Chapter 4

"Are we really… gonna go… to High Town… like this? We're all… grimy… and stuff…"

"Yes, we are," Quinn said, "but so's everyone else! And we'll still look better because of our strong fashion sense."

Quinn said it to make everyone feel better, but was grime what worried Tiphannia? This whole day had been a nightmare! Quinn was sure she'd seen a dead guy in one of the streets, facedown in a pool of blood. She'd pretended not to see it, and when they passed by the body, she talked extra loud about why veils were a great way to hide acne breakouts (not that that ever happened to her) so Satheri and Tiphannia didn't get scared.

But who was going to keep Quinn from getting scared?

Maybe that guy hadn't been dead. He'd only been hurt or something. She wanted that to be true because she didn't know where Jeval and Treads were, and she had to believe they were okay. They'd been right next to her, too. Then they'd all stumbled into this big fight with stones flying and had to run for cover. Once it cleared, Treads and Jeval were gone.

"What are we going to do?" Satheri had asked.

Quinn wanted to shriek at the top of her lungs. Get Mom or Dad or Daria to fix it. But they weren't around. She only had Tiphannia and Satheri, the poor girls scared out of their wits.

"Guys, Treads and Jeval are both smart. And you know Jeval's a tough fighter after that arena thing. I'm sure they'll be in High Town."

"Oh gosh, I hope so," Satheri said, grabbing at the fabric of her dress and looking down at her feet.

"Uh uh, Satheri! Don't pull at the fabric! You'll wrinkle it," Quinn warned. Better Satheri worry about that than all the terrible things happening around them. "Hey, let's see if we can beat them there."

Make a game of it. The way Dad used to when he took her and Daria out to the hills around Stirk to teach them about swords and stuff. That way, it wouldn't be so scary for her friends, and maybe she could pretend, too. Pretend not to notice the way the streets had gotten all empty, as if the whole city had run away.

Run away to High Town, she corrected. Where everyone would be hanging out and stuff, and there'd be handsome rich guys who'd totally be all over her and wishing they'd been there to protect her.

Quinn thought about checking her home but decided to keep going. All the bad stuff was happening in the south part of town, and she wanted to get as far away as possible. And the nerve of Director Lli! Ooh, Mom would have a few words with her, that was for sure.

"We're almost there!" Satheri said.

One of the big stairways leading up to High Town was up ahead. "Okay, girls! Last-minute checkups. Tiphannia, you got this little strand of hair sticking out on your left. Satheri, smooth out your dress."

"You're amazing, Muthsera Morgendorffer!" Satheri said, smoothing out her dress as instructed.

Two guards waited at the base of the stairway, the first she'd seen in a while. She guessed most were busy with the protest or whatever.

"Hi!" she said. "I'm Quinn Morgendorffer, and my friends here are Tiphannia Blumius and Satheri Roweni."

Always let them know the family names. Especially Satheri's family since the Rowenis were loaded.

"Anyway, our families are up in High Town, and we're here to meet them. You guys are doing a great job, by the way—"

"Sorry," one of the guards said. "We can't let anyone in."

Satheri squeaked in terror. Ugh, why did this guy have to be a jerk?

Quinn smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, there must have been some kind of misunderstanding. My mom's a big lawyer, and I'm sure Muthsera Roweni—"

"Nope. Orders from above. The evacuation window already closed."

Closed? Closed? Quinn clenched her teeth behind her smile. "But it's dangerous! You wouldn't leave a bunch of innocent girls out here, would you? Did you like, not hear me when I said my friend here is from the Roweni family?"

The second guard said something to the first one in a low voice. The first one nodded. "Okay, Satheri can come in. She's Dunmer."

Satheri gasped. "But my friends have to go in, too!"

"Outlanders are the ones causing the trouble. We'd be stupid to let more of them inside."

Satheri's lips trembled like she was going to cry. "Muthsera Morgendorffer… what do I do?"

Quinn looked to Satheri and then to Tiphannia. Okay, she was the steward, so the club had to come first. Satheri should go ahead. But they'd done so much to get here! All that, and these stupid guards wouldn't let them in? What was wrong with this town?

