It sounds like Balmora has grown tremendously in a relatively short time. It's basically a boom town, but with more staying power, as it is not dependent upon one single source of nearby extractive wealth.

So Tom gets all the obsequious praise, and while Daria gets the stink eye. I am sure all the shallow fawning gets as frustrating though. Especially since Tom is smart enough to see it for what it is.

“Another thing you may have noticed is that I’m very bad at filtering my thoughts.”
No Daria, no one has ever noticed that!

It's Synda, and working no less! Being stuck at the front desk is probably a form of punishment from her parents.

Ah, while Tom's pressing social engagements press, Daria gets to go off into some dark and lonely corner with her arch-nemesis. Good thing she has learned a thing or two about Destruction magic...

Chapter 5

Daria followed Synda to a hallway going out from the back of the room. Doors lined the corridor's right wall while sickly light shone through the green resin windows on the left.

If I follow Synda down here, Daria thought, will I ever be seen again?

Daria shot a venomous glance at Tomal, already gabbing with his associates. But Synda didn't have much in the way of real power. Sure, Great House Hlaalu didn't care about people like Daria, but they did care about putting up a good front for the Empire. Dead Imperial teenagers only raised uncomfortable questions. She was probably safer in the council manor than anywhere else.

Still, following Synda into a dark backroom didn't strike Daria as the wisest of moves.

Resigning herself, she stepped into the hallway, with Synda a few feet ahead of her.

"I saw you at that wretched apartment," Synda said, her face forward. She slowed down.

Daria decided to play dumb. "That doesn't narrow things down much in Balmora. Though, if you're talking about Jane's, I think she does a pretty good job with what she has."

She'd never give Synda the satisfaction of fear.

"You know that to which I am referring. You and Sera Dimartani—the Empire and Great House Redoran—working together to humiliate me."

"Wait!" Daria halted. "So you were conscious when we saved your life."

Synda turned and drew herself up as best as her diminutive form allowed. "Yes. I am not so fragile as to be completely undone by a few minor injuries."

"You sure seemed pretty undone to me. You're welcome, by the way."

Synda frowned. "Perhaps you truly are that ignorant. If you had wished to show mercy, you would have let me die."

If I had wished to show some damned common sense, I'd have let you die, Daria thought. But she held back. "I'll check the dictionary again, but I'm pretty sure that's not what mercy means."

"You think you know Morrowind. You don't. But even if you and Sera Dimartani saved me so as to humiliate me, it matters not. I have survived and found a way to restore my reputation."

"Is that a threat?"

Synda smirked. "No. Outlander, you are too far beneath me to be worth any further effort."

She whirled around and resumed her march to the end of the hall. Daria resumed following, trying to process the conversation. Saving Synda had been a cruelty? Maybe, she realized. Strict Dunmer parents might not be too forgiving to a daughter who'd given in (at least at first) to blackmail. It depended on how much the senior Grilvayns knew. But Daria had no idea what Synda had meant by restoring her reputation. So far as she could tell, Synda was the same as ever.

She supposed she'd accept it so long as it kept Synda off her back.

Synda had almost reached the door at the end of the hallway when it opened, and Kavon walked out, clad in his ill-fitting armor sans helmet. His black hair was disheveled, and the smile on his face radiant.

"What are you doing here?" Synda demanded.

Kavon blanched. "Oh, uh… I was guarding the place! Yeah! There was like this, uh, thief-looking guy sneaking around the manor. Being the guard I am, I figured I should check it out. Looks like the coast is clear."

"Oh? What use would a thief have for city records?" Synda demanded.

"Uh…" Kavon scratched his head. "Oh, hey, Daria! You're pretty smart. What would a thief want with city records?"

"He probably wanted to make sure his new thief hideout didn't violate any zoning laws," Daria said.

"Yeah, what she said! Anyway, gotta go!"

Kavon jogged past Synda, one of his bonemold pauldrons almost hitting her head in the narrow hallway. She glowered at his retreating form and then stalked to the records room. Daria wasn't entirely surprised to see Briltasi already standing there, peering into a small glass hand mirror and applying some kohl around her eyes. The bookshelves stood in a state of disarray, with some of the records having fallen to the floor.

"Serjo Talori," Synda said, not quite able to hide her annoyance. She looked around at the mess, and then at Daria. "You figure it out," she said, and then walked back into the hallway and shut the door.

"Oh, hi, Daria!" Briltasi said, looking up from her mirror.

"Hi, Briltasi. I don't suppose you and Kavon stumbled onto the records of the building we're in during your latest research session?"

"Research session?" she squeaked. "Why would we do that? We were making out!"

"Your candor is as refreshing as always." A thought occurred to Daria: Synda had called Briltasi "serjo". The Taloris were, in fact, lesser nobility. Yet nobody treated Briltasi the way they did Tomal. She supposed that marked the difference between a family like the Taloris and one like the Sloans.

"Briltasi, does it bother you that I don't call you serjo?" Daria asked.

"Why would it bother me? You're just an outlander."

"I'm glad my barbarous foreign ways haven't caused any offense."

Briltasi smiled and shrugged. "It's not your fault you don't know better. A lot of Dunmer won't call my stepmom by her title, all because she's a Breton. That bothers me a lot. She married into the family, so she's noble too, even if she isn't Dunmer. I don't get why people are mean like that."

"Do you know anything about Serjo Tomal Sloan?"

"Oh yeah! He's… uh… well, he's really rich."

Daria decided to press a little harder. "What does he think about outlanders?"

"I know his family does a lot of business with them. Oh, he's nice to my stepmom and called her serjo! Now a few other people are doing it, too."

Daria supposed that boded well. She still couldn't afford to trust Tomal beyond the scope of an ill-conceived school assignment. But within that scope, he might be okay.

Satisfied with her cosmetic application, Briltasi put her mirror back in her purse. "Boy, I hope Synda didn't hear me and Kavvy," she said.

"About that: if you're keen on keeping your relationship with him a secret, you should probably try to be more discreet."

"Hardly anyone ever goes back here, though!"

"Speaking of which," Daria said, thinking back to her situation with Synda. Briltasi did know about Dunmer culture. Maybe she could illuminate Synda's comments.

"Yeah?"

Daria took a deep breath to prepare. "I have a hypothetical question: suppose you were in a situation that, if discovered, would be deeply embarrassing to your family. Let's also suppose that you were badly hurt in this situation and someone saved your life. But in saving your life, they blew your cover. Would you be mad at them for saving your life?"

Briltasi pouted. "Hmm…" Her face scrunched up in concentration. "You're not thinking about telling people, are you?"

"No, this is a hypothetical question."

"Right, I know. But I don't want to hype this to the wrong people because then me and Kavvy could get in trouble! Reputation matters a lot to us Dunmer, Daria. There's like, a saying: a crime's only okay if it's secret, because that way nobody knows about it. I think that's how it goes."

"How poetic."

"It's not easy being a Dunmer daughter. I'd be pretty scared if someone got me in trouble. And really mad at them if they did it on purpose! Just kind of mad at them if they did it by mistake." Her eyes narrowed. "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"Your secret is safe with me," Daria said. "Though, like I said, you should be more careful. I'm pretty sure Synda figured it out, as would anyone else with half a brain."

"Hmm, she won't tell anyone. Hurting me wouldn't help her family's reputation. But I'll be more careful. Maybe me and Kavvy will make out in the Drenlyn library next time!"

"Try to restrain yourselves. The library just got a new roof."

"I better go; this place is kind of boring without Kavon. Have fun doing whatever you do with records!"

Daria sighed as Briltasi left. With nothing else to do, she searched for the records covering the Hlaalu Council Manor. This turned out to be harder than she'd expected. The records weren't arranged alphabetically, by date, or by any other pattern she could see. They did seem to go roughly by neighborhood. Records on the top shelf covered High Town, with the shelves beneath dealing with the Commercial District and Labor Town.

She was still rooting through the High Town records more or less at random.

The door opened as she searched.

"Sorry about that," came Tomal's voice.

"If you're quite done earning a dozen new fortunes, I could use some help in searching for the record book covering the Hlaalu Council Manor."

"Oh, it's right here," Tomal said, going up to the shelf and plucking out a book at random.

Daria stared at him. "How did you know that?"

"Dunmer arrange records according to the status of the families associated with them. The Hlaalu Council Manor is directly run by the Hlaalu Council Company, so even though it's in charge, we don't want this fact to hurt the feelings of the more prestigious families in High Town. So after you go through the properties leased by the big movers and shakers—the Drilers, the Murvayns, and so on—the company-run buildings get their turn."

"Seems complicated," Daria said.

"Oh, ridiculously so."

He handed her the book, and she opened it up. The early pages consisted of eviction notices, justified by the locals failing to pay the new leasing fees. It didn't mention any names. But Daria already knew a few.

"Tomal," Daria said, pausing a bit to see if he reacted to the title being cut. He did not. "I'm guessing that Ondryn wants us to do a feel-good piece about how great this place is."

"Definitely. He's hoping I'll tell my dad and put in a good word for him. Don't worry, I won't."

"Would we get in a lot of trouble if we presented a more realistic picture of the Hlaalu Council Manor's history?"

Tomal rubbed his chin in thought. "Not if we worded it right. What do you have in mind?"

"I'm glad you asked," Daria said.

Musical Closer - Teenage Kicks, by The Undertones

Synda smirked. “No. Outlander, you are too far beneath me to be worth any further effort.”
- - That’s a keeper, Daria. Hopefully, Synda is good to her word of sparing Daria any ‘further effort’.

Haha, Britalsi and Kavon making out in the back shelves. Love your use of the uncommon word kohl.
I think Britalsi actually gave Daria enough to figure out why Synda resents Daria saving her.

Intriguing exchange at the end. If Daria actually works with Tomal, they might be able to present a less than glowing picture of some aspects of Balmoran history.

Weird. Synda wanted to get killed? Weird. Maybe some kind of noble death sort of situation. No, honorable death? Maybe dishonorable? "I'm not worthy, you should've let me get killed?" Whichever. I remember feeling like I hated Synda but then this changed to sympathy. And now I'm just confused. Don't get it. It's like she hates herself too much, or hates life or something.

"A crime's okay if it's secret, because nobody knows about it?" Ha ha somehow I don't think that's the actual phrase. But you know, as light as I'm taking Bril's words and casual teenage manner, there's an undercurrent of serious here. A lot of little social things Dunmer have to deal with which a Heartlander doesn't notice up front. Daria learns these things here and there partially because she's observant and partially because she cares. I wonder if the Big Mer does.

WOW. He knows how their records system works? Seems like he does know a few things. How arbitrary. "That's pretty random" some of us Gen-Xers would say back in the day.

I can certainly understand Daria's misgivings about going anywhere with Sydna. At least these days Daria has a grasp of destruction magic.

So a little showdown with Syd the Squid, and cards laid on the table. Hopefully she has moved on from trying to take out her frustrations on Daria. I'd still be a little paranoid about that, if I was Daria however.

And a little bit of growth on Daria's part, as she realizes that just because an Imperial would think of her actions to save Syd as being heroic, another culture might have a very different value system.

Kevvy! Is Brittney hiding behind a file cabinet? They were making out in the one place no one would every want to go, weren't they?

They were! Don't ever change you crazy kids!

I love how Tom just picks the right book. Again, different culture, and he understands how it works, in a way an outlander like Daria never can. You really are bringing home the clash of cultures in this episode.

Uh oh, Daria is going to get herself in trouble by being all honest and sarcastic! It is just the thing we love most about her.

Chapter 6

Cold weather simply did not agree with Synda. She'd spent her early years in the humid mushroom mangroves of the Thirr Valley, where no one ever shivered, not even at night. Air was meant to be warm and thick, like blood. Balmora's frigid clime was best left to Nords and other savages.

The autumn chill didn't hurt as much with Tomal. Side-by-side, the pair walked through the Commercial District in the hour before Drenlyn opened, their faces placid as was proper for a young noble and his common-but-still-respectable friend. Since the Grilvayns were respectable. Enough that a marriage to the Sloans, though a bit unlikely, was certainly within the realm of possibility.

"I have not had to suffer through Sera Ondryn's lectures, though even the outlanders describe him as tiresome," she said. Tomal had been telling her about the assignment he'd been working on. She feigned interest as she analyzed each word he uttered for signs of their future.

"I'd say that's an overly generous assessment. I hate how he keeps sucking up to me."

Synda laughed. "Let him. He'll never get anywhere. Um…"

She trailed off, not sure how to say what was on her mind.

"What is it?" Tomal asked, his tone a bit tense. Like he was worried.

Worried about what?

"Do you think you can speak to your father? About, like, us?"

"Oh! We haven't known each other for that long."

"True. But given my family's deep investments in this region, I think an official arrangement would make business sense for the Sloan family. Not that I know better than you, serjo."

"Please, call me Tomal, okay?"

She gulped. "Tomal," she finally said.

Tomal turned to face her. "Synda, I really like you. You're sharp, confident, and gorgeous."

Her heart turned cold. Nothing good ever started with "I really like you".

She needed love.

"But we've only known each other a few months. There's no rush for this kind of thing. We aren't humans. Time's on our side."

Synda sniffed and hung her head. He needed to see her disappointment. Her heart ached. She was so close to making up for her failure.

"Do you care for me?" Synda asked, her voice catching.

Tomal scanned the street, then pulled Synda into a narrow space between two houses, the shadows a blanket upon them. Her hands grasped hers.

"Of course. I'm so glad I met you. But I want to give this more time."

"How much?" she demanded.

"I don't know! A year? You can't plan these things, Synda. I don't like to be rushed."

"I'm not rushing you!" she insisted. "I want to know. Planning ahead is like, sensible."

Her body quivered with each heartbeat. She needed certainty. Then she could tell her parents. Prove beyond all doubt that Synda, their wretched and dishonorable daughter, had secured a marriage to one of the wealthiest families in Morrowind. Her efforts would justify the blood and tears of all their ancestors, and no one could again tell her she wasn't wanted.

"Of course. But romance isn't the same as a business plan. Though my parents might disagree." Tomal sighed. "Look, isn't it enough that I love you? Can't we enjoy the moment?"

Perhaps. But moments passed quickly. Synda took a quick look at the busy street. No one paid them heed. Then she hugged him fiercely, as if she could press herself inside and have him protect her for all time. She raised her face and closed her eyes. His lips met hers. The cold vanished.

The kiss lasted but an instant, as kisses must in public. They walked back into the street, Synda hiding her boundless joy behind tight lips and cold eyes. Tomal's love would redeem her. Until then, she could wait.

*********

Daria watched as Tomal finished up his half of the report. Sera Ondryn watched him with the eyes of an enraptured puppy. The class didn't bother feigning interest.

"In short, the people in the Hlaalu Council Manor can be credited—or blamed—for any policies that take root in Balmora," Tomal said.

His report had been dry, informative, and mostly safe. He'd given her the latitude to write her section as she pleased. Daria still wasn't sure she should read it. Because, at the end of the day, he was one of them. Promises from him meant nothing when given to someone like her, because he'd never get in trouble for breaking them. She could only rely on his moral compass, and she didn't know him well enough to trust that.

"And now, my colleague Daria will offer our findings on the history of the Hlaalu Council Manor."

Good. He'd said 'our findings,' which at least meant he took ownership. Then again, that might make him all the angrier if the report annoyed too many people. Daria felt suddenly faint. But there was nothing to do except go forward.

"Thank you, Serjo Sloan," she said. "I'm here to give everyone the unvarnished history of the Hlaalu Council Manor and of High Town. Here, unvarnished means it has all the ugly details that people don't want you to know."

A few students perked up at that. They cared nothing for history, but they loved scandal. Ondryn frowned but took no other action.

"It turns out that Balmora's actually a lot older than the boomtown we see around us. For centuries, Dunmer lived where High Town is today, in much humbler homes where they raised families, tended egg mines, and fished the Odai."

"The development of modern High Town certainly was an exciting process," Ondryn interjected, looking nervously out onto the class.

"Oh, it was," Daria continued. "Especially if you were one of the Dunmer living in old Balmora. See, when Great House Hlaalu formally took control of the place, they immediately imposed leasing fees on the houses that had been there for generations. Fees that the residents obviously couldn't pay. An entire town's worth of people got kicked out so the wealthy folks of High Town could build their mansions."

Ondryn gasped.

"Where did they go?" Jeval asked. He, at least, seemed interested.

"Wherever they could. Most moved into outlying villages. I know for a fact that a few are still in Balmora, typically in Labor Town."

Ondryn cleared his throat. "Daria, it's not your place to criticize!"

Daria decided to play dumb. "I'm simply relaying my findings, as you requested. All of this is written plain as day in the records office." She glanced over to Tomal.

"It's exactly as she says," Tomal confirmed.

