Postcards from Tamriel, Stories and such that fall somewhere between a snippet and a thread Options

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

What a great postcard! Aela seems to possess what I could only call "Earth-sense". A sixth sense that makes all that is good (and bad) about the land around her as palpable as any taste, smell, or sight. And a trans-gendered character...truly unique. You deftly touched on the prejudices of "normal" folk, and just as deftly showed how Aela could rise above that with her own actions. Great stuff here Ms. Rosa!

Nit - Instead you sit here all alone on this island, and leave people to make up stories about why. We don't know a thing you, and cause of that people get scared, and their stories get scarier."
I suspect you meant to type "about" between thing and you.

[Grits]

An Aela postcard, yay! What a fantastic idea to have nirn spirits repair the house.

I think this would work very well as a prologue. Aela’s thoughts reveal a lot about the culture in her Tamriel as well as about Aela herself in a very natural way.

This was fascinating to read.

[Acadian]

SubRosa, nice to see a snip from Aela’s fic! A vicious circle, is it not? Aela has isolated herself because she feels shunned and misunderstood; yet her very isolation perpetuates her feelings of persecution. A wonderfully creative step in the right direction as she reluctantly calls Rocky the Stone Golem into play for construction duty.

Nits: ’That is when she remembered that was practically naked.’ - - Missing a ‘she’ before ‘was’.
"Thank you kindly," Severus extend his hand to Aela, "neighbor." - - Extended vs extend of course.

[haute ecole rider]

A delightful episode on a lovely island! I always wondered who lived there, and thanks to you, now I will always think of Aela whenever I go there in-game.

Yes, you did well to illustrate the prejudices and short-sightedness of humans (and mer, in some ways). And you did very, very well to show how the typical reaction of the targets of such discrimination tend to feed the stereotypes instead of working to counteract them. Bully for Aela for calling up Rocky the Builder to help her neighbor instead of fighting! Embracing change is a challenge, but will pay off in the long run for her, I suspect.

I have to admit that I've been missing Teresa's updates, and am waiting for the next one. There is a next one, right? Though how you can top that latest episode is kind of difficult for me to imagine!

I have to edit the team's business plan today, so forgive me for not putting on my editor's hat for you. I'm going to be cross-eyed by the end of the day!

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jun 20 2013, 06:29 PM

[SubRosa]

ThatSkyrimGuy: Aela also appears in the TF, though not until the later chapters. I have always found her to be one of my interesting characters to write about, because she is such a complex person.

You will also see her ability to commune with the world in the TF as well, when Teresa starts doing it. Though she does not have the experience or magical skills as Aela does. It is not really a special gift, just a byproduct of how they practice their religion: Witchcraft. In the TF, it is something all Valenwood-born Bosmer naturally do as part of their spirituality, as well as anyone else who follows that path. Just how deep of an experience they have depends on the person of course.

Thanks for the nit. Those are the types that tend to slip by me, where it is not a misspelling, but something missing.


Grits: I am glad you liked it. That story was inspired by what you said over in the TF about Aela maybe moving out of her hermitude on Bawnwatch Island and getting more involved in the world. That got me thinking, if Aela won't go to the mountain, maybe the mountain should go to her? So I decided to force her into dealing with people.


Acadian: Aela is indeed caught in a nasty circle. Being around people exposes her to their prejudices, and not being around them only feeds their prejudices. Sometimes there is just no happy option.

You had me laughing about Rocky. What a perfect name! Or maybe he could be The Rock Dwayne Johnson.


haute ecole rider: I always think of Aela when I go to Bawnwatch now too. It's too bad the island is so small in the game, otherwise I would put a house there.

