Uh oh, Daria is having a panic attack stemming from the violence that was done to her courtesy of Synda.

doh, more later.

Edit: More

Daria's quite natural fear is crippling her. Given the assault upon her no surprise. It looks like her long-hidden ideals are pricking up to fight back. But not quite enough to give her the resolution to act. The question is of course, what can they do? Shy of hiring an assassin to murder Synda of course.

It was nice to see a dint of doubt in the impenetrable edifice of Synda's Dark Lord status that Daria has built up in her mind, with the revelation that she might indeed be connected with the Tong after all. But sadly not enough to tip the balance in the favor of her acting. At least not yet.

I see Quinn is working some things out in her own head. I wonder if she will do some detective work on Synda and her family's actual position and connections?

You know, Treads-on-Fern might not be popular... yet. The Fashion Club might need a new member...

I see great minds think alike. Way to go Quinn. Get that girl on the squad.

I do appreciate the Seasonal structure to your story telling. You can use long-term stories like this in what I liken to a television show's seasons. In this case it sounds like each of your seasons is like one act in a 3 Act play: Season One - the introduction to the setting and character. Season Two - throw in some conflict that upsets the status quo, and forces our protagonist to change and adapt. Then Season Three, the payoff, where we get a conclusion to our storyline(s).

I remembered that I'd created some stats for Daria if she were a Morrowind character, and thought I'd share them here.

I used the Savant NPC class as a guideline, since a few of the early stories do mention that Daria's training for this position. These don't really match Daria all that well (hard to imagine her picking locks or doing anything acrobatic). Since we're dealing with literature rather than gaming, I can be more expansive with the skills she has. For major skills, I swapped out Alchemy, Unarmored, and Athletics for Writing, Research, and Alteration (she's quite unpracticed, but we'll assume that's the school she knows slightly better). Minor, I took out Security, Block, and Acrobatics, replacing them with Restoration, Destruction, and Law.

Major Skills
- Speechcraft (while she's not the most social, she is quite witty)
- Writing
- Research
- Alteration
- Mercantile (side-effect of navigating Balmora's markets)

Minor Skills
- Restoration
- Destruction
- Short Blade (her dad did give her some training)
- Law (thanks to her mom)
- Sneak

Obviously not optimized for the game, but works well enough for the story. As for stats, she's an Imperial, but I wanted to adjust the base stats to better fit her. Thus, I boosted her intelligence and willpower by ten each, but lowered her personality by 10, and her agility by a whopping 20.

Strength: 40
Intelligence: 50
Willpower: 50
Agility: 20 (agility includes one's ability to hit things, and her poor vision is a serious impediment)
Speed: 30
Endurance: 40
Personality: 40
Luck: 40

As an Imperial, she does get a natural Speechcraft/Mercantile bonus, so that helps offset the below-average personality score. She'd also have the Voice of the Emperor power, though I don't necessarily translate racial abilities literally in the story.

Episode 14: Raiders of the Lost Arkngthand

Chapter 1

Ash-tainted rain poured down from a sky the color of rust as Daria marched uphill, weighed down by her drenched green cloak and her pack. Thunder pealed in the distance, booming across the jagged hills and blackened gullies that stretched all the way to the horizon.

"Keep going!" the driver called out to his pack-guars. The two beasts groaned in response and pulled forward, the overstuffed wagon trailing behind them.

Soaked to the bone and exhausted, Daria was starting to wonder if they'd make it before nightfall. The path had turned steep and rugged right after they'd passed Moonmoth Legion Fort, and the torrential rains rendered the stone slick and treacherous. Jane, who walked next to her, managed it only slightly better.

"Remind me to never again put in this much effort toward an unpaid internship," Daria said.

"Hey, the Imperial Archaeological Society is all about roughing it. They probably arranged this storm with, uh, Arkay."

"Kynareth's our nature god, not Arkay," Daria corrected. "But your point stands: I suppose it only makes sense for quid pro quo to be an animating principle for the Imperial pantheon."

"See, it's all part of the system." She chuckled and rubbed her hands together as thunder cracked yet again. "The system that's actually paying me!"

"Rub it in."

It was Jolda's doing, more or less. Her father, Armand, had gotten permission from the Imperial Archeological Society to do a dig at Arkngthand, the ruined Dwemer city just a day's travel away from Balmora. He'd already been up there for a month and had sent word that he needed more help. The less he had to pay for said help, the better.

"Dad was impressed with how you handled that speech this summer," Jolda had said. "I'm headed up there to help out for a week, and if you come along, he'll register it as participation with the IAS."

Sounded more interesting than Drenlyn Academy, at any rate. And when Daria had learned that Armand was also offering a paid position for an artist, it had only made sense to tell Jane about the opportunity. Jolda hadn't known exactly what Jane would be doing, but she'd guessed sketches of Dwemer machinery. Something better than grunt work, at any rate.

Said grunt work would be done by three more of Drenlyn's best and brightest: Jonus, Julien, and Jeval, who tramped forward on the other side of the wagon. That the IAS accepted them at all gave Daria serious reservations about the organization as a whole.

"How are you two doing?" Jolda asked, coming over from the side of the wagon where she'd been walking.

Daria took off her glasses and tried to clean the rain-spattered lenses with her sleeve. "Let's see: I'm cold, soaked, and I'm pretty sure I'm getting a blister on my foot. But given that the alternative is listening to Sera Ondryn talk about how we outlanders can fit in as long as we believe in ourselves, I'll count myself fortunate."

Jolda laughed. "We'll be at the bridge pretty soon. Arkngthand is just beyond that."

"Right, Arkngthand," Jane said. "These Dwemer weren't too big on vowels, were they."

"Everyone knows the cool kids only use consonants," Daria said.

"Don't you mean 'vrn nz th klkds nlz cnsntz'?" Jane said.

"I'm not willing to sacrifice my tongue and vocal cords to meet some arbitrary definition of cool." Giving up on getting the lenses clean, Daria put her glasses back on and pulled her cloak's hood forward.

"We're still working on translating Dwemeris," Jolda said. "No one's spoken it for thousands of years. My dad thinks that the vowels were implied rather than written out, but that doesn't explain why they were written out on some occasions."

"Would I be doing any of the translation work?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure exactly what my dad needs from you. It'll mostly be administrative, I think."

Daria knew more than most about the Dwemer, which still meant she knew almost nothing. The ancient race had ruled a great empire from their subterranean, steam-powered citadels, one that had once covered much of Morrowind and eastern Skyrim and even boasted a few colonies in far-off Hammerfell. The Dwemer shunned visitors and lived among machines, boasting knowledge that surpassed any other civilization in history. Intelligent, isolationist, and idiosyncratic; Daria had always rather liked them.

But they'd all vanished without a trace around 2,500 years ago.

The ground finally leveled off, and Daria saw the bridge. She'd been expecting something like the stone bridges of Cyrodiil, but on a bigger scale. What she saw was a monstrous construction made entirely out of what looked like aged bronze, half a mile long and wide enough for three big carts to pass side-by-side. Enormous support piers plunged into the living rock of the canyon below. Though age had left its mark, the bridge's surface splotched and scarred with tarnish, it still stood in defiance of nature.

How could anyone, no matter how advanced, have enough metal to create something so large?

Railings ran along both sides of the bridge, resembling enormous pipes. Spidery script had been engraved all along their lengths, the letters cramped together with barely any space between them. She wondered what about railings was interesting enough to justify so much text. Beyond the bridge, the skewed towers of Arkngthand jutted needlelike into the soiled skies.

The wagon driver was already moving across, as was Jolda. Curious, Daria reached out and touched the railing, its surface rough and surprisingly warm beneath her fingers. It didn't feel quite like bronze. Far below the bridge, furious ashen waters stormed the Foyada Mamea. It hadn't been that long ago since she'd hiked down that same foyada to Pelagiad with Jane and Trent.

"Hey, Jane. Did you know that the Foyada Mamea is prone to flash flooding?"

"Yeah, it is," Jane said, taking a look at the rushing torrent. "It hardly ever rains this high up though."

"I'm sure that rarity is of great comfort to anybody using the foyada today."

Daria supposed it never hurt to have another reminder that Morrowind—Vvardenfell in particular—remained a dangerous place, the countryside as much as the city. And that probably went double for Dwemer ruins, like the one she'd soon be exploring.

Jolda had told her that a legion team had already destroyed the clanking Dwemer animunculi roaming Arkngthand's upper halls, and that the place would be safe so long as she didn't go beyond the dig site boundaries. It had taken her parents a bit more convincing, but they'd finally given in. Sure, there was some risk to Daria's physical well-being, but that was a small matter compared to the risk of her giving up another networking opportunity. A pretty damn good one, all things considered.

She'd been eager to go in spite of all that. Dying to some ancient Dwemer trap was at least a relatively novel means of death.

The storm still raged when they reached the other side, as desolate and stony as the first. They struggled uphill as rain and the encroaching night blackened the world, their way lit only by the sooty glow of their lanterns. The pack guars groaned as they hauled the creaking wagon uphill, wheels and clawed feet alike straining to gain traction on the slippery rock.

Daria was shivering under her cloak by the time she spotted other lanterns in the distance. Their dim glow soon revealed the contours of pavilions bearing the Empire's red diamond. She'd made it.

Musical Closer - Rox in the Box, by The Decemberists

Fabulous scene setting as you pull us right into the muddy, dreary and exhausting trek by mer, humans, guar and wagon up to Arkngthand. This promises to certainly be an interesting venue with different hazards than those of the urban Balmora.

I enjoyed the banter between Jane and Daria, especially their vowel joking.

’The Dwemer shunned visitors and lived among machines, boasting knowledge that surpassed any other civilization in history. Intelligent, isolationist, and idiosyncratic; Daria had always rather liked them.’

So Daria is doing another unpaid internship, this time for the Arkaylogical Society?

At least Jane is getting paid. In one of my Archaeology podcasts they had an entire episode on the importance of art in documenting finds. They do a lot of photography of course, but in some ways artwork is better, as it can emphasis tiny details that a picture might not show very well. Plus you still have to make sketches of where things lay in situ, to show their relation to one another over all. Who knows, Jane could have a long and illustrious career as an archaeologist. I doubt it. But she could.

The 3 Stooges are bringing up the rear! perfect.

Intelligent, isolationist, and idiosyncratic; Daria had always rather liked them.
I smiled at this.

As I understand it, the leading cause of death in the Sahara is drowning, from flash floods that fill the wadis and kill anyone in them.

I wonder if Maiko was one of the legionaries sent to clear out the Dwemer Bots beforehand?

As ever, I love Daria's dry sarcasm as she muses over death by dwemer trap at least being an interesting statistic. And of course her easy banter with Jane is always a treat to hear. That was always one of my favorite things in the show. I always wished that I could be as cool and clever as the two of them.

I'm a stat-lover myself (really hate what they did with Skyrim, for instance). You'd need a mod to add Research, Writing and so on. But indeed, the numbers which are in-game such as Speechcraft and Mercantile certainly fit. Thing is, there aren't enough stats & skills for a Daria character, not without a mod.

I could totally see Sneak being a good one for her, but as a Minor. She doesn't use it all the time.

Speaking of, wow, Daria's working for the Archaeological Guild. Oh crap, they're going to Arkngthand???* Dangerous.... Why are they going there? I'm not seeing a reason in last week's story.



*(I know how to spell the name of that Dwemer ruin well; I wrote Arkngthand probably 4 dozen times when Joan went there!)

What is long and hard that a Dwemer bride gets on their wedding night?

A golden rod? A Dwarven tube?

Ah gosh, you tricked me!

Doubtless, one with no consonants. . . .

Edit: *Slaps forehead* Err, I meant to say vowels. . . .

Chapter 2

Daria awoke the next morning and instantly wished she hadn't. Every joint in her body ached, and her weary brain begged her to close her eyes and go back to sleep for a year or so. Nonetheless, she slowly worked her way out of the sleeping bag as the dawn drums rumbled across the camp. She exited the tent and stepped into the morning air, crisp and cold from the previous day's storm. At last, she got a good look at the Arkngthand dig site.

A dozen or so tents squatted on the rocky slope, the ground black and barren save for a few spiky trama roots that clung to life with pernicious determination. Around the tents, ancient metal spires rose directly from the stone. The lack of foundations told Daria that they were probably connected to deeper underground structures. Some of the towers resembled unadorned poles or chimneys, while others were crowned by narrow spikes or dented turrets. Skinny and crooked pipes formed a sprawling metallic web that spread between spires and across the grounds, some of the strands running through the living rock.

At the summit stood a titanic statue of what she assumed was a bearded Dwemer warrior. Time had worn down the statue's delicate Mer features, but the halberd in its hand still looked sharp.

"Hey, Daria," came a voice.

It was Maiko; his legion armor already burnished to a sheen.

"Oh, hi. Didn't know you were here," Daria said.

"I got here a few days ago. Talked Varro into letting me be an observer; figured it'd be good practice for my liaison work."

Daria raised her eyebrows. "Not to mention good practice for seeing Jolda."

Maiko half-laughed, half-grunted in response. "I guess we're not good at keeping that a secret, but uh, try not to advertise," he said. "Anyway, Armand's going to give you guys a quick orientation speech after breakfast. The mess tent's over there." He pointed to a beige pavilion next to a squat, cylindrical tower with a disc-like top.

"Good, an orientation speech is just what I need to get some extra sleep."

"You better listen to him, Daria. Arkeng… Arkneng…" he trailed off. "This place is safe as far as we know, but you can't be too careful with Dwemer stuff."

"Wait, were you part of the team that cleared it?"

"No, but I talked to the guys who did. They didn't run into anything too dangerous, but they only cleared the upper galleries. Listen to what Armand tells you."

"Noted."

Daria and the rest of the Drenlyn students gathered at the mess tent for bowls of watery saltrice porridge and tin cups filled with some kind of bitter tea.

"Pretty sure it's trama root tea, but they didn't grind it very carefully. Make sure yours doesn't have any stray thorns floating around," Jane said, seated cross-legged on a rug.

"Tastes more like old bathwater. Speaking of which, do you know if there are any bathing facilities here?" The other day's dirt and grime clung to Daria like a noxious second skin, one that she very much wanted to peel off.

"Jolda said there was a hot spring in a cave near the campsite."

Daria blushed. "Please tell me it's not coed."

Jane waved her hand. "Come on, Daria, the IAS is run by Colovian Imperials like you, the only people more puritannical than us Dunmer. Guys get one day, girls get the other. But I think today's the guys' day."

"I guess that means I get to enjoy more quality time with the dirt I picked up on the way here."

"And your mom says you never network!"

"That's the only reason anyone does anything."

"Uh oh, bad news," Jane uttered. She pointed to the side, and Daria followed her finger to the loathsome sight of Karl the Unctuous. His clothes were dirt-stained, but his noxious grin shone as bright as ever.

"I was wondering why I hadn't seen him for a week. I guess him being transferred to another province was too much to hope for."

"Think they'll use him to test for booby traps?" Jane asked.

"No way we're that lucky. He probably has some cushy job with lots of networking."

With his connections, he probably did.

Armand strode into the tent, Jolda following close behind.

"Attention, new arrivals!" Armand bellowed as he took a stand at the mess tent's entrance. "Welcome to Arkngthand!"

He sure sounded confident about his pronunciation.

"Now, what you need to remember is that this is an official mission of the Imperial Archeological Society. That means you are working for Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself, and you are expected to act as the upstanding citizens you're supposed to be."

"They don't come much more upstanding than Karl," Daria muttered.

Armand continued. "In addition to the standard laws, there are also some specific rules for the dig site. First," he said, raising his right thumb, "trafficking in Dwemer artifacts is strictly prohibited. Nothing you find here leaves the site unless it's with the approval of the IAS, which here means my approval. Heavy fines will be levied on anyone breaking this rule, and more serious penalties will come into play if anyone tries to steal working Dwemer machinery or schematics.

"Second," he went on, raising his index finger, "be careful when you're in Arkngthand. Go down there, and you'll see big yellow Xs painted on some of the walls. Those mark the limit of how far the legion exploratory team went. When you see an X, that means you don't go any further. Up above, don't go beyond sight of the tents. Molag Amur is not a safe place to wander around in.

