Outlanders (Morrowind Crossover) Options

[SubRosa]

Well there is Daria's smoking gun destruction staff. Sydna is throwing around the Tong's name without their knowledge or consent. Granted, these thugs that she only seems barely able to control still make her dangerous. But it is something that Daria can use as leverage against her.

Oh boy, Sydna's dogs have slipped their leash. They are blackmailing her! Now that is delicious! She got a lot more than she bargained for with her dalliance with the dark side.

Uh oh, looks like Synda's viperous tongue has prompted one of the wannabe tongers to kill her, or nearly so.

Betrayed by Red Mountain's ash! Well, I guess that prompted Daria to do the right thing after all. Whatever right is in these circumstances As I recall, Mr. DeMartino is down the street. Time for Chekov's HISTORY teacher to come off the wall and GO off...

It looks like Mr. DeMartino is set to take out a lot of bundled up rage on these to gang-bangers! Oh boy, does he have a lot of that!

Rage taken out. Daria probably made his year.

And Daria is still playing it circumspect, keeping herself out of it entirely. Which is probably the most prudent decision. In the very least, Synda is not going to be a threat to her any longer.

[Renee]

Oh man, so Sydna is here. So it sounds like Sydna's in a bit of a bind, herself. She's not associating with the Tong, but she is being blackmailed by Rough Voice, who is threatening to tell the Tong if Sydna screws up. Still though. What does any of this have to do with Sydna siccing some ruffians on Daria?

Okay, I get it now. So Daria's been living in fear all this time, basically over nothing. Getting beat up by the ruffians sounds like a one-time event, which has nothing to do with what Sydna's got going on at all. Think I got it.

See in a way it's good I haven't seen the Daria episodes yet, maybe I would know what's to come if I had. And right now I'm digging the mystery.

What's happening? Sounds like Sydna's been poisoned.

Yes exactly. She should run back to her TEACHER who TALKS like THIS. Now that I've seen him in the show (in the vid Rosa linked) I know he's sort of a tough guy. In fact, he seems to be based on the Sargeant from Beavis & Butthead. That Sarge was their gym teacher as I recall.

Whoa. Todis is down. Holy [censored].

As intense as this scene is, I can't help chuckling whenever the TEACHER says something. The MORE he has to say the HARDER I chuckle!

On the other hand, I wonder how this is going to turn out. Sydna's been rescued. I wonder if she'll somehow learned how.

=----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

House of Leaves, I wonder if I can find that at my local bookstore. What you are describing sounds like that one 'chapter' in the Christian bible with just two words: Jesus Wept. ⛪ Not that I'm a Bible Thumper, but that's one of those things where you definitely notice the author(s) wanted to draw the reader's attention in a different sort of way. I just notice these things since I've been writing near-weekly during these last 10 years.

I'm not sure if we get Paramount. I personally only have Hulu and Nexflix on my computer but my housemate has 1000 channels for the main house TV, most which never get watched, of course. But hopefully one of these is Paramount. If I can't find Daria there, perhaps somebody has organized all her episodes on YouTube.

Ooh, hey can you link me to those Tamriel Rebuilt tutorials?

The name of your favorite film is Brick?

This post has been edited by Renee: Dec 30 2022, 02:44 PM

[SubRosa]

Check Netflix for the Daria show. They used to have it. It might still be on there.

[WellTemperedClavier]

@Acadian - It was certainly fortuitous. I'm not sure Daria would've been quite haunted for the rest of her life if she hadn't saved Synda--she can't forget the fact that Synda did inflict serious harm on her, and tried to hurt her sister (the latter being probably the bigger deal). But it would have troubled her.

And yes, Dimartani still is a warrior. Maybe a little rusty but deadlier by far than some two-bit criminal.

You'll see a bit of what Synda is thinking in this update.

@SubRosa - Yup. Synda got in way, way over her head. Synda's a lot more vicious than Sandi was on the show, but neither of them is as canny or as untouchable as they think. The difference being that Synda's stakes are a lot higher.

Heh, I like the "Chekov's history teacher" reference. Incidentally, remember how Todis tried to play friendly with Dimartani at first? Saying they were "cool" with the Fighters Guild? This is a reference to how the higher-ups of the Fighters Guild are in cahoots with the Camonna Tong (this is why in-game, they have you do missions against the Thieves Guild). Todis knew that, and thought Dimartani knew it as well. But Dimartani is too low-ranking to know this, and even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared. Honor comes first for a Redoran.

Yeah, no reason for Daria to rock the boat too much. So far as she's concerned, the matter's settled and she can move on.

@Renee - Exactly. Daria's been living in fear of a lie.

There are benefits to not watching the show while reading this--though I will note that the show doesn't have any episodes like this one. Morrowind's a more dangerous place than 1990s American suburbia, and these stories reflect that.

I'll also admit I'm sort of curious as to how someone would react to the show if they're seeing it for the first time after reading Outlander

House of Leaves isn't too obscure, so it shouldn't be hard to find. Honestly, I have kind of mixed feelings about the book. In some ways it was maybe too impressed with its cleverness (it's one of those books where half the story is told in footnotes). But a lot of it has stayed with me, 20 years after I read it, so the writer (Danielewski) was doing something right.

I know Daria used to be on Hulu, but I'm pretty sure it's only on Paramount right now. You can sometimes find scattered episodes on YouTube, though the copyright reapers will inevitably take their toll.

Here's a link to the TR tutorials: https://www.tamriel-rebuilt.org/content/tr-modders-guide

I only did the one for quest design.

And yes, Brick is a 2005 film noir replete with 1940s slang... but which takes place in a modern (well, '00s modern) California high school and is played completely straight. It's a really weird film, but if you're able to accept the basic premise (as in, you aren't weirded out by students talking like old school gumshoes) you'll probably like it.

It's not a movie that's realistic about high school. But for me, it captures exactly what high school felt like. Everything seems more dramatic when you're a teenager, and the noir elements enhance that feeling (as is the fact that the characters play for keeps).

Here's the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Zfw8__A7ps

Episode 18: Balmora Confidential

Chapter 6

Soot still smeared the sky the next day, the sun shining weakly through the lingering haze.

Daria sat on the short adobe wall around Jane’s balcony, warming her hands with a cup of trama root tea. Jane, sitting cross-legged on a worn rug, listened as Daria told her of the night’s events.

“What gets me,” Daria said, as she finished the story, “is that Synda was probably right. It’s not like Todis was even a Camonna Tong member. Just a grunt who did some work for them. If it had come down to Synda’s word against his, the tong would have probably gone after him more than her.”

“So why did she keep going along with it?” Jane asked.

“She was probably scared. I have to admit: part of me sort of respected her when I heard her tell him off.”

“It was good of you to tell Dimartani about her. But, and I hate to say this, just because you save someone’s life doesn’t meant they’ll be grateful later.”

“Oh, I know,” Daria said. “I don’t think Synda ever knew I was there, and Dimartani won’t mention my involvement.”

“Good. Sounds like it’s all wrapped up, then.”

“So it seems.” Daria looked out onto the grimy street below, where the crowds parted to make way for a netchiman prodding his floating herd to the market.

She turned her gaze back to Jane. “Another thing that bothers me is that I wasn’t trying to save Synda’s life,” Daria said. “All I did was cough at the wrong, or right, moment.”

“What do you think you would’ve done if you hadn’t coughed?” Jane asked.

Daria thought about it for a bit. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know. But it’s not like I’d have jumped in to save her. I’d have probably run off.”

Jane nodded. Then she shrugged. “Way I see it, Synda should be thankful she was saved at all. That’s a lot more than most people get in this world.”

“I guess you’re right.”



*********



It hurt to breathe.

Synda tried to groan but only produced a raspy wheeze. She lay on a narrow cot somewhere inside the Balmora temple. The priests had closed her wounds, but it’d take a while for her body to truly heal.

She hoped it wouldn’t.

Synda knew how to lie—truth is a small price to pay for honor, as the saying went—but she could not concoct any lie that convincingly explained her presence in a dreary Labor Town tenement at midnight. To think that the night had once seemed a safer option!

The priests had already informed her family. One of the servants, probably Eldras, would fetch her before the day’s end. Mother and father would be home waiting, eyes cold and voices cruel, to tear her apart in search of the truth.

She deserved this, though. She should never have caved to Todis’s blackmail. Dunmer did not shrink from threats. No, they reached out and ended them. Synda’s mistake had been in waiting too long to do that. Her ancestors had not struggled for so many centuries, through ash and fire and salt, for her to be a coward.

Synda closed her eyes and took deep breaths. She would not cry in the house of her gods.

The consequences for her error would last a lifetime. Synda had stolen from her father, and he was sure to put two and two together and find out.

All because she’d tried to put that outlander in her place.

It was hard to recall the night clearly. She remembered the shock of the knife plunging into her side, the horrible pain that hit a few seconds later, and the warmth of blood soaking her clothes. Then Dimartani carrying her through the nighttime streets, and the priests taking her in.

But she knew Daria had been there. She’d heard the outlander’s voice and glimpsed her strange glass-covered eyes. From the snatches of conversation she still remembered, Daria had been the one to tell Dimartani of Synda’s whereabouts.

The cruelty of Imperials knew no bounds. Daria must have known that death was preferable to shame, so she’d spared Synda to inflict more pain.

“Damn you.”

Better for Synda to be dead, her thrice-blessed ashes sent to Holy Necrom and her soul accepted by the sacred ancestors, than to stand in judgment before her parents.

The tears got the better of her and she wept, pain wracking her body with each sob.

Mom had once told her that Dunmer mothers had to be cruel, because only strong children survived in Morrowind. But, she’d said, with a rare softness in her voice, there was always one mother with kindness to spare.

Synda looked through tear-filled eyes to the triolith standing in the corner of the room, bathed in candlelight and honoring the Tribunal’s gods. Of those three, Mother Almalexia was who she needed.

“Oh, Mother Alma,” she uttered, suddenly feeling tiny in the presence of one so much greater than herself. “Please keep me safe.”