Writing about Aela tends to bring out a lot of her experiences with prejudice. It is something that she can never completely escape from so long as she is around people, and is a major force in her behavior

I do have one more chapter left in the TF. After that I do not plan on any more. I am not sure when I will get it done though, as I have an idea for an Aela and Ungarion prequel in my head right now that I think I will get down on pixels first.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 22 2013, 07:17 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

Postcard! An excerpt from one of my stories titled Tomorrow is Promised To No Man. This is part one. I'll post part two later on

=Tomorrow Is Promised To No Man=

Primo clutched his belly with one hand while he held an empty sack with the other as he trekked through the Great Forest with a tremendous pain knotting over his stomach. He walked weakly through the thickness of the shrubs tangled around his pigskin shoes. The wool covering the sides of his body offered little protection against the invasive branches that occasionally poked out to scratch him, as if saying his presence was unwelcome here.

The smallfolk hereabouts shunned the place; it was said to be haunted by the ghosts of people who were killed by some fell beast that had dwelled there. Primo heard about the legends of the forest, and about the victims, but ghosts did not frighten him. He used to hide in the crypts of Bravil when he was little, and play games of and monsters and maidens in cemeteries. Yet even so, the hair on the back of his neck stood up whenever he wandered deeper into the forest. He was thankful it wasn't night. Bad things happened at night.

The midday sun was enough to warm his skin from the gentle breeze blowing past him.

How strange, that even a breeze is making me uncomfortable, Primo thought. I guess being nearly starved to death makes everything pleasant feel that way. I wish I had some food. But beggars can't be choosers.

Primo pushed his way out into the clearing, past the overbearing congregation of trees and plants that nearly suffocated him. The ground beneath his feet gave way to greener and smoother pasture, and he realized he came into another person's territory.

A farm, he noted. He stopped, releasing his hand from his belly for just a second as he watched the pleasant sight before him; sheep, goats and cows wandered freely within the confines of a large wooden fence , while oxen plodded along the riverbank in search of grass. Not too far off he could see a lone cottage sitting there, smoking from the roof.

Smoking . . .

Fire . . .

Cooking . . .

The Imperial boy smiled widely. "Thank the Divines!"

His thanks could be doubled as his eyes saw a garden just beside the cottage. The garden could only have been blessed by the gods themselves. It was full of vegetables; carrots, garlic, leek and lettuce, potatoes and tomatoes. Not counting what he could find if he saw the other half had the cottage not obscured his view.
Primo cast a cautious look around him as he did many times before in the cities. But instead of guards or Imperial soldiers, he saw the fleeting glance from the grazing livestock all around him that were far too concerned in the grass beneath their noses than a starving lad in their midst.

In this part of Cyrodiil there were little guards and men of the law. No figures of authority to throw him in jail should he be tempted to grab a few crops. Most of the people here were commonfolk: crofters, fieldhands, fishermen, sheep and swineherds, the sons of innkeeps and traders, masons and tanners. There were no snotty highborn lords or merchant princes or counts here that would have him sent to the noose for so much as looking as a steaming chicken breast.

Here . . . they'd be too busy blaming it on foxes and rats.

They were poor folks, just like him. No bright future, no hopes of any grandeur. It wouldn't be right stealing from them. But he'd been so hungry, though, and the farm before him was too much a temptation. The bread and cheese he had stolen from an inn had given out six days ago, back in the thick of the wood many miles off.

They are farmers, thought Primo after some consideration. They have a home and food . . . I don't.

When his hunger demanded action, Primo sprung into a low sprint as he rushed to the cottage. The sheep scattered from his presence as he ran past them to the side of the building. The windows were open, and the smell of burning meat waved out of them to tempt his nose with tantalizing promise. His stomach reacted to it by crying and rumbling. The smell of roast mutton drifted from one cookfire, and at another he saw a boar turning on a wooden spit. He peeked further in and saw a man working it.

A tall man.

A very tall and muscular man.

Primo's eyes grew bigger as he analyzed the brute from head to toe. By Azura's teats, could one call this a man?