"Third," he said, raising one more, "obey your supervisors."

He let his arms drop and then smiled. "With that said, let me welcome you to one of the most exciting projects the IAS has in Morrowind today. We're happy to bring in volunteers from the student body of Drenlyn Academy, an institution showcasing the cooperation between the Empire and Great House Hlaalu."

Daria wondered if Armand reciting that was one of Director Lli's requirements for permitting the volunteer program.

"Anyway, let's not waste time! You three," Armand said, pointing to Jonus, Julien, and Jeval, "will be down below."

"Sweet!" Jonus said. He and his friends exchanging high fives.

"Sweet indeed!" Armand proclaimed. "You'll be dusting the artifacts we find."

"Wait, dusting?" Julien asked. "Like a maid?"

"Like a maid working for the Empire itself!" Armand thrust a fist in the air for emphasis.

"Aw, man," Jeval mourned.

"Head over there to the gate!" Armand pointed to what looked like a bronze sphere partially embedded into the rock, some ways off. Armand turned to Jane. "Are you the artist?"

"Yeah. I brought my equipment with me, so I'm ready to go down below when you give the word."

"Oh, you won't need to!"

Jane looked surprised. "I won't?"

"We already have sketch artists drawing up the schematics and artifacts. No, the IAS has a much more important job for you. We need heroic-style three-quarters portraits of all the IAS supervisors so we can be a known quantity in the capital. The more people see our image, the more funding the IAS will get."

The flicker of disappointment on Jane's face was so brief that Daria almost thought she'd imagined it. Jane nodded. "Sure thing! I'm the woman for the job. Who do I paint first?"

"Supervisor K'shath. He's over in that green tent. You'll have to do two other portraits, so work fast. And Daria? You'll be helping Karl out with the paperwork."

Paperwork with Karl the Unctuous. This was going to be a long internship.

Karl grinned and gave a florid bow. "Ah, what a fortuitous development! To work alongside the stunning Lady Morgendorffer, whose wit is exceeded only by her beauty. Who knows what scandalous adventures might transpire between the two of us?"

"Said adventures, Karl, will most likely involve severe and repeated testicular injury," Daria said.

Karl chuckled, but his eyes stayed watchful. Daria's skin crawled at the mere sight of him. Bravado aside, she didn't want to have to dodge his harassment.

With positions assigned, the Drenlyn attendees spread through the camp to start work.

"With any luck, I'll be able to wrangle a few lasting clients out of this," Jane said as she toted her art supplies.

"Sorry that you won't get the chance to sketch Dwemer artifacts," Daria said.

"Ah, it's all right. Sketching gears isn't as profitable as flattering rich people with art."

"Hey, Daria?" Jolda said, stepping up to her. "Let me know if Karl gives you any trouble. I'll tell my dad, and he'll listen to me about this. I hear that Karl's dad is fed up with him, so he needs to be on his best behavior."

Daria relaxed a bit. "I'm pretty sure I can handle him."

"Nah, don't handle him," Jane said. "He might like that."

"But thanks all the same," Daria continued. "I don't suppose you can ask your dad to let me do something other than bureaucratic busywork?"

"Sorry." Jolda forced a smile. "It is important work. And it'll look good on your resume!"

"It better."

*********

Jonus, Julien, and Jeval got up and stretched. Sucked that they had to start working so soon. Jeval still ached from walking all day yesterday.

"Guys!" Jonus said. "I just had a great idea. This ruin's full of old treasures and stuff, right?"

"Uh huh," Julien agreed. Jeval nodded.

"That means we can nab something for Quinn! Not the kind of junk you get at the market, but something really valuable!" Jonus kept his voice quiet but looked like he was ready to run into Arkngthand and loot it on his own.

"Hey, yeah! There's gotta be like, crowns and jewels and stuff. Oh man, Quinn's totally going to be into that."

Jeval shook his head. "Guys, didn't you hear what Armand said? We'll get fined if we take anything."

Jonus scoffed. "Whatever, man. Everyone does it!"

"Yeah," Julien said, "my dad has like this big old Dwemer gear or whatever, and it just sits on his desk. We'll only get in trouble if we steal working machines or something, and Quinn wouldn't want mechanical stuff anyway."

"Come on!" Jeval protested. "I don't want to pay a fine!"

"You won't," Jonus said. "And you come on, this is for Quinn! The most beautiful girl in Morrowind!"

"The most beautiful girl in Tamriel!" Julien followed.

"The most beautiful girl in Nirn," Jeval said out of habit before skidding to a verbal halt. "Wait! Guys, she's not into us! We've been trying to get her for almost a year. Might as well ask some other chicks."

"No, man. You can't give up! No girl's gonna say no to some bigass Dwemer jewel! So here's how it works: we watch each other's backs, but we each have to find our own thing," Jonus said, leaning in close to whisper his plan.

"Every man for himself, that's fair," Julien said with a nod.

"I need to find new friends," Jeval muttered.

Musical Closer - Number One (Disappearer), by Sonic Youth

Poor Daria wakes up with the residual effects of her trek to the site. And to a yummy breakfast (not!) and no bath for the day.

Jane is spot on, I think. Portraits will further her reputation more than technical drawings of any sort.

Daria gets stuck with Karl.

Jonus, Julien and Jeval hatch another plan to capture Quinn’s heart. I’m sure nothing will go wrong and it will work flawlessly. . . .

I agree with Maiko. Good lord those ruins are creepy. And the whole exterior area above Arkngthand gives me shivers.

Then again, this is the year 425 in your story, right? So maybe the place hasn't been taken over by bandits, yet. Plus, there's a lot of folks gathered up at the site. So ... safety in numbers.

I like how you consider bathing, Clavier! Some of these folks like taking baths, look forward to them, ask where they can bathe if they're in a strange place.

They've marked off safe areas, nice. I still feel like something's about to go wrong! 🎃 Ha ha yup, something is. These boys are being a group of fools. Quinn must be quite the doll (or something) for them to go through so much plotting.

I recently saw an old National Geographic special about Frederick Catherwood and his explorations and artwork. Talk about synergy!

There is Maiko! Hopefully he gets some practice in at liasoning with Jolda...

Ugh, the only bathing facilities are on a day by day basis. Well, it could be a lot worse though. At least Daria gets to network with her dirt.

Welcome to archaeology. Try not to die.

I laughed when I found out why they wanted Jane. A PR stunt! You really captured the satirical cynicism of the TV show with that.

Ugh again. Daria is stuck pushing papers with Upchuck!

The Three Stooges are up to hijinks! I am sure hilarity is bound to ensue when they plumb the depths of Arken...something or another.

Chapter 3

The administration tent looked exactly as dull as Daria had expected. Its big gray canvas top sheltered a pair of tables and a desk set, all covered with parchments, inkwells, and record books. Karl strode about the place like a king attending court.

"And now I present you with the nerve center of our humble dig site! This is where we do the scrivening that makes possible all the labors performed deep beneath our feet, in the ancient bronze bowels of—"

"Karl, just tell me what kind of work I'm supposed to do," Daria said.

His face fell. "You never let me have any fun. Very well, you need to take these," Karl said, pointing at a stack of slates on the nearest table, "and go to that big blue pavilion over there. That's where we keep all the goodies we grabbed last week. Now, Lady Morgendorffer, you'll get to tally up all the findings!"

Daria took the top slate. It had already been divided into columns listing types of artifacts, crossed with rows displaying odd names like "Hall of Centrifuge" or "Cells of Hollow Hand".

"What are these?" she asked, pointing at the names.

"A few of the marvelous locales within Arkngthand proper," Karl answered. "Rather poetic, are they not? The very sounds of those names conjure up a sense of mystery and magic. You know, I could be persuaded to reveal some of these mysteries—"

"No mystery you reveal will ever be worth the effort."

"Rowr, feisty! Report to Acullus over there when you're finished," he said, grinning and pointing with his thumb to a bald Imperial who sorted through papers on the other side of the tent.

Daria looked through the rest of the slates as she walked to the blue pavilion. The next slate was similar, but with what she guessed were the names of archeologists instead of locations. Finally, the third contained a preliminary count of the various artifacts. More work for Daria Morgendorffer, the human abacus.

All thoughts of her ignominious task fell away when she stepped inside the tent and found herself staring face-to-face with a man made of bronze.

Not a man, she corrected, still trying to take it all in. More like an approximation of one: the head an oblong wedge with an eye of glass on the left side; a chest made of interlocking segments; the arms multi-jointed metal rods held together by thick screws, one ending in a shield and the other terminating in what looked like a bladed flower. A massive and dented sphere took the spot where legs would have normally been.

This was a Dwemer animunculus, still more or less in one piece. Thousands of them, maybe millions, had once rolled and scurried through the echoing corridors to do the biddings of their masters. As the animunculi worked, the Dwemer dreamed in their steam gardens and forged palaces.

Breath caught in her throat as she went in for a closer look, not daring to make a sound. Gouges on the sphere and chest, and the big impact dent in the back, showed the work of the legion's weapons. But how could she be sure it was inert? How did one truly kill a creature of cogs and gears? More importantly, how did one give it life in the first place? The Empire had ruled a continent and its myriad peoples for centuries. But all its greatest minds put together could not make a single animunculus, much less the clockwork multitudes that had once served the Dwemer.

Daria shivered, suddenly feeling quite small.

Remembering that she had a job to do, she took stock of the rest of the tent. Gears, coins, glittering jewels, goblets, and smaller spider-like animunculi had been gathered up in groups according to the location in which they'd been found. A closer look showed that each artifact had been marked with a pigment. A slate board pinned to a post showed which color was associated with which archeologist.

A tedious task. But not a difficult one.

Hours blurred together as Daria tallied up each item, no matter how insignificant. It was the kind of job she could do as automatically as breathing, all the while speculating as to what the Dwemer might have been like. But dim lighting and detail work took their toll. Daria's headache started as a faint pain at around noon and grew into a splitting agony by sundown. The archeologists hadn't sorted the artifacts all that neatly, so she often had to lift heavy gears and scrap to make sure there weren't smaller gears and scraps beneath them. Easy to lose count in such a job, and lose count she did.

But she kept at it. When her numbers failed to match up with the preliminary counts, she looked again and got the same results. Shaking her aching head, Daria stepped outside for a short break and returned to tally the artifacts one more time. She felt like a dozen miners were chipping away at the inside of her skull and the backs of her eyes.

"This better be a good resume booster," she muttered.

One by one, she checked off the various column totals: 424 gears, ranging in size from smaller than her fingertip to as wide as a barrel hoop; 398 broken wires and cables; 301 pieces of unidentifiable scrap metal; 257 sections of broken tube; 144 small tools; 87 coins; 53 crafted items (cups, utensils, necklaces); 19 raw jewels; 7 swords and daggers; 3 spider animunculi, and the 1 sphere animunculus.

Most of it matched. But the preliminary count had 89 coins, 56 crafted items, 24 raw jewels, and 9 swords and daggers.

She was certain she'd counted correctly. At any rate, she was at the end of her rope, so she headed back to the tent and gave her findings to Acullus, his watery eyes marked by clear indifference. She told him about the disrepancies.

"These things happen," he said. "Could be they miscounted some of the items."

"One gear does look a lot like another," Daria said. "Swords would be harder to miss, though."

"Don't worry about it. The IAS only really cares about the animunculi and any surviving Dwemer records or schematics. The Empire's not going to learn anything from another loose cog. Anyhow, you've done well for today. Thank you."

Putting the slates down, Daria let out a long exhalation. She was exhausted and ready to sleep for the next week straight. But tomorrow would only bring more work.

She passed by Karl's desk on the way out. Karl himself chatted with one of the archeologists, his smarm radiating across the tent. Daria noticed a paper sticking out from under a record book, the top reading: "Karl's Magnificent Exports Inc." Keeping her eyes on Karl, Daria lowered her hand and slipped out the paper for a better look, and then stepped away from the desk. She adjusted her glasses, the blurry letters popping into clarity as she did.

It was a client list of rich Imperials and Dunmer (she recognized the Talori family as a buyer). The items listed matched most of the missing ones in her account. The discrepancies finally made sense. They weren't items the IAS would particularly miss, either. But the marked clients would pay Karl handsomely for them.

Daria smiled. Now she had the best blackmail material a girl could want, to be used on the world's most annoying target. She stood by Karl's desk and waited for him to finish, smiling in a way she hoped was enigmatic. When Karl disengaged from the official and saw her, he lit up.

"Ah, do mine eyes deceive me? Or has perhaps the stunning Lady Morgendorffer has taken notice of this young blade's charms?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, I took notice all right. Nothing gets the girls going quite like misappropriation of assets."

His shoulders tensed and he looked from side to side. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

Daria smiled wider and showed him the incriminating paper. Karl gasped and lunged forward, but she put the paper behind her and stepped back.

Karl gave a nervous chuckle. "Ah, you see, I'm simply helping Armand. He has clients: men in high positions who possess exceedingly discriminating tastes. As a man of taste and culture myself, well, I was the logical choice to decide which of these fine Dwemer objects d'art would be offered as gifts." He leaned in, teeth pressed together in an oily grin.

"Uh huh. So if I take this to Armand, he'll say that 'Karl's Magnificent Exports Inc.' works for him?"

Karl gulped. "Armand's a very busy man. Why don't we save some time—"

He made another attempt to grab it, and Daria danced out of the way. All of dad's old lessons on sword-fighting stances were turning out to be pretty useful.

Sweat glistened on Karl's freckled forehead. "I know you're a lady of refined expectations and ravishing beauty. Perhaps I could see to it that a few choice Dwemer adornments might come to rest on that pretty brow of yours—"

"I don't know. I think it'd be a lot more fun to get you in trouble."

"Come now, Daria. Surely you don't think I'd be so careless as to get into real trouble? Artifact trafficking fines are a trifle to a gentleman of means like myself," he said.

She considered it. Going by what Armand and Acullus had said, only the theft of schematics and machinery was taken all that seriously. Karl, predictably, only embezzled gears and jewels.

"You're right, trafficking fines might not amount to much. But I hear your dad's none too happy with your behavior, and that hits a lot closer to home."

He gulped. She smiled. "How about this?" Daria said. "I'll keep quiet. In return, you stop trying to hit on every girl you see."

He gasped. "Lady Morgendorffer, how could you be so cruel!? The fair maidens of the world demand—nay—require, my amorous attentions!" Karl pressed the back of his hand and looked heavenward in faux dismay.

"Take it or leave it."

Karl shrank like a deflated air bladder. "Fine!"

"I mean it. If I hear anyone complaining about you, I go straight to Armand."

He raised his hands. "I won't bother anyone!"

Daria took the paper, folded it, and put it into her coat. Patting her pocket, she smiled. "I think I'll hold on to this. Never hurts to have some insurance."

There was a spring in her step as she walked across the rubble-strewn fields around Arkngthand. She passed Jolda, who waved her down.

"Hey, Daria! How did it go on your first day?"

"As much as I love complaining, I'd say it went pretty well."

She smiled. "Great! I know the work's kind of boring, but my dad thinks you have a lot of potential. Just don't tell him I told you that."

Potential. Like, say, the potential to participate in covering up an misappropriation scheme for the sake of blackmail.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," she said, her good mood evaporating in an instant.

Musical Closer - The Job That Ate My Brain, by The Ramones

Feisty!

In spite of all the papework, Daria at least gets to see some cool stuff, like a Dwemer Sphere. With the added bonus that they are *not* trying to kill her.

I am certain that Daria counted correctly. Just as I am certain someone with light fingers might be pilfering the shortfall in the figures. But who could it be?

Ok, its Karl. So now the question is, how can Daria use this to her advantage? Erm, to network?

Awww, Daria takes one for team girl instead, and saves them all from Upchuck's suave and debonair attentions.

Nice musings on the mysteries surrounding the Dwemer and their curious steampunk devices.

SubRosa was much faster than I on translating Daria’s nonmatching counts into pilfering. I didn’t catch on until she saw Karl’s incriminating parchment. She wasted no time calling his embezzlement and raising it by blackmail. Her price supports a noble cause but at some risk of self-compromise should things go awry.

Okay, 424 not 425. I'll try to remember that year. Oh crap. Is Daria staring at an automaton?