"It's okay, Satheri," Quinn said, and she had to make herself stay calm because she wanted to scream at the guards. How was this fair? But she couldn't force Satheri to stay. The poor girl scared so easily. Tiphannia did too, but it usually took way longer for the scare to register.

Now, Satheri was full-on ugly crying. "Are you sure? You can tell me to stay with you, and I will. But I'm so scared…"

"No, don't be!" Quinn hugged her friend. An idea came to her. "Maybe you can get up there and tell—"

"No!" Satheri shouted. She pulled away and then fell to her knees, grabbing the sides of her head like she was going to go into a fit. "I can't do this! I can't let you keep being so nice to me when I've been so horrible to you."

"Huh?"

"I'm so sorry, Muthsera Morgendorffer! I burned the heathers, but I didn't know what it meant, I swear I didn't! It was Synda; she made me, and I thought they were just a bunch of flowers because they are like, really pretty flowers! But she said you'd hate me if you ever found out, so she kept making me do things or else she'd tell you, and then I'd be all alone…"

What was Satheri talking about? Something about heathers, and Synda, and burning? Quinn watched as Satheri went on and on.

"I never meant to hurt you, Quinn, and you know I love outlanders and don't think they're bad; I didn't know what the heathers meant! I swear to ALMSIVI that I didn't!"

"Satheri! It's okay. Whatever you did, it's okay." Quinn knelt next to Satheri and put her hands on her shoulders. "You're part of the Fashion Club, okay? And Synda's a jerk, and no one likes her anymore. So that's all like ancient history and stuff."

Satheri gasped. "You mean it? It's okay?"

"Of course!" Quinn didn't quite know what she was forgiving Satheri for, but it seemed to help.

"Then I'm staying!" She spun around to face the guards. "I won't abandon Quinn! She's my muthsera and always will be! You can take High Town and shove it!"

"Then go burn with the other outlanders," the guard said.

Satheri jumped up and down, yelling like she was five years old, and it was kind of creepy.

"Okay, okay," Quinn said, loud enough to get Satheri to stop. "Let's go to my house. We can hang out there until things go back to normal."

"So… we aren't… going… to High Town?" Tiphannia asked.

Quinn sighed. "Not yet. Come on, my place. We'll talk fashion and stuff."

She hoped that's all they'd have to do. Because if things got bad, she didn't think the guards would help.

*********

Helen Morgendorffer stood in one of the tents set up in the plaza in front of the Hlaalu Council Manor, roasting in the hot air, scared to death for her daughters, and baffled as to what the hell was going on. A good number of her peers and neighbors milled around in the square or found shelter in the stifling pavilions. The guards had practically yanked her and Jake out of their home, citing some kind of riot. She'd thought it an overreaction until she saw the grisly pall of smoke over the southern Commercial District.

Right where Quinn was.

"Oh, Talos," she whispered. "Watch over my daughters, and I swear I'll actually be genuine when I thank you in the future!"

She again looked through the crowd for any sign of Quinn or one of her close friends. A few of Quinn's Drenlyn classmates were there—Jolda, Briltasi, one of those boys always after her attention—but none of them had seen her. Maybe Daria was better off with the Sloans. Somehow, that made Helen feel worse.

"Jake—" she started.

Her husband was drinking from a waterskin. "Trying to stay hydrated, Helen! A Nord like me can't think in all this heat!"

"Jake!"

He flinched and dropped the waterskin.

"Have you done anything to find our daughter?" she demanded.

"I've been looking, Helen! But I don't think she's here."

Helen walked to the nearest guard, whose face was hidden behind the slit-like visor of his helmet. She hated the way the bonemold armor looked. Talking to guards always made her feel like she was talking to some daedric abomination.

"Excuse me, but are the guards evacuating any more people? No one's arrived since we have, and there's plenty of room for more in these tents you've set up."

"The evacuation's still going on so far as I know, ma'am."

"So why hasn't anyone else arrived?" Helen pressed. "Don't you think that's a bit peculiar?"

"I'm sure they're doing the best they can, but the city is in chaos."

Somehow, his calm infuriated her. "My daughter's somewhere in that city! You can't expect me to stay here and wait while she's in danger!"