The Imperial in the cottage was the biggest Imperial he'd seen in his life. He looked to be in his mid thirties. He had straight black hair that hung down to his shoulders, and his skin was brown and leathery from a decade of exposure to the burning sun. There was nothing about his appearance to suggest he was a man of wealth or importance, yet Primo could sense his calm inner strength. The man's arms were as thick as his own head and through those arms veins ran under his skin like rivulets. His chest was broad and massive and hairy, but no visible scars were there. From what Primo could see, the man's face was clean-shaven yet it was thick with shadow. Even the inside of his ears seemed to be growing a lot of hair that looked more like fur than anything else.

His clothes were modest. His faded brown shirt was mended here and there with old leather patches, he had a woodman’s axe slung across his back. There was a patch of deerskin on the right shoulder, and the brown sackcloth pants he wore was frayed.

He was oblivious to Primo's presence as he focused on rotating the pig in the fire. Just beneath the giant was a timber wolf that had the attributes of a dog. The canine, too, was too busy slobbering at the sight of a spinning pig than the boy watching them through the window.

Sometimes, Primo thought, being ignored isn't always bad.

Primo bent again, and decided that it would be best to act now. While the man was inside, he could grab the crops and stuff them all in the sack and turn upon heel and bolt the hell out of there.

Alright, Primo. Go to the garden, steal the veggies and run as fast as you can.

The lad swallowed hard and took one more peek. The man was still there, rotating the swine while the vicious-looking wolfhound watched.

Now or never.

Primo ducked and snuck around the cottage and hopped over the fence and into soft soil. The farm was large and the garden was no different. The man probably wouldn't notice a few missing crops. Though he was skinny and malnourished, he had the unshakable confidence in himself that he could carry a heavy sack of food in his back. He had strength for that.

Primo began plucking the food from the dirt, ripping carrots and lettuce and everything else the black ground had to offer. One by one he stuffed them in the sack as quickly as he was able, only looking back to check if the giant man and his hound was there.

They weren't.

The lad smiled despite the feeling that his heart would give out from beating so fast. He would feed good today.

After two minutes or so Primo had a full sack of food. He tied the top and hauled it over his back. The hard part was done. All that was left now was to run into the forest, make for Lake Rumare and eat his food under the bridge. Maybe kill a mudcrab or two to add to the meal.

Damn begging for coin. Thieving is much more productive, yet risky.

Primo made his way around the cottage to make a dash for the direction where he came, but stopped just behind the corner of the house when he saw the man standing over a chopping-block. His huge hand dropped a heavy log that Primo knew for certain only two hands would be able to carry yet he did it effortlessly.

The man dropped the thick wood and raised the axe that was in his hand. The axe went high above his head, stood there for a second and came down with such quickness that Primo thought he had blinked. The thick wood chopped cleanly in half and the stub of the block splintered at the force of the blow.

Divines, this man is strong!

Primo watched the man do it once more and the sheer strength and speed was dumbfounding just as it was intimidating.

I better get out of here. I hope the man isn't quick on his feet as he's strong with that arm.

Primo turned around to run when he came face-to-face with a wrinkled muzzle and a set of white canines. He dropped the sack, fell back on his rump and began scrambling backwards. The hound was there, snarling at the thieving intruder. He wasn't happy and he was obviously hungry.

That makes two of us!

Primo scooted back and back while the dog advanced forward, jaws snapping and saliva spitting in all directions. The hound's eyes were wide and savage and mad. Its bark was loud, too loud.

"Shhh," Primo whispered reaching into the sack. He grabbed a potato and tossed it at the dog's snout. "Shhh. Here, take it."

The dog didn't so much as look at the vegetable. But it only enraged him more.

When he crept closer, Primo closed his eyes. He felt something grab him from behind. A pressure thickened and tightened around his neck and he was compelled to reopen his eyes. He was being dragged from the ground and the hound was running to pounce on him. Primo yelped but before the dog could bite him he felt his feet lift from the ground and up in the air.

