest of the bunch.

Buffy adventures in the Second Era where the Ebonhart Pact, Daggerfall Covenant and Aldmeri Dominion are all trying to slaughter each other and destroy the Empire at the same time. It is not pretty. ‘Those who fail to learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat them.’

[SubRosa]

Your remark reminds me that the Tribunal is passing from being news to being history...

So Jevvie is dashing without being too dashing. That sounds good. Time for some Scrib.

So Damp can get under your skin? That sounds ominous.

I like the contrast here of Jeval and most others finding that the rain makes it a bleak day to keep outdoor excursions to a minimum. While for Treads, the rain makes for it being a great day to be out and about!

I have keenly noticed that Quinn is fading fast into the periphery now, along with Satheri and Tiphanna. This is clearly the Jev and Tred show.

Oh boy, another Sleeper has awoken I see. He has a real Invasion of the Body Snatchers feel with that parting howl.

I appreciated Acclesia and Jeval bonding over the desire of immigrants to fit in where they go. That was one of the things I really liked about the Supergirl TV show. They emphasized the fact that she was an immigrant, and had that same need to fit in and be accepted, even though she knew she would always be an alien in more than one way (metaphorically and literally). Given that she is a superhero with uber powers, it was really good storytelling, because it showed that she still had vulnerabilities, aside from kryptonite of course.

Nice world-building with the usage of Argonian names.

So Damp-With-Dew stands as the flip side of Mr. Fern's military experience. He's not only seen, but been part of the Empire's dark side.

And it looks like Damp is looking forward to that democratization of violence that's on the horizon. Oh boy. I expect that Treads is going to go full on with him, at least at first. Given what I recall from the future Treads episode in the previous story, she won't stay all in with them. At least not after the Argonian invasion of Morrowind. It looks like Jeval is having no part of it. Which is probably for the best.

[Renee]

Ah, hist sap, thought so. That's an interesting conclusion as well: alcohol is a poison, and technically Argonians are immune to poisons.

Yeah, we were both good at History.

Eeesh, public bathing! I remember the Morgendorffers had their own bath in their own house, but even they had to share bathwater. Such things are a luxury all around. I bet the Sloans (and others who are better-off) have their own private facillities.

But I can imagine bathing would be important for Jeval. The kid wants to look good, makes sense he'd want to smell good and not walk around with his skin all sticky from old perspiration, as well.

Quinn hadn’t visited in a long time. Work kept pulling them farther apart.

Ah, there she is. I'm noticing how Quinn really isn't discussed too much in this story so far! Miss her!

And here is Tiphannia. She's motioning him to come closer. Already, that alone seems different in her behavior.

Yes, i can see that. The Fashion Club as some sort of club for weirdos. But yikes. Bad vibes between these two. Dang. Didn't see any of this coming! - But that is also what I was wondering as well, a couple of chapters ago. Everyone was concerned about poor Tiph, but nobody seemed to ask her about it. BUT, maybe this was because they thought they couldn't ask her. Like she was too demented to comprehend any possible queries.

Anyway, that was a downer episode. Let's see what happens in Chapter 10.

Hmm, you know.... DID they make fun of Tiphannia? They actually did? I don't remember this! Maybe this didn't get written up in Outlanders, though. Or maybe my memory's just that bad.

“You shall hear Lord Dagoth’s sweetness in your dreams, and the dreams will become flesh!”

Run!!! Run for your lives! Or throw a Spell of Holy Flames if you're Joan of Arkay!

Whoa my lord. Can't just call her "Treads". Yikes. A lot of racism (speciesism, I guess) in this episode. But all of this stuff actually does happen for sure. This is all the stuff which happens between the end of the Third Era and into the time of Skyrim.

This meeting is pretty awkward for poor Jeval, right? Like these lizards are telling him "get ready" when the Empire falls apart. Meanwhile, all he wants to do is fall in love, have his clubbie friends still band together like in the old days, and figure out his future. Meanwhile, everything in his social life is falling apart. But the conversation they're having certainly does portray many conversations around tea and coffee which have happened all over our world, as revolutions begin to brew.

Old-timers call Tamriel ‘the Arena’, because that’s what it’s been for all of history.

... and Arena, the first game, was only meant to be a gladitorial combat game at first, not a broader RPG with a gigantic gameworld! Just imagine if the two main early devs (Todd was their eventual tester!) stuck to their original plans!

Off-topic, but I read in some interview that when Vijay Lakshman (pretty sure it was Vijay) coined the term 'Elder Scrolls' he had no idea what the heck this actually meant at the time. Because so much of the lore hadn't been written yet.