The End

Musical Outro - Halo ODST Piano and Sax Montage, arranged by Maqsimous (this is quite long, but you'll get the general idea if you listen to a bit of it--surprisingly for something from a Halo game, it's all moody jazz.)

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 31 2022, 05:26 PM

[SubRosa]

Looks like things are going back to normal in Daria's world, with her being the accidental and reluctant heroine, and kicking back with Jane.

So Sydna is licking her wounds, thinking about how much trouble she is in with her parents. Oh boy, she does know that Daria was involved. That probably means she will continue to be a thorn in the Morgendorferr's side. But at least no longer one with street thugs to back her up. Who knows, her parents might even send her off to a convent temple, whatever they do in Morrowind to rich kids who act up too much.

[Acadian]

Jane’s reaction to Daria’s adventure is just what I’d expect.

Enlightening to get inside Synda’s head for a bit. So through her wounded hazy memories, she realizes Daria was there and helped save her. Interesting how she translates that into ‘Damn you’ for saving her – death before dishonor and such. I hope that since her mental gymnastics took her that direction that they also take her to the conclusion that Daria outsmarted, outpranked and outclassed her. And maybe Synda will back off. . . though I’d bet (a lot) against that.

[Renee]

I like that image: the Netchman moving pet netches through town. But yeah, that is true. If it wasn't for Daria getting momentarily choked up on soot who knows what would've happened to poor Synda? Ha. Look at me calling her "poor" now. Just last week I was hoping she'd drown or get offed somehow.

Oooh, so now we get the instigator's view on all this.

HOly [censored]. She thinks it'd be better if she were killed???

Today's music outro does really fit. What a horrible set of thoughts she's dealing with.

------------------------------------

I'll also admit I'm sort of curious as to how someone would react to the show if they're seeing it for the first time after reading Outlander

Oh yeah, I know what you're saying. Just give me time. Daria's not on Netfix anymore, but she is in YouTube, through Paramount Plus. Those episodes cost money though, just under a hundred bucks if we buy all five seasons at once. That ain't gonna happen for me, so I'll need to see if my roomie's TV has Paramount Plus.

Thanks much for the links to the Tamriel Rebuilt site. Annnd *bookmarked*. Thing is, I don't want to learn how to make quests for Morrowind yet; it'd become too tempting to make changes whenever I get back into Joan's game, and I want to keep all of that 'pure' as I'm writing up dialog and such.

Maybe I can check out Brick this weekend.

[WellTemperedClavier]

@SubRosa - The events of the last episode definitely shook up the status quo. The trauma won't vanish overnight, but Daria at least knows that Synda had definitely been in over her head. This makes things a little easier for Daria going forward.

@Acadian - I figured the Dunmer would have a shame-based culture. It fits with how traditional and honorbound they (with the exception of the Telvanni) often are. Synda's seeing things from the perspective of her family, and for them, it probably would be less embarrassing if Synda had simply died. Likewise, if Synda had died, she'd no longer feel the fear or shame she's struggling with.

The Japanese 1882 Imperial Rescript to Soldiers and Sailors stated: "... duty is heavier than a mountain; death is lighter than a feather..." Synda's obviously not Japanese, but she genuinely believes this on some level.

@Renee - Heh, yeah I always like including little visual details about the stuff going on in Balmora. It's a lively place, and I want that to be apparent in the writing.

Synda would have almost certainly died if Daria hadn't started coughing. It'll be a weird feeling for Daria to live with.

As vile as Synda is, she was made that way to some extent by the world around her. Dunmer society is pretty screwed up in a lot of ways (granted, so is the Empire), and Synda illustrates how this kind of ruthless pressure-cooker environment can really warp someone.

Yeesh, almost $100 for the series? That's nuts. I remember getting the DVD set back when it came out in 2009. Issues with music rights had made it very difficult for getting the whole series, so they finally just threw up their hands and decided to use generic songs instead of licensed ones. It's too bad, but is a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Heh, I get you about not wanting to get too drawn into modding. It can become weirdly addictive.

Hope you enjoy Brick if you see it! It's an odd one for sure, but it hit just the right buttons for me. Kind of like Daria did. And Morrowind, for that matter.

Episode 19: The Salt in Our Stars

*Note: This is a single-chapter entry, but is kind of long (4,000 words). I considered splitting it, but I didn't really see a good place to do that, so I'll just put the whole thing here.

Synda Grilvayn no longer liked to be seen.

She followed her parents down High Town’s broad streets, beneath the strings of yellow lanterns and past the burbling fountains whose turbid waters caught the lanterns’ light. It was evening, warm and balmy with the stars shining bright in the soft darkness, the spring air untouched by dust or ash.

A perfect night, in other words, for St. Roris’s Feast. Outlanders at least understood this night was not for them. She saw only a few, those too mired in Great House Hlaalu to be easily shunned. Dunmer walked all around her, voices stern but calm in observance of the festival.

Not long ago, she’d have felt at home. This was her birthright, after all. The very thing St. Roris had died to protect. A world of order and grace beneath the guidance of the Three.

“And the ending of the words is ALMSIVI,” she muttered, in the Tribunal’s honor.

She wanted to hide, though no one knew beyond her family knew she'd given her father's wealth to criminals to cover up her own foolishness. Her mother's words from the awful morning after still echoed:

“It would have been better for us if they’d killed you!”

Synda closed her eyes and gulped as her body shook. If only Todis had aimed his knife a bit better. If only Daria hadn’t been so cruel as to save her. No doubt that the outlander bitch relished Synda’s pain as payback.

But it was already done. Synda's sin forever stained her in the eyes of her parents. All she could do was keep going. One foot in front of the other, she reminded herself. As surely as her ancestors followed St. Veloth to Resdayn, certain of their purpose. She bound her body to her will, ignoring the fear and the pain, as her forefathers had.

And she walked, as graceful and fearless as any young lady ought to be. But it was getting harder.

“Muthsera Grilvayn,” came the greetings, voices low and rough as father passed by his acquaintances and friends. Her mother stood close behind him, proud in that effortless way unique to the Dunmer.

Synda shivered and hugged herself, wanting to feel her hands against her arms, to feel something soft to cushion her from the world.

“Synda, you’re trembling!” her mother hissed.

“Forgive me, mother. It’s cold.”

“Nonsense. It’s a warm spring evening,” mother said, her words slow and heavy. “The finest families of Balmora are out tonight. You must not show weakness.”

“I will not—”

“You already are. This is a chance for you to begin your redemption. Do not shame us again by making a fool of yourself!”

“You better not!” chimed Salyn, her younger brother.

Synda waited until her mother’s attention turned to Nerlo Andrana, who’d come up to offer his greetings, and scowled at her turned back. The mere act felt like a strike of lightning: quick, hot, and painful. She’d done it all the same. Yes, mothers in Morrowind had to be cruel. But Synda was tired of cruelty.

The street opened up into the vastness of Brindisi Plaza, the central hub of High Town. Imported plane trees, slender and stunted from the bad air, spread paltry limbs laden with more yellow lanterns. At the center stood the great fountain carved into the likeness of a rearing shalk beetle, with water spouting between stone mandibles.

Five wooden statues of St. Roris, each twice as a tall as a man, had been carted out to receive the adoration of the faithful. Silk-robed merchants and bureaucrats knelt before the four statues showing Roris in the agonies of his martyrdom and left their offerings of spice and gold at the fifth statue of Roris standing in calm and placid glory, his shoulders draped with garlands of willow anther and translucent coda flowers.

At least this place offered distraction.

“Ah, Muthsera Grilvayn,” came a voice. “We were expecting you.”

“We are little without the saints,” father said, “and nothing without the gods.”

Like the others, the Grilvayns went from statue to statue. First to Roris bound in thorned vines. Second to Roris pierced by poisoned darts. Third to Roris with limbs wrenched and broken. Fourth to Roris flayed by Argonian claws.

His face stayed the same through each ordeal: peaceful and certain of his sainthood. A reminder that Dunmer never shrank from pain or hardship.

Except Synda was a Dunmer and she had.

Her heart trembled as she looked into Roris’s painted wooden eyes. Most likely imported wood, she realized, having somehow never thought of it before. But so what? Taking things from outlanders was fine, so long as those things were properly used. It was the Hlaalu way: canny and pragmatic.

They reached the fifth statue to deliver their offerings. Synda waited for her parents to place gold and glass in the brass bowls set before the statue, and then placed her own gift, a bundle of precious jewels she’d spent the last week purchasing. Mother had lent her money to buy the jewels, but with high interest. There would be no more gifts to Synda after what she’d stolen. Each holy day pulled her further into debt, for one of her station had no choice but to give, and she had no money or gifts of her own, nor any respectable way to attain things of value.

She needed to escape her family.

Having completed the ritual, her parents spoke with the others gathered there that night. Servants and low-ranking agents walked in and out of the festival kitchens with bundles of marshmerrow and pots of shein. Her brother kept close, her mother’s hand gripping his shoulder as if to keep him from drifting too far. He’d not failed them. Yet.

She spotted Satheri standing next to one of the tortured statues, her left hand clasping St. Roris’ robe, her lips unsteady and her eyes sad as she looked upon his pain. A few feet away, Serjo Briltasi Talori gossiped with some other highborn girls, her outlander stepmother standing next to her and having the gall to pretend like she knew what was going on. Muthsera Lli flitted from group to group like a skyrender that ate praise instead of flesh, indifferent to the outlanders she educated. Or pretended to educate.

The other great houses thought Hlaalu soft. Maybe they were right, with so many Hlaalu thinking that the outlanders actually cared about them. Synda felt like she was fighting the tide, lonelier and weaker with each passing moment. Righteousness took its toll, she supposed.

Not that she had much honor any longer. If she didn’t, why keep fighting? She walked aimlessly, finally stopping near one of the lantern-laden trees. Maybe she could escape that night. Mother and father no longer had much use for her except as a bargaining chip. If she married someone useful to them, she could move on with her life. Father would never tell Synda’s future husband of her misdeeds.