Ondryn blinked in surprise. "Serjo Sloan! I think she is criticizing you."

Tomal shrugged. "No big deal; I've got a thick skin."

"But… the point of this exercise was to show what a great place Balmora is to live in!" Ondryn sputtered.

"As I recall, the point of the exercise was to do a deep dive into Balmora's history," Daria said. "Which we did."

"Not that kind of history!"

Daria shrugged. "Maybe we misunderstood. Regardless, these are in the publicly accessible records. I guess the people at the Council Manor are counting on everyone to be too indifferent to check."

"We are all very fortunate to live under the aegis of Great House Hlaalu!" Ondryn fumed. Then he turned to Tomal, his face suddenly beseeching. "Serjo Sloan, is this a test of my loyalty? I would never say anything negative about Great House Hlaalu. This whole report is counter to what the Hlaalu project stands for!"

Daria again wondered how far Tomal would be willing to take this. He'd said no one would get into real trouble, but as a noble, how would he know?

"Actually, as a member in good standing of Great House Hlaalu, I disagree," Tomal said. "Think about it: where else in Morrowind could a regular person access reports and find the real history of a place? Great House Hlaalu keeps good and detailed records, even if it's only so we can keep track of our finances.

"That means normal people have the power to learn the truth. For all the problems we have, Great House Hlaalu can actually take criticism and learn from it, which is not a trait you see in Indoril or Redoran. That's why we're working so closely with the Empire as it institutes changes that make some of us uncomfortable. We know that the old ways aren't always the best ones. Becoming better isn't fun, but I'd rather be uncomfortable than keep doing something stupid."

Ondryn slowly nodded. "I see. So by criticizing Great House Hlaalu, Daria is actually demonstrating why it's so great!"

Here's where it all fell apart. She didn't want to say it was great. But how could she make that clear? She still walked on a knife's edge.

"I'm making a pointed criticism—" Daria started.

"Certainly an unorthodox interpretation of the assignment," Ondryn said, talking over her as he walked up to the front of the class and gesturing for her to sit back down. "But a fascinating one! As the most dynamic and forward-looking great house, Hlaalu has advantages that others do not. I am honored by such an intriguing report, Serjo Sloan!"

Tomal shrugged as he and Daria walked back to their seats in the middle row.

"Now, let's hear from Marcus and Tiphannia and their report on St. Roris Square!" Ondryn said. Then gave Daria a very ugly look.

*********

Class had finished, and Daria stepped out into a cold, gray afternoon. It was lunch, which meant an hour holed up in the library before her next class. Hiding in the library didn't seem so bad with such bleak weather, but she'd have rather gone to the Lucky Lockup with Jane.

"Are you doing okay?" Tomal asked. He hurried up to walk alongside her.

"I suppose it was inevitable that my reasoned critique would be turned into pro-Hlaalu boosterism."

"At least people know, right?" Tomal said.

"Do you think any of them will care?"

"Maybe one or two will. But I'm an optimist."

Daria sighed. "I will say I appreciate the support. I probably would have been in a lot more trouble if it hadn't been for you."

"Most likely."

"I don't like depending on another person for protection."

"Nor should you," Tomal agreed.

"But at a certain point, I guess I have to accept that's the way things are for now and that it's better to have protection if you can get it. Please answer me honestly: do I owe you anything?"

Tomal shook his head. "Not a thing. There's a lot about Great House Hlaalu that I don't like either. The way I see it, you and I were working toward the same goal."

"As much as I hate to admit it, that would have gone a lot worse for me if we lived under the Telvanni," Daria said, thinking back to her time in Sadrith Mora. "But I don't think the failings of the other great houses justify those of Hlaalu's.

"Absolutely not. But what I said wasn't entirely wrong, even if it was mostly to keep Sera Ondryn happy. Great House Hlaalu can change for the better. Every now and then, it actually does."

"I'm far too lazy to be a good idealist," Daria said. "Mostly, I like ruffling people's feathers."

"Hey, as long as you're ruffling the right people's! That's the kind of mercenary attitude a half-hearted reformer like me loves to see."

"Just don't expect too much from me in that department."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Daria watched as students gathered in their cliques. No room for her there.

"Who do you usually eat lunch with?" Daria asked.

"No one in particular. I'm actually done with classes today."

Her heart sank a little at that comment. Wait, had she been considering spending time with Tomal? For all his baggage, he annoyed her far less than most students. Still no substitute for Jane. But in Morrowind, one took what one could get.

"I guess I'll go hide in the library," Daria said.

"Oh!" he sounded surprised. "Okay. Well, see you around."

"You too, Tomal."

A chilly gust of wind blew past them. Then Tomal nodded and walked toward the gates. Daria watched for a few long moments, wishing he'd asked her to hang around. Finally, she entered the library and returned to the books she'd already read a half-dozen times.

Musical Closer - Funny Little Frog, by Belle and Sebastian, covered by God Help the Girl

The End

I like how Sydna considers Balmora to be cold, while to Daria is it hot. Again it shows the very different backgrounds of the two.

So Tomal and Sydna. I did not see that coming. It looks like it is mostly Syd's design, in order to regain her standing. Again, it is nice how you show that her priorities are founded on her culture's beliefs.

If things go the way they did in the TV show, this does not bode will for Sydna-Daria detente however...

“Not that kind of history!”
This sounds so relatable IRL!

Tomal actually spun the criticism of House Hlaalu in a positive way. The ability to take control of the narrative like speaks well for his future in house politics.

You really captured Tom's speech patterns here, with his short, direct responses, which are usually agreements to whatever Daria just said.

Ah, okay, kewl, now I get it. There's a whole lot of family shaming going on, with Synda that is. Still, it sucks her parents decided to react that way. My gosh. If I was getting extorted and my family found out, only thing they'd say is "what can we do about this?" Then again, I'm not a Dunmer from Vvardenfell.

No, it's not from any of the games, but it certainly does fit. Some real-life cultures, this is a daily sort of thing.




Noooo!!!! Don't!!!! ... Eesh. I get it, though. WE want what we want. But damn girl, chill. You're gonna ruin it if you rush!

The part when Daria's turn to read, Ondryn seems surprised about her biting tone. Like, what did he expect? It's Daria!



Wow, he's really lost. Really would rather conform than question.

So the chapter ends. The Big Mer on campus is pretty much only "big" due to the opinions of others. Inside his own head, he's not really arrogant at all, right?

Another thing I noticed: Daria's stumbling a bit. Not necessarily trying to be Tomal's girlfriend, but there's something there. She's wanting to spend more time with him. Interesting.

A very neat episode that sheds a lot of light on Tomal.

I couldn’t quite tell if he was being honest with Synda. He does seem a little too kind and smart to be seriously interested in Synda’s rather obvious goal of social climbing. He’s very diplomatic though so its hard to tell if he’s being honest or politely stiff-arming her. On one hand, she could make for a reliably rule-following trophy wife; on the other hand, I suspect Tomal has to see that her underlying personality is that of a shrew. Fascinating stuff regardless.

I think the Tomal-Daria report went rather well. It was both clever and elegant of Tomal to turn the House criticism into a positive and equally so of Daria to defend herself using Ondryn's own description of the assignment. That said, I'm glad Daria somewhat gracefully let Ondryn save some face and that she also acknowledged to Tomal that his support was very helpful.

Oh my. . . she seems to be growing fond of Tomal. I’m pretty sure that’s a bridge too far though. Daria and Tomal would be an even odder couple than Synda and Tomal, not to mention the dramatic class/life span differences.

Episode 24: The Wedding Wringer

"Hey, are you hungry? Huh?"

Not that Satheri needed to ask. Tollie always wanted a snack. She smiled as the bantam guar trotted on his little leathery legs toward her outstretched hands full of marshmerrow pulp. Daddy had bought Tollie at the market a few years ago, and Satheri couldn't imagine life without him. The guar dipped his snout into her hands, and she giggled as his warm tongue lapped up the ground marshmerrow.

"I know you're not supposed to eat too many sweets," she whispered. "But you've been such a good boy, huh?"

Tollie raised his head as if in affirmation, his pink tongue still lolling from his wide mouth. He dove back in for the rest. When he finished, the little guar pressed his head against her thigh.

"Aw, you want some attention? Okay, Tollie, so do I," Satheri cooed. She reached out, picked him up, and cradled him. He was heavier than he used to be. Maybe she'd been spoiling him a bit, but he was easy enough to carry for a short while.

Satheri closed her eyes and rocked Tollie back and forth. Good training, Mom had said, for when Satheri became a mommy. Which might not even be that long from now.

"Don't worry, Tollie," she whispered. "When I get married to Serjo Lowendral, I'll take you with me, okay? Serjo Lowendral will love you, too!"

At least she hoped so. She didn't know anything about Serjo Lowendral. Did he like animals?

"The Lowendrals have a big estate down in Shipal-shin, so there's going to be lots more room for you to run around. And I hear there's wild marshmerrow growing everywhere, so you can get snacks whenever you want. But I'll still feed you treats, too."

Did marshmerrow grow down there? Satheri didn't know that for sure. She gulped.

"Daddy says the wedding will be in a year. Before that, we'll get to go on a fancy ship and then take a silt strider way down to the south, where it's always warm and lazy."

Her voice trembled. It was getting closer every day, and she knew nothing about him except that he was from a noble family that didn't have a whole lot of money any longer. The ship probably wouldn't be that fancy. But it was nice to pretend.

"I bet there will be a lot of other bantam guars you can play with. But don't worry, Tollie: I'll still be your best friend. Forever."

She stopped before her voice broke, and tightened her hug. It was a little past noon. Serjo Driler's birthday party was that night, which meant she had to get ready. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Satheri put Tollie back down on the ground. He nuzzled her hand, and she smiled.

She wished everything could be as simple as Tollie.

*********

It seemed like all of High Town had come to Serjo Driler's 173rd birthday party. Satheri, dressed in the dark blue gown she usually wore for fancy occasions, loved seeing everyone in their finery. She couldn't dress like a noble, but one day she would, so she took mental note of everything she saw.

Not many others from the Commercial District had been invited, but like Daddy always said, money was its own form of respect. Daddy actually had more wealth than some of the people in High Town. Not coins or jewels, but things like farms and ranches all the way in Cyrodiil. Assets, he called them.

Satheri stood next to her parents on the outskirts of the party, watching the well-wishers paying their respects under the lanterns strung up over the street. She couldn't see the Driler manor over the crowd, but she heard the music and the voices, all of them happy. Her husband-to-be would have parties like this, probably. She'd be at the center of it all, greeting lifelong nobles and pretending she knew how to behave like one.

"Quite a crowd," her mother said to her father.

"Hardly a one of them is here for the Drilers. They only want to talk to the Sloans."

"That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"A bit of both, dear. There's something I've been wondering about the Sloans," her father said, speaking quietly.

It was the voice he used when talking about complicated business things that Satheri wouldn't understand. So naturally, she inched closer to hear him.

"Yes?" her mother asked.

"Serjo Angyar Sloan freed all his family's slaves decades ago. Do you think…" he shifted closer and whispered, "…do you think he's seen the twin lamps?"

Her mother scoffed. "I'm sure he only freed them to look good to the Empire. And you know better than to discuss that sort of thing here."

"No one's paying attention, dear."

"Don't be so certain. Do not ask the Sloans about this!"

"I wasn't going to!"

Satheri, curious, decided to ask a bit more. "Are twin lamps some kind of business thing?"

Startled, her father looked back at her. "Don't eavesdrop, sweetie. It's not ladylike."

"Sorry," Satheri said, looking down at the ground.

Her mother sighed. "Your father had some odd idea about selling lighting infrastructure."

"But what does that have to do with freeing slaves?"

Her parents looked unsure. Satheri knew she wasn't that smart, but she could tell they were hiding something.

"Oh, well, it looks like Great House Hlaalu will one day give up slavery, which is good! Anyway, that means there will be more openings for, uh, employed people to carry lamps for their bosses. Since slaves won't do that any longer. Hence the lamps," dad explained.

Her mother sighed again. Satheri nodded as if she believed it. Satheri hung out with people smarter than her, since she knew she couldn't usually figure things out on her own. Mother and father were both very smart, so they protected her. Muthsera Morgendorffer was practically a genius!

So, what would she do when she was cut off from all of them? Maybe her husband would be smart. But would he look out for her?

The night went on. Only a few High Town nobles said hello to the Rowenis. When they did, Satheri bowed and smiled and greeted. At least she was good at that.

They reached the brightly bedecked front door of the Driler house to find Serjo Driler standing there in full regalia, wine cup in hand. Servants stood at attention to accept gifts and bring them inside. Now that they were at the center of the party, they had maybe an hour to talk to everyone. More people clustered around the Sloans than around the Drilers. Seeing Tomal standing at the side, politely listening as an old Dunmer talked about something, Satheri got an idea.

"ALMSIVI watch over me," she whispered. Then she walked over to Tomal as quickly as her tight, stiff dress would allow. She'd act like she was there to pay her respects—which wasn't an act, she was being respectful—and then ask her question.

Satheri smiled and tried to look every inch the proper Dunmer girl she was as she waited for the old Mer to finish yammering about wickwheat prices. But already she was nervous; her skin getting all prickly. What if she made a mistake? Mom and Dad were elsewhere, and one wrong move would make the whole Roweni family look bad. Then the marriage might fall through, which she sort of wanted it to, but then that might mean a worse marriage and…

Satheri clenched her teeth together and stared straight ahead. She felt like she'd explode. Muthsera Morgendorffer always talked her down from those attacks, but she wasn't there. Finally, Serjo Driler stepped away, his wine cup empty. Tomal exhaled in relief as Satheri darted in.

"Three blessings to you, Serjo Sloan!" she said, and bowed.

"Sera Roweni," Tomal greeted. "This is an honor."

Satheri bowed again, more deeply this time, to show how she appreciated being acknowledged. "My family is, as always, at your service."

"My family recognizes your dedication." Tomal sighed. "But you know, this is Serjo Driler's birthday—"

"I know!" Satheri interrupted and then gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! Oh, forgive me, Serjo Sloan! I didn't mean to interrupt! That was so disrespectful of me—"

He held up his hands. "It's okay! No offense taken. Honestly, these overly formalized meet-and-greets get pretty boring. The interruption made things interesting."

Satheri sniffed, and then nodded. It was so easy to be careless! She took stock of things. Tomal didn't seem mad, at least.

"Begging your pardon, Serjo Sloan, but I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Um, well, I am arranged to be married to Serjo Lowendral's son."

Tomal looked unsure and then brightened. "Oh! Othren Lowendral?"

"Yes, him! The marriage is in a year, and well, I don't want to bore you with my problems but... is he nice?"

Satheri turned her eyes to the ground. She didn't want to see it. Didn't want to see Tomal's face turn grave and give her the worst news possible: That Serjo Lowendral was mean. Because she couldn't defend herself against mean. Without Mom and Dad and Muthsera Morgendorffer she wouldn't have anyone to defend her, and she'd be alone forever.

She stifled a sob.

"Othren? He seems nice enough. To be honest, Sera Roweni, I don't know him that well. I only met him a few times when I spent the summer in Narsis eight years ago. I was about ten years old, he was maybe nine?"

Satheri raised her face. Well, that was something. "Does he like animals?"

Tomal shrugged. "I don't know. Oh, wait! He did have a riding guar he liked. I think it belonged to his dad, but he rode it around a lot. The guar was named… Champion? Hero? Something along those lines."

"Oh! That's good. He was nice to you?"

"He was nice to me." Tomal scratched his head, his eyes downcast. "Sorry I can't offer you more. I don't know him that well."

"No, it's fine! Thank you so much, Serjo Sloan. If he's good to you, I'm sure he's a good person."

Tomal looked oddly helpless. "Uh, right," he said.

"May ALMSIVI guide your path, Serjo Sloan. And your family's." She bowed again.

"May the Three bless you and your kin," he said.

Satheri took the customary three steps back before turning around. He didn't know Serjo Lowendral that well. But the hints were good!

She still wished she knew more.

*********

The Rowenis returned home a few hours before midnight. Satisfied with drinks and hors d'oeuvres from the party and too tired to draw water for baths, they all prepared for bed.

"Daddy?" Satheri said.

"Yes?"

"Is it okay if I put Tollie inside? I'll get his cage. It's too cold for him outside."

"Oh! I suppose winter is getting closer. Good idea."

Satheri prepped the big wooden cage. She went out onto the balcony and called for him, and the poor little guy practically jumped into her arms.

"Aw, poor baby! It's too cold for you, so you're going to stay indoors with us. It never gets cold down south, where Serjo Lowendral lives. Isn't that great?"

Tollie made a squeaking noise as she put him in the cage. Picking it up, she returned inside and placed the cage next to her bed.

