Outlanders (Morrowind Crossover) Options

[SubRosa]

Waiting for the Grilvayns to show up must be agonizing, like watching the pendulum blade slowly descend toward your belly, one inch at a time.

“Sharing a tomb with a bunch of undead sounds way too social for my liking.”
Well, yes, that does sound like an accurate description of you Daria.

Akavir is nice this time of year, great place for a picnic...

“Hey, Great House Hlaalu likes its young people corrupt and close with the Empire.”
He's not wrong! More than that, this sentence was so indicative of Tom being Tom. It highlights his brutal honesty, insight, and satirical nature.

Synda is definitely hard to feel sorry for. I think Daria has good reason to be wary here. She has little left to lose, which might be what makes her all the more dangerous.

I have to agree with Acadian in his opinion of Daddy Sloan. Yeah, the whole thing is an ugly mess. It's the kind of trailer park drama that happens everywhere, we 'fancy' people just like to pretend to be more cultured. But how you act during the ugly messes that life throws at you is what shows your character, if not builds it. He just comes across as a pompous dick.

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 5

One of the things Tomal had always liked about Imperials was how little time they wasted. Sure, the Nibenese Imperials loved their celebrations and rituals and certainly had plenty of them. But in the end, time was money, and they loved money a bit more. Once business was on the table, they got down to it pretty quickly. Colovian Imperials, like Daria, took this tendency even further.

Not the Dunmer, however.

He'd spent the entire day with his parents and the Grilvayns as they probed for information through a veil of pleasantries. Inquiries about the weather gave some idea as to the quality of the other person's agricultural product that year (or, in this case, the number of eggs produced in the mines that the Grilvayns invested in, because kwama queens laid more eggs during wet years). Talk about neighbors and family gave hints as to who was in and who was out, which could change greatly in a few weeks. All useful, but none of it relevant to what Tomal wanted to talk about.

Dad did this for hours on end, with Mom and Tomal chiming in as needed with praise or witticism. They followed a script both improvised and stifling, the stock phrases inscribed onto their minds and souls generations ago.

On and on, it went. During breakfast, lunch, and dinner, throughout a long midday excursion, and now this interminable sitting (and drinking, ALMSIVI be praised) session in the parlor. Each meal and amenity offered to the Grilvayns served as a symbol of Sloan wealth. Sure, it all belonged to the Ravils, but the fact that the Sloans could get the Ravils to serve the Grilvayns only further reinforced one simple fact: Angyar Sloan was a man of many resources.

The one thing they refused to discuss was Synda.

It was late in the evening, and Tomal now hated the sight of Tamric and Lynda. He hated the way they reminded him of how he'd bungled the whole thing. Granted, if Synda had been half as bad as Daria had said, he was best off far away from her.

This would be his life as an adult. Falsities and fakeries layered on top of each other in a big stack of deception reaching up to the heavens.

That was what he'd liked about Synda. She'd at least had the guts to be offended by his jokes about Morrowind and the Tribunal, his noble status be damned. And being blunt was Daria's nature. He apparently had a type.

"Reputation is a curious beast," Angyar said, refilling his small silver vessel with another finger's worth of Cyrodiilic brandy.

"One that is best tamed and kept in a very strong cage," Lynda said. Everyone faked polite laughter, Tomal included.

But bringing up reputation probably meant they were ready to talk about Synda.

*********

Isolation compounded doubt. Confined to her room, Daria was starting to doubt everything around her. She wanted to believe Tomal was a good guy. Perhaps he'd proven it by taking her punishment for her. But that underlined the bigger problem: that no matter what Tomal said or did, his dad called the shots.

With that in mind, she badly wanted to know what the Sloans and Grilvayns talked about that night. What if it proved easier to expel a troublesome outlander like her? Ravil's constant slights, the way the serving staff talked about her behind closed doors—it all added up.

She didn't have her family to fall back on any longer.

Daria opened the shutters and looked out onto the torchlit enclosure. An armored guard ambled through the grounds, his lantern bobbing through the darkness like some bloated firefly. He walked toward the gate, moving with the easy step of a man who'd patrolled the route a thousand times and expected only the usual.

Pushing away from the windowsill, she hurried through the guesthouse's darkened rooms. She needed to get close enough to hear what the Sloans and Grilvayns said, to find out if she still had a place here or not. Sitting around and waiting solved nothing. She'd rather be Daria Morgendorffer than another Sloan asset, even if that came with a reduction in value.

She opened the door as quietly as she could and peered outside. The guard stood at the gate, his eyes pointed at the shadowed meadows beyond. Masser and Secunda shone in the night sky, their muted colors complementing the twinkling stars. Figuring it was as safe as she'd get, Daria stepped out and shut the door behind her before walking across the cool grass, her footsteps quieter on the vegetation than they would have been on the paths.

Lights gleamed from the manor house's narrow windows. At first, she heard nothing. Had they gone somewhere else? Then she caught a voice coming from the front room, muffled by the closed windowpanes. She crouched low as she drew nearer. Her dress—or rather, Ravil's daughter's old dress—pinched her waist as she did, and she hoped the fabric wouldn't tear. Once at the front, she went along to the right side, where she knew another window offered a glimpse into the manor's dark and overstuffed parlor.

Taking low, quiet breaths, she pressed against the adobe wall and raised her head to the edge of the window, making sure nothing gave her away. Now able to hear their words, she listened.

*********

Tomal slugged back some brandy, already knowing he was going to hate the next few minutes of his life.

"The reputation of our daughter, Synda, is a source of some concern for us," Lynda said. She sounded exactly like her daughter, her enunciation slow and precise, as if relishing her tone of contempt.

"As mothers, our children's reputation is our burden to shoulder," Galas said.

"And you have done so well with your own, serjo," Lynda said, her features nearly lost in shadow.

Tomal could easily imagine Synda sitting on the upholstered mahogany chair occupied by her mother. Maybe it should have been. This affected her more than it did her mother, after all.

"We are honored to palaver with you, Sera Grilvayn," Dad said. "Why is your daughter of concern?"

Tomal gripped the armrest of his chair. Get to the damn point, he thought. Sweat soaked his shirt, and he resisted the urge to pull at his collar. All the air in the room felt like it had been rebreathed a hundred times over.

"Synda is a simple girl, one given to flights of fancy," Lynda replied. "We fear that one such flight may have led her to make a scene at a recent event. Perhaps you know of which I speak?"

Dad nodded. "I believe I have been informed, yes," he said, glancing over at Tomal.

Tomal drained his cup, his head already spinning from an earlier drink. Dad passed him the bottle, and he refilled it. He'd probably had too much. Vomiting on Lynda was one way to end the night, he supposed.

"Truly a regrettable incident," Tamric said. Synda's father had been mostly silent that evening.

Lynda bowed her head. "Synda's outburst has sullied our name, so we must make the effort to restore our reputation. We know that your son, who is truly a sterling example of young Dunmer manhood, had been kind enough to offer her his time. Somehow, she chose to interpret this as a romantic gesture."

Did Lynda truly believe Synda had imagined it? He tried to bring his thoughts together, figure out what to say.

"Ah, well, the passion of youth," Dad said, using the easy but authoritative tone he always used when preparing to settle matters.

"I can forgive my daughter a certain degree of impetuousness, but not at the risk of tarnishing your family's name," Lynda said, affecting a tone of regret. "We have clearly been far too lenient. Thus, we will be sending her to the care of the Tribunal Temple in Necrom. There, she will learn the humility expected of the Dunmer and spend her life in blessed ritual and contemplation."

Tomal looked to his father, trying to find any sign of what the old man intended.

"I am sure our brothers and sisters in the service of ALMSIVI will impart their wisdom unto her," Dad said.

"May ALMSIVI be praised," Tamric uttered.

"Wait." Tomal held out his free hand. The inside of his head twisted like a maelstrom, but he focused his thoughts. "I need to make a correction here."

"Tomal!" Dad warned.

"I did…" he trailed off. What the hell could he safely admit? He had to phrase this the right way. "Your daughter deserves credit for her discretion. She and I did have a romance. A chaste one."

Silence. Thick and suffocating.

"Tomal, you are speaking out of turn. Our guests know their own daughter," Dad said.

"The young serjo is honorable to claim responsibility," Lynda replied, speaking so sweetly that he almost believed her. "Yet we fear that our daughter's foolishness has made her a liability. Certainly, none would believe Synda had won the love of a Sloan. It can only be seen as boastfulness most inappropriate for a girl of her station."

She didn't care at all. Synda was to be cast aside, her life—not just her life, her reality—ripped away from her. All because that made it easier for her parents. Maybe if he took a more conciliatory tone...

"Synda and I were in a relationship. This does not reflect poorly on your family, Sera Grilvayn. It was natural—"

Dad learned over, candlelight revealing the deepening lines of his jowls.

"Tomal, though you are my son, you must still be respectful of your guests. Do not contradict Sera Grilvayn again."

"Truly, I am touched," Lynda said. "Serjo's kindness is a testament to the generosity of the Sloans. Yet it is not necessary. The damage done by my daughter can be repaired. I simply hope that our efforts at discretion are seen as sufficient."

"More than sufficient," Dad said, his voice rumbling with approval. "And certainly deserving of reward. Much of the work within Great House Hlaalu consists of knowing what to say, when to say it, and to whom. A hired accountant can always handle the numbers, after all."