Only secret crimes are truly forgiven, as the Dunmer saying went.

“Pardon me, sera, but you’re blocking my light.”

Synda followed the sound of the voice to see a young man, about her age, seated on a stone planter and reading a book by a lantern’s glow. She didn’t recognize him but his clothes showed real wealth: a thick blue-and-red Imperial-style coat with silver-lined lapels and cuffs, beige breeches whose tightness edged the line of decency, and a bejeweled amulet on his chest.

Rich, and with close connections to the Empire. Quite handsome, too. He looked chiseled, his red eyes calm and assuring, his black hair slightly tousled as if he’d only recently arisen. She didn’t know his rank, but the authority in his voice left no doubt that he was highborn.

“Forgive me, serjo,” she said.

Why was he reading a book? The oddness of the situation rankled Synda. The night was for the Dunmer to come together and honor St. Roris. Not for sitting alone and reading. She leaned over to peer at the text, her shadow falling over the page as she did. It looked like a novel.

“You’re still in my light,” he said.

“Forgive me,” she said again, taking a step back. Damn, she’d annoyed him already. “I was curious as to what you were reading.” She thought a moment. It’d be best to give him a way to save face. “A work on the heroism of St. Roris, I’m sure.”

“Uh, no. I’m reading A Game at Dinner. I figured a dubiously true account of nobles poisoning each other fits tonight’s crowd reasonably well.”

He’d actually admitted it! Without any uncertainty or shame. And in so doing mocked the rest of the crowd: mother and father in their cold certainty, Satheri in her weepy-eyed adoration, Lli in her grandstanding.

“I… uh…” she trailed off.

No, this was not acceptable. No matter how powerful he was!

“St. Roris died for Morrowind!” she stammered, her voice shaking with fury.

If this young man was powerful, she’d just shamed her family by insulting their betters. But if she stayed silent, she’d shame her family by failing to defend the honor of the Tribunal faith.

He raised his hands. “I know, I know! Believe me, I’m not trying to insult St. Roris. I was taking a little break from all the forced socializing.”

“But this is a social occasion!” Synda countered.

“Then what are you doing here away from everyone else?”

She hesitated. “I suppose it’s okay to like, take a break.”

He stood up and gave a quick bow. “Sorry, I never properly introduced myself. I’m Serjo Tomal Sloan.”

Sloan. One of the richest families in Great House Hlaalu. No Sloans currently sat on the council but they always had the ears of those who did. Fleets of merchantmen and armies of caravans traversed Tamriel at their bidding, bringing Morrowind’s treasures to the Empire and the Empire’s wealth to Morrowind.

“ALMSIVI protect me,” she uttered, her knees trembling.

One wrong word and she’d ruin everything. No second chances this time. How could she have been so foolish as to scold him?

“No gods here, just me,” Serjo Sloan said, offering a quick smile. “What’s your name?”

“Synda Grilvayn.”

“Oh, Serjo Driler was telling me about your parents! Glad we finally met.”

Synda still wanted to faint, the world spinning into darkness around her. But Serjo Sloan stood there, calm and sure, looking as if nothing could possibly be wrong.

“The honor is mine, serjo,” she said, bowing.

“Your dad handles kwama egg distribution, right?”

“Yes. We, uh, have shares in all the local mines.”

“Not a bad way to make money. Are you okay?”

Was she? She decided to nod. “Forgive me, serjo. Seeing these reminders of St. Roris’s suffering, like, affected me.”

“Understandable, the sculptors knew how to capture pain. Shall we walk a little bit?”

“Okay,” she uttered.

Every moment of every day of Synda’s life had been spent preparing to marry above her station. She’d been sure she would. Mother had trained her in the subtle arts of attraction, of bending the wills of others. But never had she dared imagine she’d get a chance with someone as prestigious as a Sloan.

She reminded herself to be careful. They’d only just met. Serjo Sloan had not evinced any attraction, nor had she shown her best face. But should Serjo Sloan ultimately chose to look elsewhere, he doubtless had other important friends that might be more amenable to marrying the daughter of a respectable but not terribly rich family like the Grilvayns.

“Do you find Balmora to your liking, serjo?” she asked. She needed to focus, but her head still spun from her earlier faux pas.

“What’s not to like? Balmora’s got corruption, shady business practices, and backroom deals. It’s basically a more affordable version of the Imperial City!”

That was not the answer she’d expected. He mocked the town he visited, but he’d done it so well. He wasn’t exactly wrong, either. Synda stared at him for an incredulous moment and then burst out laughing. With that all her fears vanished, even if only for a little while, thanks to the sheer absurdity of this wealthy scion verbally skewering the regional capital of his own great house! Was he a lunatic? Part of her wished her mother had been there to hear it just so Synda could see the outrage on her face.

“Thanks, I’ll be here all night!” he said. “And every night for the foreseeable future.”

Tears now flowed from Synda’s eyes as she kept laughing, and she had to stop and lean against one of the stately manor houses. The benefits of power: he could get away with nearly anything. He stopped to let her get her breath.

“I… can’t believe… you said that. You have the manners of a Nord!”

Serjo Sloan stroked his chin. “I did hang out with some Nords, back when I lived in the IC. I guess their bluntness rubbed off.”

“So it seems,” she said, wiping away the tears from her eyes. “How long did you live in the Imperial City?”

“I was born in Morrowind but spent five years in the capital with my uncle. Dad summoned me to Vvardenfell last year. All the new exploitation means there’ll be plenty of opportunity for me to make my mark.”

“I am surprised you’d call it exploitation, serjo,” Synda said. “Is it not our right?”

“You say right, I say exploitation. It ends up the same way: more money for my dad.”

They resumed the walk, hovering at the edge of the crowd.

“So, you’ve been in Balmora since then?” she asked.

“We’ve been nomadic, actually. Spent some months in Vivec City, a few more living with friends in the Ascadian Isles. Now we’re staying at Driler’s manor, and probably will be for a year or two.”

“Truly, Serjo Driler is honored to host you.”

“Eh, I’m sure that’s what he’ll tell my dad.”

Synda blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been reading a lot about social relations. Serjo Driler doesn’t have much choice if he wants to stay reputable, so though he says he’s honored, I’m skeptical he actually feels that way. But we are covering our own expenses, so the only thing Serjo Driler really has to deal with is my dad bugging him to play chess at odd hours.”

“Wait, what? That’s like, such a weird attitude to have. Our duty is to serve people like you.”

She didn’t get him. He acted like his station didn’t matter. Maybe that was simply how the powerful were; they’d gotten too used to their power to notice it. But whether or not he noticed it, he had it.

“So say the traditions,” Serjo Sloan said. “But do you want to?”

Synda’s breath caught in her throat. Was she blundering into a trick question? One where the wrong answer might cost her everything? Best to be safe. “Of course,” she said.

“Why?”

“Uh… because it brings honor to my family. And I, like, want that.”

“Do you want that? Or do your parents want that?”

She trembled. “Please, serjo. Are you testing me?”

He held up his hands again! “No! Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten into that! It’s more that, well, I haven’t hung out with any locals my own age since getting here. So I probably still sound like an Imperial City student more trained in rhetoric than in responsibility.”

Serjo Sloan sighed. Synda watched him for a bit, not quite trusting herself to speak.

“Forget it,” he said. “Look, I’ll admit that I’ve forgotten a lot about how a Hlaalu noble should behave.”

“It is not your fault, serjo. The outlanders in the capital should have paid you more respect.”

Serjo Sloan laughed. “This might surprise you, but most people outside of Morrowind and eastern Cyrodiil haven’t heard of Great House Hlaalu.”

“What? But we trade all over the continent!”

“We do. A lot of that’s through intermediaries, though. Besides, when you buy moth-silk do you pay that much attention to who shipped it?”

“I suppose not.” The conversation made her uneasy. All the work Great House Hlaalu did, and people didn’t know? She’d always assumed that the Hlaalu were the powerhouse of the east, known far and wide as the gatekeepers of Morrowind’s treasures.

“But,” she said, “Morrowind is important.”

She said it to hear it, and so that he’d agree.

“Absolutely. It’s our province, and we need to do what we can to make it a better place."

The whole thing still felt unreal.

“Sera Grilvayn,” he said, “you seem pretty well-versed in local etiquette. I certainly wouldn’t mind if you brought me up to speed.”

All at once blood rushed to her cheeks and her legs grew weak. He was inviting her to help!

“Yes! I mean, uh, like, of course, Serjo Sloan. Though I am but a young woman, not wise to the ways of the world like you are.”

“I only need someone who’s wise to the ways of Balmora.”

“Then I can help. I have lived here for twelve years.”

“Perfect. All I ask in return is that you be patient with my occasional pedantry.”

“Oh, but serjo, I eagerly accept your wisdom.”

He sighed. “Sure, if you want.”

An idea came to her. “Serjo Sloan: would it please you to meet my parents?”

“Sure! My dad does want me to talk to some of the notables, and I guess I can’t hide behind a book forever. Lead the way!”

It felt like something from a dream. In a few minutes, Synda would exceed her mother’s expectations a thousand-fold. To bring an actual Sloan to the Grilvayns! Too good to be true, she was sure. Perhaps he was an imposter.

But she was already locked in, gliding past the nobles and merchants, heart pounding and stomach tumbling. If this worked, she might be forgiven, at last be the daughter who’d done something extraordinary for her family.

Serjo Sloan had invited her to guide him through Balmora. There were so many others he could have chosen. Maybe he saw something in her. Yes, he was strange, too versed by far in the ways of outlanders. But business with the Empire was practical. It helped Great House Hlaalu. Perhaps his oddness might make him soft, so that maybe one day she could tell him what she’d done to her family, and he’d tell her it was okay.

She sniffed to keep from crying and continued searching for her parents. No, she could never tell Serjo Sloan. The truth of her sins could never leave the Grilvayn home. But at least she could dream of someone forgiving her.