"Down," said a harsh, throaty voice.

Primo tried to squirm but the grip on his neck was too strong. He kicked his feet to break free but to no avail. He was being taken away. "No, wait. I'm sorry! Sorry!"

Everything happened so quick and so fast that Primo had trouble registering it. All he felt was the weight loosen around his neck and the hard crunch of his chest on the chopping block. He looked up and saw that same Imperial man raise his axe in the air.

Primo froze. He couldn't move. He couldn't say a word. He didn't even blink.

The axe dropped.

It came down hard and swift.

Primo felt nothing but the wind in his ear and the sound of metal against wood. He looked to his side after a moment and saw a patch of his brown hair severed from his head, spread about the axe's sharp tip.

His hand flew to his head and felt a missing patch of hair there. I almost died. I almost died! He could've killed me!

He looked up at the man, and his face was even more terrifying than the dog. His eyes were a bright tint of honey, and his face was expressionless. Neither angry nor happy. Just plain.

The man folded his arms across his chest and stared down at him.

Everything darkened. Was it because the giant eclipsed the sun or because he losing consciousness?

Primo couldn't focus. The beating of his heart was louder than before, and he was quite sure his bladder failed to contain the fluids. His pants were soaked.

Apologize, Primo.

"I," he swallowed. "I . . . I . . . I . . . I . . ."

The Imperial stared. Not a word came from his lips. He didn't move a muscle. He could've been a statue.

A statue that just almost took my head off.

"You're trespassing," the man finally said low but gruff voice. "You came here uninvited. You tried to steal my crops."

Primo was at loss for words.

The Imperial bent down, snapped the axe from the wood and held it over his shoulder. "Lost your tongue, you little runt? Thieves that stole from me lost a lot more than that. What's your name, boy?"

"Pri--Primo."

The man sized him up. Surely thinking how skinny of a runt he was. How his arms looked like thin sickly branches in a winter's cold or how twig-like his body was. Maybe he was thinking how easy it would be to kill him then and there. The man's piercing eyes lowered, and so did his hand. He grabbed Primo by the collar of his shirt and hauled him up to his feet. His grip released, and Primo's legs felt like rubber.

"How old are you?"

"Twelve." Primo answered the Imperial. The man kept his eyes on him, and only occasionally looked from one direction to another all around him. Attentive and alert. Maybe he was looking to see if there was anyone else there. Maybe accomplices that would threaten to steal his food.

"You look hungry."

Primo's stomach just remembered, and so did he. He nodded gently, still feeling the hot mess between his legs and further down at the sides. He felt his face flush at the yellow puddle gathered around his feet.

"Get my crops from that sack and bring them inside."

Inside is where there's meat to be had.

The thought of hot food made Primo's belly rumble, but he didn’t trust this man. Not everyone who spoke to him friendly was really his friend. Especially after they nearly damn decapitated him over some lousy crops.

What he might be really doing is trying to lure me inside so he can cook me! But would he need to try and use words? With big hands like that, all he could do is just toss me into a damn cauldron and stir me as stew.

He thought to say no to the man, but because of his hunger and his fear, he only obliged. He nodded, picked up the full sack and walked to the side of the man's cottage. When he turned around, the man was there staring at him with those eyes of his. The dog, standing at the man's side like a loyal hound, did just the same.

They uttered no word or sound but the look in their eyes said Don't you dare try to run. If you do, we'll catch you.

The lad felt a cold in the pit of his stomach.

See Primo, this is what hunger gets you.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 23 2019, 03:25 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Umm, from the frying pan into the fire?

The boy's name puts me in mind of Chinese and Korean naming customs - it was not unusual for the kids in the family to be named Number One, Number Two, etc, especially among the poor farming families.

[Grits]

Hmm, I think I recognize the giant Imperial. We shall see! Hopefully Primo will get a meal and not another free haircut!