"But what about Synda? Father—"

Dad growled. "Tomal, the matter has been decided! You are not revealing some truth to us. We know the truth. Perhaps Synda will accept it one day."

"I am sure the young serjo is simply weary at the late hour," Lynda said.

Tomal slumped in his chair. They didn't care. He spoke into the void. He imagined his father's wealth, the vast teeming lands, the hundreds of workers, the carts and boats that shipped his goods from one end of Tamriel to another, the houses and gold and silks and furniture, all coming down on him at once, crushing him beneath an immense and gilded tomb.

Yet he had no cause to complain. Not after he'd ruined Synda's life by telling her he loved her.

*********

Her legs burning from crouching for so long, Daria stepped away from the window, not wanting to believe what she'd heard.

She still couldn't pity Synda, not exactly. For all Synda's misery, she'd still been somebody who'd loved cruelty and had inflicted it on Daria. On Quinn, as well. But Synda was a small person in a very big world and as much at the mercy of larger forces as Daria was.

Exhausted and wanting to sleep, Daria made her clandestine journey back to the gatehouse. One thing was certain: she had to leave before she became the next Synda.

Musical Closer - You Oughta Know, by Alanis Morissette

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 8 2024, 07:28 AM

[SubRosa]

This version of Tom is definitely more involved in the family business than the TV show one. As we continue to see with today's episode. I liked his observations about the pragmatism of Imperials vs the natural obfuscation of the Dunmer. One can also see his frustration at being trapped within this artificial world of pre-determined statements and responses. Clearly he just wants to get down to brass tacks and deal with the silt strider in the room.

Well, I suppose if Tom really wants to get out of the noble life, he too could join the Fighters Guild and become a traveling adventurer with Kavon. Now that would be an interesting bro-venture buddy comedy.

Oooh, Daria the ninja sneaks out. What is her Stealth skill at? This will be interesting.

Wow, so they did keep their threat of packing Synda off to a convent. I don't envy her. But then again, given what a so-and-so she is, I cannot feel sorry for her either. The energy that she put out into the world came right back to her is all.

I can't blame Daria for feeling that she might be the next Synda. I am sure part of that is her inborn cynicism foreseeing the worst. But there is a really, really good foundation for that cynicism in this case. She does live in a different world that the Sloans, and she is a very small fish in their very big pond.

The real question is, what is her next move then? Go back to Balmora and try to rejoin her family? Send them a letter first? Or will it be the Fighter's Guild and Kavon?

[Acadian]

Tomal continues to show his admirable character via his guilt and trying to shoulder some of the Synda situation blame. And Daria nailed it wisely by, while not pitying Synda, recognizing that Synda was simply a pawn in the mess known as Dunmer nobility. A culture that simply discards transgressant children.

Neither Tomal nor Daria is keen on the prospect of life in House Hlaalu. Seems to me the best solution might be for them to have an earnest chat and perhaps elope to The Imperial City.

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 6

Daria awoke early, wanting to take a bath but not willing to waste any time. She took out the clothes she'd worn on the journey to Ravil Manor, earlier washed by the servants at her request. Putting them on, the green wool of her coat faded from use (Quinn had told her to get it re-dyed more than once), felt like returning home. Everything fit perfectly, and she breathed easy for the first time since arriving at the place.

Part of her wanted to write a note for Tomal and leave, but she wasn't sure that'd be safe. Humiliating the Sloans might bring more trouble on her head, so she'd best talk to Tomal and at least see if she could get him to understand.

Going here had been a terrible idea, she realized.

"Even worse than going to Sadrith Mora," she imagined Jane saying.

Ravil Manor slowly woke up around her. A servant brought her breakfast in her room while the Sloans, Ravils, and Grilvayns ate in the main house. The Grilvayns had spent the night in a spacious pavilion set up for them at the back of the manor. As Dunmer tended to do, the Grilvayns lingered through the morning. Daria spotted Tomal, squinting at the morning sunlight and walking with exaggerated slowness as if every motion caused him physical pain, a sickly smile plastered on his face. He must have hit the bottle pretty hard the other night. Not that she blamed him.

It was not until after lunch that the Grilvayns departed. Daria watched them leave the manor, wanting to give them time so she didn't risk running into them on the road. All the while, her mind spun new scenarios of what might happen. What if Tomal didn't take her departure gracefully? What if he did, but his dad viewed it as an insult?

Or maybe they wouldn't care.

It was a little while later that a knock came on her door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Me," Tomal said, his voice hoarse. "The Grilvayns are gone. Can I come in?"

Daria gulped and took a deep breath. "Sure."

The door opened. The poor guy looked like he wanted more than anything else to collapse and curl up in a ball. He'd been entertaining the Grilvayns all morning in that state. His bleary eyes studied her, slowly widening as he took in the hints: the old green coat and long black skirt, the rough boots, her few belongings packed up.

"You're leaving?"

"Uh, yeah." She forced herself to look him in the eyes. "Tomal, you gave me a chance at the dream that many young Tamrielic women spend their days hoping for. But my preference for grubby realism means I'm not suited for a fantasy life."

He leaned against the doorway, and that action alone seemed to take more out of him. "But why? I gave you—"

"Are you going to hurt me for this?" she asked.

He blinked and shook his head, then grimaced.

"Maybe you should drink some water," she said.

"Any more water, and I'll pop. Daria, I meant what I said: you can go whenever you want. I'll never hurt you."

"Okay." She mulled her next move, fearing she was about to make a mistake. "I overheard part of your conversation last night. Where Synda's mom decided to pass the whole thing off as a delusion on her daughter's part, and your dad went along with it."

"Are you mad I tried to protect her?"

"No. You did the right thing, albeit rather halfheartedly. It was probably the most you could have done. But you can see why I need to leave. I can't spend my life being at the mercy of something like that."

"I can see that," he uttered, sounding defeated. "I destroyed Synda's life, Daria. All because I thought she'd be fun to have as a girlfriend."

Daria sighed. "You did so inadvertently. The real blame lies with those who did it deliberately. Namely, her parents and yours."

"Not sure that makes me feel better," he said.

"It wasn't supposed to. But you bear far less blame than them. Given that I have much less power than Synda, you can understand why I want to leave."

"Where will you go?"

She decided it was safe to tell him. "Vivec. If I'm lucky, Jane won't shut the door in my face when I find her home. If I'm not? I guess I'll have to play it by ear."

"Vivec can be a tough city to get around. Do you have any money?"

"Just a handful of coins I brought with me from Balmora," Daria admitted, feeling a bit foolish for carrying so little.

"Let me give you some more," he said.

"No—"

"Please! You won't owe me anything, Daria. Let me do something good."

He lurched away into his bedroom and came back a bit later with a bulging coin purse. "Here. The coins inside should add up to around a thousand."

Daria looked at it doubtfully. "The jingling of that purse will call every bandit on the road."

Tomal cursed. He opened it up and picked out some coins, stuffing them into his pockets. "A few hundred are left. Come on, you'll need money for food and shelter."

She thought about it for a bit and nodded, taking the hollowed-out purse. "Uh, thanks. What are you going to tell your parents?"

"I'll lie. Tell them I got tired of you. That's something they'll accept," he said.

"Probably an accurate assessment." She put the purse in her bag and then picked it up from her bed. "I guess I'm on my way then."

"Wait. Daria, was I a good boyfriend?"

She stepped up to him until they were only inches apart and looked him in the eyes. For a moment, just a moment, she thought it might be best to stay. That maybe he could protect her, that together they'd push back against the corruption.

But that was only a dream.

"Tomal, let me put it this way: for most of my life, I didn't think I'd like anyone enough to let them kiss me. Yet somehow, I let you do that. More than once, even. What's more, I enjoyed it. You're not a bad guy, Tomal. I'm sure, some day, you'll find a noblewoman who also sees through the nonsense of this world."

He smiled. "That's pretty high praise from you."

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't."

"And remember how powerful you are."

"It's not something I'll ever forget," he said, "not after last night."

"Okay then."

Tomal stood aside to give her space. She thought about hugging him, but that struck her as unnatural and potentially giving the wrong idea. Instead, she simply walked through the main room and toward the door.

"Oh, Daria?"

"Yes?" she replied, not turning around.

"Don't go to Pelagiad. That's where the Grilvayns will be."

"Thank you. They're the last people I want to meet right now."

"I figured. Good luck with Jane."

"Thanks. I'll need it."

With that, Daria opened the door and stepped out.

Musical Closer - Scandal, Controversy, and Romance, by The Prissteens

The End

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 8 2024, 07:29 AM

[SubRosa]

Does that hint mean that we will be seeing Jane again? Yay! I was afraid that she was out of the story going forward. It is great to hear that is not so.

Daria is back in her old clothes, and it looks like she is preparing for her exodus from Ravil Manor. I guess that means it is time for a very awkward and uncomfortable conversation with Tom, her soon to be ex boyfriend. It may feel inevitable (especially for those of us who have watched the show), but it is still sad.

You know, Sadrith Mora reminds me of Hermaeus Mora. How many Moras are there? Balmora, Tel Mora. It guess that's mora less of it.

But my preference for grubby realism means I’m not suited for a fantasy life.
Sorry honey, but you are in the wrong game then! Well, if its any consolation, Morrowind is about as grubby as it gets for an Elder Scrolls game I suppose. Maybe she would prefer the Fallout series? Oh boy, Fallout Daria...