Synda found her parents a bit later, engaged in conversation with the Leldros and their daughter Nedrasa, Salyn still in mother’s grip. Synda's eyes met with Nedrasa's, who smiled and bowed. Seeing her strengthened Synda’s resolve. She’d help the Leldros as well. Nedrasa had always been a faithful friend, and that warranted a bountiful reward.

“Ah, I see your daughter is here, Muthsera Grilvayn,” the Leldro patriarch said. “We are honored by your presence, Sera Grilvayn," he said to Synda.

“Thank you,” Synda said, bowing. “Indeed, we are all honored by the presence of my guest here.”

She waited a moment, relishing it. Mother’s eyes had already turned as hard as rubies. She expected little, but she’d get something beyond her wildest dreams.

“Serjo Tomal Sloan, of the Sloan family," Synda announced.

Gasps as Serjo Sloan bowed. Mother and father genuflected before the young noble, and Synda thrilled in the moment. This is what I can do for our family! she exulted.

“Serjo Sloan! I was informed that your family might be here. Truly, we are graced by your presence!” father said.

“I am honored by yours, and hers,” Serjo Sloan said. “I can see her strength in the way she carries herself, and her beauty is obvious to all.”

“The honor is all mine, serjo. Truly,” Synda murmured, lowering her head, her face hot.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” father asked.

“Your presence is sufficient. Though I am new to the city, and it would please me if Synda could help acclimate me.”

Mother and father looked at each other, and then to Serjo Sloan. “Whatever you need from our family, we will provide, serjo.”

“It’s, uh, merely a request... well, thank you regardless.” Serjo Sloan exhaled, sounding a little uncomfortable.

“Your father’s business acumen is well-known. So much of Great House Hlaalu’s wealth comes from the efforts of Sloans past and present.”

“He continues to work hard, and I shall endeavor to live up to the family name,” Serjo Sloan said.

“We have no doubt that you will, serjo.”

Serjo Sloan glanced at Synda and raised his eyebrows for a moment. She stifled a giggle, though she wasn’t sure why she found it so funny. Perhaps it was the perversity of a great highborn so casual about etiquette. They spoke business for a while longer, Serjo Sloan polite but sounding much more bored than he’d had with Synda. Which she liked. It meant he might let her get away from mother.

A sonorous drum beat echoed down High Town’s streets as lit torches bobbed like fireflies before the council manor, guiding the paths of temple priests carrying books and saint-scrolls.

“That’s my cue,” Serjo Sloan said. “I’d better go see to my father. Again, I am thankful we met.”

Mother and father and the Leldros all talked over each other in their attempts to thank him. He bore it with good grace, and then moved a little distance away with Synda.

“Here comes the boring part. My dad’s going to want me to stand next to him while he makes the recitation to St. Roris. I don’t have to say anything, but I do have to stand there.”

“It is an important recitation,” Synda said.

“Right. Do you want to meet next Morndas? I can send a servant to come fetch you.”

“If it pleases you, serjo.”

“It would. This might sound a little odd, Synda, but I kind of liked the way you got mad at me earlier.”

She froze. She’d almost forgotten how badly she’d flubbed the first part of the encounter. “Uh, you did?”

“It keeps things interesting.”

“Oh,” she said. She wasn’t sure she could still manage that. But she had to try. “Of course. Thank you for your time and your invitation, Serjo Sloan.”

“Thank you for yours, Sera Grilvayn.”

They bowed, and Serjo Sloan headed to the council manor. Synda watched him go. For the first time in quite a long time she felt hopeful. Not happy, exactly, but things might get better.

“Muthsera Grilvayn!” Nedrasa whispered, putting her hand on her shoulder. “This is fantastic!”

“Much work remains to be done, Sera Leldro,” she said. But she smiled at her friend. “Yet there is potential.”

“The rest of us girls don’t stand a chance against your beauty, Muthsera Grilvayn. Which is why I’m so glad you are my friend.”

Nedrasa bowed, and Synda put her arms around her and pulled her close for a quick embrace.

The Leldros departed to get closer to the recitation. Mother walked toward Synda.

“You certainly made the most of this night,” she said.

“I did as I was trained.” A coldness settled over her. She could not show pride or carelessness. This was a serious matter. Even if Serjo Sloan wanted to pretend otherwise.

“Perhaps there is some use to you after all. Though the Sloans are a peculiar family. Perhaps they must be, to better work with the Empire. I don’t know why else Serjo Tomal's father would have freed all his slaves. Regardless, you did well tonight,” mother said.

Synda shuddered in relief. The crime was not forgotten, but maybe it could be overcome. She could still be useful.

“Thank you, mother.”

But her mother’s words persisted in her mind.

“It would have been better for us if they’d killed you!”


The End

Musical Outro - They Don't Know, covered by Tracey Ullman (original song by Kirsty MacColl)

Tom Sloane (Tomal Sloan) (semi-spoilers in the link text, so just look at the picture if you want to avoid those) - The infamous (in Daria fandom) Tom finally makes his appearance! I actually don't mind Tom as a character, though I don't like how/why the writers used him. His arc will be a bit different here (and I'm sure SubRosa already has some idea where this is ultimately headed).

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Jan 7 2023, 05:52 PM

[SubRosa]

Looks like mommy and daddy are not too happy about Syd's screw up. Whew, they are a tough crowd. And Daria thought she had it bad. At least her parents love her, even as dysfunctional as they are. Granted, Daria never spent the family's money on peacocking with underworld thugs either... As you noted, Morrowind is a harsh, unforgiving environment.

Thorned vines, poison darts, Argonian claws? Roris really had a rough time. It not only fits into the harshness that you have always striven to portray about Morrowind, but it also reminds me of a lot of the early Christian martyrs.

I love the comparison of Principal Li to a Skyrender that ate praise instead of flesh. Also, Skyrender is an awesome name.

This guy reading a book has got to be Tom! Especially the remark about reading a Game At Dinner because nobles poisoning one another fit the mood of the festival.

Tomal is as a charming as ever with his incisive cynicism and brutal honesty. Corruption, shady business, back room deals? What is not to like?

The differences between Syd and Tom could not be more plain. I do not see that going to far. Now someone like Jane or Daria...

[Acadian]

Well, it is certainly clear where Synda inherits her wickedness and pomposity. That said, you do a good job of almost making me feel sorry for her. I will acknowledge that she is a product, forged by her parents, into what she is.

In a society that worships status, Tomal taking an interest in Synda opens things up some. To Synda’s credit, I don’t think she will ever forgive her mother – nor should she.

[Renee]

Yes, it's okay about not breaking up chapters. Sometimes you have to put two and two together, otherwise the flow gets interrupted.

Sydna is not grateful for getting saved, wow. This episode's pretty depressing, and I'm not even talking about Sydna's thoughts. It's just depressing how everything revolves around this St. Roris character. Mortals will never compare. It's like when in Wayne's World they say "We're not worthy!" except without the humor.

We really have it easy in our modern times. Pretty much, we get to revere whom we wish to without persecution, assuming we live in a more cililized society. A lot of nonsense our ancestors had to deal with is gone.

Uh oh, who's this guy? This highborn guy? Ah, he seems cool. One or more of my characters have surely read A Game at Dinner. I can't remember what it's about, but it's cool how this guy's calmly defying some rules just by reading. Daria would be proud. Because the guy is reading. In public.

As cool and offhand as Serjo Sloan is, as much as I already like the guy, I can't help thinking this will turn out bad somehow. Like the young traveler who commissioned Jane a few chapters back. Just another douchebag. Let's hope I'm wrong! Oh crap. Meet the parents, already? This can't end well. But I get her impatience. See needs something good to happen.

And from his perspective, maybe he already knows how much is on the line for her, at a moment like this. Could he be playing with her? Ah, let me shush.

Ah, crap. Holy crap.

“Your presence is sufficient. Though I am new to the city, and it would please me if Synda could help acclimate me.”

Nice. I am blown away. Take that, stuffy-ass 'rents!

“Perhaps there is some use to you after all.

b1tch.

Wow, Tracey Ullman. I remember this song. I forget how old you are Clavier, but I think Tracy's a bit before your time? Thing about her is it was like she came out of nowhere. And then she was featured as an add-on to some TV show. And then she was everywhere. And her show was hilarious. Ah, I see. I had it backwards. The Simpsons started as an offshoot of Tracey Ullman's own show. But Tracey herself came out of the blue.

-----------------------------------------

Heh, I get you about not wanting to get too drawn into modding. It can become weirdly addictive.

Oh I do mod Morrowind but I don't want to even know how to change dialog & quests, because that would change the feel of the words Joan's game whenever I get back into her tale. I like everything to be somewhat weird and 2-dimensional when it comes to the way Joan interacts with Caius and others. For one thing, everyone who's played the game can then relate. That's the way I see it, anyway.

But I do mod other things, some of it from others, some my own content. My most proud are the bandits. I've added bandits, war chiefs, lowlifes, prowlers (and so on) into unique leveled lists so Joan and my others can get into brawls with these folks; it's not just cliffies and kagouti and other critters attacking. NPCs in my gameworld also move around inside of buildings instead of standing like statues 24/7.

This post has been edited by Renee: Jan 10 2023, 04:12 PM

[WellTemperedClavier]

@SubRosa - I definitely wanted to make it clear that Morrowind's a tough neighborhood, both environmentally and politically. Sure, the Empire is "protecting" things, but that protection only goes so far (and arguably means some problems remain unaddressed or even get worse).

The Dunmer see themselves as having been strengthened and ennobled by their homeland. The ritual scars reflect the battle scars and burns of their ancestors. This is why it's okay for them to be so harsh; that's just the price of survival. But the dirty truth is that so much of Morrowind was built by slave labor. The supposed strength is a lie pasted over weakness, corruption, and decadence.

The Skyrender is actually a Tamriel Rebuilt creature. They're giant wasps that warriors of Great House Dres use as mounts.

Well, Tomal is with Synda for better or for worse. Now let's see how long this lasts...