Actually, the earlier date also explain what you're describing in this chapter: all these riches that have been cataloged. Not so much gears and all the heavier stuff, but lighter treasures like gems and jewels and coins. Because in the base game there isn't much to find, treasure-wise, not unless you go really deep. So it makes sense that there once were more treasures, most of which have been taken at some point.

And then we can make the assumption that at least some of the treasure we find in 427 has been brought in by bandits.

Ha, she's busted Karl. Looks like he is trying to set up a smuggling operation? ... Embezzlement. Ha, she's blackmailed the dude. Very nice.🖤

Chapter 4

It was late afternoon. Daria stood on a rocky promontory in the shadow of a bronze tower, looking out at the ashen desolation spreading for miles to the north and east. Jane sat cross-legged on the ground next to her, drawing the towers of Arkgnthand in her sketchbook with a charcoal stub.

"You're making too big a deal about it. Armand has to know that people lift stuff from these sites all the time. He won't care unless they steal something important, and it doesn't sound like Karl is," Jane said.

"Doesn't it bother you knowing that people like Karl will keep on exploiting the system? He's already rich, but now he's stealing Morrowind's history to get even richer."

Jane was silent for a bit, her eyes intent on the verdigrised towers. "Way I see it, you and him are both pretty rich. I'm a Dunmer anyway; the Dwemer weren't too nice to us, so I don't much care what Karl does with their leftovers."

"You sure seem to like drawing their leftovers."

Jane chuckled. "Once I'm done drawing them, he can take them. No skin off my back. You know, Daria, you're a lot more idealistic than you like to admit."

Daria shook her head. "This isn't idealism. It's me being resentful at seeing someone I despise figure out a way to get ahead by exploiting something I'm interested in."

"You sure there's not just a teensy bit of disappointment in this mean old world of ours?" Jane asked, her voice needling.

"I can't be disappointed when my expectations are already at zero." Daria sighed. "Anyway, if I were an idealist, I'd have marched over to Armand's tent first thing and shown him the evidence."

She still could.

"What's stopping you?"

"I don't know. Maybe the fact that I've already compromised my moral integrity by blackmailing Karl in the first place," Daria admitted.

"So you do care what Armand thinks."

"Whatever his faults, Armand did earn his position. Also, as much as I hate to say it, the IAS is probably a better fit for me than any of the guilds. I always complain about how corrupt Imperial institutions are, and here I am enabling corruption in a relatively honest one. Self-awareness is a real bitch, sometimes."

"Well," Jane said, "speaking as a woman, I'm happy I haven't had to put up with Karl's creepiness for the past few days."

"True. But if I told Armand, I could probably get Karl on that, too." Daria crossed her arms. A cold wind from the south whipped against her coat and through her tangled hair. "Tell me, Jane: why do you think the Empire's so keen on the Dwemer digs?"

"Probably so nobles can have some nice shiny doodads to show off."

"This much effort for doodads?" She tried to imagine the battered animunculus decorating some count's estate. Not too far-fetched, she supposed.

"Why not? Using a weird bronze monster as a garden ornament is way cooler than building a gazebo. It'll be all the talk of the neighbors."

"Speaking of talk," Daria said, "Jolda and her dad invited me to dinner tonight. I'd better get going."

"Honest-to-goodness networking! Your mom would be so proud!"

Daria rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me."

"Think you'll tell them about Karl's little escapades?" Jane straightened up, locking eyes with Daria.

"I'm not sure. Let me see how it looks when I get there."

*********

Dinner at Armand's proved surprisingly elaborate: ornada braised in comberry sauce, served with bowls of spiced cuttle and goblets of red Surilie Brothers wine. Quite a shock to the system after days of saltrice porridge and bad tea. Armand sat lengthwise on a thick rug across from Daria, the campfire flickering between them. Jolda knelt on some pillows next to her father. They'd finished the dinner, and Daria questioned (as politely as she could) why he lived so lavishly.

"I believe it's important for leaders to set a good example," Armand said, gesturing at the wine. "Rewards should go to those who've worked the hardest!"

"Tea and saltrice porridge do seem commensurate for the backbreaking labor of chipping rock all day," Daria said, keeping her tone level and her face impassive.

Jolda narrowed her eyes in warning, but Armand laughed. "Ah, Daria, you remind me of when I was your age: always wanting to change the world. But when you get older and work harder, you'll find you want a bigger share of its gifts."

Daria sipped the wine. Gods, it was good. Tasted of home and the sunbathed vineyards all up and down the Gold Coast. She supposed this made her complicit.

"What happens when there aren't enough gifts left over for the little people?" she asked.

"Oh, they'll manage. Survival's a helluva motivator. But you're not one of the little people, Daria. I'm not saying the work they do isn't important. But almost anyone can do it. Not everyone can do the kinds of work we do, or that your mother does."

"Plus, it is easier to help people when you have power backing you up," Jolda said, her tone slightly apologetic.

Daria decided to change the subject. She wasn't in any position to make a winning point, and a winning point might be hazardous to her future career opportunities.

"Speaking of the work we do, why exactly is the Empire so interested in the Dwemer?"

"I'm sure a young scholar like you understands the importance of learning history. The Dwemer are a part of that."

"Sure, but my interests don't drive the Empire. The only histories most nobles care about are the kinds that give them claims to their neighbor's land," Daria said.

The wind picked up outside of the tent, bitter and blustery. Daria inched closer to the fire.

"I can't deny that aristocrats can be petty," Armand agreed. "But there are deeper reasons for the Empire as a whole to be interested. The Dwemer had power. The machines they built survived for millennia, even when the Dwemer themselves did not. You saw the animunculi in the storage tent. Think of what the Empire could do if we produced our own!"

"Leave interesting mementos for post-Empire archeologists?"

Armand chuckled, or at least pretended to. "How about animunculi laborers who could make life easier for the common people? That'd sit well with you, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Daria answered. "Though I imagine it'd put a lot of people out of work, too."

"Me and Dad had an interesting talk about the potential economic consequences," Jolda said.

Armand made a dismissive wave with his free hand. "Oh, it'll be a disruption, sure. But think about the benefits: machines doing the backbreaking labor that cuts so many lives short. Commoners able to pursue their interests and passions the way the Dwemer once did. A way to free Morrowind's slaves by making slavery an economic liability. A lot more efficient than petitioning the Curia or Elder Council, wouldn't you say? That's not even getting into the military applications."

Armand leaned forward, firelight flickering on his chiseled jaw. "Not many people know what I'm about to tell you, Daria. Oh, it's not a secret; just obscure. The main reason that Emperor Tiber Septim annexed Morrowind was to get access to the Dwemer ruins."

Daria thought back to her studies. "Huh. I'd always heard he'd done it to secure the eastern frontier so he could concentrate on fighting the Altmer... wait! Are you saying he used Dwemer weapons when he conquered the west?"

Armand was silent for half a second before he responded. "No, only that Tiber Septim understood the value of knowledge. It was Imperial grit and courage that brought the Aldmeri Dominion to heel. Nothing more."

Somehow, Daria didn't believe him. Deep inside, she felt an intimation of fire and war, one emanating from the stone beneath the tent and the miles of twisting metal passages therein. The Empire simply did not care about the poor, certainly not enough to delve into dangerous ruins for their sake.

But it loved weapons.

She thought back to the bizarre animunculi in the storage tent. The Dwemer had armies of them, so why shouldn't the Empire have legions of the same? Especially if Dwemer artifacts really did have something to do with Tiber Septim's final victory against the Altmer. A victory that the military histories had always been a bit vague about. A victory that should have taken years somehow compressed into a few bloody weeks.

No wonder it was so easy for the IAS to get funding.

The conversation turned to idle things. Daria faded out, letting Jolda and Armand drive most of the talk. She finally excused herself by pleading sleepiness.

"Before you go," Armand said. "I'd like to show my appreciation for the work you've been doing. You can go inside Arkngthand tomorrow. Ask the foreman for an assignment, and she'll give you one. I want you to get a better look at exactly what we're working with."

"Sure. Thank you," Daria said. She bowed in the Redguard manner, earning a smile from Armand.

Daria stepped out into a starless night lit only by Red Mountain's sooty glow. She tightened her coat and raised her hooded lantern to make her way back to the barracks tent. Gusts drove flecks of ash into her eyes and mouth. She still hadn't come to a decision about Karl's incriminating paper. It suddenly no longer seemed that important. He'd only been skimming jewels. Probably not something the Empire—or Armand—cared much about.

At least she'd get to see Arkngthand up close the next day.

Far above, Red Mountain's smoldering caldera stretched like a fiery mouth across the night sky.

Musical Closer - Lucretia My Reflection, by Sisters of Mercy

I think Daria is right that the IAS may suit her better as an organization than the other guilds and clubs she’s looked into.

I’m still appreciating the bumps that the relationship between Jane and Daria has taken in the past. For they have truly become much stronger friends with the luxury of being able to speak openly and frankly to each other. The exchange between them in this episode were great and led Daria to the truism that a word to Armand could indeed probably shut down Karl’s embezzling and creepy overtures to the ladies at the same time.

Also a thought-provoking conversation between Armand and Daria, revealing some pretty interesting insights. Those Dwemer certainly did have some imposing technology. And Daria even got some nice Surilie Brothers wine (almost as good as Tamika’s I’d wager).

Nice to know that it looks like Daria will get her chance to actually get into the underground of the dig site. Hope nothing tries to kill her. . . .

He’s already rich, but now he’s stealing Morrowind’s history to get even richer.
Ummmm, Empire much then?

So Daria is actually interested in the Dwemer? Well that is nice! She could dig up discover lost cities, release evils sealed into cans, loose ancient curses upon civilization, you know, the normal stuff archaeologists do...

I am sure the Empire is interested in the Dwemer robots for the same reason any Empire would be: Unlimited Power!

I am now picking through my vague memories of Elder Scrolls lore. But I do seem to remember Tiber Septim getting some kind of Numidium from Morrowind, and maybe powering it with the soul of his Battlemage, whose name I forget. The one who wrote the Art of War Magic book, and became one of the Underkings. I seem to recall that it is what conquered the Altmer, but was destroyed in the process or afterward?

Coo, Daria gets to go exploring. I hope she takes Kavon or Maiko with her though. She's likely to meet some of those animunculi that are not quite turned off.

Chapter 5

"I saw a gear that was really shiny. Maybe if I polish it some more, it'll be good enough for Quinn," Jonus said, hanging his head low.

Jonus, Julien, and Jeval huddled in their corner of the barracks tent, listening to the wind howl.

"Dumbass, she's not going to want a gear," Julien said.

"What else can we get her? All the good stuff's been packed away."

Jeval stared into the flames. He was kind of glad they hadn't found anything.

"We gotta get her something." Jonus was adamant.

"Ah," came a nasal, reedy voice. "It appears that the young suitors are in quite the quandary."

Jonus and Julien bolted to their feet as Karl stepped forward, straightening his lapels.

"No! We're not in a... what did he say we're in?" Jonus asked.

"A quadrille?" Julien wondered.

Jeval buried his face in his hands. "A quandary!" he said.

Karl smiled. "I know full well what you have planned, and I applaud it! Sometimes, the right bauble is all you need to win the heart of a luscious young lady, and few are as luscious as Quinn. Thus, I have a proposition for the three of you: I run a small business on the side dealing in Dwemer novelties. Alas, I cannot proclaim the nature of my business due to certain narrow-minded statutes—"

"Get to the point," Jonus said.

"Very well! I haven't obtained as many choice goods as I'd like, and with the dig site closing up, well, time is running short. However, I have it on good authority that there are some untouched rooms containing wealth beyond your wildest dreams." Karl spread his arms. "Rubies the size of apples set in crowns of gold! Silken fabrics of unearthly color, their luster undimmed by the passage of time! Necklaces—"

"We'll do it!" Jonus said.

"Hell yeah!" Julien agreed.

Jeval shook his hands in warning. "Guys, wait! Karl's telling us to go past those yellow X's. You know, go into the places the legion hasn't cleared out yet. That's like a deathtrap!"

"Au contraire, my good Mer," Karl said. "These animunculi are noisy constructs. We'll have ample warning should one object to our presence."

"This is our chance, man!" Jonus proclaimed.

"I'm in," Julien said.

Jeval again wondered why he hung out with such morons.

*********

Arkngthand took Daria's breath away.

She walked in wonder as she descended the path into the Hall of Centrifuge, her way lit by plumes of smokeless flame blooming from broken pipes. Her footsteps echoed on corroded platforms inscribed with symbols whose meanings eluded the Empire's best minds. Stone and metal twisted together where the living mountain had pushed through the ancient Dwemer works. Not even their craftsmanship was a match for time's inexorable progress.

But greater by far than the sights were the sounds. Arkngthand thrummed with a ceaseless symphony of hisses, clicks, and metallic thumps. The noise emanated from the very walls, as if there remained entire cities worth of machinery yet undiscovered, clanking and churning out of sight. She passed strange contraptions that belched steam and spun wheels, their pops and clangs joining the unseen orchestra for brief moments before fading into the background hum. At times came rattling groans so loud they shook the very air and made Daria think of something immense waking from the slumber of millennia.

No one had traversed these halls for over two-thousand years. But they had never been silent. For once, no smart remark came to her. She was in the presence of something great and strange. Maybe, she thought, this was what Jane had felt when she'd knelt before the Shrine of Humility.

The feeling lasted up until she found the foreman, a middle-aged woman sitting at a round Dwemer table and playing a game of dice with a few workers.

"Come on, be good to mama!" she said, kissing her hand before tossing the dice. Standing up to see her result, she raised her arms in victory. "Yes!"

"Excuse me," Daria said.

The woman glared at her. "Yeah?"

"You're the foreman, right?"

"Sure."

"Armand said—"

"Oh yeah, you're the one the bossman told me about. Look, we're pretty much done here." She pointed to the crates around her, which presumably awaited transportation to the surface.

"Have her copy some more pipe lettering from Heaven's Gallery," one of the guys at the table said.

"That works. Grab some papers and charcoal from that stack over there, and you'll be set to go," the woman said.

"And how do I get to Heaven's Gallery? Near-death experience?"

"See that door?" She pointed to a round metal portal in the wall. "Go through that, follow the hall, turn left and go through another door, then turn right and keep going until you get to a big yellow X on the wall. If you run into lava or a rockfall, you've gone too far."

"Thanks for clarifying that last bit," Daria said.

But the woman had already turned her attention back to the game.

*********

"Hmm, I was certain that'd lead us to Heaven's Gallery," Karl said, studying his map by the light of a glowing glass tube.

Jeval crossed his arms and leaned against the metal wall. Stupid of him to go in the first place. No surprise that Karl had gotten them lost.

"Come on, you said you knew where it was!" Jonus protested.

Karl cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, rushing me won't help anything. We'll be fine as long as we stay calm."

"Hey, Jeval," said Julien. "Where do you think we should go?"

Jeval turned to stare at his supposed friend. "How should I know?"

"'Cause this is a Dwemer ruin! You're a Mer."

"I'm a Bosmer, not a Dwemer." Jeval rolled his eyes.

"That's still Mer!"

"That doesn't mean anything. The Dwemer lived in underground cities. My people literally live in trees. Plus, I grew up in Cyrodiil the same as the rest of you, so I didn't even do that!" Jeval shook his head. "I'm about as Mer as you are," he muttered.

"Arguing won't help!" Karl said, still staring at the map. "I say we go back the way we came. The entrance to Heaven's Gallery should be one of these doors we passed earlier."

"Hey, Karl? How did you get that map? I thought this part wasn't explored yet," Jonus said.

"This map does rely on a bit of inference. But don't all maps?"

They started arguing again. Jeval grimaced. The constant noise of the place was getting to be a real pain. Mer ears picked up a lot more than the ears of Men, so Jeval didn't know how the Dwemer had put up with it. Clank, rattle, boom, over and over again. It was deafening.

Seemed to be getting louder, too. Jeval kept hearing these big thuds, like someone hitting a huge drum. The floor vibrated with each beat. Real regular, too, one after the other. Like footsteps.

Getting closer.

"Guys," Jeval warned, "I think we have company!"