"It'll be really nice," she said as she tucked herself in. "I talked to Serjo Sloan at the party today, and he said Serjo Lowendral has a riding guar! That's like a big version of you. But don't worry, Tollie, I like you small."

Tollie squeaked again and pressed his leathery snout against the bars. Satheri smiled and stuck her fingers through the gaps to stroke Tollie's nose, his skin dry and pebbly.

"It's still kind of scary, huh? Serjo Sloan doesn't know much about him. But Serjo Lowendral's a noble, so he'll be good, I'm sure."

She listened to Tollie's breathing. Gods, she hoped Serjo Lowendral was good. No one was supposed to say bad things about nobles, but she'd heard bad things about some.

"That's a good idea, Tollie. I'll donate to the temple in the name of Mother Alma. She'll protect us. She loves her children. You aren't one of her children, but you're with me, so that doesn't matter. You're like my kid, and I'll protect you."

Plus, Serjo Lowendral probably liked animals. So, that was something.

"It'll still be another year before we have to go anywhere," she whispered. "Another year where we can have fun with Muthsera Morgendorffer, and Treads-on-Ferns, and Tiphannia."

Not like a year was very long.

"And a lot can happen in a year. So, it'll be fine, Tollie. You and me will be fine."

Musical Closer - Stay Young and Beautiful, by Al Dubin, covered by Annie Lennox

The End

Satheri is absolutely adorable, in her childlike naivte, view of the world and concerns. I loved how she worked up the courage to ask Tomal if he knew anything about her prearranged intended. As she says, a lot can happen in a year but if this marriage goes through, I sure hope this Lowendral fellow is a good sort and worthy of Satheri. And Tollie.

OH yea, I know what you mean about family life like that. Sucks Synda's got to deal with all that.

Maybe so (about Tomal being arrogant). I don't really see him as arrogant though, huh.


Anyway, that'd be neat, having a pet guar. I've always thought as guars as friendly, rather than hostile. That's one of the only creatures I modified across the board, once I began playing on PC: almost all the guar in my MW won't attack.

Is Satheri's marriage being forced? You'll have to remind me, if so. She seems pretty nervous. Obviously hasn't even met the guy, yet.

And it's weird the way she's thinking, like "soon I'll be a noble, then it will be okay to dress like some of these others at the party."

Muthsera Morgendorffer is definitely a genius, indeed.

Ah, so she IS being arranged into marriage. That sucks. Unless she wants to be, of course. She seems unsure, though. I know I would be!

I do not know about Twin Lamps, yet, so thanx for explaining.

I never hated Tom, or even disliked him. I hated the whole "bangs her best friend's boyfriend" storyline that the Daria writers did. It makes me cringe on so many levels. But that is not Tom the character's fault. It is the writers of the show I blame for that.

Awwww, who's a good boy? Tollie is!

So Satheri has a wedding date already? How... wonderful for her. At least she has Tollie, if Lowenbrau turns out to be a dick.

So mom and dad are in the Twin Lamps? Good for them! That brings them up in my estimation. Hopefully that translates into them picking a decent fella for her to marry.

It really does feel odd seeing Satheri without Muthsera Morgendorffer around to talk her down from her bouts of self-consciousness.

Episode 25: The Dark Arts

Chapter 1

Jane blew on her cold-numbed hands and wished she didn't live so far north. Shivering, she extended her hands so that they hovered by the flickering flames in J'dash's hearth. Rain crashed in torrents on the roof of her landlord's junk shop, as it had been doing since yesterday morning. Because winter always brought the rain and the cold. And this time, an empty belly.

Feeling slowly returned to her fingers, and she rubbed them together to hasten the process. Once they got as warm as they were likely to get, she turned her eyes back to her commission: a painted portrait of one Marco Menculo, a visiting EEC man who didn't have much to pay with but promised her that a commission made for "good experience". Except experience wasn't much of a selling point, at least not on its own. Established outlanders usually hired the established artists these days. The only clients Jane still got were fly-by-nights like Menculo, who never stayed in the city long enough to build up her reputation.

But commissions of any kind were hard to come by. So she worked with a piercing pain in her eyes and a bone-deep soreness in her painting arm. Part of her hoped she'd never see another damned painting for the rest of her life.

A heavy knock sounded on the door.

"We're closed!" Jane shouted.

"Janey, it's me!" came Trent's voice.

Good news, finally. He should have been back a week ago. Jane hurried through the dusty junk shop to the door, glad that he was safe and sound. He'd been playing in Suran, and gigs there usually paid pretty well.

She opened the door and saw Trent, gaunt and soaking wet, his clothes torn and his right arm in a sling. His lute was nowhere in sight.

Jane gasped. "What happened?"

Trent sighed. "Got robbed on the way back."

"Get inside," she urged, standing aside to let him squeeze through even as her heart sank. They'd needed that money. Jane's earnings slipped through her fingers, used for rent, food, and more art supplies. She spent cash to make cash but never seemed to keep any. She still had to manage the lean times.

Like always.

*********

Trent still shivered as he dried out near the fire, wrapped in a ratty woolen blanket. J'dash had come out of his room with aged and creaking steps to offer what comfort he could while Jane boiled water in a tempered clay pot above the fire.

"It was my fault, Janey," Trent said, his voice quiet.

"Pretty sure it was the robbers' fault," Jane replied as she tossed some ground trama root into the bubbling water. She carefully picked up the pot by its handles and laid it on the ground.

Trent shook his head. "Iesse wanted to go back to Balmora on the silt strider, but I'm the one who talked the Spiral into walking to Pelagiad. I should've listened to him. No one robs silt striders."

Trent looked so tired and old. She knew Trent's flaws well, but he'd always at least tried to keep them afloat.

"Dunmer could not have known," J'dash said, his whispery voice a wheeze. Each of the old Khajiit's movements seemed to bring him pain. He'd been getting a lot slower over the past few months: opening up late, closing early, and forgetting where he put things.

Jane wondered how many years he had left.

"Yeah, it's not your fault. The Ascadian Isles are supposed to be safe, too," she said. "There must have been a bunch of them if they attacked all four of you guys."

Trent coughed. "Well, Max kind of ran away once he saw the bandits. So, it was more like three of us. And Nick dropped his sword right after he drew it. So, I guess it was more like two of us. And Iesse was hungover. So, it was really just me. And, uh, I was still asleep."

"But Trent's friends are safe, yes?" J'dash asked.

Trent shrugged. "The robbers roughed us up, but nothing too bad."

Jane pointed to his limp arm. "That doesn't look like nothing too bad."

"It's not broken, just sprained. Anyway, Mystik Spiral isn't a thing anymore. We're too traumatized. Max is gonna go back to Cyrodiil, and Iesse might go with him."

"I'm sorry, Trent."

"I don't have my lute anymore, either. I guess I could try to play that Ashlander harp."

J'dash bared his teeth, and his ears flattened against his head. "Trent is better with lute, J'dash thinks!" Then he sighed. "But J'dash knows times are hard. Dunmers have been like cubs, and J'dash will not charge rent this month."

"Thanks," Jane said. "I appreciate that."

But J'dash wasn't some big Hlaalu magnate with properties and money to spare. Not getting the rent meant harder times for him.

She looked at her options. "I'm working on a commission now, but it's not paying a whole lot. I mostly did it for money to buy better paints."

"I bet you can do great art even with crappy paints," Trent said.

"Let me talk art, Trent, that's not how it works." He'd meant well, but the cluelessness of his statement irritated her. Clients expected the best, and that meant she had to step up.

The last real good job she'd gotten had been that pity commission from Daria's mom and dad. Sad truth was, Jane had nearly exhausted her pool of reliable outlander clients. Of course, there was one other possibility. One she wasn't sure she believed in.

"I don't know if I mentioned this to you or not, Trent," Jane said, "but Daria actually made a friend in High Town: Tomal Sloan."

"Whoa. The Sloans have tons of money."

"That they do. The Sloans already have a family artist. But I showed Tomal some work, and he said he'd try to talk other Hlaalu into hiring me."

"But does Hlaalu speak truly?" J'dash asked.

Jane shrugged. "Do they ever? Everything the guy says sounds kind of rehearsed, but I figure there's got to be something real there if Daria puts up with him. Me getting a Hlaalu client could be a game-changer."

"J'dash does not trust the great houses." He slowly lifted his hand to scratch at his neck. As he did, the sleeve of his robe slid down to reveal the bare pink skin on his forearm, the fur rubbed away by the slave bracers of his youth.

"No one should trust them," Jane said. "But I don't have many options left."

"Maybe this place is the problem," Trent said. "We've been stuck in Balmora for too long. We need a new vibe. I know this girl in Vivec City we can crash with for a while. Is that too far for you, J'dash?"

J'dash lowered his head. "J'dash's wandering days are long done."

"We're not going anywhere," Jane said. "Besides, I'm not sure Vivec would be any better than Balmora."

Trent nodded, his eyes far away. "Yeah, guess you're right. I know some other musicians here who might need a singer. I could do pretty good with that. My voice is the only instrument I'll ever need."

Jane didn't have the heart to correct him.

"But I'll still save up to get a new lute. Feels weird to perform without one."

"Good thinking," Jane said. "As for me, I'll scrounge up a few commissions. And hey, who knows? Maybe this thing with Tomal will pan out."

She didn't really think it would. But she still hoped.

Musical Closer - About A Girl, by Nirvana

I am glad you are not planning on doing the "Daria betrays her best friend to bang a dude who she later breaks up with anyway" storyline like in the show. I always hated that. I think it was in the final season, and my guess it was the writers were in Jump the Shark mode, desperate to come up with anything that would keep the show going. Instead it makes me not want to watch those episodes at all.

Yay, Jane is back! Though it is sad to see her struggling, and saddled with cheapskate clients like Mercutio.

Oh noe! Trent got mugged on the road! Time to hire a Thief-Taker - I mean player character - to get that money back.

The fight sounds exactly like how I expected one with the Spiral would go! It also reminds me a lot of the time they got arrested and thrown in jail.

Ok, now I see where this is going. Jane is going to try to paint Tom, or the Sloans. Dum-Dum-Dum. That drama you mentioned incoming. Just not about Daria stealing Jane's boyfriend, I hope...

Hard times for Jane, Trent and J’dash. You paint their bleak and bare existence quite poignantly. Cold hands, empty bellies and meager gold that goes out as fast as it comes in.

“J’dash does not trust the great houses.”
- - Khajiit is wise.

I think Jane is right to be cautiously optimistic about Tomal coming through. But she is wise to not count on it.

Sure, I suppose some nobles can be fun and easy-going. They're people too. But somehow I get the feeling... Sath won't be that lucky. I mean, just think of the people you've dated (if you have) or at least the people your friends have dated. And how often things don't work. Blech.

Oooh, so Twin Lamps gets activated after we free some slaves! Cool. Joan's ahead of the game already then, she's freed two sets of slaves (maybe more) by now.

Phew, what a sad story this week. I feel bad for Jane and Trent. Honestly, I remember when they first went to Pelagiad though. Did they take the strider then? I don't remember. But I do remember being a bit freaked by something as they traveled. Not Daria using her father's sword... something else. Pretty sure it was just the fact that they wandered through wilderness instead of the roads.

Edit: it was when they slept outdoors in the dust & cold, I kept thinking they were about to get attacked by cliffies! And then Daria traveled by foot (with someone else as I recall) back to Balmora.

No more Mystik Spyral? Hey, they stayed together for quite a good while though, at least. This story's been going on a couple years by now, right? Most bands don't last but a few months. At least the Spyral also went on tour! 🎸 🎤

I like the way J'dash speaks, in Third Person! I know a lot of Khajiit do this, and the reason they do it is actually a bad reason. But I still enjoy this aspect of their vocal delivery.

Interesting how the topic of Tomal comes up. The Big Mer factors into this conversation, but mostly because there's some desperation involved. Phew, what a depressing episode!

About a Girl. 🧏 Love that song. Kurt wrote it after his first girlfriend (I think she was his 1st, and this was well before Courtney Love) asked him to write a song about her. I remember reading she didn't have much faith in his music; wanted him to get a "real" job and so on. But he wrote a nice song about her, eh?

My favorite Nirvana song: Sappy. Listen to the way the guitars kick in! That's a trademark of GenX music, I think: the music's often slightly louder than the lyrics.

Chapter 2

The crisp, meaty smell of roast scrib wafting up from the Morgendorffer kitchen alerted Daria that breakfast was ready. She marched down to the rest of the family. Mom and Quinn already sat at the table, wrapped up in thick robes and gripping cups of steaming tea, while Dad cooked breakfast.

"Good morning, Daria," Mom said, her eyes bright but her voice a little tired.

"Let's see," Daria said, "it's cold, gray, and drizzly. If I didn't have to go to Drenlyn today, it would be a pretty good morning."

"About that. You've been an attendee for almost two years now."

"Really? It felt like twenty."

"Many of your peers are getting ready to move on to their adult lives."

Daria poured herself a cup of tea. Mom meant Jane, specifically. Gods, Jane leaving Drenlyn had caused so many other problems.

"I'm prepared to accept my place as a cog in the machinery of imperial governance," Daria said.

"It might be a good idea to start making plans so that you can be more than just a cog."

"You mean I could be an honest-to-goodness gear?"

Mom ignored the comment. "Maybe you could ask around Drenlyn to see what kinds of opportunities are available?"

"I'll check them out, Mom!" Quinn volunteered. "As the head of the Fashion Guild—or at least the organization that will one day become the Fashion Guild—I need to make as many connections as possible. Tamriel's style depends on it."

Mom smiled. "You've still got a little more time, Quinn. But I do like your attitude! It's never too early to start planning for the future."

"A future of being a cog," Daria said.

Mom's face darkened. "If you don't put yourself out there, Daria, you might not even get that! Anyway, you have made some strong connections at that school. Didn't Armand say you'd have a place on the next archeological expedition? That might be a good place to start."

Daria hated to admit it, but Mom had a point. Armand had been in Old Ebonheart for the past few months, but Jolda did say he'd be back for the holidays.

A sharp rap at the door grabbed everyone's attention.

"Who could that be?" Mom muttered as she stood up. "My first meeting's not until mid-morning."

Daria watched as her Mom walked out of the kitchen and through her office to open the door. A smartly dressed Dunmer stood there, a rolled-up scroll in his hand.

"Can I help you?" Mom asked.

"I am here at the bidding of Serjo Tomal Sloan to deliver a message to one Daria Morgendorffer," the Dunmer announced, holding the scroll out for Mom.

"Oh, well, that is quite the honor! I've heard so many wonderful things about the Sloan family." She gave a nervous little laugh. "What's this about?"

"I do not know the contents of the message, which are for Daria's eyes only. Good day." The man inclined his head, wheeled around on his heel, and marched away.

"No way!" Quinn exclaimed, staring at Daria. "You're getting letters from Tomal Sloan?"

Pleased at her sister's indignation, Daria smiled. She wondered what Tomal had to say. Though she didn't talk with him often, his presence was the only bright spot in post-Jane Drenlyn.

"Daria, what's this about?" Mom asked as she returned.

"I'm not entirely sure," Daria said. "Could I see the letter? I'd hate to displease the Sloans by letting anyone else look at it first. It probably has very sensitive information pertaining to Great House Hlaalu's long-term plans."

Mom sat back down, still holding the scroll. "Daria, you aren't… seeing this boy, are you?"

"Only when he happens to be in front of my eyes," Daria said.

"You know what I mean," Mom said, a warning in her tone.

"Please," Daria said. "He's barely a friend. Our relationship is best described as a strategic alliance."

"You're telling the truth?" Mom asked. "Dating a noble—particularly a Morrowind noble—is very risky."

Daria rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I'm well-aware, which is one of the reasons I'm not doing it."

"Good, because you'd mess it up! Dating nobles is what I do!" Quinn said. Mom looked at her, aghast. "What I will do someday, I mean. Once I'm head of the Fashion Guild."

Mom handed Daria the scroll, and she unrolled it.

Daria—

I can't make it to Drenlyn today, but I found someone who'd be interested in hiring Jane full-time. The Olerlo family has interests in Balmora, and the patriarch, Serjo Navas Olerlo, is looking for an artist to paint his portrait. So as to prevent any surprises down the line, I told him about Jane's background, and he has no objections to hiring her.

Serjo Olerlo has agreed to meet with her this Sundas at his home in High Town. Tell Jane to bring some sample paintings, her usual equipment (I think he expects Jane to do a test painting on the spot), and to dress as well as she can for the occasion.

Please let Jane know about this once you're done with school. It was a lucky break to get an appointment with Serjo Olerlo on such short notice. I'm available tomorrow afternoon if you or Jane have any questions. Feel free to visit me at the Driler manor.