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 9 2023, 01:08 AM

[WellTemperedClavier]

@Acadian - It's worth pointing out that Treads did push back against some of Damp-with-Dew's statements (like enslaving the Dunmer). Plus, when walking with Jeval, she indicates that she's closer to Acclesia than Damp-with-Dew. Treads is more radical than Jeval in regards to the Empire, since she knows the Empire isn't going to help the Argonians without major pressure.

@SubRosa - I think there was a TR doc which described Argonian literature, and said how words that implied wetness usually carried an inherent positive connotation. Based on this and the nature of Black Marsh, it made sense for Argonians to enjoy rain (especially in a place as dusty as Balmora).

This is very much about Jeval and Treads. And yes, we do have a sleeper here. Jeval doesn't know what they're all about, but he knows enough to keep his distance.

Damp-with-Dew is indeed intended as a contrast. And for all of his less pleasant aspects, he is more correct about the Empire than Mr. Flowers is. The Empire simply benefits from slavery too much, and cares about Argonians/Khajiit too little, to make serious efforts to stop it. Mr. Flowers is a better person than Damp-with-Dew, but Damp-with-Dew is closer to the truth.

@Renee - It's funny; we have this perception of the Middle Ages being a low point in hygiene. But more recent scholarship actually says medieval folks were fairly clean; obviously, setting up a bath required a lot of effort so they wouldn't do it every day. But they did bathe as much as their resources allowed, and they had bath houses. Things didn't actually get dirty until the Renaissance. I've heard that this was partly because of the Black Death; people avoided bath houses during the plague, since it was easy to get sick in one. After that, Europe settled in for a long period of bad hygiene.

Yeah, the more I learn, the more I think I'd actually rather live in the Middle Ages than the Renaissance/Reformation. Crazy times, then.

Anyway: I figured that bathhouses would be pretty common in Tamriel. The Romans were big on baths. Medieval people liked baths. So there you have it.

The only scenes showing that Tiphannia might not have been treated well were ones were Treads made the occasional snide comment. The Fashion Club did care about Tiphannia. But her perspective's changed so much that she just can't see it the same way she used to. The Tiphannia of the old days feels like an entirely different person, and the current Tiphannia can't help feeling a bit exploited.

Yeah, the conversation in the Spiked Scrib is a wake-up for Jeval. Things aren't going well, and he needs to find out where he stands. But like most folks, he only wants to live his own quiet life.

Heh, it's funny how ad hoc TES's development was. Making things up as they went along. I'm 99% sure that the name "Morrowind" came from a novel called The Elf Queen of Shannara, which featured elves living on a volcanic island called Morrowindl (they're more like standard fantasy elves than Dunmer, however). Given that this was Arena, no one in Bethesda much cared about lore, and probably just thought the name sounded cool, took off the "L", and slapped it on the map. Didn't get fleshed out until later. Nowadays, Morrowind is far better known than the novel where it probably got its name from (wonder how the author, Terry Brooks, feels about that--though he's pretty successful so maybe he doesn't care).

Chapter 11

“What time is it?” Damp-with-Dew suddenly asked.

Since they sat near the door, Treads stood up and opened it for a look outside. The rain had turned into a downpour so thick you could practically swim through it.

“Hard to say, but probably a bit past noon,” she answered.

“Hm, we should probably head out then,” Damp-with-Dew said to Acclesia.

Acclesia looked at Jeval. “We’re babysitting our neighbor’s kids.”

“Kitten-sitting, actually,” Damp-with-Dew said, with a chuckle.

Acclesia grunted. “Don’t call it that just because they’re Khajiit. You can be such a hypocrite sometimes. But time for us to go. Plus, it’s not often we get rain like this. I’d hate to waste it indoors.”

“It is a good storm,” Treads said, her eyes on the falling rain.

“Come out and enjoy it with us. Jeval, you up?” Damp-with-Dew asked.

Jeval shook his head. “Think I’ll stay in for a bit.”

“Soft-skins never appreciate rain. What a pity.”

“I’ll come back after I walk them home, okay? They live near Shellbreakers Court, so they’re close,” Treads said.

“Cool.”

Truth was, Jeval wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a bit. Once Treads and her friends were gone, he walked up to the bar. He’d grown up in western Cyrodiil, where drinking alcohol before sunset was the kind of thing that you had to be either a loser or a noble to do, and he wasn’t either of those things.

But he needed something.