So that went better than I expected. Still not great of course. Tom understands the world he lives in, and how that world looks from the outside. That's a level of self-awareness than most of his peers could not hope to achieve. Which I think does make him a good boyfriend. Just not for someone like Daria.

And a possible future uncomfortable encounter with the Grizzlys averted at Pelagiad. Time for Daria to ride the rails like a good old-fashioned anarchist.

[Acadian]

Well, I’m disappointed for both Tomal and Daria but not surprised. It was just a bridge too far. Tomal was indeed a good boyfriend. He was honest, tried to protect Daria and do the right thing. I’m glad he seems to understand. And I’m glad Daria said goodbye in person instead of writing a note and sneaking away.

For every door that closes, one can hope a new one opens and I’m looking forward to Daria calling on Jane. Jane is pretty forgiving and, hopefully, Daria has learned enough recently not to screw it up (again). Hopefully Dimartani was right and Daria listened to him.

[Renee]

Yes, that's one thing about Morrowind, the clothing/armor combinations are through the roof, compared to later games. And we can interchange left and right hand / shoulder pieces. I suspect something like this is going to return to the next Elder Scrolls, which I predict will be released in 2025.

Aww, poor Synda.

She didn’t have her family to fall back on any longer.

Mmmm, she doesn't know this for sure though, does she?

Daria is sneaking. Her Sneak skill is gathering! This means she'll get +2 in Agility if she keeps this up. (ha ha, Rosa concurs!)

Synda and Lynda, that's cute. Too bad things didn't work out between them. Wow. Our children's reputation is our burden to shoulder. That's so horrible. It's like they don't see their part in this at all, these parents. Their daughter is obviously a mess, yet they don't see that THEY have something to do with this. I'll never understand that. It happens with real-life parents, as well. But I don't wanna get off-topic.

We know that your son, who is truly a sterling example of young Dunmer manhood,

Ugh.

Alanis Morissette, yes! Just so you know, she was a BIG thing in the world of music (the biggest, in the world of female rockers) for a couple months or so. And then it was like *poof*. But the thing is, that period when she got really famous was a super-busy time: the mid-'90s. All that grunge, all those boy bands, and so on. A lot of competition for radio time. Having a quick look at her page on Wikipedia, Morrisette's sales went from a hundred-thousand or so for her first album (remarkable in itself) mostly in Canada to over 50 million for Jagged Little Pill. And then she went back down to lesser sales.

Anyway, now I'm noticing that Tomal's not spending as much time with Daria. So he apparently got drunk after his family meeting, yet did not spend any of that time with his supposed beau. She's not even much of a guest if this keeps up.

Daria's got her grunge gear on!

Whoa. YES. She's going to Vivec! Cool. I'm glad she's doing this. I mean, in a way it's probably not such a good idea. She's chasing a friend. And as we know, people change over time. Jane's in a different head-space now that she's been in the big city a while. Maybe she won't be happy to see her old friend, come to town without contacting first.

Hmm, now I'm not so sure. This all is pretty impulsive, right? I can't imagine Jane slamming the door in her friend's face (if Dar even manages to find Jane at all). But maybe Jane hasn't got any room to take someone in.

I kind of wish Daria would've tried to contact her family, first. Sigh.

Edit: Prissteens, yet another musical team I've never heard. Listen to the way their voices are slightly distorted, Clavier. Has something to do with the microphones they used. My brother's a musician. They used really old microphones sometimes just to get that sound, rather than new digital equipment which would've been available at the time. Anyway, this song's cute. Another one for my Fallout 3 roster.

This post has been edited by Renee: Jul 2 2023, 04:18 PM

[WellTemperedClavier]

Episode 29: Gone Sister Gone

Mom and Dad were still arguing. Actually, it was more like Dad was yelling and Mom was trying to keep him from doing something stupid.

"Jake, Daria's letter said she was fine."

"Yeah! Her letter said that! But what would Daria say, Helen? Maybe the Sloans made her write that letter! They're nobles; they can do whatever the hell they want, and this whole damn system lets them get away with it!"

Quinn rolled on her side and pressed her pillow over her ears.

"Great going, Daria," she whispered. "Run off with a noble and leave me with this mess."

Everything had gone wrong since the pageant! First, it turned out Daria had been having an affair or something with Tomal, Synda's boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend, now. Then she ran off with him, which was the weirdest thing ever, because Daria was boring. And now everyone was fighting each other about it. Dad acted like Daria had been kidnapped, and Mom was trying to calm him down while also asking some of the army guys in the fort to investigate. Not that they did.

"We're sorry," the officer had said, "but the Sloans are friends of the Empire. Given their status, you ought to consider yourself lucky that their son has taken such an interest in your daughter."

Somehow, Quinn was pretty sure Daria was safe. The letter had sounded too much like her to be a fake. Who else would live with the richest guy in Morrowind and still find something to complain about? But Mom had completely flipped when she'd told her that. Quinn understood why, though. Talking about dating or marrying a noble was one thing, but actually doing it? That could get scary. She remembered how that creep, Turimar, had threatened her and how helpless she'd felt.

"I'm going over to Moonmoth to have a talk with this Varrus guy tomorrow!" Dad bellowed from down below. "See what that squirmy little bureaucrat has to say to an angry Nord father with a missing daughter!"

"Varrus already—"

"I don't care! He didn't do enough!"

Quinn sighed. She remembered they used to fight like that about Daria, forever ago.

At least Fashion Club meetings let her worry about something else.

*********

"Do you guys remember those fashion seminars we tried to hold like, two years ago? Do you think we should try that again, Muthsera Morgendorffer?"

It was Sundas afternoon at the Glass Crown, and Quinn was trying hard to pay attention.

"Uh, yeah, that sounds great, Satheri," she said.

"Best of all, we don't have to worry about Synda anymore."

"Or her Haute Society," Treads-on-Ferns added.

"Synda… needed… to keep a better eye… on her… guy…"

Satheri giggled. "And now she's like, completely disgraced! I don't have to be nice to her anymore." She grinned and got so excited that she started shaking her fists.

"Good riddance," Treads said.

"Has anyone seen her?" Quinn asked.

"I randomly saw her with her parents outside Lli's office last week," Jeval said. "She looked messed up."

"Messed up how?" Satheri demanded. She was a little too into the whole thing.

Jeval shrugged. "I dunno. Like she was trying to hide. She had this big hood."

"Ugh, gross!" Satheri exclaimed.

"Guys, let's not talk about Synda, okay? She's basically history, anyway," Quinn said.

Quinn knew she'd be pretty upset if someone like Daria had stolen a boyfriend from her, but Synda sounded more upset. Like she'd lost everything. Back in Charach, there had been this sweet old lady, Tivulia, whose husband had drowned on a fishing trip. She'd screamed and wailed when his crew came back without him.

Synda had sounded like Tivulia.

No way could a guy be that good. There was always someone else. If you could get one noble guy as a commoner, you could probably figure out how to get a second. Something else had been going on with Synda.

Satheri smiled. "I'm so glad I followed you, Muthsera Morgendorffer."

"Uh, sure thing," Quinn said, getting a little creeped out. Ugh, she needed some time to think and get everything straightened out. No wonder Daria hated hanging out with people.

Everyone looked at her like they wanted her to say something. "Sorry guys, what were we talking about?"

"Doing the fashion seminars again," Treads said.

"Oh, right!" But that was like the last thing she wanted to do right now. Maybe she should delegate this. "So what should we talk about? Tiphannia, I'm sure you must have some ideas."

"I have… tons… of ideas… for fashion…"

At least Quinn could think about something else while she waited for Tiphannia to finish.

*********

Home was the last place Quinn wanted to be, so she walked everyone else home first. Tiphannia and Satheri lived close by, but Jeval lived near the strider port, and Treads-on-Ferns lived in Labor Town by the river, so that let her stay out a while longer. She went south along the Odai with them, the late-day merchants still making their pitches.

Mom and Dad didn't like her staying out late anymore. The Labor Town protests kept getting bigger, and she'd heard a few had turned into fights.

"Is your sister okay, Quinn?" Treads suddenly asked.

"Huh? Uh, I think so. She sent this letter where she says she's living at some manor out in the countryside. I'm pretty sure she's not in any trouble, but my parents are freaking out because the Sloans are nobles."

"I'm sorry," Treads said.

"It makes me so mad! Like she ran off and did this without thinking about anyone else!" Quinn threw her hands in the air, wishing Daria was there so she could like, scream at her or something. "It's what she always does."

"What did she say in the letter?" Treads asked.

"She said she was okay. She was still being a jerk about everything, so she was probably telling the truth. I wish I knew for sure."

"Hey, Jeval," Treads said. "Your dad's a courier, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think he'd take a job to go over to where Daria is? Maybe he could deliver a message from the rest of the Morgendorffers."

"Hey, yeah, that's a good idea!" Jeval said. "My dad's actually out on delivery right now, but he should be home in a couple of days."

Quinn suddenly hugged Treads. She had so many good ideas. Daria was right about that, at least. "Ohmigosh, thank you! It's so scary and weird right now."

"Hold on a sec," came Jeval's voice. "I don't know my dad's schedule. He can do it if he's free, but you might have to wait if he has another assignment lined up."

Quinn let go of Treads and looked at Jeval. Last year, he and his friends would be competing for her, each saying he'd deliver the message and bring her some crazy present. She'd have totally gone for it, too. Or let them keep fighting each other for the best offer.