- Serjo Tomal Sloan, Son of Serjo Angyar Sloan, Gentleman of Morrowind and of the Imperial City, Retainer in Good Standing to Great House Hlaalu

Daria decided to be charitable and assume that Tomal had simply written all the nonsense at the end out of habit. Otherwise, she might not be able to deal with him any longer.

No, she was being silly. He'd only included all that to show how ridiculous it was.

"What's the letter about?" Mom asked.

"Yeah, spill it!" Quinn urged.

"You all ready for some fried scrib a la Jake?" Dad asked. "Hey, what's going on?"

Daria made her announcement. "A few months ago, I asked Serjo Tomal Sloan, Son of Serjo Angyar Sloan, Gentleman of Morrowind and of the Imperial City, Retainer in Good Standing to Great House Hlaalu..." she figured she deserved an award for saying all that with a straight face, "...to see if he could find any aristocratic clients who might be willing to take Jane on as a full-time artist. According to this letter, he might've found someone."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mom said. "I'm so proud of you, Daria. You really came through for Jane."

"Yeah, that's great!" Dad agreed. "You all want breakfast, right?"

"Don't get too enthusiastic," Daria said. "Nothing's been confirmed yet."

"Still, it shows great effort on your part."

"Hey, what's the point of a rigidly stratified society if you can't leverage friendships with the upper strata for your own benefit?"

"Wait!" Quinn cried. "You told Tomal about me, right? And the Fashion Club?"

"No, because I'd like to stay on good terms with him."

"Great House Hlaalu doesn't have any say on what does or doesn't become a guild, Quinn," Mom said.

"Hold on," Daria said, "weren't you warning me about dealing with nobles?"

"I was warning you about being involved with them romantically. Working with nobles does pose risks, but sometimes that's the only way to get ahead. A patron could be a tremendous boon for someone like Jane."

"Or, like me!" Quinn said.

"Doesn't anyone want the breakfast I cooked?" Dad wailed. "The one I labored over the hot stove to make?"

"Yes, Jake, we'd love to try your breakfast," Mom said. She looked at Daria. "You're helping Jane secure her future. I only want to make sure you spend some time securing your own, as well."

Daria grunted as Dad served up the roast scrib on a big wooden platter.

Musical Closer - Wrapped Up in Books, by Belle and Sebastian

Ahh, some nice yummy bugs for breakfast. That is the way to start a day.

Uh oh, mom is having the career talk with Daria. That is bound to be fun.

Oh my, that nice young lad Tom sent a messenger to Daria? What sort of rich shenanigans does this portend?

Well it looks like squire Tom did drum up some business for Jane. Look at that, Daria's networking with people is paying off.

I love the way everyone is talking around dad and his breakfast. Chef's Kiss! Just like the TV show.

Well, it looks like Tomal might just be coming through for Jane. I’ll be optimistic.

Quite the contrasts: Synda wants to marry up - via Tomal. Quinn wants to rule the world of fashion - via Tomal. Daria wants to get Jane some paying customers – via Tomal. Mom simply doesn’t want nobles getting into her daughters’ knickers.

And Dad just wants breakfast.

Yea, that's right. Striders don't go to Pelagiad. Forgot about that. Where has the Spiral played, overall? Pelagiad for sure, and also Suran. Caldera's a safe journey, I'd imagine. What about Vivec City? Seyda Neen? I'm guessing some locations are definitely off-limits. Molag Mar? Hell to the no.

Yum... roasting insect hides! Gag/hack.

Mom's giving Daria "the speech". "There's a time when the roost is over, in other words, get on with your life!" Gosh, that's ... that would be so awkward. I never had to do this with my child, she was eager to go to college. Guess I'm lucky in that regard. Daria doesn't seem like she's ready.

Oddly, Quinn's brimming to grow up, if only to futher her silly Fashion Guild. Ah, geez.



Mom gets the exclamation point comments this time!

Wow, look at this title! Serjo Tomal Sloan, Son of Serjo Angyar Sloan, Gentleman of Morrowind and of the Imperial City, Retainer in Good Standing to Great House Hlaalu Good god, man. eVen before we get to read Daria's thoughts on this I was already thinking What the HECK?

But then, that has to be Sloan making a joke (which is Daria's exact thought as well). I wonder if he's flirting with her, in this odd sort of way.

Ah, there's dad. Dad doesn't have any funny lines this week!

This is Belle & Sebastian. I don't think I've ever heard their music before. That's one thing really cool, sometimes you introduce us (me, anyway) to new tunes.

Chapter 3

Jane almost couldn't believe the news when Daria told her. Naturally, she thought back to the debacle with Natalinos the previous year. With that came all the other disappointments: the cheapskate clients, the lean winters, the parents who'd spent the last decade in the Imperial City without ever sending a letter to Jane to let her know if they were still alive…

Jane was a Dunmer. Her ancestors had come to Morrowind with little more than the cloaks on their backs and the ash on their feet. Weakness was not an option, and that meant she had to hope.

She headed over to the temple, purchasing some gold kanet flowers on the way. Once in the temple's shadowed sanctuary, she knelt before the great triolith and laid the gleaming petals between the brightly burning candles around it.

"Holy Vehk," she uttered. "Thank you for turning Serjo Olerlo's heart. I'll create something beautiful in your name."

She glanced up at Vivec's lean, flame-crowned form painted in black on the triloith's side.

"If you turn some more noble hearts, I'll make more. Like what you told me that one time—that the rest of the world doesn't see things the way you and I do—and how that's okay. Maybe I can make more people see."

She whispered that part. The words weren't strictly appropriate for prayer, but she still felt, in her heart of hearts, that she'd heard her god when she was a hungry child. Even if she hadn't, Vivec knew she believed she had. He'd understand.

"But if he's another jerk like Natalinos," Jane said, her voice trembling in the darkness as she lowered her head, "please watch out for me."

She knew he would.

*********

Jane reached the stairway leading to High Town by noon on Loredas. She'd decided it'd be wise to take up Tomal's offer of answering any questions she might have, and Daria had agreed to join her.

Tomal wasn't a client, but he was a noble, so Jane did everything she could to make herself look presentable. She'd scrubbed herself clean at the bathhouse that morning and put on her least tattered clothes. Tomal had seemed okay the last time they'd met. But rules were still rules, and she wouldn't break any until she knew she could get away with it.

Daria showed up a bit later, wrapped up in a thick green cloak. The sun glinted off her glasses as she neared.

"Ready to submit yourself to the tender mercies of the aristocracy?" Jane asked.

"I'd say I have too much self-respect," Daria said, "but I spent the better part of the morning chaperoning Quinn and the Fashion Club on their latest spending spree, so that's clearly a lie."

Jane looked down at her own shirt, the fabric red except where paint had stained it otherwise. "I hope my clothes don't look too downscale for young Tomal to answer our questions."

"You're fine. As much as it surprises me to say, I don't think Tomal is as stuck-up as his peers. Maybe him acting normal it is only misguided rebellion on his part, but it does make him a lot easier to put up with."

They marched up the stairs. Glancing up, Jane spotted a guard looking down on them from atop one of the blocky adobe watchtowers. Good way to get used to High Town, she supposed, where someone always looked down on you.

"I still don't know what I'm going to wear tomorrow," Jane said.

"I'm sure Quinn could give you a recommendation detailed to the point of excruciation."

"Hmm, I'd take that, except I don't think I can afford any of her recommendations."

"She kept lecturing me on how to dress for my interview tomorrow," Daria said.

"What's this?"

Daria sighed. "I'm going to talk to Armand. He was impressed enough with my performance at Arkngthand to help me formally join the Imperial Archeological Society."

"That's sounds good."

"Yes, since I've always wanted to make a living by counting wheels and struts."

Jane looked over to her friend once they finished climbing the stairs. How nice it'd be if she could trade places with Daria for a day. No job was perfect, but working for anything that started with "Imperial" and ended with "Society" probably meant ending up with a nice sinecure at the very least. Get something like that, and she'd never have to worry about an empty belly again.

"It's not that bad," Jane finally said, trying not to let it bother her. "You'll get to explore Dwemer ruins."

"I still hate being another part of this system."

"Hey, get rich enough, and you can probably figure out clever ways to cheat it. Or at least be able to get away with cheating if you screw up and get caught."

They reached the Driler manor, an expansive three-story home with potted ferns and mushrooms lining the balconies. Daria walked straight up to the door and knocked. It opened a few minutes later to reveal an imposing, scarred Dunmer.

"We're here to see Serjo Tomal Sloan," Daria said.

The doorkeeper frowned. Jane didn't spend much time with nobles, but she still knew the rules. She stepped forward and bowed.

"Honored sera," she said, "my friend and I have come at the request of Serjo Tomal Sloan. We will be waiting for him when he's ready."

The doorkeeper examined them, nodded, and then closed the door in their faces.

"I get the feeling we're not welcome," Daria said. She adjusted her glasses and ran a hand through her hair to smooth out some of the tangles.

"We're fine. He'll fetch Serjo Sloan for us; you just have to know how to ask. I'm surprised he hasn't taught you more about aristocratic etiquette."

"We don't spend that much time together."

The door opened up seconds later, revealing a smiling Tomal.

"Honored serjo," Jane said, bowing.

"Hi," Daria said.

"Hey, Daria," Tomal greeted, offering a nod. Then he briefly turned to Jane. "Good to see you again, Jane." He smiled. "I'd offer to let you two inside, but you'd have to listen to my father complain about provincial shipping fees, and that's not something I'd inflict on my worst enemy."

"Some time in an oubliette would be a mercy compared to that," Daria said.

Jane cringed at Daria's comment. Weren't they worried that the elder Sloan might hear? Then again, Tomal seemed relaxed. Maybe his dad let this sort of thing slide.

"I'm sure my mom would agree," Tomal said. "Anyway, we can talk out here. What do you want to know?"

Both Daria and Tomal looked at Jane. She breathed in to steady herself. Tomal accepted informality from Daria, but that didn't mean the same went for Jane. "What sort of style does Serjo Olerlo want for his painting?"

"Standard Imperial," Tomal answered. "Nothing you can't handle."

"Good to know that nobles are as driven to conformity as everyone else," Daria said.

Tomal smiled and gave an expansive shrug. "Hey, you always have to keep up with what your friends think the emperor thinks is hip."

Jane nodded. Most of her samples were in that style, so she'd bring those. "Thank you. What are Serjo Olerlo's virtues?"

That was the proper way to ask if he'd be any trouble.

Tomal's expression turned more serious. "You don't need to be so formal, Jane. Anyway, I have to be honest with you: I don't know him very well. He's lowborn but earned his aristocratic commission through work for the Hlaalu Council Company. Something to do with negotiating a tax decrease on tanna root sold in the Imperial City."

"So, he's a token example to preserve the illusion of upward mobility," Daria said.

Jane sucked in her breath, not believing her ears. Mocking the system in the safety of the Lucky Lockup was one thing, but right in front of one of the system's wealthiest scions? She'd bring down everything! Jane's future, maybe her entire career, all vanished in a puff of smoke because of some smart remark.

"What's life without a little illusion?" Tomal said. "Hey, at least some Dunmer nobles earned their way to the top. Not sure you can say the same for the Imperial equivalent."

"I'll have you know that it takes a lot of effort to sustain generations of selective inbreeding," Daria replied.

Tomal smirked and turned his attention back to Jane. It was only another joke to him. No wonder he got along so well with Daria.

Jane exhaled and forced herself to concentrate. Everything was okay. "Uh, right. What about Serjo Olerlo's personality?"

"He's all business, from what I've seen. Not friendly, but not mean either."

"Whatever you do, Jane," Daria said, "don't get between him and profit." But she looked at Tomal, not Jane, when she spoke, her eyes taking him all in through her thick lenses. Jane recognized the look. It was the same one she used to give Trent.

Great. Daria probably didn't realize she'd fallen for Tomal. She certainly didn't care that she was making Jane's job harder.

"I'm not going to get in the way of his profit, Daria. Hell, I'm trying to make him richer," Jane said, not quite able to keep her frustration in check.

Daria scoffed and looked heavenward in exasperation.

"That's the attitude he wants," Tomal said, his expression apologetic. "So I'd say you're in the right mindset."

"Great. Is there anything else I should know?" Jane asked. More than anything, she wanted to start working and get away from these kids. Not kids, they were the same age as her. But it sure didn't feel that way.

"That should be everything, though, like I said, I've only met him a few times. I can tell you know your etiquette, so follow that and you should be okay," Tomal said.

Bidding their goodbyes to Tomal, Jane and Daria headed out of High Town. They didn't talk much until they reached the noise and crowds of the Commercial District.

"Sorry I blew up at you there," Jane said.

"It's okay. I should have let you talk," Daria admitted. "You do have a lot riding on this."

"No harm done. I know what I need to know."

She hoped.

"I gotta say," Jane continued, "you get along with Serjo Sloan surprisingly well."

"He annoys me less than most people."

"Why, from you, Daria, that's practically a declaration of everlasting love."

"Spoiled nobles aren't my type. Assuming I have a type, which is looking doubtful."

"How about Dunmer guys whose names start with T?" Jane tried to make it sound like a joke.

But when Daria's face crinkled with suspicion, she knew she'd failed. "Are you trying to imply something?" Daria demanded.

"You do seem awfully fond of Serjo Sloan."

"That doesn't mean I'm in love with him. First of all, he's a noble, and I still disapprove of nobles. I just disapprove of him slightly less. Second, it'd be a lot of work for a humble commoner like me to date one of Morrowind's great scions, and if there's one thing I hate, it's effort."

"Okay, okay. Maybe I misread." But Jane didn't think she had.

Gods, that could be a real disaster in the making. Daria armored herself with wit and sarcasm. That way, no one knew that the taunts of Charach's schoolchildren still echoed for her in Balmora's streets or that Quinn's every dismissive comment struck right to the bone. Daria hurt easily. Trent had been safe for her; he'd never go after someone so young. Jane hadn't met Tedannupal, and had some doubts about him, but Daria hadn't seen him since summer. Tomal, on the other hand, was a lot like Daria in some ways. Aware of the world's silliness and cruelty but more protected from them than Daria could ever hope to be.

Jane didn't want to think of how many ways he could hurt her.

"If you like," Daria said, "we can celebrate your ascension into high society with a few drinks at the Lucky Lockup."

"Thanks, but I'll have to pass. I need to get ready for tomorrow. Hey, if things go well, I can do the buying from now on."

Daria nodded. "In that case, good luck."

"And good luck on your interview with Armand tomorrow," Jane said, waving goodbye as she split off toward St. Roris Bridge.

Jane didn't feel that great about the situation. But right now, she had to concentrate on getting ready.

Musical Closer - Bizarre Love Triangle, by New Order

Jane’s knowledge of noble etiquette really came in handy with the Sloans’ front door keeper.

This potential job with Olerlo is looking a little better. I hope it pans out for Jane.

Jane is really astute, both about Daria’s conflicted feelings regarding Dunmer men whose names begin with T, and how Daria armors herself up in cynicism to avoid being hurt.

Another new word for me, ‘sinecure’. And although I’m familiar with ‘oubliette’, it’s been an elf’s age since I’ve seen it used.

Once again, an uncompromising look into the harsh reality of the life of the working class Dunmer. Poor Jane. In this case literally, as well as figuratively.

I like how you pointed out that Daria is wearing her signature green jacket cloak.

I also loved Daria's cynical observation about High Town being literally uphill, so that you cannot escape the fact that they are looking down upon you.

Daria is going to become an archaeologist! If I have learned anything from movies (the only valid source upon this subject) that means she will have to take lessons in proficiency with whips and archery, she will need a hat and a leather jacket, and she will have to learn how to release sealed evils from the jars. The last part is absolutely critical of course.

Between Jane's horror at Daria's relaxed and insurgent speech with Tomal, one can see that a very easy, comfortably informal relationship has grown up between them. It is a lot easier to imagine that Daria might date this guy, under these circumstances, as opposed to the Tom from the TV show.

And it is nice to see that even Jane herself has recognized that.

Chapter 4

Daria wiled away the gray Sundas morning in her room, idly reading Tsathenes' The Madness of Pelagius by candlelight. The doomed emperor's bizarre torments cushioned her against the more quotidian torments of the outside world.

"Daria!" Mom called. "Are you getting ready for the interview?"

"I'm practicing my flattery and dissembling as we speak," she said, not looking up from her book.

She'd hoped that would be enough, but she heard her mother's footsteps echoing in the stairwell seconds later. Sighing, she doggedly kept reading as Mom poked her head into the room.

"That doesn't look like practice, Daria."

"Sure, it is. I'm learning all about how people comport themselves in the highest echelons of society."

Mom sighed and peered close to look at the book's spine. "I'm not sure that the reign of Mad Pelagius provides the best examples of such things. This is a good opportunity, Daria, and you need to take it more seriously."