*********

The light in the glass tube fascinated Daria the most.

She'd walked past many of them already. But only in the last room of Heaven's Gallery, a dark rectangular chamber where metal cabinets and ancient desks held the dust of ages past, did she take a closer look. This tube, like the others, was connected at both ends to an engraved pipe running along the concave walls. Inside was a ring of glass emitting a bright yellow glow, held in place by triangular pieces of green metal.

Only the greatest enchantments lasted for perpetuity. One couldn't have a proper magic sword or suit of holy armor if the juice fizzled out after a century or two. But enchanting to that degree took a lot of time and effort. Naturally, the Empire reserved such efforts for ostentation. The Dwemer had possessed enough power to enchant common lights the way the Empire enchanted its greatest symbols. Not once or twice, but over and over again. With something like that in her home, Daria would be able to read as late as she pleased, even during the winter months.

All around her, Arkngthand shook and groaned. The air was stale but warm, reminding her of comfortable nights spent by the fire back in Charach. Darkness and bad eyesight blurred the grimy room, and she imagined herself as a Dwemer, the mysteries of the world bound in letters and numbers and laid out before her.

How could the Dwemer simply disappear? Their lights lasted forever but served no one save for dust, animunculi, and the occasional clueless archeologist.

Lost in her reverie, Daria almost didn't hear the cry for help echoing down the next corridor. Annoyed, she pulled away from the light. Had that been a voice? Or some machine noise she'd mistaken for a cry?

"Hello?" she called out, her voice reverberating against the metal walls.

She took a few cautious steps toward the round door marked with a yellow X. The door was slightly ajar.

"Someone! We need help!" The voice came again.

Daria hesitated. The yellow X meant danger. Surely a quick look couldn't hurt? Maybe she'd learn something else about the Dwemer beyond Heaven's Gallery. It's not like she'd ever get another chance. Taking a deep breath, she pushed against the door. Ancient hinges squealed in protest, but it opened without too much trouble. Beyond the door was a narrow shaft plunging deep into the darkness below. Karl stood in an open doorway on the other side of the shaft. With him were Quinn's three suitors: Jonus, Julien, and Jeval.

"Daria!" Karl exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You have to help us!"

She studied the situation. "I don't have to do anything. How did you idiots get yourselves stuck there?"

But something wasn't right. It took a lot to knock the smugness out of Karl. Given their location, it wasn't too hard to infer what had done that.

"Some big metal monster found us!" Jeval said.

A legitimate emergency. "Okay. Hold on, I'll get help—"

The metal around her vibrated as a heavy footfall echoed down the halls, followed by another just like it.

"Crap, it's getting closer!" Julien (or was it Jonus?) cried.

"Daria, did you see any other doors connecting with where we are?" Jeval asked.

"I don't know! I've never been here before."

Daria looked down, holding her glasses so they didn't slip off. Stumbling blind through a Dwemer ruin struck her as a good way to end up dead. A metal panel stuck out of the platform in front of her. Not much, only a foot's worth. She took stock of her surroundings. Strange though the Dwemer were, she didn't think they'd have two doorways on opposite ends of a pit unless there was a way for them to connect. To her left was a small wheel attached to an array of tubes.

"Hold on!" she said.

Daria grabbed the wheel with both hands and turned it with what little might she could muster. The ancient mechanism resisted slightly but slowly gave way. As Daria worked the device, the metal sticking out of the platform slowly extended.

"Guys! She's making a bridge!" Jeval said.

"Hurry up!" Karl begged.

Daria planted her feet on the floor. The footsteps grew louder, an ominous percussion to the mechanical concert all around. She tried not to think of how big it would have to be to shake the whole room like that.

"It's getting closer!" one of the other boys wailed.

Inch by halting inch, the bridge extended. Each turn of the wheel got harder. Daria gritted her teeth, numbness creeping into her fingers as she tightened her grip. She wasn't built for this kind of effort.

"Hurry!" Karl cried. "I'll give you my father's fortune! I'll be your servant for life! Don't let me die!"

The bridge was halfway there. But behind the panicked boys now marched a giant that filled the entire hallway. It was a clanking monstrosity in the rough shape of a human, with steam for breath and weapons for hands.

She groaned from the effort and threw her meager weight on the wheel. Sweat poured down her body, and her limbs shook. Still, the bridge slowed, like it had gotten caught on something.

"Guys! It's close enough; we have to jump!" Jeval ordered.

Daria raised her head in time to see Jeval sail across the gap, landing on the bridge as lightly as a cat.

"You can do it!" he called to his friends.

Julien jumped next, followed by Jonus. Only Karl remained, frozen in fear.

"Karl, you have to jump!" Jeval ordered. Julien and Jonus had already run past Daria and into safety. Only Jeval stayed by her.

The wheel refused to budge any further. Daria strained until her body shook, but to no avail. Impassive and inexorable, the animunculus advanced toward Karl. It raised the enormous mace head that served as a right hand.

Karl leapt as the animunculus swung. The mace slammed into the ground where he'd been standing, the sound of the impact a wrenching metallic scream that shook Daria's teeth. Karl hit the bridge facefirst, legs dangling over the edge. He started to slide. Jeval grabbed him by the forearms and pulled him up. With a sobbing Karl back on his feet, the two stumbled back to Daria's side.

"Can you retract the bridge?" Jeval asked. "Here, I can help with the wheel if you're tired!"

Black spots swam in Daria's vision. "I don't think that thing can jump. But go ahead."

Jeval grunted as he tried to turn the wheel. The animunculus stood silent on the other side, a knight that was all armor and no man. The slits that served as its eyes stared at Daria.

"What exactly do you see when you look at us?" she wondered out loud, as the bridge began its retreat.

Musical Closer - Whispers, from the Quake OST

Hey, I'd like to have a giant bronze animunculus as a garden ornament. Keep those pesky kids off our lawn!!!

Daria's drinking Surilies. �Ÿ�� Yummy. I laughed at the part where it says this is so much better than saltice and bad tea.

Wait what?? So Armand is going to try making these robots for the people? This is really hitting home in our modern times.

Okay, that makes sense, about the emperor annexxing the lands so Dwemer tech can be attained. Gotta admit that is clever. But Daria doesn't believe him. Interesting. She don't even care what Karl did anymore. This is a rather political set of chapters and episodes.

Ha ha Jonus is still stuck on Quinn. He wants to get her a gear! Even before I read the next sentence the thought occurred: WHAT is she going to do with some big, heavy gear? But seriously, Quinn must be some sort of hottie. Can you link a picture of whichever doll Quinn corresponds to on the show, Clavier?

Cool, I'm glad they're going to go past the yellow X lines. Let's see what happens to these clueless kids. But it does seem Karl is now using them.



Ha ha ha!

Daria's going into Arkngthand, damn, this is gonna be good. You described the descent into Arkngthand well, all those creepy clanks and steam hissing. Don't know about you, but I'm not jaded to this sort of stuff as I'm gaming. I still get goosebumps after all these years.

Oh [censored]. I notice that after the three Js jump across the bridge they begin calling Karl to jump as well, while Daria still struggles with the wheel. Funny how they don't seem like they're going to help her.

"Can you retract the bridge?" asks Jeval. "I can help if you're tired!" Um... yeah, do that!

Oh noes, the Three Amigos buy into Karl’s plan. . . what could possibly go wrong?

I love how you captured Daria’s awe inside Arkngthand. No surprise that she is someone who could appreciate it. Like Renee talked about, Buffy also currently delves into numerous large and ominous Dwemer ruins and Daria is right about the sounds – unmistakably eerie and just hissing with unfulfilled mystery.

Meanwhile, Karl and his misguided crew are also trying to navigate Arkngthand. Looking for trouble and, it seems, may have found it. . . .

And back to Daria as the bookworm in her marvels at the concept of permanently enchanted Dwemer lights to read by.

And finally, the somewhat parallel ruin explorer paths intersect as Daria hears Karl calling for help.
“I don’t have to do anything. How did you idiots get yourselves stuck there?”
Daria’s ever-so-perfect response demonstrates a solid command of the principle of Darwenism – though she certainly wouldn’t call it that. Perhaps she realizes the wisdom of not letting any of these young men survive to possibly breed more like themselves? Alas, her slightly buried better nature wins out as she decides to try and render aid.

Holy Indiana Jones! Daria extends an ancient Dwemer bridge and the Three Amigos daringly leap to safety. Oh, and Karl gets to face plant the far side of the bridge and be dragged to safety.

What a fabulous closing as Daria ponders what kind of intelligence animates the terrifying steel Centurion.

A gear? Giving Quinn a gear is not going to make any panties drop bro...

Oh boy, Upchuck has a plan, and he found the only three people dumb enough to go along with it. I am sure hijinks are about to ensue here! I also have a sneaking suspicion that this will somehow coincide with Daria's own explorations of the ruins.

I like that even though the Dwemer have been gone for thousands of years, their halls are not silent tombs. Their works have outlived them in every sense, to the point where they are even still active and 'alive' after all these years.

“And how do I get to Heaven’s Gallery? Near-death experience?”
Let's hope not. But you never know.

Oh no, the three musketeers are lost! Who could have seen that coming? It's only a matter of time until Daria blunders into them.

I love how Daria reduces one of the Dwemer's achievements - one that puts the Empire's greatest workings to shame - down to "I could read at night with this'! It really shows her character, and what is important to her.

Uh oh, those footsteps that the Three Amigos + One heard had not been Daria. It was a Steam Centurion! Yikes, and now Daria is in it's way too! Eep!

Very cool set piece you created here of the bottomless pit and the retractable bridge. I think the Dwemer had the same safety inspectors as the Empire (no, not that Empire, I mean the Galactic one from Star Wars). They both have key instruments located on narrow ledges suspended over thousand foot drops, with nary a safety rail in sight.

I am really delighted with this current story arc. It combines classic Daria with classic Morrowind gameplay. Perfection.

Chapter 6

With the bridge retracted and the door closed, Daria confronted a blubbering Karl.

"I'm curious to know exactly what you four were doing down here. But I can already guess it's something stupid." She glanced over to the ashen-faced trio of Jonus, Julien, and Jeval. "Probably something stupid done for the sake of my sister."

Jonus fell to his knees. "Please don't tell Quinn about this!"

Julien genuflected. "Please pretend like it never happened; we'll do anything you want."

Jeval sighed. "They wanted to lift some Dwemer jewels or something to give to Quinn."

Still on his knees, an aghast Jonus turned to face Jeval. "Dude, shut up! We'll all get—"

Daria raised her right hand and motioned for them to settle down. "I already know about Karl's little scheme."

"Yes, well…" Karl sat on the floor, knees up to his chin, and his whole body quivering. "It appears that I owe you another favor!" He didn't look at Daria as he spoke, his gaze stuck on the far wall.

"Yes, you do," she said. "The favor is that you're going to put back everything you stole from Armand. Do this, and I'll keep quiet about your thefts and unscheduled visits beyond the safe zone. Also, my earlier requirement about you not being a pest still stands."

Karl squeaked, his eyes bulging. "But I have profits riding on this!"

Daria glowered, and he shrank back.

"Of course, as a man of, uh, honorable reputation, I'll fulfill my end of the bargain," he said, a little too quickly.

"As for you three," Daria said, "you can buy my silence by making sure Karl does what he promised."

Since, in the end, she couldn't force him into doing anything he didn't want to do. She'd need backup, and unreliable backup was still better than none.

"Why, I'm shocked that you'd think so little—" Karl started.

"Stop talking," Jeval ordered. "That's fair, Daria. Hey, uh, so thanks for saving our lives and stuff."

"Don't get too excited. I just saw this as an opportunity to accrue more favors. Besides, I don't want to think about what my sister might do if she goes too long without her daily dose of attention from you guys. That fact alone makes you more useful to me alive than dead."

"We were being morons," Jeval admitted. "So yeah, I'll make sure Karl returns the goods and doesn't bother anyone. We all owe you."

Daria smiled.

*********

Jeval had done his job. Daria checked the now-organized artifacts on the last full day and found that the numbers matched up almost exactly. The items listed on the client sheet, at least, appeared to be back in their proper places. She supposed some had been lost to error. Karl probably wasn't the camp's only thief, either.

Also, no one had complained about Karl's sleaziness in a while.

The crew awoke before dawn to finish packing. Dozens of guar-pulled carts, already laden with crates, waited at the bridge while inspectors double-checked everything. Daria had hoped for a quiet moment among the aging towers before she left, but Karl interrupted her right after she finished her breakfast.

"Ah, Lady Morgendorffer," he said. "If I might have a moment of—"

"In exchange for saving your life, can you at least drop the act?"

He cleared his throat. "I wanted to thank you for saving my life. I was in a little too much shock the other day to offer any coherent gratitude."

"Just don't make me regret doing it."

"I am saddened that Karl's Magnificent Exports, Inc. never got off the ground. Another shattered dream, I fear. Yet at the end of the day, I'm thankful to still be breathing. Besides, I'm sure I can capitalize on my experiences in Arkngthand."

"Nothing draws in the crowds quite like a tale of human folly—"

Karl struck a pose, one hand on his breast and the other lifted heavenward. "Hear the tale of Karl in Arkngthand, with visage grim and a sword in hand!" He bowed and grinned. "It's only a start, you understand, but I'm sure it'll soon be a cornerclub staple across the Empire!"

"You should remember that I won't be there to save you from your enraged audience. In fact, I might help them kill you."

Karl chuckled and waggled his fingers, but a glare from Daria stopped him from commenting on anyone's feistiness.

She joined up with Jane as the sun rose, dawn's light soiled by dust and ash.

"Have fun appealing to the vanity of low-level bureaucrats?" Daria asked.

"Sure, that's how you get to appeal to the vanity of high-level bureaucrats with more moolah," Jane said. "Turns out Supervisor K'shath lives in Balmora. Now he wants me to paint his wife. I'll have work for a bit, at least. How about you? Enjoy sharpening those counting skills?"

"Not nearly as much as I enjoyed making myself complicit in the corruption that suffuses every element of the Empire." She looked at the towers. "But I will admit that, as jobs go, studying the Dwemer doesn't seem too bad."

Jane arched an eyebrow. "Why, Daria! Is that something approaching enthusiasm that I hear in your voice?"

"Merely relief that what I thought would be unbearable turned out to be tolerable, which is about as good as things get. Even though the work we do is more fuel for the imperial machine."

"You'll be fueling that machine with your taxes anyway. Might as well have fun doing it, right?"

"Yeah, who cares about selling out your ethical framework when there's fun involved," Daria said. "Sooner or later though, I'll have to join one corrupt institution or another. That or become a crazy hermit. Know any isolated anchorages where I could slowly sink into an ethically consistent madness?"

"Look around you, Daria!" Jane said, gesturing out to the volcanic desolation. "Morrowind is prime real estate for that kind of thing."

Daria noticed Armand and Jolda approaching.

"Daria!" Armand said. "I wanted to thank you again for coming along on this. I know it was a big sacrifice to leave your studies at Drenlyn."

"It might take me an entire hour to catch up on the week I missed," Daria said. "But I'm glad I could help."

Armand nodded. "I know the work you did wasn't the most interesting. It's a sad truth that, for lowborn types like us, the only way up is to start at the bottom. But the Empire does recognize skill and dedication, and I'm told you showed both those traits."

Daria's cheeks burned at the compliment. Praise always sounded fake to her, but Armand appeared to mean it. She wouldn't relay this to Mom, though. The last thing she needed to hear was Mom go on about what a great worker her eldest daughter was.

"Yeah, thanks for helping out," Jolda added.

"I'm hoping," Armand said, "that I can get another dig here in the future. There's no proper IAS office in Balmora yet, so I'll be spending the next year going back and forth between here and the provincial HQ in Old Ebonheart. But once I do get another dig going, whether in Arkngthand or some other site, you will have a spot on the team should you want it."

Make no mistake, Daria told herself. The work she'd do in the IAS would be to help the powerful become more powerful, however indirectly. But, as Jane said, taxes did the same. Given Morrowind's dangers, it'd be better to at least keep her options open.

"Thank you," Daria said, doing her best to fake gratitude. The scary part was, she wasn't completely sure it was fake.