Ugh, how had she ever been so silly?

"I get it. But if he's free, could you let me know?" Quinn asked.

"Sure thing. Do you know where Daria is?" Jeval asked.

"She said she was in Ravil Manor. I don't know why she isn't in Sloan Manor, or whatever."

Jeval stroked his chin like he was thinking about something. "All the rich guys have country homes out in the Ascadian Isles, so the manor's probably there."

"Would your dad know how to find Ravil Manor?" Quinn asked.

He looked unsure. "I don't think so. My dad doesn't work for nobles; those guys all got their own messengers for this kind of thing. They don't like to advertise where they live, either."

Plus, Quinn thought, she couldn't be sure if the Sloans or Ravils or whoever would take the message.

"Okay. Let me like, think about this for a bit. Jeval, can you tell me when your dad gets back?"

"Promise."

"Thanks. You guys are great friends."

*********

Dad was yelling again.

"Varro was useless! What the hell are our taxes paying for?"

Mom and Dad were down in the kitchen, but Quinn could still hear them upstairs. She turned over in her bed. Her room was way too quiet. She thought about what Jeval had said. Maybe all she could do was send a letter to the manor and hope that the Sloans were nice enough to accept something from a commoner like her. Her cheeks suddenly burned. What was so bad about being a commoner?

Ugh, this whole system sucked. She needed a noble to be on her side. Briltasi? Or wait, didn't Jane work for a noble, now? Maybe Jane could pull some strings or something.

Quinn didn't know the Dunmer that well. Sure, she knew Satheri like a sister. Actually, wait, not like a sister. She barely knew her real sister. But Satheri was almost a loner with the other Dunmer. Maybe that's why she was so happy about Synda's big meltdown.

Maybe Satheri could point her in the right direction.

*********

Everyone knew that Morndas sucked, but it sucked slightly less if you looked your best.

Quinn focused that morning. She put all thoughts of Daria aside and put on her favorite yellow moth-silk gown, the one with the sewn-in lace cuffs, and accessorized for non-formal occasions (so netch leather shoes, a copper necklace that looked gold in the right light, a lapis lazuli brooch, and a few other essentials). For her hair, she decided to go all out like the Nibenese ladies did (or at least, how they did a few years ago, which was current enough in Balmora) by piling her red locks up on top of her scalp and curling a few of them. She'd need a handmaiden or something to do it properly, but looking right was usually better than being right.

She ran into Satheri on the way to school.

"I was wondering something," Quinn said. "Do you like, know anyone who knows the Sloans?"

"Me? Oh, no. I'm not important enough for that. I once met Serjo Sloan. The son, I mean. He seemed nice. Daria must be so happy with him!"

Quinn pretended not to be annoyed. "I know! My mom and Dad are like, super-proud of her right now."

"Oh!" Satheri gasped, clasping her hands together. "I'm sure! My mom says that Serjo Sloan the Younger is one of the most eligible young bachelors in Vvardenfell District. Your sister's so lucky. But I'm sure you'll marry a noble too, Muthsera Morgendorffer. I'm arranged to be married to one, so we'll be in like, the same social circles and can stay best friends forever!"

"I know; I can't wait!" Quinn said. "It's just that my mom wants to send Daria a letter of congratulations, and to ask her to tell us, you know, when the wedding will be and all that."

"That's such a good idea."

Time for the real question. "But we're not sure how to reach her. Can we like, send a letter? Or should we ask someone first?"

Satheri looked down at the ground like she always did when she was trying to figure something out. At least she didn't furrow her brow anymore; Quinn had trained her out of that. "That could be tough. Briltasi—I mean, Serjo Talori—might know him. I'm not sure, though."

"I was thinking about asking her. Oh, do you remember Jane? That friend of my sister's with all the art stuff?"

Satheri nodded. "Yeah?"

"Didn't some noble lady or something hire her? Do you know who? I think Daria told me, but I forgot."

"I'm sorry, Muthsera Morgendorffer. I won't be a noble until marriage, so I don't know much about what they do. I guess I should start learning so I don't look like a complete idiot."

Quinn nodded. Satheri wouldn't be able to help much.

She ditched Satheri (in a nice way) once she got to school and searched for Briltasi. Not like it was ever hard to find her. All she had to do was follow the sound of Dunmer girls chatting. Briltasi and her friends hung out under the big emperor parasol that day. Most of the girls who used to be in Synda's Haute Society had joined Briltasi, which Quinn guessed was an improvement.

Quinn took out her brass hand mirror and pretended to fuss with her hair while she waited for Briltasi to be alone. She knew better than to interrupt a queen at her court, even if the queen was as nice as Briltasi. But she swooped in right when the bell rang.

"Hi, Briltasi! How was that party at Sera Llervis's on Loredas? I wish I could have gone."

"Oh, hi Quinn! Yeah, it was lots of fun. I'm surprised you weren't there."

"I wanted to go, but there was like this big charity thing to get clothes for poor kids," Quinn lied. She'd stayed home because, well, things were a mess at home, and she had to take care of them.

Briltasi tilted her head. "Aw, you're so sweet, Quinn!"

"I try to be! Who was at the party?"

Quinn didn't care that much. But she needed to keep talking about the social stuff before she asked her question. Briltasi went on about it, giving Quinn an idea as to who was in and who was out. In other words, the important kinds of things to know about.

"… Rovern Draalo was there, too. He's like, way bigger than his dad, it's funny!"

"No way! Oh, wait, are the Draalos like nobles?" Quinn asked. That at least got them on the subject.

Briltasi giggled. "No, silly! He's not important or anything. Though his family is respectable."

Quinn made a show of putting her palm to her brow, like she was embarrassed. "Sorry! These are kind of complicated for an outlander girl like me."

"Aw, it's okay! You're not that important, so you don't have to worry about it."

"Speaking of nobles, do you know the Sloans?"

Briltasi shook her head. "Not really. Serjo Sloan the Younger seemed nice. He's sort of cute... oh, wait, your sister's dating him, huh?"

"Yeah—"

"That's so cool! Anyway, the Sloans just got to Vvardenfell, so no one knows them that well."

"I'm trying to write a letter to Daria. I figured if she's dating a noble, maybe she can get me one, too—"

"You could totally get one!"

"—but I'm not sure how to get in touch with the Sloans. I know they're at Ravil Manor, but I don't know where that is."

"I can ask Serjo Driler," Briltasi said.

"Who's that?"

"He hosted the Sloans when they were here."

"Could you?" Quinn got her eyes to water a bit. "Oh, thank you so much, Briltasi!"

"I'm always happy to help."

"I owe you big time."

"Don't worry about it! I owe Daria a favor, so I'll repay her by not making you owe me anything. Daria helped me by not telling anyone I'm dating Kavon." Briltasi's eyes suddenly got big. "Uh, 'cause I'm not dating Kavon! And she didn't tell anyone I wasn't not dating Kavon, so… uh…"

Quinn smiled. "Oh, I had one more teensy question: do you know who hired Jane?"

"Jane?"

"You know, Daria's friend? The artist?"

"Oh yeah, the menial." She looked like she was trying to think. "I can ask Serjo Driler!"

"Thanks again! I gotta run to class, but you're the best, Briltasi!"

"I am, aren't I!"

Quinn smiled until Briltasi turned and then relaxed. She had this.

*********

Briltasi told Quinn the bad news first: she didn't know where Ravil Manor was (or Serjo Driler wouldn't tell her). But she did learn that Serjo Olerlo had hired Jane. The Olerlos had a place in Balmora, but they lived in Vivec, which is where Jane would also be.

At lunch, Jeval told her that his dad was free for an assignment but that she had to move fast before he took another job.

Okay, so nobody knew where Ravil Manor was. She did know where Jane was. So what she had to do was hire Jeval's dad to take a message to Jane in Vivec City. Since the people who worked for nobles still had to get stuff delivered to them sometimes, right?

Ugh, she wished she had a better plan than this. Maybe she could get one.

Quinn looked for Jolda at lunch. She wasn't sure if Jolda could help that much, since she wasn't a noble or a Dunmer. But she did work with like, the government or something, and they had a ton of maps, didn't they?

She found Jolda in the library with this big, scary scroll full of numbers stretched out on the table. As always, she stared at the stuff like her life depended on it. Jolda had such pretty eyes, and Quinn hated to think they'd get bloodshot from all the work she did.

"Hi, Jolda?" Quinn greeted.

Jolda looked up. "Oh, hi Quinn. What's going on?"

"Not too much."

"Have you heard from Daria?" Jolda asked.

"I got a letter from her. That's sort of why I'm here. Daria's staying with Tomal, and we're all worried."

Jolda sighed like she'd heard bad news. "I bet. I feel bad about what happened with her."

"It's not your fault, Jolda."

"I know. I just wish it could have worked out better. What did she say in her letter?"

"She said she's fine, but I want to know for sure," Quinn admitted.

"That's understandable."

"Daria said she's staying at a place called Ravil Manor. Do you think you could find out where that is? My friend's dad is a courier, so maybe I can get him to send something there."

Jolda brightened. "I know where that is! My dad made me intern at the Imperial Cartographic Society office last winter, and we looked over some maps of the Ascadian Isles. Ravil Manor's a little corkbulb farm five and a half miles east of Pelagiad."

Well, that was easier than Quinn had expected. "Oh, that's great! Thank you so much, Jolda."