He ordered some rice wine and the publican gave him a small clay jar of the stuff in return for a five-septim piece. Jeval uncorked it and took a sip. Cheap and oily, but it’d do.

He kept thinking about what Damp-with-Dew had said, how he wanted to put Dunmer and Imperials in slave camps. How could anyone think something so screwed up? They weren’t all bad people! Yeah, the Dunmer were twisted in so many ways, and the Imperials lorded it over everyone. But they didn’t deserve slavery.

Except, he realized, that wasn’t the screwed-up part. The real problem was that Jeval had gotten freaked out about Damp-with-Dew saying Dunmer and Imperials deserved it when it was already happening to Argonians and Khajiit right that moment!

“Way to prioritize, dipshit,” he muttered to himself, and took another sip. The Empire had gotten into his brain, and he hadn’t even known it.

Maybe the Empire had to go. Except what came after? It’d get worse in the short-term. A lot worse. Maybe because the Empire had made sure it would be. In the long-term?

Who knew?

Why did the world suddenly expect him to figure this out? He wasn’t smart! He was just a regular guy who wanted to hang out with his friends and get a decent job and maybe marry Quinn or at least some cool chick who was like Quinn.

Even if he was smart, who the hell was he to decide? It’s not like he had better answers than anyone else.

Jeval let his thoughts wander, sometimes to stuff from the last few weeks, sometimes to stuff from farther back or way ahead in the future. Back in Drenlyn, all he had to think about was getting out. Now he had a ton of options and none of them seemed good.

Between his thoughts and the rice wine, he lost track of time. It was only when he noticed that Treads hadn’t come back yet that he wondered how long he’d been sitting at the bar. He looked around the cornerclub: no Argonians there.

Maybe she’d decided to hang out at Damp-with-Dew’s place for a while. Everyone was going in different directions these days, so why not his best friend, too?

He remembered what she’d said about Argonians and Khajiit disappearing.

His guts tied themselves into knots. This was crazy. But how could he be sure?

His face hot from the wine, Jeval opened the cornerclub door and looked outside. The rain had slackened a little bit but wasn’t even close to being done. The street stretched in both directions, not much more than mud between adobe walls.

Any second now, Treads would appear, and they’d duck back into the cornerclub, or hang out at her place, or something.

Okay, so Damp-with-Dew and Acclesia lived near Shellbreakers Court. He kind of knew where that was. Just head north on this street and turn right at the next big one. That’d at least put him on more-or-less the same route that they’d taken. Probably.

Jeval started walking north, the mud sucking at his soles. His heart rate kept ramping up, his chest getting tighter. This was silly. He was being paranoid. Except it didn’t feel paranoid, knowing what he knew. Sometimes he called out Treads’s name. He looked down each alley he passed, just in case.

That’s how he found her.

Treads lay face down in the muck, her snout sticking up above a filthy puddle. A Dunmer in mismatched netch leather knelt next to her, his gray hands busy tightening and tying up the ropes wrapped around her body.

The Dunmer raised his head. Red eyes met black.

“Let… let her go,” Jeval said, his thick tongue fighting him every inch of the way.

The slaver was tall, his body lean and muscled. A netch leather cap covered his head, but his face was all lines and angles. Nothing soft. Nothing kind.

“Let her go!” Jeval tried again, shouting this time.

Finally, the slaver spoke. “Run away, little Bosmer. This lizard’s mine.”

Jeval shook his soaked head. “No. She’s, uh, a citizen of the Empire! Her dad works up in Fort Moonmoth. You hurt her, you’re gonna get the entire Legion on your ass!”

He barely heard his words over the beating of his heart and the rush of his blood.

“Go home, little Bosmer. Unless you want to join her. There are some uses for scrawny slaves, but not many. You won’t survive long.”

“Help!” Jeval shouted.

But the rain obliterated the sound.

Maybe he could run and get help. But that’d take minutes when Treads might only have seconds. If he lost sight of her…

He’d never see her again.

The slaver stood up. A sheathed blade hung from his belt, which he took out. The blade was short but sharp, made of black iron.

Jeval took a step back. He’d been in a few dangerous situations, but there’d always been someone to bail him out. Not this time. This Dunmer had done worse than murder.

He shivered. This wouldn’t be like a fight in the old stories. It’d be quick, and it’d be cruel.

It’d hurt.

But standing there cold and wet and small, without weapons or armor and without the skill to use either, Jeval knew only one thing: that he would save his best friend, or he would die trying.