Armand smiled. "Great! Not everyone recognizes the importance of the IAS. But the work we're doing matters. If we do it right, we can have an even greater Empire to pass on to our descendants."

He clapped her on the shoulder and walked past, Jolda following close behind. The cries of waggoneers rose up as the first of the carts started back on the journey to Balmora.

"Ready to blow this joint?" Jane asked.

"Almost. I want to take one last look at the place."

Daria lingered on the rocky slope a few moments longer, her gaze on the fallen Dwemer city. Armand's words echoed in her mind.

"If we do it right, we can have an even greater Empire to pass on to our descendants."

No doubt, the Dwemer had once shared a similar sentiment.

Daria shivered beneath her cloak and hurried down to join the others.

Musical Closer - c0da Numidium, by Liz Katrin

The End

“Don’t get too excited. I just saw this as an opportunity to accrue more favors.”
- - Daria’s getting scary good at Dunmeri networking, including the preferred currency of favors.

And so concludes a delightful adventure overall in Arkngthand. It was neat to see Daria impressed by something (the Dwemer). Naturally, she doubled down during her departure on the cynicism to compensate.

Something stupid this way comes...

See, Daria is networking once again. Mom would be so pleased. Which is not being sarcastic. Mom's a lawyer, and Daria is getting what she wants from people.

“Nothing draws in the crowds quite like a tale of human folly—"
I think you just summed up the entire Daria show with that sentence...

And a truly shivering conclusion as Daria considers the possibility of the Empire going the same route as the Dwemer.

Whoa... Daria actually breaks her usual nonchalant, nonplussed demeanor?

It's funny how afraid the Three Js are of Quinn discovering what they've been up to. I don't get it. I think it'd be romantic if some dorks went to such lengths to prove their affections! OTOH, they know Quinn better than I. Maybe they (Or one of them) already tried being casanovas in the past, only to have it all thrown in their face(s).

It's funny though. It's like they're soooo afraid of what the princess thinks!

And look at Karl, he's blubbering. Such a difference between us mortals with our messy fears and feelings, and the giant golden automaton which almost caught them, which is nothing but impassive, nothing but doing the job it was built for. 🤖

Today's song is pretty.

Episode 15: The Tell-Tale Art

Chapter 1

Jane bowed before some clients, but not this one, not Haldskyr Bear-grip. It's not that she didn't respect him. Nords just hated bowing and being bowed to. Better for her to stand and watch as Haldskyr studied the three-quarters head-and-shoulders portrait she'd spent the last two weeks working on for him.

So far, so good: his brow furrowed, lips tight but not frowning, stance relaxed. She'd painted him in classic middle-class Imperial style, realistic in feature but flattering in outfit. Muted colors gave the image a sober and serious feel, though she'd used some bright yellows to indicate the long and braided beard which he was so clearly proud of. And it was a pretty nice beard, as such things went. She added some jewelry to let everyone know he was rich (and therefore important), a mix of twisting Nord gold work around his brow and an agate cameo of Emperor Tiber Septim, done in the Colovian manner, pinning his cloak.

Her stomach growled. She hadn't eaten a proper meal since last night. Money tended to run out.

"Satisfactory!" he rumbled.

"Thank you, sir," she said, ignoring the hurt from his comment. She'd worked herself to exhaustion on this painting, and he only thought it was satisfactory? He hadn't even commented on that tiny cameo, which she'd spent hours working on to get the texture and detail exactly right. She'd captured Tiber Septim's profile on half an inch of canvas!

But he didn't care. Clients never did.

He strode to his desk on the other side of his office, the walls hidden by tapestries of Ysgramor and the Five-hundred doing gory battle against Falmer, Dwemer, Dunmer, Reachmen, and everyone else the Nords had picked a fight with over the millennia. It was a long list.

"I am a little disappointed in the beard. It's too bright. We Nords are a simple people, Jane, not given to such frivolous chromatic displays." The heavy gold bracelets on his right wrist clinked together as he opened a drawer and took out a purse.

"My apologies. I can adjust the color if you'd like—"

"No, no. There are other problems, too."

She'd met all the expectations of the contract. It sounded like he was trying to weasel out of paying her the full 200 septims. "Like what?"

"You did not capture me! Yes, the painting looks like me, but it lacks soul, don't you think? It needs more passion in the eyes. I want to look at it and see the wrath of my ancestors thundering upon the blood-streaked tundra!"

This sounded bad. "I guess I could add some flecks of gore to your beard?"

"Of course not! I'm a fur trader, not a warrior. You should show my wealth."

"Right, hence the jewelry, and the mantle, and the cameo where you can see Tiber Septim's face," Jane protested.

"Yes, my wealth is part of the physical aspect. Yet my ferocity is more spiritual. No, no. This is a very nice painting, but it's not me. So as per our contract, I will pay 100 since I am not completely satisfied."

"Sir, I spent 50 septims getting the right kinds of materials." Actually, she'd only spent 44, but she figured a little mercantile license was fair game. Forty-four was a lot for her.

"That is not my problem."

She recognized the finality in his voice. Imperial and Redguard clients she could haggle with, but Nords usually didn't bother.

A whole month of work, and she hadn't gotten full pay. Days of skimping, of neglecting other commissions, of practically sequestering herself in her cramped apartment, eyes aching from the guttering candle light as she labored to get the right balance on details like his crooked teeth and he still wasn't satisfied.

She tried to keep her words steady. "I'm sorry it wasn't to your liking. But 100 barely covers my expenses, and I gave up a lot of opportunities to work for you since you're known as a generous patron of the arts." Actually, he had a reputation as a skinflint—a reputation she wished she'd heeded. He was a big name, though. She'd hoped one happy customer might lead to others.

Haldskyr shook his head. "My mistake was in hiring a Dunmer. I should have hired one of my own people. You ought to work with your own kind, anyway. I do not know why a Dunmer would work with a Nord."

Because she was an outlander and a Dunmer. But he'd never get that.

*********

Wind-driven rain, gray and thick, pounded the streets as Jane walked home. Bitter gusts tore at her guar-hide cloak, too thin and ragged to keep the rain from soaking into her clothes, her skin, and what felt like her bones. Huddled crowds trudged all around her, the market criers barely attempting to compete with the weather.

Only outlanders ever hired Jane. While outlanders were in no short supply, there were only so many up-and-coming foreign merchants willing to take a chance on someone like her, an artist with a good reputation but a poor network and no official apprenticeship experience.

The supply wouldn't dry up completely. But her clients weren't so wealthy that they could buy painting after painting. Usually they commissioned one, a portrait or a full-body, and were satisfied with that for several years. What she needed was some super-rich patron who'd let her live at their house and eat their food while she immortalized them on canvas a dozen times over. Unfortunately, most of the truly wealthy types in Morrowind were Dunmer, and native-born Dunmer almost never hired outlanders. Which meant more hustling on a half-empty belly.

Lucky her.

Pay was pay, though, even if it wasn't as much as she'd hoped for. At least she'd earned the right to crash onto her threadbare bed and sleep the rest of the day. Except sleep didn't earn cash, and she'd already put off too many of her commissions for Haldskyr's sake. Now she needed to buy more supplies, which would eat through a lot of her meager earnings. All the while, Balmora's outlanders geared up for the gift-giving of Saturalia. Saturalia was an Empire holiday, to be sure, but didn't she have a stake in that, outlander that she was?

"Give generously so that Stendarr will show his mercy upon you! Saturalia must be a day of charity!" proclaimed a fat Imperial priest whose gilt-edged teal robes barely contained his girth. He conducted his charity from a small tent, where a few acolytes tended to bowls of offerings that'd be taken back to Moonmoth.

Jane observed the priest for a bit, watching how he bowed his bald pate each time an outlander dropped a few coins in one of the bowls.

"Outrageous," muttered a lean Dunmer dressed in a maroon tradesman's robe.

"Huh?"

He pointed at the priest. "This display! The greed of outlanders knows no bounds. Not enough that they infest our city. They also bring their holidays."

"Yeah, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's an extra holiday in winter. Saturalia totally disrupts that bleak, hopeless vibe I enjoy so much this time of year."

Taken aback, the Dunmer stared at her. Then he snarled. "Wait, you're one of them!"

Jane watched him stalk off, muttering to himself about foreigners. It'd be nice to make it big and rub it in the faces of people like him. But that was looking less and less likely.

Her path home took her by the house of Gallus, the art dealer who'd kick-started her career with a few well-placed recommendations. The windows glowed warm and yellow in the wet, gray afternoon, and the smell of bubbling kwama stew wafted out into the street. Maybe, she thought, Gallus was in a good mood and would let her have a bite. She'd done good work for some of his friends and associates.

More to the point, she didn't want to go home in total defeat.

Jane knocked on the door and waited. It opened a minute later, revealing Gallus, a plump middle-aged Imperial with a short black beard and dressed in a comfy-looking down coat.

"Jane! I haven't seen you in a while. Come in, come in! The weather's awful."

Relieved at his welcome, Jane stepped inside. "Sorry to drip all over your floor."

Gallus's home looked as tidy as ever, the walls covered in thick tapestries displaying Bretonnian knights errant and Cyrodiilic rice paddies. What got Jane's attention that day was the hearth, an Imperial-style stone model filled with warm and steady flame.

"Oh, no need to worry. Wouldn't be in the Saturalia spirit if I didn't let you warm up a bit."

Meaning that if it weren't a week away from Saturalia, it'd be back to the rain for little Janey. But she smiled. "Thanks! It's been a tough day."

Jane knelt by the fire, her knees sinking into the soft blue-and-green rug before the hearth. Sudden warmth sparked feeling in her fingers, the cold joints loosening up as she held them in front of the flames.

"How's business?" Jane asked.

"Not bad. Winter's a good season for me. People always want to burn incense when it gets cold."

Gallus wasn't a real art dealer. He made his money importing spices and incense from Cyrodiil. But he'd always liked art and made himself known as the person to talk to whenever some trader needed an artist to make them look cultured. The little under-the-table commissions made it practical and fun, he said.

"It's a good thing you came by. There's someone asking for you," Gallus said as he settled back at his desk.

"For me?" That was a surprise.

"Quite urgently! In fact, I was going to send my clerk over to Drenlyn and give Miss Defoe the message so she could tell you, but it looks like I won't have to. At a luncheon last week, I met a rich young fellow from the Imperial City named Natalinos. He's heard good things about you from some of your clients."

Jane's ears perked up. This was interesting. Especially the "rich" part.

"I'm pretty full up on commissions," she said, which was half-true, "but I can always take a look. Is he going to be in town long?"

Jane pondered which commissions she could afford to delay. She'd already kept the Chimeri-quey trader waiting longer than the poor woman should've had to, so not her. But the Breton, who was always too busy to sit and pose, could stand to wait a bit longer.

"Just a month or so," Gallus said.

"Natalinos," she repeated. "So he's an Imperial?"

Looking down at a document, Gallus raised an index finger. "No. Actually, he's like you: a Cyrodiil-born Dunmer. But he's lived in Cyrodiil all his life. He's here to do some business for his father, who's a shipping magnate."

Jane's heart jumped up for a second. Another Dunmer outlander, like her and Trent. But with way more resources.

"Sounds interesting," she said, keeping her voice level. But she wanted to grab Gallus by his shirt and get him to tell her everything he could about Natalinos.

"Here's the note I was going to send," Gallus said. He took a sheaf from his desk and walked over to Jane, handing it to her. The note told her to visit Natalinos in the Lucky Lockup, where he'd be doing business all Middas afternoon. It also advised her to bring something to sketch with.

"Thanks, Gallus!" Jane said.

"You understand, of course, that even though I'm only acting as an informal agent, I will need a 45% commission?"

Because nothing could ever be easy. "Hm, see, money's kind of tight for me right now. This Natalinos guy is asking for me. That means people are talking about my work."

Some of them, anyway.

"Jane, you're a talented artist. But you never went through an apprenticeship."

"Makes me all the more remarkable! You can spin a story about how a nobody like me clambered her way into the art world. With help from generous friends, of course. But here's the thing: if I get more money, I can buy better supplies. And that means I can do a better job for the people you connect me to. That boosts your reputation, and this Natalinos guy sounds like a pretty big deal."

Gallus stroked his beard. "Hmm, I see your point. Forty percent."

He wouldn't budge much beyond that, Jane knew. But she'd probe a bit. "What about 35%?"

Gallus shook his head. "Sorry. This guy has a lot of opportunities for both of us. Him being in the Imperial City could open up a whole new market for you. I can only take advantage of knowing him while he's here."

Jane looked into the flames and let out a long, slow sigh. "Guess I can tighten my belt a bit. You drive a hard bargain."

"In this city, you have to."

"Thanks again, Gallus."

Musical Closer - The Good Life, by Weezer

Yes, that makes sense, about Nords not getting into the whole bowing thing. I can see some Dunmer doing it. But not Nords. And she adds jewelry to this rich guy's portrait. You know, I never really thought about it, but this is true for classic-era paintings as well.

Wow, what d1ck this guy is. Does this pampered 4$$h0l3 even have passion in his eyes? Does he even command being painted like some warrior?

Well hey, at least he's blaming it on race, and not the fact that she's a she.

Ah, but perfect timing with this Gallus dude. Sounds like he's aimed better at her plight. Wait WHAT 45 PERCENT??? I know little about how art agencies work, but isn't that um.. really high?

Well at least that's probably going to be better than the cheapskate she got ripped by.

Wow, that wealthy wannabeawarrior Nord is quite the jerk. Poor Jane put a lot of heart into that for a rather paltry return. She gives a whole new meaning to ‘struggling artist’.

“Yeah, if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s an extra holiday in winter! Saturalia totally disrupts that bleak hopeless vibe I enjoy so much this time of year.”
- - Heh, Jane’s sarcastic reply to the Dunmeri Humbug Scrooge was worthy of Daria herself!

Gallus’ hearth was welcome on a cold, rainy day but his overreach on the commission was not. Urgh. Looks like more struggling for Jane. Maybe this Natalinos will be a pleasant surprise. . . .

I liked Jane's appreciation for the cultural differences in her clients, and how that influences her behavior. Not in the least because her being from the working class means she has to always consider their feelings, and it is never the other way around.

I was just thinking that if that tapestry was about all the people had fought over the years, it was going to have to be really big. And then Jane went there too!

What an ass. I wonder if this is all bulldrek because he just does not want to pay. Or if he really is this impossible to please. Granted, both can be true as well.

Saturalia is coming up? Par-Tay in the city! Maybe Jane can score some cash doing some holiday caricatures, or some such thing?

"Saturalia totally disrupts that bleak hopeless vibe I enjoy so much this time of year."
For a moment I thought that Daria has sneaked in and dropped that line from behind Jane's shoulder...

You're one of Them!

Someone is asking for Jane? Who might this mysterious benefactor be? Nautiloid? Sounds fishy to me. But if Jane can score some scratch, all the better.

I read this at Dariawiki about Jane Lane...

After starting at Lawndale High, she was sent to the Self Esteem Class. She took the class seven times, allegedly to kill time - Mr. O'Neill didn't recognise her even on her seventh time.

As Jane said in the first episode: "I like having low self-esteem. It makes me feel special."

Chapter 2

Daria awoke on Middas morning to the sight of fresh white snow on top of the brown adobe houses, making the entire city look like some kind of enormous gingerbread confection.

"Snow! Oh, it's so beautiful!" Quinn cooed, looking out the window that morning.

"For now. Just wait a few days, and it'll turn into gray slush." Daria didn't have any personal experience with snow, but the phenomenon featured heavily in her father's rants about his childhood.

Quinn sighed. "Some of us prefer to enjoy the moment, Daria."

"Some of us prefer to spoil it."

Daria bundled up in extra layers, her breath coming out in puffs of steam as she walked through the frigid morning air. Charach had never gotten cold enough for snow, a rare point in the island town's favor so far as she was concerned. Yet snow was only the first surprise that day. At lunch, when the students all gathered in Ondryn's room to stay warm, Jane told her about the new client.

"This Natalinos guy will be at the Lucky Lockup after school today. I'm going to make my pitch. You want to come along?"

"Why in the world would you want me helping a sales pitch?"