"I'm taking it as seriously as I take my schoolwork."

Daria had expected that comment to annoy Mom. Instead, her mother sat down on the bed next to Daria and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"What's the matter, dear? You seemed almost enthusiastic about working for the Imperial Archeological Society last year. Didn't you enjoy your time in Arkngthand?"

Daria gulped. She didn't know what to say because she didn't know, precisely, what bothered her so much. Since yes, the IAS probably was a good fit for her. As good a fit as someone like her would ever find.

"It was okay. All I did was count gears."

No point in telling Mom how she'd blackmailed Karl over his artifact theft ring. Or that she'd never told Armand about it.

"You always have to start with low-level work, Daria. But you've already done some, and you made a good impression."

Daria remembered that she'd been pretty happy when Armand promised her a place on any future expeditions. But the future had felt far away back then, like something that'd never actually arrive.

"I guess it's a lot to take in," Daria admitted.

"Just take things one day at a time. Quite a lot has happened in the past few years, and you've grown up a great deal."

Daria grunted, her shoulders stiffening beneath Mom's caress.

"Anyway, try your best at the interview. You're a vibrant conversationalist. When you want to be, at any rate."

Quinn appeared at the door. "What's going on?"

"Oh, your sister's a little anxious about her interview today."

"No, I'm not," Daria said, not making any attempt to sound convincing.

"It's no big deal! Here, I'll do your hair for you!"

Daria froze in terror.

"I think that's a wonderful idea!" Mom stood up. "I need to get back to work, but Quinn will make you look your best."

"Wait, you can't—" Daria began.

"Oh, I can!" Quinn said, smiling as she took out her comb and advanced on Daria.

*********

Daria wished she'd worn something over her newly styled hair as she walked down Silk-hawkers' Street to Armand's house.

Everyone stared at her.

She tried to look as angry as possible, which was easy to do given her situation. Sure enough, folks looked away, or at least didn't stare quite as obviously.

Daria hesitated at Armand's door. All her mother's endless lectures about social advancement and networking ran through her mind like one long scold. Never, of course, anything about Daria being herself. Because she wasn't enough for them. Mom and Dad wanted a daughter who'd soar through the Empire's institutions, collecting accolades and recommendations the way Quinn collected suitors, until she reached some lofty position that they could brag about. All part of their plan.

But not her plan. Daria didn't particularly care about money or power. If Morrowind had taught her anything, it was that those always came with corruption. Everyone in power had reached their position by trampling on others. All she wanted was a roof over her head and enough money to put the occasional new book on her shelf. A simple life in Balmora wouldn't be bad. Get a quiet job for some local company, and spend her free time reading or skewering the nonsense around her with Jane and Tomal at her side.

Funny. She'd never pictured Tomal as part of her long-term plans before. With Jane so busy, she had been spending more time with him. But with any luck, Jane would soon have a stable job and not have to devote so many hours to hunting for commissions.

Daria had fought an uphill battle to keep her place in Balmora. She didn't want to give it up to help the Empire find more Dwemer war machines.

Jolda opened the door, her expression puzzled as she cradled her toddler brother.

"Hey, Daria," she said. "You've been standing out there for a while."

Daria blushed. "Uh, sorry."

Jolda smiled. "It's okay. You're here for my dad, right? He's in the study," she said, stepping aside. "I love what you did with your hair, by the way. It looks really cool."

"What you see is the result of my sister using me as an experimental subject."

Jolda laughed. "Well, your sister knows her stuff. Dad!" she called out. "Daria's here."

"Tell her to come in." His voice came from upstairs.

Jolda sat down in front of the glowing hearth. A dozen papers and a few open books lay on the colorful rug before it. Sighing, she absent-mindedly rocked her brother while peering at the texts. Her half-lidded gaze told Daria that she'd rather be doing almost anything else.

Daria took off her shoes, as per Redguard custom, and walked up the stairs to Armand's office. He waited for her inside, standing by a big table and dressed in a magnificent purple moth-silk robe. The place looked bare compared to the last time she'd seen it, the Dwemer tools and disassembled animunculi absent.

Armand bowed, and she returned the gesture a bit more deeply. He smiled. "That's what I like about you, Daria. You pay attention to the details."

"You say you like that now, but wait until you ask me to edit something you write."

His laughter, deep and rich, warmed the room. "A keen eye is what I'd want in that situation! Anyway, let's not waste any time, shall we? My understanding is that you're inquiring about opportunities in the IAS. As we've already discussed, I'm willing to give you a place there."

"I'm trying to get some more information at this point," Daria said, shifting in place. She realized she had no idea what she needed from this conversation.

Armand nodded. He walked toward his candlelit desk and took a few papers from a stack on top. "The good news is, we'll be launching another expedition sooner than I'd hoped. The IAS—and more importantly, its backers in the Elder Council—were impressed with our findings."

"Another trip to Arkngthand?"

Which, Daria supposed, wouldn't be too bad.

"No," Armand said, and then he smiled and raised his eyebrows. "They want us to go for the prize: the grand Dwemer city of Kemel-Ze."

Daria had read about the place. Miles and miles of metal galleries coursing through the living stone, the single biggest city the Dwemer had ever built (that the Empire knew about anyway).

Armand's smile faded. "I'm surprised you aren't more enthusiastic. This is the sort of opportunity that Dwemer scholars would kill to get."

Daria struggled to meet his gaze. She felt exposed as her mind scrambled for an answer. What did she want?

"Kemel-Ze's pretty far. And in a part of Morrowind even less friendly than the norm," she said.

Armand nodded. "It is. But we'll take all necessary precautions."

"Has Kemel-Ze been cleared?"

"They've cleared the parts we'll be investigating." He chuckled. "Daria, we want you for your brain, not for your sword arm. You won't be the one fighting Dwemer animunculi or disarming their traps."

"Me fighting ancient machines might make for a good dark comedy, but probably wouldn't help the IAS very much," Daria said. "When will you be going?"

"At the beginning of Rain's End, next year. The IAS is a bureaucracy at heart, but like all good bureaucracies, it moves quickly when it's properly motivated."

"Four months from now?" She uttered, her mouth suddenly dry.

Armand's brow furrowed. "Is that a problem?"

"Uh, is Jolda coming?"

He shook his head. "No. She's got some promising internships here in Balmora, and we decided it'd be best for her to continue those."

More like you decided it'd be best, Daria thought.

"How much taxpayer money does this expedition cost?" Daria asked.

Armand blinked and then drew his head back. "Why do you care?"

Daria crossed her arms. "Don't you think it's more important to spend public funds on aiding those who most need help?"

She'd gone too far, but she felt weirdly okay with that. Since the IAS was corrupt, as bad as the Mages Guild or Great House Hlaalu in its own way. Some of her doubt and uncertainty disappeared.

"Are you trying to be funny, Daria?"

"Not at all. I don't think there's anything funny about how badly things are run."

"The kind of research we do has revolutionary potential!" he said, swiftly cutting his left hand through the air as he said "revolutionary".

"Or, maybe, it'll go toward lining the pockets of nobles and monopolists."

Armand's jaw set, his face stormy as he stood up. "Daria, I agreed to speak with you because I believed you were interested in an opportunity. Now, I know you can be kind of peculiar—and that's okay, I can deal with that—but I will not abide insult."

"I'm not insulting you. I'm simply expressing reservations."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive," Armand said. "Let me ask you, then: What are you doing to help? All I see is a rich Imperial girl taking it easy in an occupied province! Okay, the Empire doesn't do everything it can to make things better, but at least the IAS does something."

"The question," Daria said, "is whether such efforts accomplish anything."

Armand drew himself up, his chin thrusting out as he glared down at her. "How old are you? Eighteen? You don't know anything. I'm an adult, and I worked real hard to get where I am today. Your mom and dad never taught you proper respect, and that's something that'll cause a lot of problems for you."

Daria smiled. His last little rant had made things so much easier. "Uncomfortable truths mean a lot more to me than some artificial conception of respect. Since we're clearly at an impasse, I'll take my leave."

Elation rushed through her as she turned around and walked out of Armand's office. It'd have been gratifying to hear him rant on her way out, but he only grumbled something about wayward youth. Jolda looked up at Daria as she passed through the front room, her eyes questioning.

"What happened?"

"There was a confrontation," she said, as she jammed her feet back into her boots.

Daria opened the door and stepped out onto the street, her cheeks hot and her heart thumping. All the doubts about her future fell away, replaced by the clarity of her ideals. The system was rotten. She'd seen the rot in the Mages Guild, in two great houses, in Drenlyn Academy, in the Cyrodiilic School, and in individuals and communities all through the Empire. She wouldn't play their game.

Daria tightened her coat around her thin frame, the air outside cold after the warmth of Armand's home. Iron-gray clouds clogged the skies above. Rain was certain. Equally certain was Mom eventually finding out about the whole episode. She and Armand didn't run in the same circles, but word always spread.

Maybe Daria had been a little hasty. But she didn't want to end up like Jolda, living someone else's life and always at the mercy of those stronger than her. The powerful weren't always bad. Tomal was okay. But for every Tomal, there were a dozen Syndas, Johannas, and Hetherias. Better to stay invisible and live on her terms with the people she trusted.

She started down the street as the first raindrops splashed against the flagstones.

Musical Closer - Head Like A Hole, by Nine Inch Nails (NSFW Lyrics)

Okay, so Trent does some shows solo, and others with his full band. Heading to Ald'ruhn is the most challenging gig of all, I'd assume. Just because of ash storms. Sure, you can take a silt strider there but there are still storms to deal with (assuming he plays outdoors there). Then again, maybe he played in Ald'ruhn's tavern. 🎸

Yes, I can see how seeing the rest of Morrowind might make her feel anxious! At least she knows Balmora. Balmora's got just enough culture and quirkiness to keep it interesting (from her perspective). It's dangerous as well, but she already knows where not to go.

Yeah, Quinn is SUPER ambitious. I make fun of her a lot, but the Mall Princess actually does have a great mind for business. It's like she's almost blind to the fact that what she's doing has never been done before in Vvardenfell society, and that her entire plan could therefore become a huge fail if (let's say) Hlaalu bans such things as fashion shows and whatnot.

Anyway, this scene with Jane preparing for prayer is touching. She's praying to Vehk. Is that the Vvardenfellian name for Vivec?

Again, Tomal's the center, Jane (like a few others) are merely in orbit of the Big Mer. AT least Tomal's actually pretty laid-back, right? This would be a much different story if he was a big jerk.

Daria's wearing a big green cloak. Didn't she replace her bug shell hat at some point as well?



That's really poignant! .... Daria's comments are cracking me up, as usual. "Good to know Imperials are driven towards conformity..." Lolz. Still, she's causing Jane (who NEEDS this money) a bit of grief.

I agree with Jane: there's something there. Something with Daria as she relates to Tomal, that is, even if it's just "what if" curiosity. Maybe Daria doesn't even know it's there. But the fact that she's soooo abrasive as she refers to the Big Mer only makes it more obvious.

Well, good luck to Janey. 🍀 <--- There's a 4-leaf clover for her, in case your browser can't pick that image up.

EDIT: we posted at the same time last Wednesday! So let me catch up with the newest chapter now. Whoa, she's got an interview.

Oh yeah that's right. There was all that commotion about the blackmail and stuff. Things also went wrong. Didn't they get attacked by some Dwemer contraption?



Ha ha love that! And also, everyone loves Daria's hair except Daria herself. Wish I could see it.

Wow. She's really blowing this "interview"! I wonder if she wouldn't be so divisive if Jolda was going to the city as well. Or even Armand himself. All the things she says about the Impies are true, but would she be bringing this up if she were going with either one of them?

It is pretty spectacular how good she is at failing though! She's really good at messing things up if she doesn't want to be involved.

A new Quinnish doo for Daria! And it seems like Quinn, unsurprisingly, did a good job.

I’m not sure Armand deserved Daria’s confrontational approach but I get that Daria has made up her mind about not playing the networking/get ahead game. That decision alone gives her more control over her destiny. . . and burning a couple bridges just makes the decision more final.

She does seem rather clear now about what she wants:
’All she wanted was a roof over her head and enough money to put the occasional new book on her shelf. A simple life in Balmora wouldn’t be bad. Get a quiet job for some local company, and spend her free time reading or skewering the nonsense around her with Jane and Tomal at her side.’

She will need a job of some sort though. Whether it be working in a flower shoppe, bug hat factory or as Jane’s paint caddy.

Time for Daria to have a fashion club glow up! At least this is something that Quinn is actually quite good at. So I am not expecting it to be terrible, but rather genuinely awesome.

Good goddess, don't ever be yourself at an interview Daria! No one will ever want to hire you then!

Yay its Jolda! I had forgotten that Armand was her dad.

Oooh! Kemel-Ze! What is that?

Ok, there is the Daria we know and love. Sabotaging her opportunities, maybe because she is a little scared of actually following through with them? It looks like she not only has a torch out, but a literal flamethrower to burn this bridge. As her mother would say: "Sigh". I guess this means we can put away the hat and whip, Daria Jones won't be needing them.

Chapter 5

All the years Jane spent painting by candlelight until her eyes ached for rest and then doing it a bit longer, of hustling for good clients and faking a smile to get her fair share, of pinching every septim to make sure she had new brushes and good paints while still putting food on the table, came down to this single client. She was only eighteen, but felt like she'd been fighting for a hundred years. Maybe, just maybe, if this went well, she wouldn't have to fight quite as hard.

Her canvas and samples slung under one arm and a bag of equipment held in her other hand, Jane stood before the door of Serjo Olerlo's house. Her client lived in the south part of High Town, right above the rocky hillside that they hadn't quite gotten around to paving over. The skies above threatened rain. She glanced down at herself, tallying up the paint stains and patches of worn fabric. She'd bathed again that morning and made another short visit to the temple. ALMSIVI willing, she'd soon have a patron.

Jane knocked. A Bosmer servant opened it up, his black eyes suspicious.

"Honored sera," Jane said. "I am the painter that Serjo Olerlo has requested," she said.

The servant nodded. "Follow me."

She did, passing through candlelit hallways and on whisper-soft rugs until the servant stopped at another closed door.

"Serjo Olerlo," the servant said, "the painter you have summoned is here."

Jane shifted in place and clutched her canvas. What if he changed his mind? Nobles were fickle. Of course they were; they could always get away with it.

"Let her in," came a voice from the other side.

The servant opened the door and gestured for Jane to enter. She muttered thanks and stepped inside. Olerlo sat behind a polished mahogany desk. Like most wealthy Dunmer in Balmora, he wore an Imperial-style coat over a silk shirt and tight breeches on his legs. Only the jagged tattoos above the cheek lines of his beard marked him as a native.

"You honor me by your grace, Serjo Olerlo," Jane said, nodding in acknowledgment.

"I am told that you are a skilled artist."

Should she stay humble or go bold? Olerlo had worked himself up. Maybe he'd respect her for showing ambition. Or maybe he was one of those who pulled the ladder up from behind him, angry that any other lowborn should benefit. No way to know, so she decided to go bold. Jane smiled and raised her eyebrows. She'd be confident and sharp, the kind of person Olerlo might respect.

"I've been painting since I could first hold a brush," she said. "But I'd rather let my work speak for itself. I did bring a few samples."

"Let me see," he ordered.

Jane crouched to put her canvas and equipment on the floor and then unwrapped her three samples. She'd chosen them carefully. The first two were of Imperial merchants she'd had as clients. She'd duplicated the commissions she'd made for them for just this purpose. The third was her sketch of Natalinos. Using a sketch was a risk, but she needed to show she could portray Dunmer, and he was the only Dunmer client she'd ever had.

Plus, it'd be nice to get some use out of Natalinos.

She brought them to his desk. Olerlo studied them for a while, his face never changing.

"My sources didn't tell me about your apprenticeship days. You're young enough to still be one," he said.

Of course, he asked that. Because Dunmer always wanted to know who else you'd worked for so they could figure out exactly where you stood in the pecking order.

"My dad's an artist. He lives in the Imperial City now, but he taught me when I was a kid. I also got some training at the temple and from Sera Defoe at Drenlyn Academy. I didn't have a lot of options growing up, serjo, so I had to make my own."

Dad had barely taught her anything, and the one thing Dunmer hated was the idea that anyone could teach themselves. Because that took power away from the great houses and the temple, away from mom and dad.

Serjo Olerlo just nodded and looked again at the samples. "So, you never went through a formal apprenticeship."

Give me a smile, you bastard, Jane thought. Or even a frown. Some hint of what you think.

"Not a formal one, no," she said. "But I've practiced and trained almost every day of my life."

"I want you to paint my portrait on that canvas you brought. Can you do that?"

"Of course, serjo. How do you want this portrait?"

He looked puzzled. "I only want a portrait."