[treydog]

Yes- well... (shuffles feet and looks around). First- many thanks to Grits for creating this space. And for allowing the rest of us to borrow it. Which I plan to do in just a moment.

The first character who appears in this "not-a-story" should be familiar to some of you... As to the work itself, I have no clear idea of where it will go, if anywhere. And that is my reason for putting this fragement here. Happy reading!

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

Somewhere, Divayth Fyr was laughing. The ancient wizard had understood the price of immortality, and the long list of things one should not do with it. Like fall in love. Or father children. It was all ash now, ash and dust.

“Baria,” he whispered, marveling at how a wound could hurt so much, even centuries later. It was another “miracle,” a wound so painful it should have been fatal, but was not. That would have been too easy. His hand strayed to the well-worn hilt of his dagger, squeezed convulsively, and then relaxed.

“That door is shut,” he reminded himself, as he had done before, times beyond counting. She had exacted that promise from him, the last promise.

“Swear to me. Swear! Upon your honor and upon your love for me.”

And, of course, he had. He could deny her nothing. Even so, he had courted death in a hundred provinces, in a thousand ways. But… he could not bring himself to cheat, to close his eyes and welcome the end. He was no justiciar, to quibble over petty points. It did not matter what hand held the blade, if he simply gave himself to it.

So he continued, even though scars covered scars and faded with time. Time. Yes. The great enemy. More elusive even than death. It was Time that brought him here, or rather the avatar of Time. Akatosh. Whispers came to one who had all the days of the turning of the Mundus to listen, to sort, to link myth with legend with rumor.

The Empire tottered, poised on the edge of collapse. Once he had vowed to dance on its grave, but now… now he knew there was something worse. Which was why he found himself crossing the Jerall Mountains, following a scrap of history so thin as to be transparent. Or perhaps, if the words of the seers were true, it was his blood calling him home. No matter the reason, Trey was going to Skyrim.

* * * * *

Akavir was long ago, but he still remembered the Tsaesci. Even after he got over being startled by their appearance, he had trouble with their way of thinking. Except for the part about honor and obligation. That he understood, even if he was never entirely certain what impulse had sent him to that place, beyond a desire to go far from Morrowind.

And so he had missed most of Dagon’s War; had not been there to help the children. It was just as well, though. How much help did they really need- from a reformed thief who despised the Empire and refused to even carry a sword? So they found themselves in the middle of the crisis- just as their parents had done 20 years before. But at least they had had a bit more choice in the matter- if anyone who had fallen under the gaze of the Daedra ever really had a choice.

He wondered where they were now and what they were doing. Giving fits to the Thalmor, most likely, if it was up to Athynae. And his son- well, Athlain might have resigned from the Legion, but he had not given up all he had learned on his way to a knighthood. If Athynae was looking to put a spoke in the wheel of the Thalmor wagon, Athlain would be right there beside her, White Gold Concordiat or no.

One could serve the Empire without agreeing with all its decisions. And councils were more limited in their choices than individuals. If the youngsters were trying to tie a kink into the Thalmor’s bellies, maybe he would meet them, and lend a hand. It would be good to see them, even though it would probably break his heart all over again.

He was so distracted by thoughts of that imagined reunion that his first hint of the ambush was the blade leveled at his throat. He did some rapid calculations- the sword was steady and it had not spilled his life- yet. So- a professional- and one who wanted him alive. Which meant it was time to be very still- a promise was still a promise, no matter how many years had passed. Only his eyes moved, studying the hand that held the blade. Olive-skinned, battle-worn, with a few scars among the calluses. An Imperial. Confirmed a moment later by the calm voice that commented, “Don’t know what you think you are doing here, Breton, but this is a Stormcloak smuggler’s route. And my orders are to catch anyone coming across the mountains. Now that you’ve sprung our trap, my patrol has our quota, so we’re going to bind your hands and load you on the cart with the rest of the bag.”