"He's already in our favorite hangout. Besides, I'm sure he'll have all kinds of fascinating deficiencies for you to pick apart. Once we're out of earshot, of course."

Daria pressed her back against the wall. "Let's see: he's a wealthy scion slumming it in the boonies while ostensibly doing work for his dad. That means he'll be callow, spoiled, and probably arrogant. I don't need to see him to pick apart his deficiencies."

"Only probably arrogant? Come on, Daria, you're getting soft on me."

"He'll be like our peers at Drenlyn."

Jane persisted until Daria gave in. School ended, and Daria followed her friend along the banks of the Odai toward the Lucky Lockup. A morning's worth of commerce and transportation had already rendered the thin snow into a noxious slurry spread across the mud and pavement. Jane walked faster than usual, her motions quick and decisive. A far cry from her usual relaxed self. Something about this Natalinos intrigued her, and Daria wracked her mind trying to figure out what. The description made him sound like just another feckless Imperial visiting from the capital.

They reached the Lucky Lockup as a towering silt strider, with a dozen cargo nets dangling from its abdomen, took position at the strider port. Jane stopped and turned to Daria.

"How do I look?"

"I'm probably not the right Morgendorffer to ask."

"I don't need a full makeover!" Jane said, sounding a bit irritated. "But is there anything that looks off? Mussed hair? Random zit?"

"All I see is you being uncharacteristically worried about your appearance."

"Hey, a good first impression can make all the difference in this business."

"At least you're motivated by greed, not vanity."

"Exactly," Jane purred. "Okay, let's go in."

*********

Jane had always tried to blend in as best she could. Sometimes she succeeded, passing in crowds unnoticed by the more xenophobic natives.

But Natalinos, dressed in a resplendent moth-silk robe of deepest crimson and filigreed with gold thread, practically bragged about his outlander status. He sat at a corner table with a pair of Imperials dressed in simpler garb.

"That's him," Jane whispered to Daria.

No doubt about it: Natalinos was a good-looking guy. He had that chiseled quality the best-looking Dunmer boys had, but without that sour, conspiratorial vibe. He carried himself like an Imperial, utterly sure of his place in the world. He was the first Dunmer she'd seen in a long time without any tattoos or ritual scars. Dunmer society had a lot of rules about how people could mutilate themselves. Trent had tried, and his effort only made them hate him more. Jane had never bothered.

She walked slowly toward the table. Gallus's message had said she could come in at any time, but she didn't want to chance it. This was a business opportunity, maybe a big one. A wealthy client could go a long way. And what's more, he was like her. A thoroughly Cyrodiilic Dunmer, the way she might've been if Mom and Dad hadn't dragged her back to Morrowind. To a place where she'd never be accepted, all because she'd spent the first five years of her life beyond its oh-so-holy borders.

Natalinos turned away from his associates to look at Jane. "Do you want something?"

"Sorry to interrupt. I'm Jane Llayn, the artist you were looking for."

She held her breath, hoping she hadn't been too forward.

His face brightened. "Oh yeah! My associates and I are wrapping things up. Next meeting's yours! I wasn't sure you'd make it."

"I always come through for a potential client," Jane said.

She ushered Daria to the next table over, not wanting to rush Natalinos.

It was kind of fun to watch him; the mix of influences in his style begged to be painted. He had the looks of a hero. A lot of clients wanted themselves painted in poses and with symbols that subtly recalled Pelinal Whitestrake, or Reman, or some other Imperial bigshot. Jane liked a challenge, and she didn't mind casting a pudgy middle manager in an epic light. But it'd be fun to paint someone who actually looked the part.

"A complete indifference to other people's time," Daria suddenly said. "That's a deficiency I missed."

"Huh?"

"We've been waiting here for a while."

"Just a bit longer," Jane said, tensing in her seat.

Sure enough, the two traders shook hands with Natalinos and stood up to depart. He ushered them over.

"Hey there. I'm Natalinos Dralavel, son of Marcus Dralavel, who owns half the ships in the Inner Sea."

So, his dad had an Imperial name, too.

"Charmed," Jane said, getting up from the table she shared with Daria and taking a seat across from Natalinos. "You already know who I am. My friend here is Daria Morgendorffer. We're both from Cyrodiil. I was born in the Imperial City."

"And spent a whopping five years there as a little kid," Daria said, as she followed Jane to Natalinos's table.

Really not the time for this, Jane thought as she glared at her friend.

"Jane," Natalinos said. "That's short for Janieta, right? You should go by your full name. It's got that classic Imperial style."

"I would, but three foreign syllables might be a bit much for the average Balmoran."

Natalinos laughed the way a king might, unconcerned what anyone else thought. "I can see that. A bunch of rubes here in Morrowind, right?"

"And I have to live with them."

Natalinos shook his head. "That's a shame. I saw that painting you did of Connemus Terano when I was visiting him last week. It's impressive work."

"What can I say? I'm an impressive artist," Jane said, a warm glow creeping into her cheeks. Too much pride could turn a client off. But no, the light in his eyes, the certainty of his smile... Natalinos liked it. And why shouldn't he? Folks from the Imperial City could do almost anything. So what if Jane had hardly spent any time there? The place had still left its mark on her.

"You paint like one of the big artists in the Imperial City. It's that eye for detail," Natalinos said, tapping his face below his right eye. "Like the way you detailed Connemus's ring. Even got the tiny little lion engraved on it."

Jane's heart leapt, and she put her forearms on the table and leaned forward, closer to him. He understood. She'd spent ages on that ring.

"Guess I've got the artist's eye," Jane said, trying to sound casual.

"Not to mention a smitten young girl's sense of caution," Daria grumbled.

Jane lightly kicked at Daria's feet. Had Natalinos heard? His expression hadn't changed.

"Yeah, I can tell," he said. "The way you handled the lighting? Totally something Morrius Baradus would do."

"Oh yeah?" Jane had no idea who Morrius Baradus was.

"Absolutely. Sketch me. I want to see what you can do on the spot."

Jane smiled and reached into her pack, taking out a sheaf of paper and a graphite pencil wrapped in guarhide. "I'm more than ready."

Or was she? Natalinos clearly knew about art. He was plugged into the heart of Tamriel's culture in a way Jane, stuck out in Balmora, could never be. She used to worry about clients not noticing her work. Now she worried about Natalinos seeing all the shortcuts she took and flaws she hadn't fixed.

But one way or another, she was committed.

Musical Closer - Lazy Line Painter Jane, by Belle and Sebastian

Nah, she's not painting too fast. We're talking about a world imbued with magic, after all. Not that Jane uses magic to paint, just... the rules in the Elder Scrolls universe gotta be a bit different than Earth. Maybe the paint dries more instantly or something.

She's with her clients a few hours, right? And I think there was an episode in which they took a break and she finished on another day. So, that sounds about right. I've seen street painters who can draw pretty good likenesses of strangers at Ocean City, or in NYC, for instance. 🖼 They work pretty quickly, usually within a half hour or so.

Oh wow, snow! Even Quinn notices its beauty. For once, she's not so focused on her own appearance! (kidding, sort of...) You described the silt strider well, with all the stuff hanging off of it.



Ha ha this killed me!

Oh no. This guy, this Natalinos. Already I get a weird feeling about him. Hmm okay. Doesn't seem so bad, so far. I like Janieta, too. Hmm, he likes the lion ring she painted. Daria seems like she's dead weight in this situation, but her little comments are making the story funny!

He seems okay so far, but yeah, his wiki page does more than hint that Nathan's a D-bag.


Off-topic, but have you ever seen Idiocracy, Clavier? It's another Mike Judge creation, well, he co-wrote it and directed. ... It's pretty cynical but also I remember laughing a lot. But it's pretty controversial. Check it out if you've never seen it.

An interesting decision by Jane to recruit Daria to accompany her. On one hand, Daria’s observations would not be clouded by artistry or greed. . . on the other hand, she rather is the quintessential wet blanket. We shall see.

Turns out it was probably a wise choice for, Jane is quite obvious in her infatuation with Natalinos and Daria is a good one to help keep Jane’s feet on the ground. He does seem a charmer. So why are plenty of little red flags going off in my head? I did take your advice and only looked at the picture in the link you provided.

Snow, in Vvardenfell? Are we sure it is not ash? Wow, it really is snow. Well, it is in the right latitude. I mean, it is just as far north as the normally snow-bound parts of Skyrim. So yeah, snow. I am digging it.

I am starting to wonder if Natalinos might be your universe's version of Tom? Or is it too early to bring him into the mix?

Nah, Tom would not be dressed in that bright Moth Robe and trying to stand out. He'd be wearing the same brown flax outfit as everyone else.

Am I detecting a bit of buttering up, not from Jane to Natalinos, but the other way around? Hmmm...

Oh, ok, I was starting to wonder if the Retro 50s Guy was going to make an appearance.

Chapter 3

Jane loved art because it let her disappear. When working, she was no longer a tired outlander in threadbare clothes, trying to ignore an empty belly. Instead, she became whatever her client needed. A dispassionate eye for Imperials, part of her own ancestral memory for Dunmer, and plenty more. But this time, she couldn't disappear. Jane felt herself with every stroke of the pencil. The noise of the cornerclub faded to a low buzz, her entire being invested in Natalinos's fine features. She'd never seen anyone who looked so perfectly Imperial without also being one by race.

And he was a Dunmer, like her.

She tried to capture that, emphasizing the aspects court artists highlighted in portraits of monarchs. Specifically, like how the legendary Bouliere painted his portraits of Empress Katariah, the Dunmer woman who'd married into the Septim line and ruled all Tamriel for 46 glorious years. She made those aspects more masculine to flatter Natalinos, but the regal quality would come through regardless.

It was pretty easy to ignore Daria's bored sighs.

When finished, Jane sat back in her chair and pushed the drawing across the table. Natalinos picked it up, raising it to a nearby lantern to get better light.

"Not bad! Not bad at all! Has a real third-century feel, I like that."

Jane had actually been aiming a little older. But hey, who was she to quibble over centuries?

"So you're interested in doing business?" she asked.

Maybe a little more than just business, she thought.

"Definitely. You know, I wasn't too thrilled about coming to Morrowind—"

"I'm sure most of Morrowind felt the same way," Daria muttered.

"—but turns out, sometimes you do find things of value in a place like this." Natalinos winked at Jane. "One of my dad's business partners is having this shindig Fredas night, and I'm supposed to be there. Should be a pretty high-class type of deal, lots of people to see and meet. You want to go?"

"Me? Sure, but I'm not exactly high class—"

"Just scare up some cool threads. No one's going to question you as long as you're with me."

Jane thought about it a bit. "So, I'd be a menial or something?"

"You? Nah, I'll tell them you're a close friend of the family."

"Like a personal artist?" A long shot, Jane knew. But maybe it'd plant the idea in his head.

"Way I see it, you already are." He held up the picture Jane had done. "The party starts at sundown, at the house of Haldskyr Bear-grip."

"Oh! I know who he is, actually. Finished a job for him a few days ago."

"Great, you'll already know everyone. Hey, will I get a chance to see the painting you did for him? I'd love to see a Llayn original in full color."

"It should still be there." But Jane already saw the problem. "Thing is, I can't go if it's at Haldskyr's. A lot of my clients will be there. They'll recognize me, and you know how us menials spoil the atmosphere."

"Won't be a problem as long as you're my girl. These guys eat out of my dad's hand. Hey, how about this? Wear a veil. You'll look like a rich Imperial City gal."

"Hm." Now that was interesting. She'd always hungered to know what people said about her paintings behind her back. Real honesty never happened face-to-face. "These veils do a pretty good job of concealing, right?"

"Shame to hide a pretty face like yours, but yes. I actually have an old purple moth-silk veil you can use."

"On that case," Jane said, "count me in."

This was fantastic. She'd finally know what others thought of her and of the painting Haldskyr had stiffed her on. She knew it was good, but she needed the right person to see it.

"Primo," Natalinos said.

*********

As usual, Daria was less than impressed and started complaining the second they left the Lucky Lockup. The sky was clear and the air crisp, the western horizon blushing with sunset.

"Primo?" Daria sneered.

Jane shrugged. "Hey, maybe that's the lingo over in the Imperial City."

"You can't seriously be defending him."

"I'm not defending him! Maybe it's a cultural thing. Face it, Daria, we are pretty back of beyond by the Imperial City's standards."

A sudden heaviness weighed on Jane's skinny shoulders. She knew Natalinos wouldn't amount to much—probably another client who'd pay her an okay fee and whom she'd never see again. But he'd invited her to a big party with free food and drink. Where she could let go and have fun for a little while, pretend she was someone else. She wouldn't have to come as a menial either, the way she'd had to at the Talori party with the Morgendorffers.

Why did Daria have to stomp all over that? Couldn't she have a little faith in her?

"I see," Daria said. "We peasants should be thankful he's gracing us with his posh Imperial City stylings?"

"Come on, Daria. You're from Charach. That's not exactly the cultural heart of the Empire."

Daria made an irritated sound. "Charach is a narrow-minded provincial town with little to recommend it. But the Imperial City is probably equally screwed up in a different way. You said it yourself: You could annoy your clients if you go to this party."

Jane almost fired back with a sharp retort. That, maybe, deep down, Daria hated the idea of Jane hanging out with all the rich and beautiful people as an equal. Better to be Daria's little sidekick, the humble and grateful menial who sometimes got a peek at the high life. But she held it back. Daria hadn't ever deliberately looked down on her. In this world, that counted for a lot.

"It'll be fine!" Jane said instead. "I've seen those veils before; they do a good job of hiding your face. Besides, the party will be dark and everyone will be drinking. Sure, maybe Natalinos is a little full of himself, but he's different from the people I usually paint. He's got this confidence, kind of what you'd see in an old portrait of someone famous. Except he's alive, he's young—"

"And rich and handsome?"

Jane felt herself blush again. "Hey, you said it, not me."

"Just stay realistic about him," Daria warned.

"I will, Daria. I don't have the luxury to do anything else."

Daria slowed down. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jane hesitated. Best not to say what she actually thought. "That surviving here, which I've done, means I have to be realistic. I'm not going to stop because of one good-looking guy."

"Hmph."

They parted ways soon after. Jane excused herself by saying she needed to get started on another commission. In truth, she wanted some time to herself. She also needed to figure out what to wear for the party in two days. Her wardrobe wasn't exactly current, stylish, or colorful. Buying a new outfit wasn't in her budget, and she wouldn't have the time to get properly fitted for one anyway.

An idea came to her as she crossed the Foreigner's Span, the Odai's black waters flowing beneath. Not an idea she much cared for, but it's not like she had any other options.

*********

Jane didn't have any courses the next day, but she struck out for Drenlyn all the same, moving quickly to ward off the early morning chill. She stopped outside campus and took a seat on a crate next to the apothecary's shop. The position kept her out of sight while letting her watch the main gate. Daria came by on her own, dour as usual. But no sign of Quinn. Jane hoped that Quinn had school that day. Otherwise, she might have to make a covert visit to the Morgendorffer house.

Fortunately, Quinn appeared a while later with her Fashion Club in tow, the high-pitched chatter of their voices scraping Jane's eardrums from across the street.

"I'm probably going to regret this," Jane said to herself as she stood up and hurried over to them.

"Hey, Quinn! Do you have a second?" Jane called as Quinn rounded the corner into Drenlyn.

Quinn stopped and turned to face Jane, her fashion fiends doing likewise.

"Uh, what do you want?" Quinn demanded.

"Had a question I needed to ask." Jane glanced at Satheri, Tiphannia, and Treads-on-Ferns. "Preferably in private?"

Quinn hesitated for a moment, then addressed the others. "Girls, go inside. I'll take care of this."

"You'll be okay?" Treads-on-Ferns asked.

"I'll totally be okay, Treads! This is my sister's weird friend." As the rest of the Fashion Club left, Quinn crossed her arms. "So like, what do you want?"

"This is going to sound weird, but do you have a dress I could borrow?"

"A dress? For you? Is this some kind of trick?" Quinn put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, eyes narrow and searching.

"Not a trick! Look, I have this business thing I have to look nice for. And well, my wardrobe…"

She tugged at her tattered sleeve for emphasis.