"Right. I can do all kinds of portraits. Side view, three-quarters view, anything you like."

This gave her an advantage. The guy didn't know much about art, so maybe she could wow him with basic knowledge.

"Hm. Uh, what's that kind where the subject isn't looking directly at the viewer but kind of off to the center?"

"Three-quarters."

"Three-quarters," he said, nodding as if he knew what he was talking about. "Make it as good as you can within the space of a few hours. I'm checking for speed and how well you work under pressure here."

"Got it."

Jane set up her station. She positioned herself at the side of the room so she could see Olerlo without his desk getting in the way. Subtly and carefully, she directed his position.

"You have a strong jawline, serjo. Would you like me to emphasize that?"

"Sure," he said.

"Could you turn your head a little more to the left? Just a bit... perfect!"

Now she sat before her client, her paints on her palette and her brush hovering inches above as she took in all the details: the bottle of Cyrodiilic rice wine on his desk, flanked by silver goblets; the tapestry of St. Veloth leading Olerlo's (and Jane's) ancestors; the bookshelf laden with modern tomes on business and accounting; the faint smell of kwama meat and tanna smoke; the fine clothes and the ancient tattoos.

Every client wanted to look their best. A western Imperial might want the warts-and-all approach, but that wasn't humility talking, not at all. Quite the opposite. They took pride in being honest, much like how an Imperial City resident took pride in lavish wealth, or a Dunmer took pride in displaying the strength of ancestors through their scars and tattoos.

Serjo Olerlo was a Dunmer who'd made his fortune by working with and emulating the rich Imperials of the capital. And he wanted to show that off, but only so that everyone could see how far he, a Dunmer commoner, had come. His portrait had to show strength and splendor. Strength because the Dunmer could never afford to be soft, because Morrowind did not forgive weakness. Splendor because the Empire offered wealth to the daring, and Olerlo was nothing if not daring.

Olerlo's finished portrait formed in her mind's eye. Knowing exactly what she needed to do and exactly how the painting would look, Jane dipped her brush in the palette and put the first stroke on the canvas.

Musical Closer - Too Many People, by The Pet Shop Boys

This is a big deal for Jane and I really hope it works out for her.

Olerlo is not giving a hint of where she stands during this interview. A portrait under pressure is it to be then? Fortunately, Jane has the materials she needs and quickly makes the key decisions necessary. I think she’s off to a good start and if it doesn’t work out, I bet it won’t be due to a lack of talent on her part.

Jane has a lot riding on this. Hopefully things will work out.

Jane's observation about the people who pull up the ladder behind them felt quite topical.

At least Natalinos turned out to be good for something!

Once again, you really show how Jane does not just push paints around when she works. Nor does she even simply create an image in her mind of what she wants to draw. She interrogates the nature of her subject, examines their psychology and puts that in context with their culture, and that is what she brings out on the canvas.

Cool, did not know that about the Tribunal gods. There's a lot to learn there, actually. A lot of depth within ES lore.

Mm hmm, that's just what I expected, that she'd react differently if Jolda (especially Jolda) was going too.

Yes, I have seen that book plenty of times: The Ruins of Kemel-Ze. Not sure if Joan has ever read it. She tends to read stuff about the gods/goddesses, religion, and so on. Darkest Darkness? No.

You added a "Bioware" style dialog decision into the story. Jane had a choice of [BOLD] or [HUMBLE]. I am glad she chose BOLD. Maybe this way, she won't get pushed around.

Eesh. I already don't like this Olerlo guy. Doesn't seem to be much fun. See, this is why Tomal is so awesome. He comes across as fair, at least. But that little aside moment when Olerlo didn't know there are different types of portraits, and that have actual names made me smile.

Phew, a cliff-hanger! Not exactly an action-packed sort of cliffie, but you know what I mean, right? Gotta wait until tomorrow to find out what happens next!

Chapter 6

Daria told Mom that the meeting had been inconclusive. The fib didn't strike Daria as an ideal solution. Lying to idiots was easy. Idiots never asked questions or bothered to look closely. But Mom's whole job was to ask questions and study things in exacting detail. What's worse: she was good at it.

"Armand's not sure there's going to be room for me, and I don't know enough about this position to be sure it's a good fit," Daria said. "Sounds like it'd be more bureaucracy than fieldwork."

Mom frowned. "That's odd. I've only met Armand a few times, but he seems very detail-oriented. I'm surprised he'd do an interview if he was so unsure about your place. Didn't he say he wanted you with the IAS?"

"The situation has apparently changed since last year. More rich nobles' sons who all want a position, you understand," Daria said.

Mom grumbled. "Well, that's no surprise. Keep at it. Maybe something will open up."

The family decided to go out to the Glass Crown during a lull in the rain. Daria excused herself by feigning exhaustion. Once alone, she brought The Madness of Pelagius into her mom's office and resumed reading as afternoon turned to evening. She tried to, at any rate. Her attention kept drifting, and she'd forget how a sentence started before she got halfway through reading it. Rain tapped steadily on the roof and splashed onto the street outside. It should have been a perfect day for idling away with a good book in the comfort of solitude. But Daria kept ruminating on what Armand had said to her.

What was she doing to make the world better?

But what could she do? Balmora certainly had its problems, but at least she knew how it worked. She was safe. For the first time in her life, she had friends. More than one if she counted Tomal, and maybe Amelia. Maybe Jolda. But Daria suspected Jolda no longer counted herself as one, not after that day.

Putting the book in her lap, Daria stared off into space and wondered what the hell she was going to do. Mom would find out sooner or later. There would be hell to pay when she did.

It was almost dark when someone knocked at the door. Daria hesitated, not sure if she wanted to answer it. Memories of Synda's attack still lurked in the recesses of her memory: staves hitting her back and sides, her glasses shattering under Synda's foot.

She broke out in a sweat. But that was absurd. Synda was a faker who'd gotten in over her head.

"Hey, Daria! It's me!"

Jane's voice! All at once, Daria relaxed. It would be nice to talk to someone. Maybe, despite the late hour and the rain, they could go over to the Lucky Lockup and talk about the day over some drinks. Jane probably had stories about her stuck-up noble client, and Daria could get Jane to tell her that she'd done the smart thing. Because she needed to hear it from someone else.

She opened the door. Jane was drenched but grinning ear to ear.

"I got it!" Jane lunged forward and threw her arms around Daria, pulling her close and splashing cold rainwater on her once-dry clothes. "I finally did it! I… have an honest-to-goodness noble patron! I never…"

Her voice broke a little. "I never thought this would happen."

Jane stepped back and exhaled.

"Congratulations," Daria said. "I hope you don't forget the humble pleasures of kith and kin in your rise to the top."

"Eh, Drenlyn Academy can go to hell. But I won't forget you, Muthsera Morgendorffer," she said, smiling and pointing at Daria.

Daria blushed. "My customary sarcasm aside, this is great news."

"Some much-needed great news," Jane said. "How did it go with Armand?"

Daria hesitated. "That's a complicated story. If it's not too late for you, we can go out to the Lucky Lockup, and I'll tell you what happened. I need to get out of here anyway."

"Drinks are on me!" Jane offered. "Hell, since I'm indirectly working for Great House Hlaalu now, maybe I can get us a seat at the Eight Plates."

"And deal with the thinly veiled hostility of its upwardly mobile patrons," Daria said.

Jane shrugged. "Eh, I work for Serjo Olerlo. They'll just have to deal with us filthy outlanders entering their cornerclub."

"If you are going to join Balmora high society, you might as well get started." She'd never actually had a drink at Eight Plates before. That cornerclub was for Hlaalu up-and-comers, not for unconnected outlanders, something Mom and Dad had learned the hard way.

Jane's smile faded. "So, that's the catch."

"What is?" Daria asked.

"You mentioned Balmora high society. It, uh, won't be Balmora."

Daria's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

"It turns out that Serjo Olerlo wasn't hiring an artist for himself. He wants one for his wife and brother in Vivec City. Which means I'm going to have to move."

A cold and unbearable terror seized her. She wanted some sharp comment to break the silence and push down her fear. But nothing came.

"It's not right away," Jane said. "I have a month to get everything straightened out, figure out what Trent and J'dash will do. And I won't have to hunt for commissions, so we'll get more time to hang out."

"Hm. You are moving up in the world," Daria uttered, her words sounding a million miles away.

"Guess so. But hey, Vivec's not that far away, just a couple days by silt strider. Anyway, let's see if I can get us into Eight Plates." Jane gestured with her thumb over her shoulder.

"Actually," Daria said, "I've had kind of a rough day. Think I'll stay home."

Jane blinked. "Didn't you say you wanted to get out of here?"

"I got tired suddenly."

"Huh, okay. Well, sometime this week, then. You know where I'll be."

"Right. Uh, congratulations again."

Jane stood in the doorway as if not quite sure what to do. Then she stepped back outside. "Later."

"Yeah, later," Daria said, closing the door.

Her argument with Armand echoed in her mind as she sat back down, her fingers brushing against her book but not able to pick it up. As rain continued to pour down from the darkening sky, Daria suddenly realized how colossally foolish she'd been.

Musical Closer - It's Coming Down, by Cake

The End

Daria, thinking hard in this episode. She can't even get into Madness of Pelagius for crissakes! - Daria, unable to delve into a book? This cannot be!

That'll be interesting, to hear Jolda's reaction to Dar's grand bridge-burning session. Because there's gotta be a reaction. But here's the thing. There's enough of a gray-area going on here, to the point that any gossip which comes from Jolda's mouth can become a "he said/she said" deal. Daria can just brush off any fallout. It's not like she won't have other opportunities.

Cool, Jane is here. Alright, let's hear how her day went.... NICE. Jane is smiling! Great. It's a feel-good moment.

Whoa, an upgrade from Lucky Lockup to the Eight Plates! Yes, you should eat there. Thing is,

Mmm. Vivec. Yeah, that's the thing about growing up, sometimes you gotta move away from your friends. On the other hand, maybe Daria can eventually move there as well. They'd be like that show: Two Broke Girls. Except it'd be Two Busy Girls.

Cake is a great band! They played for free about 10 years ago, at Baltimore Artscape Festival, and we just happened to catch the entire show. WHOA, they do a song called Daria!

Great news for Jane. . . but what a bombshell fireball for Daria to learn her bestie will be moving. Jane has been such an important anchor for Daria as she has tried to find her place in Balmora. Now to lose that. Especially after her burning her IAS bridge. Hmm, Armand actually seems like a pretty good sort. Perhaps an apology might coax him to overlook her rash behavior at that interview.

As every child should Daria is lying to mom about why she did not get the job (i.e. told the manager to shove it).

It's Jane! I can't wait to find out how things went.

"Eh, Drenlyn Academy can go to hell."
You tell 'em Jane!

Uh oh, there is the catch... Why is there always a catch?

Moving to Vivec? Well that's good for Jane. That's life in the big city. As big as it gets for Vvardenfell. Not so good for Daria. She is losing the best, and some might say only, friend she has. So certainly a bittersweet occasion for her. I bet she will handle it with grace and empathy and totally not in a passive-aggressive tantrum way...

Yep Daria. You are a fool.

Episode 26: Ashtrapped

Note: Special thanks to KatikaCreations for the valuable feedback she provided! Special thanks also to Atiyatortilla, for finding the original draft of this story (which I'd lost) and sending it to me.

Chapter 1

The caravanner studied the silt strider's exposed brain with watchful eyes. She raised her right hand, hesitated for a moment, and then pressed her index and middle fingers into a whorl on the organ's gray and rubbery surface. The strider let out a keening moan that echoed across the wastes. Its tower-tall legs stretched, the passenger compartment within the shell tilting subtly to the left as the creature changed course.

Heedless, the robed Dunmer pilgrim at the back of the shell kept up his droning prayer to some Tribunal saint. Huddled in a thick green cloak, Daria took stock of her situation: she was riding an enormous bug through the endless ash desert; her family had no idea where she was; and she was doing it as the traveling companion of her history teacher, Sera Dimartani.

Former history teacher, she corrected. Dimartani sat next to her, knees up to his nose, his long and lean body contorted to fit into the cramped passenger space.

"If you're WONDERING," he said, "the pilgrim is asking saints Roris and Veloth for a safe JOURNEY."

"Which saint handles comfortable journeys? Because I want to make a point to not thank him."

Dimartani made a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. "Comfort is something you IMPERIALS worry about. Not us Dunmer!"

"Having seen High Town, I'm not sure I'd agree with that statement."

"Which is why I'm glad to finally put BALMORA behind me!"

Dimartani grinned and thrust his fist into the air, only to bang it against the shell. The caravanner hissed and shot him a dirty look.

He cringed. "Uh, SORRY! I am merely enthusiastic that we are on our way to Ald'ruhn."

Daria reached out and pressed her hands against the carapace for balance as she slowly stood up, the leathery surface beneath her shifting with the motion of the silt strider's legs. Cautious steps took her to the open-air segment in the middle, which offered a view of the outdoors.

Cold, gray skies merged with the sea of ash spreading all around them. Enormous hills of soot and cinders rose like waves frozen mid-crest, broken by basalt promontories and the blackened skeletons of petrified trees. Storm-crowned and fire-sheathed, Red Mountain burned to the east, its fuming slopes girdled by the gleaming blue band of the Ghostfence.

She had to admit that she liked the view. Stark and uncompromising. A land that didn't care about social niceties, unscarred by farms or plantations. But that didn't mean it was safe for her. Going to Ald'ruhn was only the most recent in a series of very stupid decisions…

*********

"Jeez, Daria! I don't know where your stupid bug-shell hat is! It's not something I'd ever wear, so why would I steal it?" Quinn demanded.

"As part of your mad attempt to monopolize all fashion?"

"For your information, I'd only monopolize the good fashion!" She made an exasperated squeal and stormed out of the room. Daria glared at Quinn's retreating form and then stepped over to her sister's side of the room for a more thorough look.

"Daria, what's going on?" Mom asked from the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes suspicious.

"If you don't mind," Daria said, "I'm trying to get something done."

"Those hats cost maybe a septim a piece; you can buy a new one on the way to Jane's house."

"That's not the point!"

"Daria, what's the matter with you?"

Daria knelt to look under Quinn's bed. "Maybe I'm tired of putting up with Quinn's crap."

"I didn't even do anything, Mom, Daria's going crazy!" Quinn called out from downstairs.

"Hm, I think I see what's happening," Mom said. "You're upset about Jane leaving, aren't you."

"Why would I be? Aside from her being the only friend I've ever had," Daria said, and saying that fact out loud made it hurt all over again. She groped beneath Quinn's bed, not entirely surprised that she found nothing.

"I know it's hard. But she won't be that far away."

"Two days' travel is pretty damn far." Flustered and fed up, Daria stood back up. No point in searching for the hat at this point.

"Make the most of this trip with her, Daria. It's not fair to her for you to carry that attitude with you. This is a good opportunity for Jane, and you should be happy for her."

*********

The distant call of a silt strider—not the one she rode—awoke Daria the next day. Pushing her aching body upright, she took her glasses out of her chitin carrying case and put them on. How long had she been out? The sun gleamed wan and distant through hazy gray clouds, still in the east though not far from the noontime zenith. She must've slept through the morning.

Dimartani stood next to her, watching their surroundings with his bad eye bulging and his teeth locked into a rictus grin. It was the closest he'd ever come to looking happy. Daria stuck her head out of the gap in the shell.

They'd almost reached the city of Ald'ruhn. She did a double-take when she saw the palace at the north end of the city, its form a bulbous white dome swelling out of the desert like some enormous mushroom. Not fungus, though. In actuality, the city-sized husk of a thankfully long-dead giant crab where the Redoran lords made their homes.

A line of silt striders walked at the head of a dust cloud to the north, their legs so tall and skinny that they seemed ready to topple. The call must have come from one of them.

Ald'ruhn was a world away from Balmora. Balmora's builders had laid it out in the neat straight lines befitting a Hlaalu entrepôt. Easy to enter, easy to leave. Ald'ruhn, on the other hand, existed in circles, each group of buildings like a social clique at school, with faces turned to each other and backs to the world. Not easy to enter and probably not easy to leave. Around the city ran a white and winding wall punctuated by towers that looked like forlorn bones sticking out of the ash.

She reminded herself of the ways of Great House Redoran. Honor-bound. Traditional. Communal. She wondered if they realized how well their city's layout advertised that.

"We're HERE!" Dimartani said. "I never thought they'd take me back, Daria."

The old Dunmer turned to look at her, the hard lines of his face softening. Tears stood in his red eyes. "I OWE that to you!"

"Don't get too excited," Daria warned. "Great House Redoran only said they'd reconsider your case." She felt like her mother dealing with a naïve client who had no idea how much legal trouble they were actually in.