@Acadian - Synda's not a good person by any stretch of the imagination. Nor do I want to create the impression that Daria's in any way obliged to forgive her. But I did want to examine how Synda came to be this way. Between her culture and her parents, there wasn't much chance of her turning out that well.

Synda won't forgive her mother. But at the same time, she's internalized Dunmer/Hlaalu culture to the point that she doesn't really blame her mother, either. She's definitely undergoing some cognitive dissonance right now.

@Renee - St. Roris was a caravaneer who had the bad luck of being captured and killed by Argonians. This sparked off the Arnesian War between Morrowind and Black Marsh, which occurred because the Empire was too busy with the Simulacrum Crisis to put it down. Morrowind won the conflict.

Of course, the Dunmer still enslave Argonians in Black Marsh. I don't know whether or not Roris was involved with the slave trade. If so, he deserved what he got.

And yeah, there are benefits to living in a secular society. Not that we still don't get overly worked up about things.

I'll only say that Tomal's a much better person than Natalinos was. But that this doesn't change the fact there's a big difference in class and power between him and Synda, and that Synda's carrying a lot of baggage he doesn't know about.

Ullman is indeed a bit before my time. I think I just stumbled across this song when looking for music. Every now and then, the algorithm works in my favor!

And yeah, I can definitely see why you'd hold off modding for now. Those bandits do sound a lot livelier than the ones in-game... at least, until Joan dispatches them.

Episode 20: School of Mock

Chapter 1

Situated in a rocky heath wedged between two rows of gray and dusty hills, the town of Caldera disappointed Daria the moment she saw it.

Caldera’s peaked and thatch-roofed buildings looked almost alien to her after the year in Balmora. Nothing about the place fit the landscape, the cross-timbered houses like a mirage that’d vanish in the next big rainstorm or ashfall. Only the squat stone heap of Governor’s Hall, which overlooked the city from a barren hill, offered any sense of permanence.

Daria wasn’t sure she’d mind it much if some natural weather phenomenon did demolish the town. After struggling for so long in Balmora she’d finally achieved some sense of place there. She no longer panicked going down the street, had some sense of the place and who did what, and had an actual friend.

“Here we are, girls!” dad cheered, marching at the front. “Looks like a nice town.”

“It does come highly recommended,” mom said.

“I think we should double-check your sources on that,” Daria said.

Mom sighed. “Now, Daria. We’re merely going to stay for a few days and get a feel for the place. I haven’t accepted Erarik’s offer.”

“But you’re considering it.”

“Well, of course. My practice hasn’t been growing as quickly as I’d like. Balmora’s a hard market for outlanders. As an Empire town, Caldera might be a little easier for us. And the Cyrodiilic School here is supposed to be one of the best in the province.”

“Look at the clothes! Oh my gosh, look at the clothes!” Quinn exclaimed. A party of women in bejeweled gowns and Nibenese-style veils had just glided past them.

“At least we know that the locals have figured out how to use textiles,” Daria said.

Quinn gave an exasperated sigh. “I know you don’t know the difference between good and bad clothes, but the people here have connections! We’re getting a glimpse into what people in the Imperial City wear!”

“Please. The presence of the nouveau riche doesn’t make Caldera any less of a cultural backwater.”

Quinn looked around, lips tightening in doubt at the sooty houses. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be a nice place someday! By getting here now, we get to make our claim early. Don’t worry, Daria, I’ll give you something nice once I’m rich and famous.”

“Give me a way to get out of this place, and we’ll call it a deal.”

They found Erarik’s home with some help from the city’s residents. He lived in a cramped but luxuriously appointed two-story home at the end of a narrow street. Sitting down on an upholstered chair, surrounded by overly busy carved wood paneling and tapestries of cliched hunting scenes, Daria reached into her bag and took out her copy of Palla to reread one of her old favorites.

But concentration eluded her. Daria kept listening to the conversation, searching for some hint that mom and dad would drop this ridiculous scheme and go back to Balmora.

“This is a great place you got here!” Jake exclaimed. “What do they charge for the rent in Caldera?”

Erarik chuckled. “Surprisingly little, my friend. You see, the Caldera Mining Company gets major tax breaks based on how many citizens live within the walls. Part of the colonization program, you see. The company keeps the rent cheap to incentivize us.”

“That’s a helluva deal. We pay through the nose for our place in Balmora!”

“Though,” Helen continued, “I have to say I’m surprised it’s so sedate. Mining towns tend to be a bit more rambunctious.”

Erarik smiled. “The miners all live in the barracks near the mine. You know, the one that’s actually in a volcanic caldera. Caldera proper is for company and government officials and the folks who support them. It’s a model community.”

“A model community in the sense that you guys can exploit poor people, but never have to interact with them,” Daria said, not looking up from her book.

“Ah, I see you’ve inherited your mother’s penetrating insight! You know, Helen, I think the Cyrodiilic School would be a good thing for your eldest daughter. It’s easy for citizens, young ones especially, to go astray when they live in such a foreign province.”

Now Daria did look up. “Oh, don’t worry. The Dunmer are just as classist as we are. Though maybe more honest about it.”

Erarik ignored her. “The Cyrodiilic School emphasizes our nation’s traditional values, like piety and loyalty. Important things. Especially for a young girl. I think they’ll benefit when they visit it tomorrow.”

Daria gave Erarik the nastiest look she could muster. Mom noticed, and for a moment Daria feared she’d get in trouble. However, mom looked equally displeased with Erarik’s comment. That was something, at least.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Swift-wit! Piety means a lot to me,” Quinn said, closing her eyes and bowing her head for a moment.

For the thousandth time that day, Daria prayed that mom would go back to Balmora.



*********



The Morgendorffers stayed as guests in Erarik’s home, Jake and Helen taking a spare bedroom while Daria and Quinn slept in the parlor. They arose early the next morning to a breakfast of ham and porridge prepared by Erarik’s Khajiit servant, who’d arrived before dawn to prepare.

“Another nice thing about Caldera: you don’t have to eat bugs here!” Erarik boasted.

Next came the visit to the Cyrodiilic School. Daria and Quinn followed Helen into dry and dusty streets already teeming with activity. What struck Daria more than anything else was how much cattle stank compared to bugs and airborne jellyfish. She’d gotten used to Balmora’s sour smell.

The Cyrodiilic School turned out to be nearby, held in a well-maintained two-story structure built around a small garden filled with oak saplings and flowering rosebushes.

“Oh, it’s so pretty! I haven’t seen a rose in ages!” Quinn gushed as she hurried over to breathe in the scent.

“All right, girls,” mom said. “Erarik already made arrangements with the headmaster, so go in as if you’re regular students. Try to get a feel for the place.”

“You mean try to pretend we’re happy with giving up our old lives so that you can get a few extra big money clients?” Daria said.

She’d probably gone too far, but at this point she didn’t care. She hated this town already.

“Oh my gosh, Daria,” Quinn said. “Just try it! And Balmora’s only like a day away, so you can still visit Jane sometimes.”

Mom drew in her breath, like she was about to go on some blistering lecture, but exhaled instead.

“Nothing’s been decided yet, Daria. Right now, we’re trying to see what options we have. Which means I need an honest appraisal... something I know I can count on you to deliver for this school.”

Annoyed, Daria grunted.

“Anyway, I’ll be in Erarik’s office all day. See you at dinner!”

Resigned to her fate, Daria followed Quinn through the garden and into a luxurious anteroom with wooden floors and thick Nibenese rugs decorated in complex and colorful abstractions. Dappled sunlight shone through windows of real glass. Big bookcases lined the walls, and she examined the spines as she passed: encyclopedias, official histories, and other Empire standards. Nothing she didn’t already know.

“This is way nicer than Drenlyn,” Quinn said.

“Yes, aesthetics are far more essential than educational quality.”

Quinn sniffed. “First impressions are important!”

A young Breton girl about their age sat behind a small podium, wearing a pale blue robe that was maybe a bit too big for her. Like Daria, she wore glasses.

“Oh! Wow, I haven’t seen anyone else with glasses in forever!” the girl said. “I thought I had the only pair in Morrowind. That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, relying on cumbersome optical devices to make up for diminished eyesight is pretty swell,” Daria said.

The girl laughed. “It can be a pain sometimes, huh! Do you ever get that thing where your eyes start... oh, shoot!” She straightened up. “You two are Daria and Quinn Morgendorffer, right?”

“We are!” Quinn said.

“Mr. Swift-wit’s servant told us you’d be arriving this morning. I’m Amelia, and I’m here to welcome you to the Cyrodiilic School in Morrowind: Caldera Campus!”

“Implying there’s more than one campus,” Daria said.

“Yup! The CSM also has campuses in Old Ebonheart, Firewatch, and Cormar. It’s part of the Empire’s efforts to provide a top-notch education for citizens.”

All of them, Daria noted, being cities built and inhabited by outlanders like her.

“I’m Quinn! Our family is like really popular in Balmora and we’ve heard so many great things about Caldera.”

“Great! We all do our parts to make Caldera a sterling example of the Empire’s governance.”

“It’s good to know that conformity and sucking up to the powers that be will always have a home under the Ruby Banner,” Daria said, but Quinn had already started talking.

“Same in Balmora!” Quinn said. “So is it true that in Caldera you can go into a store and buy gowns straight from the Imperial City?”

Amelia’s freckled face scrunched up in uncertainty. “Uh, I think so, but I’m not the girl to ask. I spend most of my money on books. My dad says it’s more important than ever to be well-read.”

Quinn turned to Daria. “See, you already have a friend.”

“You like reading, too?” Amelia asked. “I’ve heard Balmora has a great bookstore.”

At that moment, with Amelia’s eyes so wide and hopeful behind her glasses, Daria couldn’t think of anything snarky to say. “Uh, yeah. Actually, we do have a pretty good one.”