"First of all," Quinn said, starting to walk a circle around Jane, "you need brighter colors! I know, I know, Morrowind doesn't usually go for that, but trust me when I say that they'll make for a nice contrast. I talked Satheri into buying this bright violet gown for her birthday, and now everyone is saying how great she looks."

"Huh, must've been out that day. All I—"

"But what's even more important is taking care of your clothes! Seriously, Jane, don't go walking through paint or whatever it is you do! Or, if you must, have like a set of clothes you use just for that."

"See, I don't really have—"

"My advice is to go find something colorful and new. Red's already a good shade for you, but you need something a bit brighter. Black always looks good, except on holy days. You should definitely start with a practice—"

"Quinn!"

"What? You're interrupting me!"

"I don't have time or money for a big fashion makeover. Can I borrow one of your dresses? Just for a few days. And one that will match with a purple Nibenese-style veil."

Quinn tilted her head, lips pursed tightly together. "I guess I could let you borrow my pink gown. I'm not sure that's your color, though."

"Does it look Cyrodiilic?" Jane asked.

"Well duh! I brought it with me from Charach."

Jane tried to think of how to phrase it. "I was thinking more like a dress you'd see in the capital."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Good luck getting that!"

"Fine, fine. It's good enough."

"It's kind of small for me now, but might still fit you. Mer girls have the daintiest frames," she sighed.

"Think that's the first time anyone ever called me dainty, but okay," Jane said. "Could you bring it tomorrow?"

"I suppose I could…"

"And one more thing: don't tell Daria about this," Jane said.

Quinn smirked. "Now you owe me two favors. Hmm." She tapped her cheek in thought. "I know! Sooner or later, I'll need an artist to show how like, beautiful and stylish I am. You can paint me or something."

Jane shrugged. "Sure, I'm always on the lookout for clients. But my schedule's pretty full until next year." Though, with where things stood, embarrassing Daria by making a great painting of Quinn and company might even count as a bonus.

"Wait, I wouldn't be like a paying client. You'll paint me for free. That's the price for these favors."

Jane shook her head. "Quinn, art supplies cost a lot of money—"

"Do you want the dress or not?"

Jane didn't care that much if Daria knew about the deal, but she needed that dress. If she snagged Natalinos she'd have a regular employer and not be forever hustling for pennies in the Commercial District.

"Deal. But make sure you have it tomorrow."

Jane walked away, hoping she hadn't made a huge mistake.

"Great doing business with you!" Quinn called out behind her.

Musical Closer - Bohemian Like You, by The Dandy Warhols

Gosh darn man, Clavier. So this one just brought a tear to my eye, like for real. The description how Jane is able to adapt; how she becomes a different person according to whom she is trying to portray. It's beautiful. Sad too, but I'm captivated.

Where is this all going though? Something's creeping me out about this guy.

Uh oh, is this Bear-grip guy the same Nord who shorted poor Jane? Yep, sure is. Well now I know what's creeping me out. She'd better bring a bodyguard.

Gosh, it's Quinn. I equally hate and love Quinn. She's being really mean to Jane, but she also IS really good with fashion stuff.

"Well duh!" Quinn says! Hopefully she'll say "as if!" at some point.

“I’m sure most of Morrowind felt the same way,” Daria muttered.
Badum Tiss! This little quip was a nice reminder that Daria was indeed present as well.

Just scare up some cool threads for the shindig. Yep, this is that 50s guy.

Haldskyr Bear-grip again. I wonder if his name has something to do with him being a Master Bator?

It sounds like Jane is set to have some fun at the party. Of course Daria is going to be poo poo the idea. She hates fun! You can't be a cynical edgelord and be happy at the same time.

Oh my, Jane is indeed going to get fashion advice from Quinn! As difficult as I am sure that was. It was also clearly the right move, and the right person.

Ahh, dainty Jane and her waifish figure.

Nate is certainly saying the right things and appears to be quite charming. Could there possibly be not only be help for Jane’s struggles as an artist but a possible romance on the horizon?

Daria’s being downright bitchy. Wasn’t it only recently she was blushing and fangirling over Trent? C’mon, Daria, at least be a little supportive even while urging caution.

Hmm, building an outfit around a purple veil. Sounds like a job for Quinn all right. Uh oh. Quinn's been in Morrowind too long and has become quite adept at dealing in the currency of favors – one dress loan for one promise of a painting.

I’m glad to see Jane taking this risk that could possibly boost her career and/or love life, even though I can envision numerous pitfalls at this upcoming party. Can’t wait to see where you take this!

Chapter 4

Putting on Quinn's dress turned out to be harder than Jane had expected. The damn thing was tiny. Apparently, Jane's dainty Mer figure wasn't quite dainty enough. The fabric squeezed her shoulders and upper arms like a vise once she got it on. Then she hurried out to the coppersmith's shop, taking care not to get too much of Labor Town's dirt on the dress, or on her. The public bathhouse was cheap, but she'd already gone once that morning and didn't want to pay for a second round. Once at the smith's she crept off to the side where he'd set up a big sheet of polished copper that worked as a mirror.

Quinn had been right about one thing, Jane realized: pink did not suit her.

The smith took notice and chased her off. Back home, Jane adjusted the dress as best she could, imagining how it'd look on her. Art was good practice for that, at least. But each stumble made her situation look more hopeless. Who the hell was she fooling? Some Dunmer menial, not wanted anywhere, hoping to get in Natalinos's good graces? She wanted to smack herself for being so stupid. Worse, all the time spent primping meant more delays on her work.

But she was already committed. If she'd agreed to give Quinn a freebie…

"I need this to work," she said, as she looked into her tiny brass hand mirror to apply some white ash around her eyes.

Jane left the apartment late in the afternoon and retraced her steps to Haldskyr's home, a respectable adobe box on a little alley adjoining Ules Plaza. The bitter cold stabbed right through the dress's thin wool fabric. She supposed freezing to death was one way to get out of having to paint the Fashion Club.

She lingered across the street from the house. The first guests arrived as the last slivers of sunlight disappeared. A well-dressed Imperial couple stepped up to the door and knocked on it, getting ushered in a few moments later.

Then came what felt like an hour of waiting in the cold. Where the hell was Natalinos?

She recognized the next guest as a former client: Lyfsa Storm's Daughter. With her was her husband, Karl the Golden. Lucky for Jane, their son, Karl the Unctuous, hadn't tagged along. The arrivals got more regular once those two showed up, coming in pairs or trios to Haldskyr's door. Meanwhile, it kept getting colder and darker. Jane breathed onto her hands to warm her shivering fingers. Her heartbeat quickened, her stomach twisted: Natalinos wouldn't show up. Just like how mom and dad left, how Trent never did anything, how patrons always stayed out-of-reach, how—

He was there!

Jane rushed forward as Natalinos sauntered down the street, his blue silk shirt iridescent in the torchlight. He was there, he was there, and it was all going to be okay.

"Hey! I was wondering when you were going to show up," she said, breathless and giddy. "It was getting cold."

"Janieta? How long were you waiting?"

No one had called her by her full name in a while. "Since around sunset."

"Haven't you heard of being fashionably late?" he asked. Jane was pretty sure he was only pretending to be offended.

"I thought Imperials were real sticklers for time." Daria always showed up on time, though she probably wasn't typical.

"Maybe Colovians are. But in the city? You gotta show up late if you want to be taken seriously." He shook his head. "Whew, that dress is going to be a tough sell. Looks like something a country kid would wear."

Jane blushed and then gulped. Dammit, didn't he understand this was the best she could do? "Sorry, but I had to get it on short notice. Us artists aren't exactly swimming in cash."

Natalinos stepped back, appraising her outfit. "I guess we could pass it off as a retro statement. Be careful, Janieta. My reputation's riding on this, too."

"Sorry," she said. At least he wasn't mad. "Do you have that veil?"

"Sure do." Natalinos reached into his coat and took out a silk purse, its surface decorated with a rose made of silver thread. Opening it up he took out a bundle of purple cloth and handed it to Jane.

"Wow," Jane said. It was the real deal, all right. A circlet of genuine gold and a veil of thick moth-silk. A nasty part of her—her inner Daria, she guessed—wondered why Natalinos would have such a garment. Memento of some old romantic conquest?

Not now, she told that part of herself. She placed the circlet on her head, its weight like an affirmation of everything she could ever be. Drawing the veil over her face, she quivered in excitement.

"How do I look?" She couldn't see much other than the torchlight.

"Damn good."

"Damn good now that you can't see my face?" She asked, kind of as a joke, kind of because she wondered. She held her breath.

"You look like a stylish Cyrodiilic lady with a retro streak. You're a diamond in the rough, Janieta. But don't worry. I'll polish you up."

She didn't like the way he'd said that. But then he offered his arm and she took it, felt the weight and strength in his body, saw the way he strode like a king among peasants and all her worries flew away.

Together, they walked to the door. Natalinos knocked, and an Imperial servant brought them inside. Moving between the densely packed crowd took some doing, especially with the veil. Natalinos found a path, swapping greetings with the guests he knew.

"Who's this fine young lady?" asked Naspia Occulito, a merchant Jane had once painted (her immense hair, piled high on layer after layer, had taken way longer than any other element on her person).

"Pallia," Natalinos lied. "She's quite a gal."

Pallia. Jane could get used to being called that. "Charmed," Jane said, imitating what she hoped was a convincing capital accent.

"So good of you to accompany Natalinos to this dreary little town!" Naspia said.

Jane had done it. No one stared at her for being an outlander among Dunmer or a Dunmer among outlanders. She'd only needed to dress and act the part, and she could be anything she wanted. A blank canvas for the painting of her life.

With Natalinos as the artist.

Wait, no, she corrected. She was still the artist. But Natalinos could be the patron. Every artist needed a patron.

Dizzy with delight, Jane followed him as he made the rounds. Lucky for her, he filled in a lot of the details. Jane, now Pallia, was the daughter of wealthy Dunmer immigrants to the Imperial City. Following his lead sure beat figuring everything out on her own. Best of all, no one recognized her. Jane was gone, like she'd never been.

Finally, Natalinos came to Haldskyr. The Nord's rugged face beamed as he showed Jane's painting off to his guests. The old skinflint sure seemed proud of it.

"Is that the one you did?" Natalinos asked.

"Yup," Jane said.

"Haldskyr!" Natalinos said.

The Nord's eyes lit up. He ambled forward and gripped Natalinos's free hand. "Ah, you must be Natalinos! Any son of Marcus will find a warm hearth and a warmer welcome beneath my roof!"

"The honor's mine."

"And who is this lovely creature?" Haldskyr asked, looking at Jane.

Jane froze up behind her veil. He couldn't see her, right? Since, if she was lovely, didn't that mean he could see her face? Or maybe he was being polite. Maybe, like a lot of humans, he was too damn lazy to distinguish one Dunmer from another.

"Pallia," she said.

"Well, Pallia, if Natalinos is anything like his father, and I can tell he is, you've chosen a fine companion for the evening."

"This is quite a painting you have," Natalinos said.

"Aye! Commissioned it from a Nord artist who was passing through."

Jane closed her hands into fists. The bastard!

"Really?" Natalinos made a knowing glance at Jane. "Don't suppose this artist is still around."

"I fear he's already left for lands better than this one. But look at the detail! Not many artists could capture that. You see that cameo of Talos Stormborn? It's as if from life! And my beard in the painting is almost as magnificent as my real beard!" He patted his beard and laughed.

"She—he must've gone the extra mile for that," Jane said.

"We Nords always do," Haldskyr said, following it up with a loud laugh.

More than anything, Jane wanted to tear off the veil and cut Haldskyr down to size. But that'd backfire on her. No one would hire an artist who yelled at them for telling a few lies.

"Natalinos, darling? I'm feeling a bit peckish, and these hors d'oeuvres look delightful," she said.

It was a good excuse to get the hell away from Haldskyr.

"Go nuts."

Jane retreated. She didn't actually eat much. Anger stifled her appetite, and she didn't trust herself to use utensils. Instead, she drank rice wine, carefully positioning the ceramic drinking cup so that it didn't lift her veil too much. She could still hear Natalinos and Haldskyr talking from where she stood.

"Son," Haldskyr said, "I've a wandering urge in my bones. Mayhap, it's time to uproot myself from this dreary town and do business in the capital. I've worked with your father for some time, and perhaps he and I could strengthen our partnership."

"An interesting proposition," Natalinos said, scratching his chin with his thumb. "But my dad's boats, and your furs, already make for a good combination."

"Aye, they do. But I've been working the fur market for many a year, and I'd like to see the Imperial City before I'm too old to appreciate its charms."

Natalinos laughed. "I'll let him know. If you do that, you'll need to make some changes."

"Like what?"

"Shaving off that beard, for one. Not trying to be mean, Haldskyr, but it makes you look like some hick."

Haldskyr gasped and clutched at his braided beard. Jane grinned, smelling blood in the air.

"I've worn this—"

"Hey, you do what you want. But I've lived in the city all my life, and no one who matters wears a beard like yours. Try to talk a little more normal, too."

"You forget yourself, Natalinos! I'm a Nord! Of Skyrim!"

"Sorry. But in the Imperial City, what's in is in, and what's out is out."

Jane burst out laughing, tried to hide it by downing some rice wine, and then laughed some more. She wished she had a sketchpad and a pen with which to capture Haldskyr's look of dismay. All that arrogance wrecked with a few well-chosen lines. It was glorious, absolutely glorious.

They lingered at the party for quite some time after, Natalinos flitting from guest to guest all the while. He told Jane to keep quiet—and that she hadn't gotten the accent right—but the thrill of Haldskyr's humiliation kept her smiling all the way through. The rice wine helped, too. When he finally said it was time to go, Jane happily followed him out. The freezing cold stole the breath right out of her lungs, and she impulsively hugged him for warmth.

"How did I do?" she asked.

"Rough around the edges, but passable."

"Thanks for cutting Haldskyr down to size," she said, hugging him tighter. He put his arm around her, and her heart raced.

"That guy! He's a dumb hick who'll never make in the Imperial City. That beard of his pissed me off."

"It's not going to hurt your dad's business, is it? Making him mad?"

"Who cares? My dad's got more money than he knows what to do with."

"You think I could make it in the Imperial City?"

"You? You're unrefined, but we can work on that. Your art's one-of-a-kind, you know? My family could use an artist. Probably time to put the one we have now out to pasture. Who knows? Maybe you could be more than just an artist, if you get my drift."

Jane thought she'd pass out. She moved the veil to the side, and the winter air felt like ice on her face. "Oh yeah?"

Natalinos leaned in and kissed her.

Time stopped. His lips on hers, the two of them together high above the ground, the city and all its lights spinning around them as Jane lost herself in the kiss.

Just as quickly, it finished. She stood in his arms, smiling like she hadn't smiled in years, their red eyes locked.

"How about you spend the night at my place?" Natalinos said.

Musical Closer - What Do You Want From Me?, by Monaco

After a chilly wait and some veiled adjustments, Jane transforms into Janieta then into Pallia!

And the Nordic milk drinker who is hosting this affair attributes the painting Jane labored on to a ‘passing Nord artist’ and that ‘he’ has left town. Grrrr!

Natalinos cut the Nord down to size pretty smoothly which, of course, further captured Jane’s heart. Though I think Natalinos is quite too full of himself, I understand Jane’s hopeful infatuation – a boost to her career and love life all in one wealthy, handsome package?

So Jane is not quite the waifish elf that Quinn made her out to be after all. Maybe she ought to switch to eating that no salt, no butter popcorn that the fashion club treat themselves to. Not!

Upchuck's father is Karl the Golden? Of course he is. sigh.

Wow, it didn't take long for Nat to start criticizing. Like you pointed out in your link, both he and Daria are behaving possessive and judgemental. Poor Jane is caught between wanting to have a good time for once in her life, and being surrounded by jerks.

A Nord artist painted that portrait you say? Wow, that must be why it is so good.

I have to admit to being amused at Nat taking Haldskyr the Self-Groper down to a peg or two. But it also reminds me that he probably turns that same criticism loose upon other, less deserving targets.

I really do like the subtle gaslighting you wrote into Nat's behavior. Every compliment he makes is somehow couched with a criticism, and the through line is that he can fix Jane. Because what she is now is ok, but still needs work.