"Always TRUTHFUL and to the point!" Dimartani walked back to the little space the two of them had made for themselves next to the caravanner.

"I believe I have a good case," he said. "I have paid off my debts through HONORABLE work. As honorable as you can get in Balmora, anyway. My sponsors also seemed IMPRESSED that I saved your life."

Daria sat down next to him. Cold desert winds blew through and around the shell. "But you didn't mention that I was an outlander."

Dimartani pressed his lips together and looked down at the leathery floor. "Morrowind has CHANGED, Daria. Even Redoran has changed. There are outlanders within Redoran, now. VERY FEW... but some."

"My point's more that your sponsors might expect me to be a Dunmer, and won't react well when they see I'm an Imperial. What did you tell them you saved me from? Did that lowly thug become a herd of rampaging kagouti in your retelling?"

Dimartani drew himself up, his odd eye quivering in its socket. "I would NEVER lie about the kill." Then he relaxed. "I am confident that they will take my previous service into account. I do APPRECIATE your help on this matter."

"I'm always happy to help, as long as it doesn't cost me anything."

He laughed. "Your ACTIONS belie your words! You did not need to help Synda. Some might argue that you should have let her DIE."

"A momentary lapse of judgment," she muttered, wrapping her cloak more tightly around her body. Gods, it was cold.

"Morrowind does not forgive lapses."

"Right. Which is why you're betting everything in the hopes that Great House Redoran forgives you."

Dimartani grimaced. "Uh, FAIR POINT, I guess."

The silt strider let out a piercing wail that shook the entire shell as it neared the port. The pilgrim at the back picked up his bag and uttered a prayer of thanks for the safe journey. Daria leaned over for another look outside, but this time, turned her gaze down to the trackless gray beneath the silt strider. Nothing but dust and ash for miles.

It'd be so easy to disappear in a place like this.

She wondered why that idea appealed to her so much.

Musical Closer - Curve in the Old I-9, by Ozma

By the Three! Daria’s really going native! Riding a silt strider, looking for her bug hat, using a chitin carrying case for her glasses. . . .

Ald’ruhn does indeed seem really different from Balmora. And Daria’s going to try and help Dimartini get back in good with House Redoran.

Daria is off on an adventure with Mr. Dimartino? ExCUSE me, MR deMARTINo?

I am glad to see that Daria's wit has not deserted her, even if her good sense has.

So its off to Old Ruin, I mean Ald'Ruhn. Daria gets to see the biggest crab shell ever.

Mom of course says all the right things. Not that it will mitigate the way Daria feels one bit. It never does.

So now I am wondering if Dimartino quit his teaching job to go back to work full time as a henchmen for House Redoran? Sorry, I have been listening to Kill James Bond, so the term henchmen is on my mind. They even postulate that you recruit them by calling 1-900-Hench...

I liked the way you illustrated House Redoran's beliefs echoed through their architecture.

Ahh, so Mr. Dimartino is hoping that he can get back in Redoran's good graces, thanks to his timely slayage of the goon who had menaced Daria. Hopefully they will overlook the Daria's round ears, pale complexion, and sparkling personality and decide to take him back in spite of saving her!

I was about to say: that really sounds like she's in a precarious position now, doing something which 1)> she doesn't want to and 2)> is dangerous. But at LEAST the TEACHER who TALKS like THIS is with her.

Okay... Ald'ruhn. Guess that's not so bad. At first I was thinking they're going way off to Tel Vos or something. 🌋 Seriously, though.

Bug shell hat! Yah, I was wondering where her new one is. I remember something happened to the first one she bought.



Hee hee!!!

Today's song is by Ozma. New band for me. Pretty stark opening. Definitely matches the sadness poor Daria's feeling. But then the song kicks in. That's more like an inner rage. Nice, I like this music.

Chapter 2

Once off the strider, Daria decided that it at least felt good to be on solid ground again. The noontime sun shone clear and cold over the ash-strewn plaza by the strider port. The sour smell that hovered over Balmora was present in Ald'ruhn as well, drier and tinged with brimstone. Outlander merchants, fewer than Daria had expected, pitched their wares in the shadows of enormous pillbug-shaped buildings made of gray adobe. They sold the same things portside merchants sold back home: scrib jerky, stale bread, cheap charms, and trinkets.

"I NEED to make my presence known," Dimartani said.

"How much money do you have?" Daria asked.

He moved his shoulders in a flippant shrug. "I'm a Redoran! Not some HLAALU bean counter!"

"Maybe the Hlaalu paying attention to that kind of thing is why they're doing so much better."

Dimartani swiveled his head so that his bulging eye stared right at her. "WHY are you so concerned?"

"Well, Aldr'uhn is in the middle of the desert. I didn't observe any farms or egg mines, and not much seems to grow here. Likewise, that big line of silt striders with cargo strapped to their thoraxes tells me that this place imports food, which means it'll be more expensive. If food's more expensive, so is everything else."

He laughed. "That's why I like you, Daria! You actually pay ATTENTION, unlike the rest of those ingrate adolescents from whom I've so recently EXTRICATED myself. Yes, things will be more expensive here, but that's not the POINT."

"It becomes the point awfully fast once you get hungry."

"We won't have to worry about food so long as I make my case."

"It cost me 110 to get here," Daria said, "and they'll probably gouge me more if I head back home without a Dunmer traveling companion. So I'd say I need to save at least 150, which means I don't have much in the way of a discretionary fund."

"Don't worry. If they turn me down, you can go back as SOON as you'd like." Dimartani didn't sound angry about it.

Daria had to admit that the rigors of travel had put her in a foul mood. Or fouler than usual, anyway. Regardless, Dimartani had saved her life, and she had agreed to vouch for him.

What's more, she didn't want to go back so soon. Her parents expected her to be gone for a week, helping Jane move to Vivec. Coming home early meant explaining things she'd rather not explain.

Jane's last words to Daria—probably her very last—burned red and painful in her memory.

Dust swirled around her booted feet as she walked through the plaza. She noted some larger buildings with the familiar guild logos. Almost everyone around the strider port was an outlander like her. Beyond the city walls and to the south stood the obligatory imperial fort, its blocky gray towers blending into the ashen surroundings.

Daria followed Dimartani up a set of wide, shallow steps flanked by weather-worn stones and black-red succulents. All at once, the outlanders vanished, replaced by Dunmer speaking in rough and whispery voices that sounded like dry winds. No finery in this place; the residents all wore colorless homespun tunics or dresses, each patched and mended many times over. But the attitude made the real difference. Balmora was a place of business that welcomed coin above anything else. Ald'ruhn, on the other hand, didn't seem to welcome anything. The local Dunmer cast suspicious glares at Daria and Dimartani as they walked through the crowds and down the narrow paths that passed for streets.

"HERE WE ARE!" he announced a while later, his strident voice breaking out from the crowd's susurration. He pointed to the circle of huts to his right. "The home of Clan Hadrubal! MY clan!"

"I see. How can you distinguish this from the dozen identical neighborhoods we passed?"

He snorted. "That's how I know you're an OUTLANDER!"

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but the people here don't seem too comfortable with you, either."

"That's what I'm trying to FIX! Follow me! Once more into the breach!"

He strode into the circle of huts. Five old Dunmer men stood together in the center, chatting and smoking pipes that gave off the sharp aroma of burnt tanna root. An elderly woman sat in front of one of the houses, mending a banner marked by interlinked green and black Daedric letters, while around her a few kids tossed an inflated bladder to each other. One of the old men stepped away from the group, his eyes widening when he saw Dimartani. Daria's former history teacher dropped to his knees before him.

"HONORED UNCLE!" he said. "It is I: Andril Dimartani of House Redoran, Named Kin of Clan HADRUBAL, Keeper of Hadrubal's Stories, Warrior of the Water-Marches in Times PAST and of the Ashlands in Times More RECENT, Humble Servant to Serjo Llendu! I have returned from exile with YOUR blessing!"

The old Dunmer stared at him and stroked his wispy white beard.

"Yes, nephew. Serjo Llendu did approve your second chance, but I must confess that we all sort of hoped that your silt strider had gotten lost." His red eyes focused on Daria. "That goes double now that you've brought a foreigner into our midst."

*********

Even though two dozen people had crowded into a windowless gray hut with room for maybe half that number, the Dunmer still found a way to make sure Daria didn't get too close to any of them.

She sat cross-legged on the dusty floor. Darkness lay heavy in the home's egg-shaped interior, relieved only by the sullen red light of a combination hearth and stove in the center. Dunmer sat on the floor or leaned against the walls, old and young alike, the glow of the sooty flames revealing the sharp contours of their faces. It was only a little past noon, but Daria felt like she sat at a campfire beneath a moonless night sky, with nothing but shadow and ash around her.

Jane would have loved to paint something like this, she thought, and again heard those final words.

"Why do you wish to return, Andril?" his uncle said. The old man, whose name was Velo Dimartani, stood near the hearth-stove. A shining green carapace that might've come from some overlarge centipede weighed down his narrow shoulders, placed there earlier by some youths. Daria guessed that it symbolized authority.

"Because I have made amends!" Dimartani stood before his uncle, his head ever so slightly bowed. "I have PAID off my debts, and I did so honorably."

"Through marketplace haggling?" Velo asked, to bitter laughter around the room.

Dimartani shook his head. "I worked as a TEACHER and in the Fighters Guild. The same kind of work I once did here!"

"I can confirm this—" Daria started to say, only to suck in her words once the twenty to thirty pairs of red eyes all stared at her at once. She didn't look away. She knew better than to show fear.

She recalled Dimartani's warning to her when she embarked with him. That he didn't mind backtalk, but that most Redoran avenged insult with blood.

"What sorts of things did you teach? What kinds of battle did you wage?" Velo pressed.

"I taught history. Not the secrets of our clan, but the truths of MORROWIND and the Empire. As for my time in the FIGHTERS Guild, I protected the weak."

"Yes. Like this outlander," Velo said, snarling the last word and gesturing to Daria.

"Gee, thanks," Daria muttered.

"You did not mention that you'd saved an outlander girl in your missive," Velo continued. "A key omission, I would say."

"Andril's clearly been tainted by the Hlaalu and their Empire-loving ways," a woman scoffed.

Dimartani licked his lips, his eyes going back and forth. "My INTENT was not to deceive. Daria is brave and forthright in her own way."

Forthright, sure, Daria thought. Brave? Doubtful. Brave meant being strong enough to do the right thing.

"So you claim. Serjo Llendu only granted you permission to return, but the decision on whether or not to take you rests with me, the hetman of Clan Hadrubal."

He sighed, stepping closer to Dimartani. "You had so much promise in your youth, Andril. I did not hesitate to give you my family's name. You had earned a place at our campfire by sword and by deed."

"It was the greatest HONOR of my life," Dimartani said. His red eyes glistened with tears.

"Yet you repaid this honor by gambling away our funds." The uncle sighed. "The thrill of casting bones was all it took?" He put his hands on Dimartani's shoulders. "My sister imparted unto you the secrets of our clan and lineage. We trusted you to be our storyteller. But how can we ever trust you again?"

"It has been YEARS since I last gambled! I cut that vice from my life! With EXTREME prejudice!"

"Words, Andril. Mere words. Yet you always put too much stock into words. Those ridiculous books you valued!"

Dimartani shook his head. "A YOUTHFUL error. Now I understand that it is actions that matter. I beg you: Give me a chance to prove my WORTH!"

Daria scowled. Yeah, who needed books? Books only got in the way of bashing in people's heads for some artificial notion of honor. Then again, she'd lived her life by the written word, and what had that gotten her? Isolation, dwindling opportunities, and a front-row seat to Redoran family court.

"What say you?" Velo asked, suddenly stopping and spreading his arms, looking to the crowd.

A chorus of yes's and no's erupted from the crowd.

"Andril served us well," an older man said. "He told our stories with skill!"

"He should have said he'd saved an outlander!" The woman from earlier disagreed. "Him hiding it proves he's become a Hlaalu in spirit."

"Daria is NOT just another outlander! She has shown, uh, intellectual courage and MORAL strength," Dimartani protested.

Oh gods, Daria thought. What moral strength? She'd ended up compromising on nearly every moral stand she'd ever attempted.

"Need I REMIND you," Dimartani continued, "that some outlanders have joined Great House Redoran, and served it WELL? Blood does not matter. I have no blood relation to any of you. It was through DEED that I joined Clan Hadrubal!"

More murmurs around the crowd. Some of the harder expressions seemed to soften. The uncle watched and nodded.

"Very well, Andril. I shall set a task upon you."

"THANK YOU!" Dimartani exclaimed, his voice breaking. "I will not disappoint!"

"The darkness within Red Mountain has not lain idle during your exile. As we speak, Great House Redoran prepares its hosts to meet the forces of the Sharmat."

Daria's ears perked up at this. His words sounded like war, but how could there be war unless the Empire allowed it?

"Clan Hadrubal is small, but we will do our duty. You recall our lookout post, many miles to the east?"

"Yes," Dimartani said with a nod.

"You will go to it and ensure that it is safe."

Then his uncle turned on his heels and pointed at Daria. "She must go with you, so that we may see if she is as brave as you claim."

Musical Closer - Cities in Dust, by Siouxsie and the Banshees

So it seems Daria and Jane did not part on mutually supportive terms. Urgh.

The Redoran do not disappoint when it comes their unlikable factor here. Dimartani seems like too decent a fellow to ever get along with these close-minded clansters. This place is making Balmora look better and better.

Oh beetle dung! Now Dimartani and Daria are expected to ‘prove’ themselves worthy by checking out some lookout post. And clearly, the Redorans are expecting some degree of bravery to be required. That does not sound good.

I always wondered what the people in Ald'Ruhn ate as well. I assumed they had ash yams or something like that. But you never see any farms of even that. Then again, I don't think they have any regular farms around Balmora either. I think the area around Vivec is the only place they directly show with actual agriculture. Though I do recall some herders in the West Gash north of Caldera.

So Daria is out here not just doing Mr. DiMartino a solid, but also escaping from telling her parents the ugly truth about her ugly breakup with Jane. Not surprising. Daria is weaving quite a web of deceptions around her recent behavior. It is not going to be pretty when all of that comes falling down like the house of cards that it is.

I wonder how much a guild guide would cost to teleport Daria back to Balmora, rather than take the Silt Strider? Probably more expensive, since its instantaneous.

For a moment I thought that inflated bladder meant someone had to pee!

Uh oh, that was clearly not the warm welcome Mr. DiMartino was hoping for. Clearly, this is going to take some work.

Ahh, so it was that crippling gambling addiction that destroyed Mr. DiMartino's life in Ald'Ruhn. That was a nice way of working it into his history.

Alright, now we are getting down to it. Give us a quest to go on, some people to kill, and a McGuffin to fetch! And Daria is going along for the ride, yay! At least now she can sling some spells.

I hope those aren't the last words to Jane! I'll be really sad if Jane's been written out of the Outlanders show!



Very true. The game doesn't portray this sort of thing very well but definitely it seems like the poorer residents should be wearing less-colorful clothes. All the fishermen along the Bitter Coast, for instance. Anyway, this is a great detail.

'HERE WE ARE!!!" Dimartani seems right at home. Let's see if he can FIX what he came to fix. Gosh, ALL CAPS are so fun to USE! == In fact, Dimartani's oddly dramatic speech patterns were probably even MORE PRONOUNCED when he was young.

And wow, look at the long title which follows his name. And he's serious about his title too. Not like Tomal Sloan, who we believe titled his name on Daria's letter as a joke. But what the heck? His uncle seems not too happy to see the nephew. And Daria's in trouble. Seee.....

Let me finish this in a few. Doorbell's ringing.

Alright, so Jane's final words. I need to revisit those.



That's them, right?

Anyway, Dimartani's ALL CAPS don't seem so funny now that he's in this weird situation. Eeeesh, he gambled funds!!! I didn't know this (or maybe forgot this). No wonder they're so pissed at him. Yeah, I totallly get it. I know a guy who online-gambled his girlfriend's money away. They had a nice house and everything. Well, SHE still has that nice house. He's out on his ass, last I heard.

Oh boy. So they are headed off to the east, somewheres. Tel Vos or somewhere on the east side of Red Volcano. How can poor Daria survive. She's waaaay outside her comfort zone.

Chapter 3

"I'm not going," Daria said for the hundredth time that evening.

She and Dimartani sat in the common room of the Rat in the Pot, an outlander cornerclub just as seedy as its name suggested. Traders, drifters, and ne'er-do-wells brought in the stench that came from long journeys without bathing access, and what looked like years of grime covered the curving adobe walls. More raucous sounds came from the basement, where they'd have to try and sleep that night.

Dimartani sighed. "Daria, I know that this was unEXPECTED. But I saved your life!"

"So, you only saved my life to extract a favor from me later on?"