“That’s so cool. Don’t get me wrong, I love Caldera, but culturally there isn’t a lot here. You’re in luck, though! Today, Master Pentuo’s going to be teaching us on the construction of early Third Era panegyrics. Mostly to Tiber Septim’s glory, of course,” she added, bowing her head.

“Because modern propaganda just can’t compete with the classics,” Daria said.

Amelia laughed again. Did this girl find everything funny? Did she get Daria was making fun of her?

“We’ll have to talk about our favorite books later. For now, you can follow me for the tour.” Amelia cleared her throat, and then gestured around the room. “As you can see, we have a lot of books here, most of which were donated by the Amarecto family—”

“This is fascinating, Amelia,” Quinn interrupted, “but do you know what would be a good place to find some of the latest gowns? And maybe the names of the kinds of people who shop there?”

Daria noticed a flicker of a disappointment in Amelia’s eyes. “Falanaamo’s is the place to get clothes.”

“Great, well I’m going to take a quick visit. My mother is very insistent on getting the latest fashions and she’s been dying to know what they are.”

“But Quinn! I’m supposed to—”

Quinn was already halfway out the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get back in time for the pan gymnastics or whatever. Bye!”

The door shut, leaving Daria and Amelia alone in the expansive anteroom.

“Shoot,” Amelia said.

“Don’t feel bad. Quinn has a very clear list of priorities. Fashion is at the top. Education is somewhere below herding silt striders.”

“Yeah, she’ll fit in here,” Amelia muttered. Then the smile returned. “I guess I can show you—”

“Wait a minute,” Daria said, crossing her arms. “I heard what you said.”

Amelia turned pale. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound, gosh—”

Daria held up her hand. “Trust me, it takes a lot more than that to offend me on my sister’s behalf. What I’m more curious about is your chipper description of life in Caldera and this school. You clearly don’t entirely believe what you’re saying.”

Amelia looked down at the floor, sighed, and then met Daria’s gaze. “It’s not all bad. But, well, education isn’t always a priority in the Cyrodiilic School, either.”

“On that case, it’ll probably be just like home.”

“Heh, guess things are tough for us intellectual types everywhere. Come on, I’ll show you to class. Uh, manage your expectations.”

The door led to a small hallway running along the front room, with a few more doors on the opposite side, one near them and the other farther down the hall. Amelia took the nearest door, and Daria heard chatter on the other side.

“Like I said Daria: manage your expectations,” Amelia said, bracing herself and then opening the door.

Musical Outro - Leaving Town, by Dexter Freebish

Eric Schrecter (Erarik Swift-wit) - In the show, Eric is the senior partner at the law firm where Helen works. Here, Helen's flying solo, professionally speaking, so I made Erarik an old school acquaintance who'd made it big in Caldera.

Amelia - The show version of Amelia previously knew Daria from a summer camp they'd both been forced to attend when younger. Amelia thinks Daria is the coolest; for her part, Daria has a rather low opinion of the girl. I was originally going to have it so that this version of Daria and Amelia had met on the boat ride to Morrowind, but ultimately found that too cumbersome to integrate. Thus, this is the first time they've met in Tamriel.

[SubRosa]

Doesn't everything disappoint Daria the moment she sees it? I am going to guess that Caldera bores her because it is a cookie-cutter Breton/Imperial settlement plunked down squarely in the middle of Morrowind, which is supposed to be an exotic foreign land. Booooriiiiiing!

Thank goodness the locals know about textiles!

By the miner's barracks I am sure Eric means slave quarters...

Ok, not eating bugs is nice.

Oh boy. It is really bad when they tell you to manage your expectations. I wonder if Beavis and Butthead will be waiting in the classroom.

Wow, so Mom and Dad are thinking of picking up sticks again and moving the entire family a second time? Talk about putting your kids through a wringer. Well, Quinn will always land on her feet so long as there are 'popular' people around. It took Daria something like a year to make one friend in Balmora. I can see why she's not happy with the idea of doing it all over again somewhere else.

[Acadian]

Out of the Balmora and into the Caldera?

Daria not impressed? Imagine that. Fashion for the Quinn win however.

Pan gymnastics indeed.

Bookish Amelia might have potential as a possible friend but I expect Daria is too jaded to really see it. She’s not at all ready to accept leaving the land of bugs-for-breakfast.

[WellTemperedClavier]

@SubRosa - It's funny. If you play Morrowind and spend most of your time in Imperial towns (which is quite possible to do with the TR mod), the province will always look alien and foreboding. If you play and spend most of your time in Dunmer towns, the Imperial settlements end up looking alien and out-of-place. Where's the silt strider?

Erarik definitely knows about the slaves, and is simply putting on a good face for the visitors.

@Acadian - Amelia's got her work cut out for her, that's for sure.

Episode 20: School of Mock

Chapter 2

A lavish sitting room awaited beyond. Thick rugs of red and purple carpeted the wooden floor, and a dozen students in shimmering moth-silk tunics lounged around on upholstered chairs, some with their feet propped up on footstools. Candles, wax ones, burned on elegant metal holders even though the morning sun shone bright through the polished glass windows.

“Amelia! I was told there would be two new students.”

The speaker was another Breton, a reedy one maybe a little older than Daria, his features already locked into a disapproving snit. He sat in a chair upholstered in purple silk, bigger than any of the other students’ and near the front of the room.

“Uh, the other one, Quinn, is on her way,” Amelia said.

He got up and the rest of the room fell silent. “You must be Erarik Swift-wit’s guests? My dad knows him. They’re buddies.”

Daria already hated the guy. But she didn’t know his social standing so she had to play it safe.

“I am, in fact.”

He smiled. “Any daughter of one of Erarik’s friends is a friend of mine!”

“I’m certainly glad that our seconds-long acquaintanceship has already blossomed into friendship,” she said, no longer able to stop herself.

Luckily, he didn’t notice. “I’m Skip Stieve. My father’s an accountant at the Caldera Mining Company, and a close friend of Headmaster Mantus Corpullo.”

Daria nodded, bile simmering on her tongue. He wasn’t a noble, at least, which gave her some leeway. “Is there anyone your dad isn’t close friends with?”

“He knows everyone important here. Anyway, now that Amelia’s brought you in, let me be the one to introduce you to the finest educational institution in Morrowind!”

“Gee, who’d have thought that a small company town less than a decade old would boast a school better than any of the age-old centers of learning in this vast province.”

Amelia covered her mouth and looked away.

Skip’s brow furrowed and his gaze became a squint. “Was that a joke? Because I don’t appreciate some newcomer making fun of what Headmaster Mantus Corpullo has done with this place.”

“Oh, not a joke at all,” Daria said. “I was simply praising the remarkable, if not downright improbable, skill in which he’s turned this school into an educational marvel without anyone outside of Caldera ever hearing about it.”

Skip pointed a bony finger at her. “You better be!”

The door opened and a middle-aged Imperial stepped in, carrying a few books. “All right, everyone take your seats so we can get through this lecture with a minimum of fuss.”

Not showing any emotion, Daria turned and stepped away from the front of the room. Gaining some positive social relationships in Balmora had made her worry she’d lost her touch, but it looked like she still knew how to alienate people the moment she met them.



*********



Erarik hadn’t been the best student at the School of Julianos. An intelligent one, certainly, but never the most diligent. Cornerclubs and dice games always pulled him away from his studies, and his marks reflected that.

Yet, somehow, he’d gotten a fine position mere days after graduation while Helen had to pack up and move to Stirk to find any work. His wealthy drinking buddies had hired him, a bleak lesson which, in some ways, might have been the most useful she’d gotten from her time at the school.

Now, while Helen worked from a humble home office, Erarik ran a separate office on the floor above an accountancy firm within sight of Governor's Hall, complete with three secretaries and a fellow advocate. A bit extravagant, she thought, to have a building devoted entirely to office work, but perhaps that was the way of the future. It being right across the street from a bakery at least provided an aromatic bonus.

“Here’s where the magic happens,” he said. Erarik walked past the bookshelves packed with legal tomes to a marble altar inscribed with a scroll and triangle, the symbol of Julianos.

“You’ve certainly done well for yourself,” Helen said, crossing her arms and hoping she sounded sincere.

“The Divines have favored me, but I like to think I had something to do with it as well.” He flashed a grin.

“Does your office provide legal services for the Caldera Mining Company?” she asked.

He shook his head. “They have their own people for that. No, my services are for the people of Caldera. And there seem to be more every day. Which, of course, is where you come in!”

The people of Caldera, of course, referring to the bureaucrats and shopkeepers. Certainly not the miners. But it wasn’t as if she provided pro bono service to Balmora’s poor and indigent. No, she’d shorn off most of her ideals long ago, same as him, so there could be no fair judgment from her.

Helen walked over to the open window, made of real glass and not the hardened green resin the Dunmer used. A pall of dust hung over the town, dirtying the sun’s light. Simply the nature of a mining town, she supposed.

“It is quite an offer. But I have to admit I’d be sorry to give up the legal fiefdom I’ve carved out for myself in Balmora.”

Erarik pumped his fist. “That you did that yourself is exactly why I want you! Here, that is. I remember how you were back in school. No weakness in the opposing argument escaped your ear, no obscure statute passed unnoticed!”

Helen turned around to face him. “What sort of position would I start with?”

“You’ve already got experience, so you’d be working with me.”

“What about that other advocate?” Helen asked.

“Shaz’vir? He’s fresh out of law school, he knows it’ll be a while. You’d start from a strong position. And don’t forget about Caldera’s advantages for your girls! And husband.”

Right. She’d already forgotten that, her mind calculating the costs and benefits of relocation. Some mother she was. Caldera probably did provide better opportunities for Daria and Quinn.

As for the job, she hated the idea of working for Erarik. Or working for anyone else, for that matter. She’d always taken pride in being a trailblazer of one kind or another. She’d risked it all to go to Balmora. Though she hadn’t made it yet, she was getting closer.

But this was a hard offer to turn down.



*********



At least when Sera Ondryn had them recite Dunmer poetry, it was something new. “To the Glory of the Emperor Everlasting” was a panegyric she’d memorized by age three and had gotten sick of before she’d turned four.