Chapter 5

A hundred different answers to that question swirled in Jane's head as she stared at Natalinos.

"Uh," she uttered.

"Come on, let's walk," he said, putting his heavy arm over her shoulders. "I'm staying with a friend of mine who has a house on Silk-hawker's Street."

"Okay."

She probably had some time to figure out what she wanted. Pretty easy to tell what he wanted. Was that how she won him over? A night of passion followed by moving back to the Imperial City and meeting great artists from all over Tamriel? A life of adventure and luxury where she never slept hungry?

Or maybe he'd ditch her after he got what he wanted. She'd seen the results of that: The sad, lonely mothers sweeping the temple floors, victims of the handsome and heartless.

But Natalinos wasn't like that. The whole world seemed to bend to him, to give him what he wanted. He'd always have room for her.

Jane almost laughed. Since when did the powerful care about people like her?

But he did. She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in the way he held her.

She wanted to go home. Sleep on it a bit. But home was all the way back in Labor Town, and she didn't want to brave its nighttime streets. If Natalinos cared about her, he'd walk her home, right? Or let her sleep on his couch, warm under a blanket and her mind teeming with dreams of the Imperial City's splendor? Vague memories of the place tugged at Jane: the sweltering heat; the horizon's green haze; high towers gleaming in the tropical sun; lilies and hyacinths clogging the sluggish canal waters; the streets thick with faces from a hundred different nations.

Away from grasping Balmora and its dust and greed. All she had to do was trust Natalinos. She could figure this out. Just need to decide on an approach—

"We're here!" Natalinos said.

Damn.

Natalinos guided her toward a corner house, the doorway lit by a lantern. Jane shuffled her feet on the flagstones to buy a few more seconds of time. Suddenly, a dull metallic clang sounded out from within the house, followed by a groan.

He stopped. "Oh, dammit."

Confused, Jane didn't say anything. Had she imagined it? Then she heard it again.

"Uh, what's going on?" she asked. The groan was kind of creepy, but she didn't feel threatened exactly. "Hey, about tonight, I don't know if I want—"

"I forgot it was my friend's penitence night."

"His what night?" Jane asked.

Natalinos looked to the door and then to her. "So I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I will anyway. My friend and I both follow the Way of the River Woman. It's how we met, actually. Anyway, he's doing penance. He's second tier, so we gotta let him be for a bit," he whispered.

"The what of the what woman?" Things had taken a bewildering turn.

"The Way of the River Woman. It's a cult," Natalinos said.

Fear stabbed into Jane's heart, and she pulled herself away from him. "Wait, you worship the Bad Daedra?"

Natalinos laughed. "No! No, we don't worship anything like that. The River Woman is a spirit who helps shipping merchants. The Imperial City's a really spiritual place. Everyone who's anyone is part of a cult."

Jane relaxed a bit. "Oh, okay. I think I get it."

"There are a lot of deities like her who aren't that well-known. But that means they're more grateful for the worship. Plus, joining a cult is how you network."

Again, with the networking. But it was probably naïve to think that was just a Balmora thing.

"You know," Natalinos said, "follow my lead, and I could speed up your cult initiation once we get over to the Imperial City. You'll find a lot of clients in the Way of the River Woman."

"Huh. Look, Natalinos, I appreciate it, but—"

"Or you can join a different cult if you want. I'm pretty sure there's one or two for artists specifically. There are some I won't let you join because we don't like them, but I'll tell you what those are."

"No, that's not it. I'm part of the Tribunal Temple."

Natalinos scoffed. "What, that hick religion? You gotta be kidding me, Janieta. Sharp girl like you shouldn't be worshipping them."

Jane's lip quivered. "Yeah? Well, why not?"

Natalinos raised his eyes to the stars, as if looking for divine help. "I don't believe this!" he complained, no longer whispering. "Come on, Jane. I thought you were serious about coming to the Imperial City with me. Look, being part of a cult doesn't mean you can't join a regular religion. I worship the Nine Divines, same as anyone else."

Jane hesitated. The Tribunal Temple didn't deny the existence of other gods. But what she had with the Tribunal was special. She didn't want to leave offerings at any other altar.

"I don't know," Jane said. "This is a lot to take in. Is it okay if I sleep on the couch, or rug, or something? I'm pretty beat. We can talk about it over breakfast tomorrow."

"Janieta, you think I like coming to Morrowind? I'm not here to soak up local culture. I thought you wanted out of here—"

"I do!"

"So why are you dragging your heels on this?"

"Because the Tribunal Temple is special to me!" Jane protested. "The Tribunal never let me down."

Natalinos raised his voice. "Really? Looks to me like they haven't done much for you."

"I get by because of them!"

"Please. You get by because you're an okay painter and you're sorta cute! Maybe that counts for something in Balmora, but sister, you wouldn't stand a chance in the Imperial City. You want to make it big, you better—"

"Natalinos!" bellowed a man's voice from the house. "Quiet down; I'm doing penance here!"

"Dammit!" Natalinos cursed. "Sorry, honored one." Then he turned back to Jane, his voice an angry whisper. "Look what you made me do!"

"You're the one who got all worked up, not me!" Jane said.

Everything started falling into place. Natalinos being so picky about what she said and did, his comment about polishing her up, even him tearing into Haldskyr... none of it had been about her. Hell, he hadn't known that Haldskyr had stiffed her. He'd just wanted an excuse to slam down on someone who didn't meet his standards.

Natalinos didn't want Jane. He wanted someone to mold.

Jane stepped back. "You know what? I think I'm going to head home for the night."

His nostrils flared. "Yeah? Well, have fun being poor forever!"

Jane turned and stormed off.

"You're gonna regret this, Janieta!" he shouted.

"My name's Jane!" she shouted back.

"Why can't you people shut up!?" cried the voice from the window.

*********

Jane took shelter in the temple. She didn't tell Muthsera Feldrelo Sadri the full story, only that she needed shelter.

"Of course, child. But Jane, it saddens me to see you garbed like this. I keep hoping one day you will truly return to your people, outlander though you may be."

I would if my people would let me, she thought. Too tired to argue, Jane accepted the criticism with a numb nod. Muthsera Sadri showed her to the small guest room, where the flame of a single candle flickered next to a Tribunal triolith.

"Sleep well, and think of the gods," Muthsera Sadri said as she closed the door.

"Thanks," Jane said. "I might do that."

She walked to the triolith and knelt before it. Like Natalinos, the temple wanted her to act a particular way. The problem with being part of someone else's painting is that you didn't get a say if they decided to paint over you. So she bowed her head to the rough ground and thought of the god Vivec, who'd always found his own path.

"Holy Vehk," she whispered. "Bring me to a place where I belong and can still be me. Please."

Musical Closer - Dead Sound, by The Raveonettes

Aww, poor Jane.

In a way I’m glad Nate showed his colors strongly and early enough for even smitten Jane to realize he’s not for her before she committed to his path.

I sure hope Daria has enough smarts and compassion to avoid ‘I told you so’.

“Bring me to a place where I belong and can still be me. Please.”
^ This is my wish for Jane.

Oh boy, is Jane going to spend the night at Nat's place? What does she want from this?

It looks like the River Woman might have just come to Jane's rescue.

And more warning bells when Nat brings up that there are cults he won't let Jane join. This guy has more ref flags than a Communist May Day parade.

And finally Jane sees the light.

I like what you are doing with the Tribunal Temple and Jane. It has proven to be a refuge for her, in a world where no one wants her. Poor Jane.

I agree with Quinn. Pink doesn't usually go well with blue-green. Too much contrast, not enough compliment.

Aw man.... I feel so sad for the gal. Really, she just needs some more confidence. I feel like she could face anything if she had that bit of confidence. Problem is, that sort of confidence for young, poor females who aren't as gorgeous as Quinn usually comes with wisdom. And wisdom usually comes with time (lots of it). By the time we're middle-aged, we've got this sort of wisdom. Problem is, we're not young and cute anymore by that point. Ah well...

Janieta, that's pretty. Still though... This is going to go wrong, right? Ah, let me shush.

Wow, she's seeing some others she's painted before. This sure is some stuffy party. Wow, that Nord is racist and sexist. I feel like something bad's gonna happen, still. But nothing too awful. This is based on a Mike Judge creation. Nobody dies in Mike Judge creations, afaik. Cool. Looks like I was wrong. I thought Natalinos was going to expose her at the party somehow, ruining her business for good or something.

Yeesh. Religion. I kind of agree with Natalinos. Don't drag your heels girl! Look at the bigger prize here. And here's me, talking to my laptop screen once again!

Hey, I know this is off-topic, but whatever happened to the two guests who were staying with Quinn & Daria's folks?

Chapter 6

Jane woke up to the smell of fresh snow. She unwound the layers of blankets around her and stood up in her cluttered little apartment. Opening the shutters revealed flecks of white drifting down on Balmora's flat roofs. She stuck her hand out of the window to feel it for herself, each falling flake like a cold little kiss on her palm.

It was Saturalia morning. And Daria had invited her to the Morgendorffer house.

Jane ate a breakfast of cold scrib jerky, got dressed, and walked out into the streets. She loved how bright the white looked against the faded adobe. It wouldn't last for long. Snow in Balmora never did. But seeing it always felt like getting a secret promise that someday things would be different.

She shoved her hands in her pockets. Taking careful steps, she avoided the snow on the street as best she could. The stuff would soak right through the holes in her old guar-hide boots, which were probably more sewn-in kresh-cloth patches than actual hide at this point. Outlanders gathered in the street, drinking tea or spiced sujamma, chatting with neighbors while kids ran around. Wreathes of bittergreen vines hung on front doors, their dark leaves tied with bits of colored cloth. Most of the Dunmer kept quiet, keeping to their own and walking the long way around clusters of happy outlanders. But not all of them. Some Dunmer joined in, their faces guarded but not unfriendly as they greeted their outlander friends and neighbors.

Saturalia was the big Imperial holiday for gifts and remembrance. Jane still figured it was mostly an excuse to break the winter monotony, but hey, she'd take it. All things considered, her situation wasn't as bad as it could've been.

She'd told Gallus that things hadn't worked out with Natalinos. Not the specifics, only that she couldn't work with him, which meant no commission for Gallus. He'd been okay with it.

"Sorry, Jane. It's always a risk working with kids like him," he'd said.

"You mean kids like me? I'm only seventeen."

"Yeah, but you're reliable."

Not that she'd shed her troubles. She still owed the Fashion Club a free painting. Nor did she know exactly where things stood with Daria. Jane hadn't told Daria about borrowing Quinn's dress or the emotional messiness of the entire night, but she'd admitted that yeah, Daria had been right about Natalinos.

"It's like I always say: the better someone seems, the worse they actually are," she'd said.

Jane shrugged it off, but she kind of wanted to take a break from Daria. From everything. But then Daria told her the whole family wanted her over. Spending the day with them sure beat shivering in her cold apartment. She'd always treated Saturalia as a normal working day, nothing notable about it except dinner with J'dash. With Trent, too, if he was in town. But both had fled Balmora: J'dash visiting an old friend in Pelagiad, and Trent freezing his butt off way up north in Gnisis. Seeing all the people chatting with each other from one window to another, Jane was glad she'd accepted Daria's offer.

The Morgendorffer home provided a warm and toasty sanctuary. Quinn at least acted nice, while Helen and Jake welcomed her in like family. In a way, she was—their eldest daughter's one real connection to the world. Daria herself smiled quietly, wrapped comfortably in a thick green robe.

"Hey, there!" Jake said. He fussed with a big potted roobrush, its scrawny branches drooping under the weight of coins and other ornaments. "Glad you could make it!"

"Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Morgendorffer."

"Sure thing. Is this your first real Saturalia?"

"First I can remember. My family never made a big deal about it when I was a kid."

"You're gonna love it! Saturalia's a great Imperial tradition!" He turned his attention back to the roobrush.

"Actually," Daria said, stepping up to Jane, "Saturalia was originally a Breton holiday associated with debauchery and gift-giving. One of the Imperial governors decided he liked it and spread it around, minus the debauchery."

"That's the Imperial way!" Jane exclaimed in a mock dramatic voice.

"The act of stealing and reinventing a holiday probably does count as an Imperial tradition at this point, so my dad's not exactly wrong."

The day passed in a genial haze of conversation, songs, food, and a noontime walk around town, punctuated with small servings of Cyrodiilic brandy. For dinner, Jake experimented with kwama eggs and some sweetened sticky rice from Cyrodiil. It was edible. Jane felt okay. Not great, exactly. Her problems remained. Problems Daria would never have to deal with. But they felt farther away with a warm hearth, a full stomach, and the company of friends.

The family passed around the gifts shortly after dinner. It looked like the Morgendorffers had pooled their resources to get something for each member: a rose-colored winter dress for Quinn, which she hugged and twirled around with; a new pair of shoes for Jake; a gem-studded necklace for Helen; and a copy of The Axe Man, a book about a legendary Morag Tong assassin, for Daria.

Jane sat and watched, wondering what her family would've given to one another if they still lived under one roof. She was pretty sure Trent would still forget.

"Ahem," Quinn said. "I have something for Jane. She came to me a while ago and asked for some advice on, like, color and stuff, 'cause she's an artist, and I told her I wanted her to paint the Fashion Club one day and to do it for free."

Helen's eyebrows raised at that. Quinn kept going. "But I thought about it and realized that by the time we need a painting commissioned, we'll already have like, tons of cash from being a guild or whatever, so we'll totally pay you."

"Oh, thanks. Always looking forward to new clients," Jane said.

"I don't know why you'd expect Jane to do something like that for free," Helen scolded.

"But mom! She wanted my advice. And you say to never give away advice for free if it's something you're an expert in. Isn't getting paid for advice your whole job?"

Helen sighed. "At least you did the right thing in the end. Daria, I'm sure you must have a gift for Jane."

"I do, in fact. But if it's okay with everyone, I'd like to wait a bit longer to give it to her. For maximum dramatic impact, you understand."

"Keeps things interesting," Jane said.

The rest of the Morgendorffers lounged in the warm parlor for a little while longer. Quinn retired first, followed by her parents. Without anyone to disapprove of what they might say, Daria and Jane jumped right back into the good old mix of observation and snark that had sustained them for so long.

"Oh," Daria said, sometime later. The candles burned low, and Jake's snoring drifted down from the second level. "I should probably give you that gift now."

"By all means. I'm wondering what's so dramatic about this," Jane said. Still dizzy from the drink (plus the bottle of shein she and Daria had started on after everyone else had gone to bed), she had to admit she was getting pretty tired.

"Not dramatic," Daria said, heading over to a big trunk in the corner. "Just practical."

Daria opened it up and reached inside. Jane heard the clink of coins as her friend pulled out a bulging cloth pouch and handed it over. She gasped at the weight.

"One-hundred septims," Daria said. "Mom wouldn't approve of me giving away that much, but it is my money."

"Daria!" Sure, Daria wasn't even close to poor, but that was a lot of cash for someone who didn't have a job. She could've bought a bunch of new books with that.

"I know you wanted art supplies, but I figured it'd be better to let you be the judge of what to buy."

"This really helps, Daria. Thanks."

"I remember you telling me about how Haldskyr had cheated you. And how you worked hard to find new clients to make up for the loss—no thanks to certain nameless friends who were too busy being arrogant jerks to offer any meaningful support. With all that, you deserved something nice."

Jane hefted the pouch again, impressed at the weight. The debacle with Haldskyr still hurt, but not as much. "Would this nameless friend be trying to buy her way back into forgiveness?"

"And if she is?" Daria asked.

"Consider my forgiveness bought!" Jane put the coins on her lap and picked up the nearly empty shein bottle, pouring out a bit for herself and for Daria. "Not sure how you guys toast for Saturalia. Something like 'Happy Saturalia to all'?" Jane asked.

"Close enough."

"Wait," Jane said. "How about happy Saturalia to all, except those jerks Haldskyr and Natalinos?"

"How about a happy Saturalia to us?"

"Agreed!" Jane said.

The cups met, and they drank deep. Outside, the city shivered in a winter's night, but the cold was a million miles away, so far as Jane was concerned.

Musical Closer - After Hours, by The Velvet Underground

The End