Jeval reached into the muck and grabbed a fistful of the stuff. Then he charged. He didn’t even know what he planned to do, exactly. Maybe blind the slaver with mud. But the Dunmer raised the blade.

His nerve failed him. Jeval skidded to a halt, eyes zeroing in on the black blade less than a foot away. All it’d take was one cut.

By stopping his charge, he’d left himself wide open.

He was about to die.

Then the slaver fell. Jeval saw it: Treads had been tied up, but her tail was still free, and she’d knocked him down with it.

“I always got your back, Treads. I mean that.”

“And I got yours, Jeval. Whatever happens.”

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Jeval jumped on the prone slaver. His fists pounded the Dunmer again and again, most of his blows hitting thick netch leather. But he didn’t care.

The fallen Dunmer twisted under him. A hand grabbed his side and pushed, and Jeval fell into the mud. The world turned into a blind mess of fists, arms, and scowling faces.

A gray hand pushed down on his chest. A black blade flashed at the edge of his vision.

Jeval squirmed free and rolled to the side. Something hot and wet gushed onto his body.

Prone in the dirt, Jeval turned and looked. The slaver supported himself on the wall with one extended arm, red eyes wide open and blood dribbling out of his mouth. The sword was buried halfway into his torso.

“Help…” the Dunmer wheezed. He inched toward Jeval, his body shaking from the effort.

Jeval darted in, grabbed the sword’s handle, and pulled. The weapon slid out. Blood sprayed from the wound, spattering Jeval’s’ face and hair. He backed away and gagged.

Frothy gore erupted from between the Dunmer’s gray lips, and he fall face-first into the muck.

He stared at the dead or dying Mer for a few seconds before he noticed Treads calling for help.

“I got you, Treads! You’re okay! I got you!” he cried, tears streaming down from his face.

And when she was free, she threw her arms around him tighter than he thought possible, her high sharp rasp the only sound he heard as she wept.

But Treads being Treads, she didn’t weep long.

“Jeval?” she said, her voice shaking. “We have to get out of here. We can’t be seen near a dead Dunmer.”

Jeval blinked and shook his head to clear it. He still felt keyed up, his body still ready to fight.

“Jeval!”

“I can’t move Treads, you’re holding me too tight.”

“Sorry.” She let go, and Jeval stood up. The dead slaver still lay in the mud. He was dead, right? Jeval wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. Best guess, he’d twisted away and the Dunmer lost his balance, stabbing himself in the process.

“What happened?” he asked. “What about your friends, uh, Damp and—I mean, Damp-with-Dew and—”

“They’re fine. I took them back to their apartment, and then I turned around to go back to the cornerclub. I was halfway to the Spiked Scrib when this happened.”

Jeval took it all in. Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad. “I don’t know much about law, but that guy attacked you first. We were just defending ourselves. I think we’re okay.”

“I know that’s what the law says,” Treads said, speaking just loud enough to be heard above the rain. “But I don’t know if it’s going to work out that way.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Hey, I know! Let’s uh, talk to Quinn’s mom. She’s a lawyer.”

“She does business law. Not stuff like this.”

“She knows more than anyone else we know!”

“Fine, but we have to go. We have to go!”

Treads sprang to her feet and ran to the street, gesturing at him to follow. Jeval obeyed and had just about gotten out when he realized he was still gripping the slaver’s sword. Didn’t seem smart to walk around with that.

He paused and turned around, throwing the sword at the corpse. It landed in the mud a few feet away. With that done, he turned around.

A window in the apartment at the other end of the street had opened. A Dunmer woman stared at him, looking like she was about to scream.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he yelled.

And then he ran to Treads as fast as his feet could take him, like all the daedra of Oblivon were chasing him.

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Nov 9 2023, 04:56 PM

[Acadian]

Heh, after previously whining about the way Argonians are maligned, Damp wastes no time insulting Kitten-people and Soft-skins. Even Acclesia called him on his hypocrisy.

I love how the Argonians appreciate the rain and look forward to spending time in it.

Some interesting introspective pondering Jeval does over his rice wine.

Worried about his pal, Jeval trudges out into the weather to find her. And Yikes! He found her alright. Ill-equipped and outmatched, he charges in to save his pal. A saying of Buffy’s is most apropos here, “When it comes to my friends, I don’t count the cost.” I wanted to cheer Jeval for his decision to either save Treads or die in the attempt. Whew, they both survived unscathed. Treads brings up what may be a legit concern however. And, uh-oh, a Dunmer window-witness to the pair’s escape does not bode well.