The Legion veteran suited word to deed and then told his men, “Mount up; we’re going to Helgen.”

[haute ecole rider]

And so Trey (and our little hot-diggety-dog doggie!) are heading off to Skyrim next? Hmm, could be very interesting!

[McBadgere]

I do loves that "Not-a-Story"™ hugely...So short and yet the history it hints at - the A&A-Team kicking Dagon's nuts...arse...Self back to Oblivion etc...Plus Trey's personal stuff...Was pretty awesome stuff that...

Love it!!...Hope there's more to come... ...

[Grits]

My heart ached for Trey by the end of the first paragraph. Wherever this goes I’m grateful for the glimpse of those years between Vvardenfell and Skyrim, even after he sat in his stronghold and wrote My name is Trey.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Small, bare feet ran through the cobblestone streets of the Imperial City. The smell of spices and cooked meat filled the air, and the sound of sauted vegetables filled the ears of the small Breton girl. The streets of the Imperial city were littered with food places, places to eat in a hurry, to eat outside, to take food home. Carts with pastries, exotic foods and any number of dishes you could think of were torture to the orphans of the streets.

The tiny girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes watched as her target bought his food. She waited a moment before following as he briskly walked towards the gates to the Talos Plaza District. She followed behind him at an idle pace, keeping an eye on him. The guard stopped her at the gate.

"No."

"Please? The smell hurts my belly."

"Then go to the next district."

Fat tears rolled down the girl's face as her target slipped through the gates. The waterworks then became real as her chance for a meal disappeared as the gates closed. The guard looked guilty and knelt, his steel armor creaked.

"What's your name?"

The girl sniffled. "Samara."

"Samara what?"

"Samara Sage."

"What's your last name?"

She shrugged. "Mama and Daddy are dead."

"And where do you stay?"

"The orphanage near the prisons."

"Tell you what," he stood up and reached into the pockets under his greaves and pulled out five septims. "Take this," he knelt again, "and buy something from one of the carts. Something you've always wanted."

Samara eagerly took the money with a huge smile, her red, blotchy face now lined with joy. The gaurd stepped back to his post as the girl scurried off.

"That child won't survive the streets, Victus," his companion said. Victus turned his head and looked at the other guard.

"I'm going to speak with the Captain about the conditions of the orphanage. They receive funding from the city, there shouldn't be children looking like her wandering the streets if she stays there. The inspections officer is being lied to."

"Or he's pocketing the bribe money."

"There are four groups you never steal from. Orphans, widows and widowers, refugees, and the elderly. The city can dress it up all they want, but I'm not going to stand for this."

"You'll learn. The government is the bow, and the Legion is the arrow fired. We do what we are told."

"She wouldn't be stealing and pickpocketing if things were ran the correct way." I did not join to watch innocents die while we sit idly by. I thought the Legion stood for something?

Victus finished his shift and walked towards the guard barracks. He changed out of his gear and headed to the All Saints Inn, where he ordered a bottle of beer. He kicked back at a small table for one in the corner and watched. Most of the patrons didn't recognize him out of uniform, but those who did stayed away from him. He knew it was for the constant professional and paranoid demeanor the guards were encouraged to have, but as far as he was concerned, the steel was meaning less and less to him.

He drank one more beer before heading out, his mind wandering slightly. The tall, white-stoned buildings had kept him feeling safe and secure as a child, even when he grew up in the orphanage. The same orphanage the little girl had come from. He wondered if the same Imperial woman who had beat him as a child was still allowed to beat the other children.

He felt ill when the bruises on her arm had sprang up in his mind's eye. Were there bruises, or were they just a projection of his own experiences? Victus couldn't immediately recall any bruising on her arms.

He fell into his bed at the barracks and fell asleep without pulling the covers over himself.