"Sure thing. I don't like the way nobles run roughshod over people either. I've heard that the Sloans are nice, but who knows for sure?"

"I don't think Daria's in any trouble, but I better write the letter and get it sent! Thank you so much again, Jolda!"

Quinn flat-out skipped Sera Ondryn's afternoon class (because who cared about him?) and walked straight home to tell Mom and Dad her plan.

"I can't believe this!" Dad raged. "We're citizens, dammit! These nobles don't have all the rights. Helen, find me the local Morag Tong office! I'm sure they can track her down for us!"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Jake—"

"Well, I'm all out of good ideas! Time to try some bad ones!"

Quinn imagined what her parents would write to Daria. Dad would get super angry, and Mom would lecture Daria until she never wanted to come home. Clearly, this was up to Quinn. So she crept up to her room and sat down at Daria's desk. Maybe that'd help her get into the spirit, or whatever. She could do this. Letter-writing was for cool people.

But she still wasn't sure what to say. Usually, all she had to say was how pretty or handsome or how cool someone was, and they'd do anything she asked. People loved attention, and they loved it more when she gave attention to what they thought was a big deal about themselves, even if they actually sucked at it.

Daria was tough. She shot down most compliments. When they were kids, Quinn had tried telling Daria how smart and well-read she was, since that was what Daria cared about. Maybe that way they wouldn't be so lonely and could play together the way other sisters did. But Daria got mad and called Quinn a flatterer (which was how she'd learned what flattery meant).

"Concentrate," she whispered to herself.

Should she take the direct but risky chance with Ravil Manor? Or play it safe with Jane?

Clearly, she had to do both. Ask Jeval's dad to try and deliver to Ravil Manor, and then go to Jane if that didn't work.

"Well, here goes," she muttered and started writing.

She did the easy part first: a letter to Jane, asking her to relay a message to Daria, maybe with Serjo Olerlo's personal courier. Then she tackled the letter to her sister.

Daria –

I hope you get this letter. I'm sure you're having a lot of fun with Serjo Sloan. Serjo Talori tells me he's one of the most eligible bachelors in Vvardenfell.

Mom and Dad know Serjo Sloan's a great guy, and that his family is honorable. But you're their elder daughter, and you didn't even say goodbye! That's why they're worried about you. They think they did something to make you run away, and they'd really like to see you.

I want to see you, too. I know we don't always get along, but you've always been like a rock for us. Mom gets so driven and work-obsessed, and you know how Dad flies off the handle sometimes. And me, well I'm pretty great, but maybe I do spend too much time and money on stuff like fashion. You're stable, though. You keep things going.

No one here is mad at you (well, Mom is a little, but she'll get over it). We just want to see you again. If you get this, please come home to say hi. It'd mean a lot.

- Your sister, Quinn

Quinn was crying when she finished. At least she hadn't worn any kohl that day. Tears made her face all gross and puffy, but she didn't care. She sobbed into her silk handkerchief, wishing she'd taken more time to get along with her odd, confusing, difficult, and absolutely fantastic sister.

She kept going until she was all out of tears. Then she walked to her cabinet and took out the small sandalwood box where she kept her coins and counted them out. Unfortunately, she came up short. She'd need eighteen more septims to get Jeval's dad to visit both Ravil Manor and Vivec.

"Ooh," she uttered, frustrated.

Then she remembered something and smiled. Quinn walked over to Daria's bookshelf and rifled through the tomes until she found a bulging cloth bag behind some boring history book that wasn't even written in verse. Opening it up, she took out eighteen septims and then twenty more.

She totally deserved a gratuity for all this.

Musical Closer - The Sign, by Ace of Base

The End

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 8 2024, 07:32 AM

[SubRosa]

Jake is overreacting, as usual. Though granted, your daughter suddenly running away with some aristocrat is a good reason to overreact.

I can just imagine Jake at the Fort: "Varus, give me back my legions!" Oh wait, that was that other guy...

Oh boy, now Quinn is turning into Daria, getting all introspective and *gasp* antisocial. And Daria has turned into Quinn, literally stealing her dream of running away with a hot rich guy. Except of course, not, because its a lot more complicated than that, and a lot more messy.

And Quinn does have plenty of time to think while Tiffany finishes a sentence...

So Jeval's dad is that guy in Skyrim who is always telling me that the Jarl of Falkreath wants to talk to me, and that a museum just opened in Dawnstar...

This has been a fun digression into Quinn's post Daria world. It shows a lot of maturation on her part. Especially concerning her relationship with the Three Stooges.

I love how Quinn's quest to deliver a letter to Daria is taking her through the backlist of characters we have or have not seen in a while.

“Well, I’m all out of good ideas! Time to try some bad ones!”
Now that's the spirit Dad!

Quinn definitely deserves that gratuity for her face getting all puffy!

[Acadian]

A very fun and quite deep episode from Quinn’s perspective. You continue to delight with how you consistently capture the style and mannerisms of Quinn and her fashion guildmates and friends.

I agree with SubRosa’s insights on the irony of the two sisters doing some things that are totally in character with their generally opposite sister.

Treads' idea of trying to send Daria a letter is a good one and Quinn displayed some guar with a bone determination to see it done.

Yet, there is still no doubt that, thankfully, Quinn is still Quinn as evidenced here:
’…but looking right was usually better than being right.’
Or as Buffy might say, ‘What’s the use of doing something if you don’t look good doing it?’

[WellTemperedClavier]

Episode 30: The Cantons of Vivec

Chapter 1

Contiminus Merro, the first Imperial to visit Vivec City and come back to write about it, described the place as "… a city of shrines and saints that lies within hollow mountains rising from the churning sea, built by the living god Vivace [sic] as a home for his followers."

Daria leaned her aching body on a sloping stone barrier above the sea. Maybe Merro saw Vivec as a city of shrines and saints. She saw it as a city that future generations of urban planners would use as a warning of what not to do. Winding stairways led to monstrous ramps, and then to mazes of cramped tunnels, and then back down to the shadowy lower waistworks where sewage infrastructure coiled around obscure shops, every step of the way reeking of sweat and saltwater.

And that had just been in the Foreign Quarter.

She finally stood on the first level of what she was pretty sure was the Hlaalu Canton. The cantons were the mountains that Merro had described: buttressed ziggurats of dull green and gray stone, each three to four tiers high, their foundations embedded into the seafloor. Ovoid entrances to shops and apartments pitted the canton exteriors like the marks of some particularly virulent pox, while grime from countless generations darkened the walls of the interiors. Everything about the city dwarfed the people within it, as if to remind them of their insignificance before the glory of God-King Vivec, who allegedly still lived in the Palace Canton at the city's south end.

Daria had arrived in the Foreign Quarter early the previous evening. Unable to find a reputable cornerclub and confused by the directions people gave her, ("Go to the upper waistworks from here, past the 5-2, then take a left and keep going until you take two stairways, one up and then one down, to the main mezzanine, and then go down the leftmost passageway to the 8-2 and take a right at the shrine of St. Roris with two statues. If you hit the shrine of St. Roris with three statues, you've gone too far. Now quit bothering me!") she'd slept rough in the lower waistworks and emerged, stiff and exhausted, to continue her search.

Worse, she'd emerged poorer. Someone, at some point, had nabbed her purse. A bit of the money Tomal had given her still resided in her coat pockets, but she no longer had enough for a silt strider trip back to Balmora.

The sun was setting, and she still didn't know how to find Jane. Jane had to be somewhere in this canton, she was sure. Serjo Olerlo was a Hlaalu noble, after all. But searching even one of these monstrosities proved an enormous undertaking.

"Face it," she muttered to herself, "coming here was the latest in a long series of bad ideas that might have started with being born."

None of the passersby, mostly middle-class Hlaalu retainers and ship officers, took any notice of her. People had given her strange looks when she asked where she could find the Olerlo residence. Given how private nobles tended to be, she supposed she should have expected this.

Daria pushed herself off the wall and went across the wide walkway to the stone railing. She gripped the stems of her glasses to keep them from slipping off and looked down at the web of docks and quays connected to the first tier by rickety planks and rope. Plenty of ships, mostly fishing and some trade, were coming in for the night.

"Let's see," she said. "If this big pyramid in any way resembles the hierarchy of Hlaalu society, it's a safe bet that the workers all live at the bottom and the nobles…"

She looked over her shoulder at the bronze dome atop the canton.

"... are at the top. So, if Serjo Olerlo lives here, it's probably at that level."

Mentally prepping herself for another exhausting search, Daria navigated the dense crowds and the traders hawking grilled fish and kwama jerky. She bought some jerky with her dwindling funds and ate as she walked, wondering exactly what would happen if she failed to find or reconnect with Jane. She ought to have considered that more seriously back at Tomal's place.

She marched up every ramp and staircase she found, both in and out of the canton. Wrong turns and dead ends slowed her progress, and night's darkness soon spread over the sky, but she kept walking. Living in Morrowind at least taught patience.

Heavy clouds blotted the stars by the time she reached the enclosed plaza at the top. What looked like an entire Dunmer village had been built upon the plaza's stone surface, plunged into perpetual night by the great bronze dome overhead. Lanterns glowed in the darkness, while the soft radiance of fungi revealed stunted trees and bushes growing in the planters. The thick and sour smell of kwama clung to every surface, joined by the subtler scents of brine and burnt incense.