But that didn’t stop Master Pentuo from leading the class through the tired old recitation, Skip’s enthusiastic diction booming over everyone else’s.

Quinn crept in unnoticed halfway through, her voice seamlessly joining the others.

At last, they broke for lunch. For lack of better options, Daria fell in with Amelia as the students filed out of the Cyrodiilic School and into the courtyard. Quinn already chattered with a crowd of young ladies whose wardrobe budgets put together probably exceeded the town’s tax revenue. As usual, a trio of guys stood in rapt adoration of their newfound goddess. Nothing ever changed.

“So, what do you think?” Amelia asked, her voice hopeful.

“I think it’s pretty impressive for an effort that basically denies Morrowind’s existence.”

“What do you mean?”

Daria sighed. “Amelia, we’re in the Dunmer home province, but there’s not a single Dunmer student in the school. If today was any indication, we won’t be learning much about Morrowind.”

Amelia was silent for a moment. “Yeah, it bothers me, too. When I came to Morrowind, I was excited about getting to meet citizens who serve the Empire but in a different way, you know? But it is a good place where we can get training to make the Empire a more cohesive polity someday. Right?”

“Personally, I go for more of a live fast, die young ethos. I just can’t resist the thrills of Balmora’s seedier side.”

Amelia got all goggle-eyed. “Wait, do you really do stuff like that? Wow, you have to tell me more about life in Balmora, it sounds so exciting! I know a place where we can talk.”

Said place turned out to be Shenk’s Shovel, a spacious and richly appointed cornerclub with flower-pattern tapestries and cabinets opened to display rows of fine porcelain. Bureaucrats and company men in resplendent coats sat at lacquered tables laden with plates of spiced chicken and bowls of imported sticky rice.

“Why’s this place called Shenk’s Shovel?” Daria asked. The sheer amount of luxury on display had caught her off-guard. She supposed it served as a good reminder that, for all of Great House Hlaalu’s wealth, the Empire and its companies had so much more.

“That’s Shenk over there, he’s the publican,” Skip said, pointing at a bald Redguard in a pricey-looking blue silk shirt. “And it’s called the shovel because Caldera’s a mining town.”

“I see.” Daria scanned the clientele. “These sure are some well-dressed miners.”

“Oh, ha ha! No, this is more for company men. But hey, they have coffee. Do you want some?”

It had been a while since the Lucky Lockup had gotten a shipment of beans. Nodding her assent, Daria let Amelia make the order.

Amelia returned and unleashed a fusillade of questions about Balmora: what was the food like? (“Bug-based, but pretty good when you get used to it.”) Were the Camonna Tong actually dangerous? (“Yes, but they don’t usually bother upper class outlanders, and the Thieves Guild protects the poorer outlanders.”) Was Daria part of the Thieves Guild? (“No, but I know someone who knows someone.”) Did the Dunmer like or hate the Empire? (“Depends on the Dunmer, and a single Dunmer might have more than one opinion on the subject.”) Were the Dunmer gods real? (“Probably not, but you should respect their beliefs.”) Did Imperial citizens have to step aside to avoid touching the shadows of Dunmer nobles? (“That just plain doesn’t happen.”)

And many others.

The coffee arrived, and Daria savored the bitter aroma wafting out from the steam-crowned porcelain pot. She relaxed a bit as Amelia poured the brew into the two tiny cups. With it came a small meal of spiced rice and Nibenese-style mango tarts.

It felt like a weird repeat of her first day at Drenlyn. Coming in and befriending—or at least getting to know—an unpopular outcast while also getting on the bad side of someone with a higher social ranking. But diminished somehow. Amelia was no Jane, her insecurity writ large on her tightened lips and perpetually rigid shoulders. Nor did a sycophant like Skip compare to Synda, who at least had had the courage to go all out with her harebrained cruelty.

“Why did your parents come to Morrowind?” Amelia asked.

“The only reason anyone does anything: the chance to make more money than their neighbors.”

“Heh, my dad came here after he finished his commission in the Imperial Navy. Now he’s a gardener. My mom makes some money doing secretary work for the Mages Guild.”

Amelia didn’t seem to be as well-connected as some of the other students. “You mean the mighty wizards of the Mages Guild can’t use the arcane arts to manage their own schedules?”

Amelia laughed. “You’d be surprised! Some of the people there are completely absent-minded! I intern in the Mages Guild, got the job through my mom.”

Daria thought back to her own brief time in the guild. “In other words, they needed someone to roll scrolls for them.”

Amelia blushed, clearly embarrassed. Then she brightened up. “Hey, if you end up living here in Caldera we should totally visit Balmora! I might be able to talk them into letting us use the Mages Guild relay. Even if I can’t, it’s not that long of a trip. I’d love to meet all your friends.”

“You mean friend, singular?"

Amelia shrugged. “Well, even if they aren’t all friends, exactly, they sound interesting. Everyone here’s kind of, well, the same old, same old. Jane sounds so cool! She must be, if she’s your friend.”

Daria didn’t get it. Amelia was clearly someone who ultimately loved the whole Empire shtick. So why did she laugh along with Daria’s critiques? Didn’t she get that Daria was making fun of the Empire? It felt like a setup. She couldn’t trust someone who seemed so eager to please. Not like Jane, always cool and confident and very much her own person.

They finished lunch and left Shenk’s Shovel, the Cyrodiilic School a little farther down the street.

“Oh, one thing Daria?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful around Skip.”

All at once her stomach clenched up and she lay back in that Balmora alley with Synda's gloating echoing in her ears. It still hurt, all the fear and helplessness crashing back at once despite everything Daria had done.

“He’s not a noble,” Daria said.

“Sure. Noble kids wouldn’t go to the Cyrodiilic School anyway.”

That’s right, Daria remembered. Imperial nobles all hired private tutors for their kids. It was only Dunmer nobles who’d actually send their kids to mingle in hopes of better business relations.

“But,” Amelia continued, “Headmaster Corpullo is good friends with Skip’s dad.”

“Skip was using that name—and title—like a mantra earlier. Is he some kind of local deity for the school? Should I burn some incense in Headmaster Corpullo’s name?”

Amelia giggled. “Skip likes making a big deal of it. Seriously, Corpullo’s almost never on campus.”

“Great. So the head of our school is the educational equivalent of an absentee landlord.”

“Sort of! But Skip could still probably get you and your sister kicked out if you get on his bad side.”

Daria nodded, the germ of an idea forming in her head.

Musical Outro - Semi-Charmed Life, by Third Eye Blind

Skip Stevens (Skip Stieve) - Skip appeared as the antagonist character in "Camp Fear", an obnoxious suck-up who has zero chill. He's pretty similar here.

[SubRosa]

I keep wondering if Erarik Swift-wit being a s'wit is a case of nominative determinsim.

Daria biting her tongue is a new experience. Even when she is biting it, it is still sharp as a cliffracer's beak!

Erarik is exactly what I expected, a privileged rich kid who has failed upward all of his life because that is the whole point of an Old Boys Network based on said privilege. It reminds me of a rich twenty-something I saw bragging on the internet a few years ago about how how easy it it was to succeed. After all, all he had to do was go to an Ivy League school that his rich parents paid for entirely, and then he was immediately hired into his Dad's company with a six figure salary, and moved into an condo that his parent's bought for him. I mean, why are people complaining when it was so easy?

An entire building devoted to office work? Surely this is the work of one of those Bad Daedra, right?

Honestly, this world's version of Helen - who is her own boss and doing her own thing - seems a lot happier and more fulfilled because of that than the TV show version, who is shackled to Erik's phone 24/7. I hope she turns down the s'wit and goes back to Balmora.

I love Daria's humble brag about living the seedier side of life. Because, well, she has! Not exactly intentionally or at least from real desire. But she has been chased by stone cold killers and watched one have this throat sliced out by a mercenary teacher. (wow, I just realized that means that Mr. DeMartino is a History Teacher by day, and crusader for justice by night. He's a superhero!) If you squint hard enough.

Looks like Shenk has one of those chrome shovels that mayors use to break ground on some new skyscraper. Not the rusty iron kind I have only ever used.

Poor Daria, she can't see that Amelia is just as desperate and lonely and alienated as she is, and just wants a friend. As much as we love Daria for her clever wit and satirical jabs at the unfairness of life. she can be pretty dim when it comes to relationships with people, rather than ideas.

Hmm, maybe Skip might prove useful in insuring that the family does not move to Caldera? And all Daria really has to do is be herself.

[Acadian]

Skip is a bit clueless. . . it took Daria several tries before he realized she was mocking him.

I agree with SubRosa about Amelia – she seems nice, lonely and simply looking for a friend. A bookish one would be a bonus. And Daria seems rather blind to that.

Not really feeling the love for Caldera – neither the school for the girls nor the corporate law firm for Helen. I find myself hoping they don’t move there.

Heh, I can imagine Daria’s plan to nudge things in her intended direction.

[Renee]

Oh wow, she's in Caldera. Kay I see. It's because Caldera's an Imperial town. That's smart. Although the distance from Balmora to Caldera takes less than a day to walk in-game, maybe it'd be better to just consider moving there.

Somehow I don't think this'll happen. But let's see. Ha ha listen to Quinn! She's all ecstatic.

Interesting that the place is described as sooty and depressing.

Caldera proper is for company and government officials and the folks who support them. It’s a model community.”

“A model community in the sense that you guys can exploit poor people, but never have to interact with them,” Daria said, not looking up from her book

Ha ha ha.

In all seriousness though, this whole chapter is a huge reflection on the difficulties families face sometimes. Such as, the adult (or one parent) wants to move to suss out a new job which means everyone has to move. I can definitely relate. My fam moved 3x when I was a kid. Each time it sucked. Especially because we kids had taken years to get a nice structure of friends; and now all of that was gone.