"No! I did it because it was the RIGHT thing to do! But everything depends on this mission. Without it, I have NO future!"

Daria took a swig from her mazte jug. "Sera Dimartani, I am grateful. But I'm not any kind of fighter, nor do I care about proving my bravery to a bunch of xenophobes. I won't have any future if I get killed trying to help you."

"I cannot promise your safety. But the RISK, I think, is low. There isn't much in the Ashlands. Here's what I can promise: Should we encounter danger, I will DEFEND you to the best of my ability! Which, as you KNOW, is considerable."

Daria ducked in time to avoid a jug being hurled through the air. It shattered against the wall, and a brawl broke out at the next table.

Killing one street thug didn't exactly prove Dimartani to be any kind of great warrior.

"Please CONSIDER it!" he begged, leaning forward.

"Fine, give me tonight to think about it. I'll have an answer by morning."

But she'd already decided the answer was no.

*********

To Daria, Jane's apartment always conjured thoughts of warmth, coziness, and—above all else—clutter.

But that clutter was gone when she visited the place on the eve of Jane's departure, the room bare save for the bench, the mattress, the triolith, and the few hide bags holding the belongings she'd be taking with her to Vivec.

"So, all this time, there was actually a floor under all that mess," Daria said.

"You can see why I tried to keep it hidden."

"A humble adobe floor is clearly too good for a social climber like yourself."

"Yeah!" Jane pointed at herself with her thumb. "From now on, I only accept adobe made from spa mud."

She was joking, Daria knew. But somehow, it didn't feel like a joke. "Too good to be trodden upon by common boots like mine," Daria said.

"Come on, Daria, you'll always have a place." Jane stretched her arms, as if enjoying the space for the very first time in her life. "I still can't believe it. You know, in this sick, sad world of ours, it's almost shocking when hard work actually pays off."

"Don't get too pleased with yourself," Daria said. "You still relied on some good old-fashioned nepotism courtesy of Tomal Sloan."

Jane smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. "And courtesy of you!"

"I was—"

"I mean it, Daria. Every step of the way, you helped me out. I couldn't have gotten this job without you."

Daria blushed. This horrible job. And Jane was so damned happy about it.

"Come on, let's go downstairs. J'dash is prepping dinner, and if we're lucky, Trent will serenade us. I think he discovered a new chord."

Jane took Daria by the wrist and led her out of the apartment, enthusiastic in a way Daria had never seen before.

*********

It took Daria a minute to realize she was awake.

Smoky darkness pressed down on her, the foul air thick in her mouth and nostrils. One thing was for sure: Redoran architecture didn't prioritize good ventilation any more than Hlaalu architecture did. Early morning's pale light shone through the narrow resin windows around the chamber. In the bedroll next to hers, Dimartani muttered something about victory and then snorted.

How the hell had she ended up here? Sleeping in a sketchy cornerclub in an unfriendly city, debating whether she wanted to help her former history teacher regain his lost honor. Not exactly a typical situation for her. But it hadn't been a typical week.

Sooner or later, everyone hated her. The kids back in Charach had at least been direct enough to do it upfront. Something about her—Daria herself—corroded goodwill. Once, she'd told herself that she was simply too smart for them, that all those weird books she read put her forever above the common crowd. A fine and lonely thing to believe.

She didn't buy it anymore. No, there were plenty of smart people. Jolda, Tomal, Jane... hell, even Quinn. Not always smart in the same ways, but still smart.

Daria's problem was that she saw the world for what it was: a lump of rock fought over by ambulatory sacks of meat and blood. And those sacks of meat and blood would do anything to dominate their fellow sacks of meat and blood. All the talk of empires and nations and faiths just added a little narrative pizzazz to a bleak and hopeless truth. She hated it. Sometimes, it seemed like others hated it too. But deep down, they ended up indulging the same as anyone else.

So, one by one, they turned on her. Jane had pretended to be above it all, but at heart she only wanted to clamber her way to the top like everyone else. Armand (and presumably Jolda) hadn't wanted to admit that the Imperial Archeological Society was nothing more than a way for the emperor to grab more neat weapons. When Daria reminded these perfectly intelligent, supposedly ethical people about this fact, they reacted the way people always did.

How soon until Mom and Dad gave up on her?

The simple option was to return home early, with no adequate explanation as to why. Wouldn't be too hard to come up with a fib, she supposed. Say Jane got too busy. But she didn't want to talk about Jane, or their aborted trip to Vivec, or anything. Plus, sooner or later, Mom would find out what Daria had said to Armand. Maybe it'd be a relief to end the charade and have Mom get sick of her. The way she inevitably would.

Alternately, she could simply hang out in Ald'ruhn for a few days. Hang out doing what? Dodging thrown vessels in the Rat in the Pot? Finding out how xenophobic the Inner City could get?

"Sera Dimartani?" she whispered.

He snorted. "Huh?"

"I've decided I'll go with you."

"Thank you," he muttered. His snoring resumed immediately after.

Musical Closer - Life on Mars?, by David Bowie

Rat in the Pot is a fabulous tavern name!

Some depressing but very insightful soul searching by Daria in the wee hours. She does finally seem to ‘get’ that she drives those who try to care about her away with her sarcastic and biting self-armor. Most recently by insisting on trying to pee on Jane’s parade of good fortune.

I’m not sure if her ultimate decision to assist Dimartani is an earnest effort to assist him (because he is worthy, I believe). . . or an attempt to end her troubles via suicide by bandit. We shall see.

The Rat in the Pot makes me not want to eat any meat in that place...

Naturally Daria does not want to go on any damn fool crusade with crazy old Obi-Wan Mr. DiMartino. That is a great way to get killed! Not to mention it would take effort, and above all, Daria is a slacker.

So we finally get to see that last, fateful meeting between Daria and Jane. Where I am sure Daria was totally supportive and unabashedly kind to her friend, whom she will miss dearly in the days to come. Oh wait, what show is this? Daria? Oh boy, here it comes!

I did like the nod to Sick, Sad World.

Oh, well that was not so bad, so far. Trent even discovered a new chord! I expect that we shall see the really ugly car wreck of Daria being Daria in the future.

Daria's introspection was interesting, but still missing the point. It is still everyone else's fault that they all think she is an asshole. She was too pure for it to be her. No, they are all in wrong. She just scored 100 on the teenage edgelord test.

Gosh poor Daria. She's under such pressure. :sweat: I don't really think it's fair she's being put in this position. Pick someone who's got more experience in the outlands, teacher! For crissakes!

But then yeah, there's also the fact she burned that 'bridge' with Armand. Her parents might already know about this by now. Even so, that seems just as dangerous (maybe more so) than being with the teacher.

What a depressing episode!

Chapter 4

Daria walked until every cell in her body screamed at her to stop. Then, out of spite, she walked some more.

Flecks of ash drifted down from the cold and leaden skies. She tasted smoke with every breath—the sulfur stink that sometimes wafted over Balmora thick and ubiquitous in this dead valley. The overwhelming grayness leeched away every hue.

Dimartani led the way, garbed in a thick cloak and a battered chitin cuirass he'd brought with him from Balmora, a Nord-style spear strapped to his back. For her part, Daria wore no armor and had left her dad's short sword at home. Thus, Dimartani had traded in one of his old books to get a crude chitin dagger, which she now wore on her belt.

"This knife is NOT an optimal weapon for you, Daria!" He'd fumed upon seeing it.

"What? It's not sufficiently honorable?"

He snorted and shook his head. "With your MINISCULE build, your best option is to keep enemies at a distance. And as far away from your GLASSES as possible."

Dimartani made a good point.

They'd left Ald'ruhn a little after dawn and had marched ever since. They heard only the crunch of dust beneath their feet and the gusts that sometimes howled out across the cinders. Clouds concealed Red Mountain that day, but she felt its presence all the same, the volcano looming over the wasteland like some primeval god surveying his domain. Time all but vanished, morning and noon consumed by the same endless gray. Dark clouds sometimes filled the sky so that she was sure night had fallen, only for them to dissipate and give way to the same dreary half-light from before.

Maybe, Daria thought, they'd been marching for days or years. Maybe the Wheel of Aurbis turned around them as they walked, crushing empires and kingdoms and giving rise to new ones, none of which mattered in this place where nothing ruled or ever could rule. The idea gave her some comfort as she plodded on. All those games people played, all the networking and scheming all for naught. Here, she could be free of their nonsense.

And be alone.

Only a steady and gradual darkening made Daria realize that night was, in fact, stealing over the land. Dimartani had realized this too and found a place to camp atop an ashen hill marked by an immense black boulder worn smooth over the eons. They used the big rock as a shelter against the intermittent winds and then laid out their bedrolls. No campfire that night; everything in the Ashlands that could be burned already had been.

Exhaustion claimed Daria as soon as she sat down. She wanted to fall into the ash and sleep for a year or two, but knew it'd be better to eat something first. Reaching into her pack, she took out a stick of dried scrib. Leathery bug meat didn't make for the most appetizing dinner but she had no other option. Holding up the grayish strip, Daria wondered how it could come from the same larva that was so delicious when properly prepared.

She bit in. Clenching her teeth to get a good grip, she pulled the jerky as hard as she could. It tore with a loud snap. The dried bug flesh in her mouth sucked up her saliva, her tongue soon as parched as the ash around her. Bit by bit, she wore it down, her cracked lips soon begging for a swig of water. They ate and drank in silence as the gray world around them turned black.

"Back in Ald'ruhn," Daria said, upon finishing, "you said you weren't related to your clan."

"That's correct! Among my people, kinship is defined by DEED, not by blood. I earned my way into my uncle's family through service. My biological parents were… strange, TWISTED people."

"I guess I approve of earning your way in. Not sure I'm as keen on their anti-intellectualism."

"The Redoran live in the past. SOMETIMES to their detriment."

"Why go back to them? You're a learned man. There'd be better options for you in other places, I'm sure."

"Heh! You THINK like a Hlaalu, Daria."

"Keep talking like that, and I'm marching back to Ald'ruhn," she said, glowering at him. Not that she could really see him any longer.

"Your FIRST thought was how I could enrich myself. That is not how we do things. For the Redoran, there is no life without service to one's community. We DUNMER were once a mighty people who traversed an entire continent to preserve our ways. We have become weak. The other great houses are selfish and lazy, relying on SLAVES, or suckling at the Empire's teats, or both. Great House Redoran holds to the OLD WAYS. But we are alone."

"So, again, why go back?"

"Because I would rather die for honor than live for myself."

Basically, Dimartani still played the same song and dance as everyone else, only with a slightly purer motivation. But she knew arguing with him would be a bad idea, and she was too tired to do that anyway.

Daria looked up. No moons or stars shone in the ash-blotted sky, the darkness around her absolute and almost tangible. Spending a night in the Ashlands probably wasn't too different from being dead. Resting her head on her pillow, she fell asleep in seconds.

*********

Daria awoke to a bone-deep ache running through her entire body. Gray grit covered her face, her hands, and her clothes. Everything smelled and tasted like ash. The one bright spot: She was too tired to worry about the situation with Jane.

They broke camp early and continued across the wastes, Red Mountain's silhouette growing ever larger in the east. Dimartani said that they'd likely reach the outpost by late morning, which Daria accepted with gratitude. The soles of her feet felt like they'd split open if she walked much longer.

"There's the outpost!" Dimartani finally proclaimed, pointing ahead and to the left.

Daria's gaze followed his finger, and she frowned. All she saw was a rocky hill with a big dead beetle on top of it. Then she remembered Ald'ruhn.

"Is that another shell fort?"

"An ASTUTE observation. We rely on shells since it is too taxing for us to bring stone out here. We lack the EMPIRE'S resources."

It was still some distance, and the hill was steep. Daria kept hiking, small stones rattling like bones as they rolled past her feet. A hot and prickly wind blew from the east, further drying her eyes and mouth. A movement to her right caught her eye, and she turned her head for a better look. Birds, she realized. Three, to be specific, all of them big and leathery and flying toward her.

"Dimartani—" she started.

"CLIFF RACERS!" he roared.

"Are they—"

"The ancestral FOES of the Dunmer! One of our ancestral foes, anyway. We have a LOT of ancestral foes."

They flew closer, great ugly things with sharp beaks and green-gray skin. One opened its beak to emit a sharp vibrato caw that echoed over the desert.

Daria gulped and took out her dagger, the weapon feeling too small and flimsy to be useful. She held her glasses in place with her free hand. If she lost those here…

"What should I do?"

The cliff racers picked up speed, their great beaks pointing down like a rain of falling javelins. Daria suddenly imagined one stabbing into her chest.

"STAY CLOSE. They'll try to separate us. DO NOT LET THEM!"

Each second brought them closer. Gods, they were huge, each racer with a wingspan wider than Dimartani was tall. How the hell was she supposed to fight them with a dagger?

Fortunately, she had a few other tricks up her sleeve. A barrier of violet light sprang up around Daria as she summoned an arcane shield. The racers cried in jeering response, their beaks opening to reveal needle-like teeth.

She stepped back on trembling legs. This was suicide. Her shield wasn't that strong; she'd never get close enough to hurt one of those things. All it'd take was one strong bite or flick of the tail—

"Screw it," she muttered through chattering teeth. She called the magic, and it seeped into her body, her muscles tightening as she boosted her speed and strength.

"COME AND GET ME YOU FLYING BASTARDS!" Dimartani roared. He jabbed the air with his spear, a maddened glint in his eyes.

Great, she thought; he'd finally flipped. A second later she realized he hadn't; he was making himself a target.

The cliff racers dove in for the kill, shrieking like demons.

Daria yelped as the first racer swooped over their heads. The thing stank of rotting flesh. Dimartani grabbed Daria and pulled her to the side. The second racer's sharp beak plunged through the air where she'd been standing. The first two racers wheeled around them. Dimartani thrust his spear at the nearest, missing by inches.

A shadow passed over Daria as the third racer plummeted toward her. She threw herself on the ground. Air whooshed as it hurtled by. Scrambling to her feet, her glasses askew, and her dagger in hand, she saw it turn around for another pass.

How the hell was she supposed to hit the monster? Put simply, the cliff racer was big. She wasn't. It'd pick up too much momentum for her to have any chance of stopping—

Dodge, you idiot! Her brain screamed.

Daria leapt to her right. The tip of its wing hit her shield and sent ripples through the glowing membrane. She lashed out with her knife, but the blade only cut air.

Dimartani yelled. She had time for a quick look and caught the blood streaming down his body. Somehow, she'd gotten very far away from him. Just like he'd warned her not to do.

Daria tightened her grip. Her racer was herding her. Better to stay close to Dimartani. Or would that distract him and doom them both?

Don't think, she told herself. But wasn't it always better to think? That's how she figured out patterns, formulated strategies. Intuition alone—

It was upon her.

Daria dove under its leathery body. Quickened by her spell, she jabbed at the cliff racer. Her blade hit something soft and thick. Blood gleamed on the tip of her blade. She'd nicked it, for whatever that was worth.

Reaction was what mattered here. What would Kavon do? she wondered. Probably something stupid. Okay, Kavon wasn't the best example. What would Maiko do? He was in the legion, so whatever he was trained to. Maybe get to a more defensive position?

She shook her head. There she was, thinking again. The cliff racer wasn't done with her.

Daria called the magic once more. A burning spark formed in the palm of her free hand. Closer and closer, the racer flew, its eyes hungry. She held her breath. The timing had to be perfect…

She released the spark. The spell fizzled out before it finished. She had time for a single blistering curse before the racer crashed into her shield. The purple light distorted and vanished as Daria fell to her knees.

The racer's raucous cry echoed in her ears as it flew up and away. She grabbed her dagger with both hands.

It dove toward her, shrieking in victory.

Daria lunged. The racer's weight pressed against her as the small blade dug into its flesh and blood spurted onto her hands. The plumed tail snapped like a whip. A terrific force slammed into her chest and flung her away. Her glasses flew off.

Air rushed out of her lungs when she hit the ground face-first. She groped blindly for the dagger; the world around her an incomprehensible gray blur. The racer's exultant call sounded out through the foul air. Blind though she was, she sensed the shadow passing over her body.

This was it, she realized.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she whispered. Drool fell from her lips.

Then she heard footsteps. A running silhouette flashed across her vision. Dimartani yelled. The racer screeched. Two bodies collided.

Daria went limp and knew no more.

Musical Closer - Desert Wind, from the Fallout OST

You nicely captured the desolation of the ashlands and how it so perfectly complemented Daria’s dark mood.

A bug shell fort!

Uh oh, cliff racers. Good move casting a shield spell. Daria’s frantic thoughts during the fight were perfect. And she manages to draw some blood with her dagger. There go the glasses – that can’t bode well. As Daria resigns herself to her fate she hears the yell of he who may once again save her life.