Now to find which of these manors held Olerlo. Randomly knocking on doors struck her as a bad idea. She'd tried that on the upper level of one of the other cantons (possibly the Redoran Canton) and had simply been told to get lost. She remembered Tomal mentioning that the Olerlos had earned their reputation by talking the Elder Council into reducing a tax on tanna root. Maybe she could pass herself off as a representative of a tanna root concern?

She scoffed at the thought. In her ragged state, she'd be lucky to qualify as a representative of Stendarr's lowliest mendicant order. Maybe her best bet was to rent a room in a nicer cornerclub and hope that they had a bath.

Of course, that meant finding one.

She spotted a human porter resting on one of the planters, his black hair shorn almost to his scalp. He might've been a Ynesai, or a Keptu-quey like Tiphannia. A fellow outlander would probably be more inclined to give her good advice.

"Excuse me, but do you know where I can find a decent cornerclub? For outlanders?"

The porter chuckled. "Well, for that, you're best off going to the Foreign Canton," he said.

"I've spent two days trying to find this place, and I don't want to lose it again."

"That determination will serve you well in this city! There's a storm coming, anyway, so you don't want to be walking tonight. If you have a bit of coin to spend, you can try the Elven Nations Cornerclub behind me." He gestured with his thumb. "It's where some of the foreign merchants stay."

"How much for a night?"

"You're asking the wrong fella, I'm afraid; I only know it by reputation. But hey, don't step foot in the No Name Club on the other side of the plaza. That's where the Camonna Tong types gather for drinks, and they don't like us humans."

A faint chill ran through Daria. "I'll avoid that place. I still have a bit of cash, so guess I'll try the Elven Nations. Thank you. You're easily the most helpful person I've met in this place so far, though that's probably not much of a compliment given the competition."

He laughed. "I see you've been given the runaround. Vivec's got her charms, but they take a while to appreciate."

"By avoiding the No Name Club, I might live long enough to do that. Thanks again."

Daria walked to the cornerclub that he'd pointed to. Like most of its kind, it bore the sign of a coiled-up scrib, though it was hard to see in the dark. At least the interior turned out to be well-lit. The Elven Nations didn't look all that fancy, with faded tapestries covering the gray walls. The fact that they used rugs (however threadbare), instead of rushes or keeping the floor bare, told her that this was a place for drinking but not for drunkenness. A good sign.

"I've already done some covers tonight, so my next song's going to be an original. It's called: Holes in My Heart."

Daria followed the familiar voice to the corner of the parlor where he stood, lanky and perfectly unkempt, addressing an all but nonexistent crowd. He strummed his lute and closed his eyes.

"I followed you in the dark,

When you hooked me by the heart,

I lit up like a spark,

When you made me feel so smart,

But oh, now I know you just want to hurt me,

I've got holes in my heart,

And it's all your fault!"

Daria hadn't found Jane. But she had found Trent.

Musical Closer - Daria, by Cake

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 8 2024, 07:33 AM

[SubRosa]

So Daria is brushing up on her Contemptuous Contemplatious Confoundious Conspiratorious.. whatever Merro.

I always imagined that Vivec was too constrained, and trapped in its original planning to ever be able to expand in the future, like real cities do. Once you fill up all those cantons, there is nowhere else to go. Unless you build a whole new canton I suppose. But that would be a huge undertaking that would require massive central planning. Not the kind of organic growth that cities normally undergo. So Vivec feels like an ornament or showpiece to me.

Daria gives us an outsiders look into this giant, grubby, busy place.

Holes in my Heart? I know who that singer is! Yaay!

[Acadian]

I join Daria in not being a fan of Vivec City. I only know the one in ESO but it matches her description pretty well. Mostly confusing!

Damn, getting robbed in her sleep was the pits.

Turns out that her fellow human gave her a good steer to that cornerclub where she finds none other than Trent! Whew, finding Jane should be easy peasy now.

[Renee]

I'm wondering if Edie Brickell ever got played on Daria. She was another one-hit wonder from the '90s with this song. Although Edie & her band were more hippies, like the teacher on Beavis & Butthead, mmkay? Not grunge or rock. Anyway, she had that ONE hit and it was huge.

I'd better not get off-track here though. A lot of story to cover! - My bro plays guitar (classical & jazz these days, but he was also rock & grunge) and also sax and probably one of the woodwind instruments. ... and I figured you played piano. One day I looked up "clavier" because I had no idea that's similar. 🎹

Cool, back with mom & dad. Nice. I'm glad dad is pissed. DAria deserves some concern. Go dad!

... Because Daria was boring!

The part when all the Fashion constituents are supposed to be pitching ideas. Treads speaks, Satheri speaks, and it's indicated which one is which. But when ... the other ... fashionista ... speaks .. there is no .... indication. But there doesn't need to be, because we all know how Tiphannia talks!

Anyway, I get the feeling Synda's not done. I love Quinn's version of reality. It's always so mall-princessy. 🫅

uinn didn’t know the Dunmer that well. Sure, she knew Satheri like a sister. Actually, wait, not like a sister. She barely knew her real sister.

Hee hee hee hee! Omigosh. It seems like Quinn's pretty darn concerned about her sis. And so is dad. Maybe the two of them will put ideas together. Yeah, I had to shed a tear after reading that letter, too. It does hit home.

Looks like the former leader of the Mystik Spiral is here. Something dramatic. You really describe Vivec well, too. Sounds like a really crowded place. And I notice that Daria had her purse lifted, yet nobody cared if she was sleeping in the avenue.

This post has been edited by Renee: Jul 9 2023, 06:15 PM

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 2

Jane kept her head bowed as Serjo Felvane Olerlo examined the rough draft of her half-length portrait. That's how Serjo Olerlo liked her employees: humble so that she never forgot how great she was compared to them.

"I want it to look a little more… Cyrodiilic," she said. "You're from Cyrodiil, aren't you Jane?"

"Yes, serjo. But I wasn't there for very long."

Saying she wanted it more "Cyrodiilic" could mean a million different things. It could mean that serjo wanted more emphasis on realism, like what someone might get from Colovian portrait painters in the west. Or maybe more vibrant colors, reflecting the lush Nibenese arts. Or that she wanted Akaviri motifs subtly woven into the image, like a gilded dragon-serpent stretching along the margins.

It actually meant that she didn't know what the hell she wanted, only that she wasn't quite satisfied with Jane's work.

Serjo Olerlo waved her hand. "Nonsense, that sort of thing stays with you. Why, if I were a painter, I'd be influenced by Morrowind since I was born here! Yes, a bit more Cyrodiilic."

"Of course, serjo."

As always, it was Jane's job to help serjo figure out what she wanted.

"Do you want brighter colors?" Jane asked. She turned her head slightly to look at the painting. It portrayed her boss standing in three-quarters view with an immense scroll in her hands to reflect wisdom hard-won from years of cosseted luxury.

"No, no. More… striking! Yes, striking! I want them to truly see me."

"I could go for bolder line work." Which was a Dunmer style, not a Cyrodiilic one. But whatever.

"That would work. Also, get rid of the scroll. I don't want to appeal to those dreary scholars any longer."

I'm sure the scholars would be relieved by that, Jane thought but didn't say.

"Replace it with, oh, I don't know, a baby guar. Yes, a baby guar!"

"Are you thinking about getting a pet, serjo?" Jane asked.

Serjo Olerlo sniffed. "Oh, goodness, no! I hate animals. But it'll be a good look for me; baby guars are in right now. All right, Jane, you are dismissed for the evening. Have the new version for me in a few weeks."

"The honor is mine, serjo," Jane uttered.

She waited for her boss to turn before straightening up and rubbing her neck, the muscles sore from long hours of work. Serjo Olerlo was a lot to deal with. But she also paid a lot. For the first time in her life, Jane had money to burn.

Ready to go back to the dingy apartment she shared with her brother, Jane took her lantern, lit it, and walked out of the manor and onto the top plaza of St. Olms Canton, where a lot of the leading Hlaalu made their homes. On a different night, she might have headed over to a cornerclub in one of the other cantons, but the closed bronze dome over her head meant it was raining outside, and she didn't feel like going far in a storm. St. Olms Canton had bars, but they all catered to long-standing regulars who gave odd looks whenever someone new tried to join in. Best to walk home.

Like most nights.

It'd be nice to have someone like Daria around to puncture some of the snobberies. Except it wouldn't be that nice, not really. Daria would go after Jane for working with the snobs instead of making some defiant stand against them. Defiant stands were a lot easier when you knew where your next meal was coming from.

Her thoughts darkened at the memory of their last, bitter exchange. Daria had seemed so perfect at first. Jane didn't have to be a cringing outlander or a haughty Dunmer around her. She could just be Jane. Until suddenly, she couldn't.

Enough. No point in dwelling on the past. People didn't stick around. She wasn't going to apologize to some spoiled Imperial girl for doing what she needed to do to survive.

"Hey, Jane!"

It was her friend and fellow artist, Celengor. He strode toward her, his smile insouciant and frame relaxed. Exactly who she needed to cheer her up.

"Hey, Celengor! Done for the day?" Jane asked.

Gods, she wanted to paint Celengor. There was something about the way the young Bosmer moved, each motion swift and fluid but precise like living quicksilver.

"For this day, yes. But many days yet remain. Serjo Half-Troll's pleased with my progress."

Jane had long known that some Hlaalu nobles were also outlanders, but it still felt weird to hear a Nordic title after "serjo".