"But you can go visit at anytime!" Technically this was true. We only moved 4 streets away the second time. But in practice it just wasn't the same as waking up on a Saturday morning, walking next door to sneak handfuls of Captain Crunch (my dad refused to buy sugary cereals unless we REALLY begged), seeing your pack of friends riding bikes up and down the street, or engaged in a game of Capture the Flag which you'd spontaneously join, and so on. Basically, was probably great for my parents, but I hated it. I can relate to Daria, big-time.

I like this chick they've met, Amelia. Daria's really being antagonistic. Which is making me LoL of course! This entire scene is funny, actually. Quinn could care less about the library, she only wants clothes. *snickers*

“Don’t feel bad. Quinn has a very clear list of priorities. Fashion is at the top. Education is somewhere below herding silt striders.”

Ha ha ha oh my gosh! -- Really love the mixed awkwardness/adoration between Daria and Amelia.

Dang, I've fallen behind. Thankfully your chapters aren't too long, Clav. Maybe I can catch Saturday's (and tomorrow's, if you add one) tomorrow or Thursday.

Wow, she's chiding one of this Skip guy aloud, and won't stop talking! SHHHHH damn, Daria!

Wow2: Quinn's already got some Adoring Dudes??? ❤

I really am enjoying Amelia's fanaticism over Daria. She's infectiously easy to like. Daria's suspicious, but too bad. I like the gal. 💁

This post has been edited by Renee: Jan 17 2023, 07:23 PM

[WellTemperedClavier]

@SubRosa - Ha! I didn't think about that but yeah, s'wit works perfectly for him.

Yeah, Erarik's pretty clueless. I figure that his background isn't actually that much wealthier than Helen's. The difference is mostly that, in school, he spent time ingratiating himself into the Old Boys Network. If he were truly rich, than he probably wouldn't be working in Vvardenfell, which I figure is a bit of an escape hatch for professionals and educated types who weren't able to cut it in Cyrodiil for whatever reason.

I know that, in the old days, professionals often worked and lived in the same building, so I figured a pure office space would seem novel and decadent in such a context.

This version of Helen is definitely happier. She's not as wealthy, but she's someone who very much needs to be her own boss.

There's a theory that in the show, Amelia was intended to be a stand-in for fans. While I can somewhat understand Daria's annoyance, I always kind of liked Amelia. At the forum I moderate, we once had a thread about which characters we'd find easiest to get along with, and I said Amelia and Tom. I'll stand by that statement.

As for Shenk, I'll admit that upon revisiting Caldera in-game, it's grubbier than I remembered it being. I'm not sure it perfectly fits the model community I presented here. But hey, this is still 3E 425. Maybe there was a dip in the local economy between now and 3E 427.

@Acadian - Skip's worse than clueless, as you'll soon see.

In the show, Daria tended to sneer at her boring suburban hometown. This Daria, however, forged her own space in Balmora (much like Helen). That doesn't mean she necessarily likes Balmora, but I do think it'd lead to her feeling an investment in the place. An investment she certainly wouldn't feel for Caldera.

Also, for all its flaws, Balmora's at least an interesting place. Caldera isn't.

@Renee - I'll admit to mostly guessing how long it'd take to get from place to place. I didn't want it to be as quick as it is in the games, since otherwise Vvardenfell would feel too small, so I had Caldera be a day away. Pelagiad was two days away when Daria went there despite being a similar distance, but the terrain was rougher and she wasn't exactly hustling.

I was lucky in that I never had to move as a kid (though my parents seriously considered doing it at one point). It was always something that scared me, since I didn't make friends very easily. Starting over from scratch is really tough for a kid. And yeah, even if you're not that far away, being in a different place changes the whole setup.

I always liked Amelia in the show, so I'm glad that she's winning you over.

Episode 20: School of Mock

Chapter 3

Dinner at Erarik’s proved excruciating. Daria analyzed mom’s every word and gesture for some hint as to her final decision, but couldn’t get anything concrete. When asked, mom said she was still analyzing the offer.

“We’ll be here a few days anyway, Daria, so you may as well make the most of it.”

Daria would. Just not in the way her mother intended.

“You’re planning something. I can tell,” Quinn said, as they walked to the Cyrodiilic School the next morning.

“Good to see your pattern recognition skills are still in good shape.”

Quinn sighed. “Look, I don't really like Caldera either.”

“Wait, I thought this was fashion central in Vvardenfell?”

“It is! But that’s the problem! Now I have to actually compete with girls who have more money and connections than I do. I know I can do that, but it’s better for the Fashion Guild’s long-term prospects for me to build a solid base of support in Balmora and other cities before going after the ones connected to the capital. Plus, the gowns they wear have too many jewels, it totally distracts from the fabric quality! Like why even wear moth-silk if you’re going to do that?”

“How far-sighted of you.”

“Anyway, if you do anything like, embarrassing to get us out, I’ll deny I’m your sister but I won’t try to stop you.”

Daria nodded. “It’s a deal.”

Once in the luxurious lecture hall, she walked over to Skip’s big comfortable seat and sank into the soft upholstery. Then she plopped her feet down on a cushioned stool and put her hands behind her head. All she had to do was wait.

Amelia came in first, looking dismayed the moment she saw Daria.

“Daria! That’s Skip’s seat.”

“I know.”

Amelia frowned. “So, why are you sitting there?”

“Because it’ll annoy Skip.”

Amelia shook her head. “Come on—”

She reached out to take Daria’s arm, but Daria pulled back. “No. I’m tired of phonies like Skip acting as the self-appointed rulers of their petty kingdoms. If he wants to make an issue of it, he can talk to me.”

“I’m serious! He can get you kicked out!” Amelia whispered.

Daria looked her in the eyes for a long, awkward moment. “Exactly.”

“Hey! That’s my seat!” came Skip’s piping, disagreeable voice. He stormed over, his messy red hair like an angry little bonfire atop his skinny head. “Only I can sit there.”

“Gee, that’s funny,” Daria said. “I seem perfectly capable of sitting here. Are you physically limited to this particular seat?”

“Oh, I see how it’s going to be.” He leaned in. “You know, Daria: my word carries a lot of weight with Headmaster Mantus Corpullo.”

“But I, Student Daria Morgendorffer, don’t give a damn about your word.”

Master Pentuo arrived, a few scrolls under his arm. He took no notice of the class as he took position behind the podium. Skip scowled at Amelia.

“I bet you have something to do with this! You’ve never been a team player.”

“But I—” Amelia protested.

Skip stormed off and Amelia looked to Daria. “Jeez, Daria. Maybe this isn’t that big a deal for you, but the rest of us have to live here.”

“If you want to live under Skip’s thumb, be my guest.”

Master Pentuo cleared his throat. “All right, let us begin. Today we shall resume our lessons on proper elocution. Most of you are from all around Cyrodiil, saddled with barbarous regional accents, and you need to improve if you’re to have any hope in the respectable world. Now repeat after me, while taking care to de-emphasize the Rs: ‘My emperor, my protector’,” he said, his monotone putting Daria’s to shame.

“My emperor, my protector,” the rest of the class mumbled.

He sighed. “Dropping the rhoticity is no excuse for poor enunciation! Again!”

As Daria mindlessly repeated the phrase, not bothering to adjust her pronunciation, she observed Skip stewing in fury. So far, things had gone better than she’d planned.

“You! Daria, I think!” Master Pentuo barked. “You barely put any effort into that! Stand up and recite again.”

Daria stood up as requested and cleared her throat. She searched her memory for a worthy response.

“Sure, but I think we’ve exhausted the opening lines of ‘To the Glory of the Emperor Everlasting’,” she said, speaking quickly and loudly to ward off interruption.

She warned Pentuo with the hint of a smile and then launched into it: “They say, the Iliac Bay, is the place to barrel around without a bit of apparel on…”

Chaos took over from there.



*********



Daria’s hands still stung from where Pentuo had struck them with his switch, but she bore the pain with pride. She'd almost reached her goal of becoming too much of a pest for this stuffy school to bother keeping.

As further punishment, she’d been consigned to dust the school library during lunch, which at least gave her some much-needed peace and quiet. Tucked away in the back of the building, the library had more books than Drenlyn’s, but consisted almost entirely of the standards found everywhere else in Tamriel. At least, she supposed, the Cyrodiilic School’s roof wouldn’t cave in as easily.

“Huh, hope you like dusting,” came Skip’s sneering voice.

Startled, Daria stepped to the nearest window, pushing open the panels so that the street would see if Skip tried something.

“I did, until you came along,” she said.

Skip stood in the doorway, leaning against the fame. “I don’t know who you think you are! This is one of the finest schools in the Empire and you act like it’s some kind of one-room hick schoolhouse!”

“I’m sorry that you fancy city-slickers aren’t impressed with my simple country ways.”

“You need to show respect!” he demanded.

“Why? Because you use your father’s position to torment people? Maybe that intimidates Amelia, but I don’t actually live here. In fact, I’d be happy to get out of here. I suspect you feel the same way.”

“What are you getting at?”

Daria rolled her eyes. Gods, this guy was thick. “What I’m getting at is that both of us want me somewhere else. So go to your headmaster or your dad or whoever and take care of it.”

Then he smiled, in a way that Daria wasn’t at all sure she liked. “You know what? I will.”

He exited the library, and Daria waited by the window until the sounds of his footsteps disappeared. Once they did, she resumed dusting. As much as she hated to admit it, she and Skip shared a common goal, one he'd likely expedite.

But the weird, cold way he’d smiled gave Daria the uncomfortable feeling that she might’ve underestimated his cruelty.

Musical Outro - Closing Time, by Semisonic

[Acadian]

I loved Quinn's analysis of Caldoran fashion. I mean really - who would bejewel moth silk?!? Daria is in top unfettered form as she effortlessly pisses off both Skip and the teacher. I hope Amelia doesn't draw too much collateral flack from trying to befriend Daria. I do question whether it was wise of Daria to share her objective with Skip. He was well on the way to executing his role perfectly. He might balk at helping Daria, regardless of how it might benefit him as well - he may be that spiteful.