[SubRosa]

Vae Victus! That was a nice little piece, which immediately made me think of a young Teresa of the Faint Smile.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

I only read a little bit of Teresa. I know she was a beggar, but that's it lol

[Grits]

I was reminded of Teresa, too! Fortunately for Samara Victus has a gentler approach than Vols. This was a nice bit of background for Samara. Is this the character you’re playing in Oblivion now?

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Samara is in "At My Feet," but sea much older.

[Grits]

(This is just a page from the Darnandex, a supplement to Jerric's Story.)

Appendix Three:

A Map of Game Quests Within the Story

Main Quest

Tutorial
Deliver the Amulet
Find the Heir
Breaking the Seige of Kvatch
The Battle for Castle Kvatch
Weynon Priory
The Path of Dawn
Dagon Shrine



Mages Guild Recommendations

Anvil
Skingrad
Chorrol
Bruma


Fighters Guild Quests

A Rat Problem
The Unfortunate Shopkeeper


Daedric Quests

Meridia
Sanguine (unfinished)
Azura



Miscellaneous Quests

Go Fish
The Killing Field
The Siren's Deception
The Sunken One
When the Vow Breaks
Zero Visibility

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 4 2025, 02:47 PM

[Grits]

.

Appendix Four: Geography

Changes and Additions found in Jerric's Tamriel

Places that are in the same location but different from the games:


Brina Cross/Brina's Crossing: A market village at the junction of the Gold Road and the road to Sutch.

Fort Virtue: An operational Legion fort and naval station. Commercial traffic and public ferries use the adjacent docks.

Gnoll's Meeting Camp: A bare-bones way station operated by former bandits.

Kvatch Mages Guild: Specializes in Alchemy training.

Sutch: It's a real city.

Weye: A market town hosting wholesalers every Tirdas and Fredas.




You won't find these in the games:


Azura's Order of the Evening Sun shrine: A cavern-shrine and migrant camp located in the hills outside Blacklight in Morrowind.

The Broken Tusk: An orc-run tavern in Cheydinhal's western district.

The Colovian Rose: An upscale brothel in Skingrad, workplace of Servilla the Serpent.

Dawning Tower: Aerie of the Twilight Matriarch in Moonshadow.

Droathra: Village of house-banyans on the Silver Plain, Moonshadow. The local economy is supported by mushroom farming.

Evenfall Priory: Priory in Valparai, Moonshadow, home of the Order of the Evening Sun.

Far Withing: A market town in Moonshadow.

Hope Valley: A Breton kahve farming settlement in the high valleys north of the Orange Road and east of Hrotanda Vale.

The Jumping Perch: Corner club in New Ascadia, Moonshadow.

Mattapi: A Nord and Dunmer village in the mountains above Blacklight.

New Ascadia: Village of mostly Dunmer and Khajiit located in the Smoketree Desert. Primarily a farming community.

The Painted Posy: A low-budget brothel in Skingrad.

Pottersville: A village of clay miners and potters east of the Kvatch plateau.

The Riptide: A tavern located at the Anvil harbor's east end.

Rosehaven: A village in Moonshadow.

Silver Plain: Vast grassland in Moonshadow bordered by Rosehaven and Valparai, the banyan village Droathra is found there.

The Smiling Pigeon: A tavern location in Rosehaven, Moonshadow.

Smoketree Desert: Desert land adjacent to the Silver Plain. The village New Ascadia is located there.

Strawberry Fields: A place in Moonshadow between Rosehaven and Far Withing.

Tannertown: A settlement of leather workers northeast of the Kvatch plateau.

Troll Rock Lane: A dirt track connecting a series of farmsteads in County Chorrol including the Odiil Farm.

Valparai: City in Moonshadow, during the Oblivion Crisis houses an open Gate to the Azura Shrine in County Cheydinhal.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 15 2025, 02:14 AM

[Darkness Eternal]

Hmm. New places. Cyrodiil is never a small place, is it?

Great places and clever names! Look forward to more, Grits, seeing these places in the post in description, that is.