"I'm sure he is. As for me, Serjo Olerlo is guiding my brush to create something more Cyrodiilic. Shows how, uh, wise she is that she knows Cyrodiil so well, even though she's never been there. Did I get that right?"

Since living with nobles meant you could never say what you thought of them. Celengor had been training her in the subtle art of complaining without complaining.

"Oh, I understand completely. Would that we all had her penetrating insight, so wise that she doesn't need to travel to the province from which she draws inspiration!"

He said it so perfectly, like he meant every word. Only his smirk, the gleam in his black eyes, let her know that he got it.

She and Celengor walked through the side gate leading out to the exterior walkway. Sheets of rain splashed down on the canton's sloping walls, so they grabbed each other with their free hands and hurried across the slippery stones until they reached the nearest door to the upper waistworks. Damp but not soaked, they laughed in victory as they passed into the hallway.

"Okay, so have you heard the news?" Celengor asked. His voice was taut, like he couldn't wait to tell her all about it. The corridor barely gave them enough room to walk side by side. They kept brushing up against each other, but Jane was okay with that.

"Can't say—"

Celengor didn't wait. "New show at the Black Shalk Cornerclub next Fredas! Just heard today. And get this!" He jogged out ahead of Jane and turned to face her, moving backward as he pointed at himself and then at her. "A show for our kind of art."

"Portraits of stuffy people?"

"Jane, come on! You know what I'm talking about. Those charcoal drawings you do—the crazy ones, the ones straight outa your heart!"

Jane stopped and crossed her arms, flashing him a little smirk. "Are you calling me crazy?"

He grinned. "Yeah, visionary crazy! The organizers don't want these boring old Imperial-style portraits. They want the artists who aren't afraid to do something different. They want us."

Vivec did have a real artistic community. Artists like her; professionals who flattered the wealthy by day and lived their dreams at night. Plus, plenty of blowhards out to live the bohemian life for a few years before trudging back to their parents' estates.

Not Celengor, though. He was the real deal.

Celengor stepped to the side and fell in with Jane as she walked. "I'm going to submit that piece I did in yellow and green," he said.

"Ooh, that's a good one! Show them what a real artist can do with colors."

"And textures!"

"Wait a sec," Jane said. "Who'll be seeing this art?"

Celengor raised his eyebrows. "Here's the best part: some rich types from Cyrodiil. More of an appetite for this kind of thing there. Could be some nobles who aren't afraid of pushing the boundaries."

"You mean respectable people might pay me to pour my inner angst out onto canvas?"

"For sure! Then you can get out of this dump."

"I have to work for Serjo Olerlo a few more years at least," Jane said.

"Sure, sure. Not saying we'd run out on our employers. But, you know, couldn't hurt to make connections with the more forward-minded aristos. What are you going to show?"

His eyes got all big, like he needed to hear. Jane had left some of her personal, expressive works back in Balmora, but she'd taken some with her and had made a few more in Vivec.

"Wait," he said. "Do the one with the screaming lady with the claws! That one, like, jumped right into my brain and isn't ever going to leave."

"Yeah, I should probably give it a title," Jane mused. "Screaming Lady with Claws?"

"Works for me."

"I got some time to think about it. But this is cool."

"Better than cool, Jane. Folks like us? It's going to be our time pretty soon. I'm sick of putting new wine in old mugs."

"New wine in old bottles," Jane corrected. She frowned. Critical old Daria hadn't quite left her brain.

"Whatever, whatever. Point is, too many artists are still painting like nothing's changed for the past two hundred years."

Jane shrugged. "I love a lot of that old art."

"For real?"

"Yeah, for real!" she protested. "Like Gwylain painting the Chaledone wedding and doing the entire scene again in that little background mirror."

They reached the Llayn apartment. Living close to her main client made things easier, but Jane wished she'd lived further away that night so she could walk with Celengor a little longer. Part of her hoped he'd ask to stay a while. She'd let him in; maybe take out that jug of mazte… Trent was actually performing for once, so he wouldn't be home for a while. It'd be her and Celengor, two bright young Mer in one of Morrowind's greatest cities…

Celengor made a so-and-so gesture and pulled her back to reality. "Gwylain had some good stuff, sure. But he already did it. We should do something new."

"The art world could stand more variety. Anyway, I'm in."

"Hell yeah! In a couple hundred years, they'll be trying to paint like you and me."

Jane laughed. "Aren't you full of yourself."

"Hey, I'm good with the brush. Good-looking, too. Why not be a little full of myself?"

She reached out and messed up Celengor's hair. He laughed and darted back. "Trying to mess up my carefully arranged locks?"

"Trying to fix them. They don't look like they've seen a comb in days."

Celengor grinned, teeth flashing in the lantern light. "You're going to have to get a little closer if you want to do that," he said in a low voice.

Were they dating? She wasn't quite sure. Every conversation they had turned to flirting eventually.

"Maybe I will," Jane said, reaching out to him.

"Janey!" Trent's voice echoed from farther up the corridor.

Dammit. "Hey, Trent," she responded. She guessed Celengor wouldn't be visiting that night, but maybe it was for the best. They'd known each other for a while, but work meant they hadn't actually talked that often.

Trent's lantern shone in the darkness ahead, by the door to the apartment where creepy Llendri muttered to himself and stacked furniture all night. She squinted for a better look. A shadow seemed to follow Trent.

"Howdy," Celengor called out, waving with his free hand.

Someone definitely walked behind Trent. He stopped at the door, and his mystery guest stepped to the side to reveal herself.

"Uh, hi Jane," Daria said.

Jane gasped. It was her, all right: the same stoic and bespectacled face, one far prettier than Daria would ever willingly admit. But she saw differences, too: her hair in disarray, her clothes shabby and dirt smudged on her face and hands. Plus, she kind of stank.

Jane gasped. "Daria! Are you okay? What happened? How'd you get here?"

"It's a long story," Daria said.

Trent stepped in. "We ran into each other over in the Elven Nations Cornerclub." He looked at Daria. "Had a pretty fun time reconnecting, huh, Daria?"

"As much fun as anyone could have in a state of near-total exhaustion, yes."

Celengor snapped his fingers and pointed at Daria. "Oh, hey, you're that glasses chick Jane told me about!"

Daria glared at him. "Believe it or not, I do have an identity beyond my optical accoutrements and gender."

Celengor was fun, active, and passionate about something beyond making sarcastic remarks. All traits that Daria hated.

Jane smiled and gestured to Celengor. "This is Celengor! He's one of my fellow artists in this crazy city."

"Heya," Celengor said, waving. "Seriously, it's a real honor to meet you. Any friend of Jane's is a friend of mine."

"Then I'd say you're a little too quick to assume friendship," Daria said.

Celengor blinked.

"Daria's got… a way about her," Jane said. She stepped toward Daria. "Seriously, though, are you okay?"

"From a historical perspective, lots of people have been less okay than me. From a personal perspective, well, I've been better."

"What about your family? Do they know you're here?"

"They're fine, and no, they don't. I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Hey, would you be okay if Daria stayed with us for a while?" Trent asked, though it sounded more like a suggestion.

Their little apartment barely had enough room for the two of them. She didn't have room for any Daria-based drama in her schedule any longer. But something was wrong with Daria. Jane could tell. It'd take a lot to get her to leave her comfort zone of school and home to travel out to Vivec. By the looks of it, she'd been traveling rough.

"I have some cash, so I can pay my own way for a while," Daria said. "If worse comes to worst, I'm sure I can get a job as an exotic dancer."

Jane wondered how much money Daria had. A septim didn't go as far in Vivec as it did in Balmora. Living with her didn't promise good times. But for all her faults, Daria had always been there for her.

Well, almost always.

"Sure. Here, let's get you set up," Jane said. "One nice thing about living here: all the apartments have running water. And you need a bath."

Daria's eyes widened, and then she sighed. "I slept in a place that stank of hobo pee last night, so I guess I couldn't come out of it smelling particularly pleasant."

"Don't worry, me and Trent scrubbed the hobo pee out of the apartment as soon as we moved in," Jane said, opening the door and ushering Trent and Daria inside. She gave an apologetic look to Celengor.

"I'll see you later, Jane," he said.

"You too! I'm definitely going to submit some works for that show," Jane said.

She would. Unless Daria made things complicated.

Musical Closer - Sweet Jane, by The Velvet Underground

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 8 2024, 07:35 AM

[SubRosa]

Bam, it starts with a kick to the commoner's chops right from the start. Keep you head bowed in reverence of my aristocratic grandeur.

Given that start, I am now wondering if Jane is already considering ditching her patron, and joining Kavon, Daria, and Tom as a wandering mercenary in the Fighter's Guild?

Jane might be burning money, but boy, a baby guar because its in fashion at the moment? Oi!

Sounds like Jane might have her eye on Celengor. Now I am trying to remember him from the series. Is he the creepy artist from the art summer retreat in one of the movies? The one where the female artist put the moves on Jane, and later hooked up with the art guy to further her career?

I like the way Celly uses the term "aristos", it reminds me of the old Scarlet Pimpernel TV show from the UK, where Richard E Grant (the Red Pimp himself) like to use that term.

Trent is back early? I bet with a prodigal former best friend in tow.

Daria is still Daria, exhaustion and all. I wonder if Celly knows that she is the Misery Chick? Well, if she spent the night sleeping in hobo pee, then I am sure that moniker fits, for the moment.

Well that reunion went better than I had expected. Daria showing up hat in hat pulled at Jane's heart-strings. Granted, the real reunion is yet to come. Daria has a lot of explaining for herself to do, and if she is wise, groveling for forgiveness. Hopefully her romantic escapades has helped her grow as a person, and realize that not everyone in the world has the privelige of being able to simply snark at the ugliness of the world, while living safely above it all.

[Acadian]

Neat to have this episode from Jane’s perspective. She is true to her nature – doing what she needs to do to survive. To include putting up with pompous nobles who paid well.

The wisdom she espouses to herself here has kept her fed and housed -
’Defiant stands were a lot easier when you knew where your next meal was coming from.’
- Daria would do well to embrace, or at least understand it.

You did a good job painting the flirty uncertain dance she managed with Celengor while trying to divine his intent.

And look what Trent dragged home!

At least Daria is showing about as much humility as she is capable of while still being Daria. It will be interesting to learn if she has learned from her experiences since Jane left and if it helps her repair their friendship.

[WellTemperedClavier]

Chapter 3

Sitting in a wooden tub almost too big for the coffin-like space that passed as a bathing room, Daria wondered how clean the water—pumped up from the seafloor and desalinated by divine will, according to Jane—really was. But it was warm, at least, and that came as a relief. Jane sat on a small stool next to Daria, practically wedged between the tub and the wall. Flat arcane light glowing from a wall sconce cast a sickly sheen on her gray skin.

"You have been getting up to a lot," she said after Daria finished her story. "Fighting cliff racers, having affairs with nobles, breaking up with the same nobles, and then hiking to Vivec. I'm starting to feel like I was holding you back all these years."

"Please," Daria said. "I've spent my whole life avoiding society, and the episode with Synda and Tomal proves I was right to do so."

"Guess so," Jane said, sounding distant. She glanced at the door, and Daria couldn't help thinking she wanted to leave. Jane had listened dutifully but hadn't responded with the wry enthusiasm Daria had been craving.

How low have I sunk when I'm expecting enthusiasm from others? Daria wondered. She splashed her face with more water, wishing she could sink into the bath and become one with it for all time.

"Jane?"

"Uh huh?"

Daria squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm, uh, sorry about what I said at your going away party. It was insensitive and callous."

"Water under the bridge," Jane said. Then she yawned.

Daria tried to read her friend's face and body language for hints as to what she truly thought. The tightness in Jane's voice and the weariness in her movements didn't exactly suggest forgiveness.

Jane yawned again. "Sorry, I had a long day working for Serjo Olerlo."

"Uh, it's okay. You can go to sleep if you want. We can talk more tomorrow."

Jane stood up and tiptoed toward the curtain hung over the door. "Sounds good. I won't be free until the evening. Seeing a new potential client in the morning."

Daria blinked. "Wait, I thought all your work was for Olerlo?"

Jane shook her head. "I wish. She's my patron, so she offers a lot of support, but I still do some extra work on the side. Gotta keep adding to that portfolio."

Daria nodded. She'd suspected this would happen. For all of Jane's hustle, her situation hadn't improved that much.

"I'm sure my mom would admire your obsessive drive," Daria said.

And probably nag me to be the same way, she thought.

Jane disappeared through the curtain, leaving Daria alone in the dim, humid room. She breathed in and let her head sink beneath the steaming bathwater. Heat seeped into her bruised body to soothe pains and loosen stiff joints, and she held her breath a few moments longer before letting it all out in a stream of bubbles. She emerged, drenched and relishing the feel of the water in her hair and on her scalp.

For now, she had to figure out how to start her new life in Vivec.

*********

Daria spent the night on a makeshift mattress constructed of sheets and spare pillows spread out on the living room rug, and awoke to an empty apartment. Too sore and tired to move, she lingered in her makeshift bed for a while longer. The lack of windows concealed the passage of time. Only the canton's heavy gray stone surrounded her, the musty space illuminated by the wan light of the wall sconces.

Maybe, she thought, gods weren't the best when it came to designing habitation for mortals.

Getting out of bed proved an ordeal of frustration and false starts. Exhaustion seized her after every few inches of movement, and she'd plunge back into sleep and wake up yet again—moments, minutes, maybe days later, for all she knew. Finally, she forced herself to tear off her bedsheet, grab her glasses and put them on, and get to her feet.

Daria walked, on legs as heavy as lead, to the counter extruding from the wall. A plate of cold saltrice porridge and a pot of scrib jelly had been laid out with a note. She held the paper up, squinting as Jane's clumsy handwriting came into focus.

Hey, had to leave early. Got you some breakfast. Cooking isn't an option here, so we grab meals from the big public kitchens. Take it easy today and we'll chat more later.

- Jane

She stared at the note a while longer, only the apartment's silence seeming to speak back to her. No wonder Jane and Trent spent as much time as they could away from their home. Putting the note down, she ate her breakfast and poured herself a cup of water from a small, noisy spigot behind the counter.

She needed a job. The 133 septims left in her pack wouldn't last for long, and she didn't want to impose on Jane's hospitality any more than she already had.

"Now, Daria," she imagined mom saying, "any business would be glad to have a diligent and educated young worker like yourself. You simply need to show some enthusiasm for the job!"

"Right," she said, her voice sounding flat in the stale air. "Since it's so natural to feel enthusiasm pitching someone else's shoddy product."

"Well, it'd certainly be easier if you didn't assume said products were shoddy. Give it a try! And smile; that always helps."

Daria pressed her teeth together and gave the ghastliest smile she could. Then she wondered who she was smiling for. Her mom's imagined voice faded, leaving her alone in the stuffy little room.

*********

The Brewers and Fishmongers Hall smelled exactly as awful as its name suggested. Daria's eyes watered behind her glasses as she waited at the counter, thinking she should have applied at one of the less fragrant work halls.

"What do you want, outlander?" a sharp-faced Dunmer woman demanded.

"Uh," Daria hesitated, trying to ignore the ways that the stench of fish worsened the stink of fermenting yeast. "I was wondering if there were any jobs that I could apply for."

"Jobs?" The Dunmer woman said the word like it was something from a foreign language. Then she shook her head. "This isn't a place for outlanders. Go look in the Foreign Quarter."

"My olfactory sense thanks you for your rejection," Daria said.

The woman glared as Daria turned around and walked out the door as quickly as she could, and from there, marched back into the St. Olms waistworks, where she breathed in the less objectionable smell produced by the generations of Dunmer who'd crowded into the canton's cramped space over the centuries. She'd gotten the same response at the other trade hall she'd tried. Apparently, the Foreign Quarter was her only option.

It took what felt like an hour of winding through crowds and going down twisty passages before she emerged onto the exterior of St. Olms Canton. Bright afternoon sun pierced her eyes. It was already late in the day, but still felt like morning somehow.

Daria stood in the shadow of the entrance for a minute and waited for her vision to adjust. When it did, she tried to orient herself. She faced south, looking at the three-pronged sanctuary atop the Temple Canton. Its design made her think of three big stone tents set in a row. Above it floated the enormity of Baar Dau, a mountain-sized meteor supposedly halted in mid-air by Vivec's will and kept in place by his love.

Love didn't strike Daria as the most reliable way to keep a natural cataclysm in check. The rock shadowed the entirety of the Temple Canton. If it ever fell, Daria suspected it'd wipe out a lot more than just the surrounding city.

Anyway, if she was looking south, that meant she was on the wrong side of the canton. Not wanting to get lost in the waistworks again, she decided to hike around the canton to go north.

Some time later, she reached the northbound bridge, a ponderous construction of arched stone that looked like it should have long ago collapsed under its weight. If she crossed that, she'd still have to go through or around the Arena Canton to reach the Foreign Quarter.

Jane had mentioned a gondola service connecting the cantons. A glance below revealed boatmen in broad conical hats plying the treacherous waters. Of course, to get a gondola, she'd have to march down to the first tier and find a gondolier who wouldn't overcharge her for being an outlander. Whatever way she took, it'd be well into the night by the time she found anything in the Foreign Quarter.

Maybe she should call it a day and head back to Jane's apartment. She knew how to get back there, at least. All she had to do was go back around to the western gate on the south end of the second tier, then take the hallway to the big mezzanine, then go…

She frowned. Right? Left? Or wait, there was a staircase she needed to climb before she reached the mezzanine. Wasn't there?

"Dammit," she uttered.

Musical Closer - Sloop John B, covered by The Beach Boys, originally a Bahamian folk song

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Dec 8 2024, 07:36 AM

[SubRosa]

Well that apology was a start. Not great, but a start. For all the hot water, things are still frosty, I would expect.

Maybe the lack of windows was lobbied for by Big Lamp and Big Candle?

Daria is seeking gainful employment? I wonder if she will end up working at the nut stand in the mall with Kavon?

Like Daria, I don't read the Baar Dau as an act of Vivec's love. It tells me that he was such a dick that someone threw a giant space rock at him. And then he left it hanging there as a threat to the rest of Vvardenfell. Never stopped me from killing him though...

Maybe Daria could try out the Arena, and become a gladiator!

It sounds like a long, depressing, fruitless day spent trapped within the byzantine bowels of definitely unusual city.

I did not know that The Sloop John B was a traditional Bahamian folk song. That's interesting. I might use that in the Crowverse. I need a name for Calypso's sailboat, and she is Bahamian (born in the Bahamas, from Haitian expats).