"Ma'am, I assure you, we're doing everything possible."

"What if I go back out into the city?" Jake said. "I used to be in the Fighters Guild; I can take care of myself. Kept my sword arm in shape…"

"We're not letting anyone out," the guard said, frustration edging into his voice. "Great House Hlaalu is letting you wait here at their sufferance, and you ought to be more grateful."

"Grateful!" Jake exclaimed, drawing his arm back.

Helen grabbed him in the nick of time and pulled him away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to find Quinn! I'm scared, Helen. We came all the way here to Morrowind, and it all went wrong! We already lost Daria, and now we might lose Quinn, too! What kind of father am I?"

His face collapsed. He did want to help; he always did. But sometimes, you couldn't solve things simply, the way he wanted to. So she reached out and hugged him.

"It's all right, Jake. Quinn's a smart girl. She'll know to come here, guard or no guard."

She hoped. By all the Divines, she hoped.

*********

Thank the gods that the house was okay!

Quinn fell right into the chair at her mother's desk. All she wanted was a nice, hot bath. Maybe with a manicure, too, and one of those deep scalp cleanses with those alchemical hydrations that made hair more lustrous. In fact, she'd have been fine with a plain old bath.

"Thank you so much, Quinn," Satheri said. "You're such a good friend."

"Sure," Quinn said. She'd gotten the Fashion Club to safety. Some of it, anyway. Oh, where were Jeval and Treads? She had officially made the Morgendorffer house the unofficial Fashion Club HQ, so hopefully they remembered that and came. She should have guided them, though.

"My hair… is so… messy…" Tiphannia droned.

"Well, now you can fix it," Quinn said.

Looking around at the office, she realized Mom and Dad must not have had any time to pack. The place looked the way it had that morning, stuffed full of big books, scrolls, and inkwells. All of Mom's cases, arguments, and notes—the ways she earned money—lying around. Not to mention all the other important stuff in the house. Like her dresses. Oh gods, her dresses! If the fighting spread here, they could lose everything.

Quinn stood up and jogged upstairs, out onto the balcony. The balcony faced west, so she stood at the edge and stuck her head out past Mom and Dad's room to look south. Still a lot of smoke back around Drenlyn, but it didn't seem any nearer. Except she smelled it, like it was right next to her. Maybe from the wind. It was blowing harder now with dust, ash, and embers swirling around and getting everywhere.

One of the embers drifted to her feet, red and smoldering.

Dad had always said the neat thing about adobe was that it didn't catch fire, so they didn't have to worry about that. Then Mom said that they did have to worry because there was a lot of flammable stuff inside the house, and an adobe house could collapse if a fire got hot enough.

Where was the smoke coming from? She found out a moment later when she saw the icky black smoke worming its way out from a window a few houses down. But how? There wasn't anything going on here! Except she did hear some chants in the distance. Another angry mob? Or, maybe, since Mom and Dad hadn't had time to gather their things, the people in that house had been taken away while they were cooking something, and the fire they'd made for tea or whatever had gotten out of control.

What was she supposed to do? High Town was closed. Moonmoth Legion Fort was too far away. Maybe they could go to the temple, but that was more of a Dunmer place.

No, she decided. Her house was safe for right now. But it might not stay that way. If danger came, she had to be ready.

Quinn walked back down to the office, where Tiphannia looked into her little brass mirror and brushed her hair, and Satheri stood around.

"Hey," Quinn said, "so things are okay right now, but I don't know for how long. There's like a bunch of fires, and the wind's carrying embers and stuff."

"Oh no! You don't think it'll spread here, do you?" Satheri put her hands on her cheeks, like she was about to panic.

"I'm sure it won't!" Quinn said. "But in case it does, could you guys help me get a few things? Then we can check on your houses, since you both live close by."

"This dry air… is messing up… my hair…" Tiphannia said, looking in the mirror.

Quinn was starting to wish she'd gotten separated from Tiphannia and Satheri instead of Jeval and Treads. But no, Jeval and Treads could take care of themselves. Better for her to be where she was.

"Anything you want, Muthsera Morgendorffer! We can help you pick which dresses you take with you!"

Satheri was so sweet, though. Quinn brightened up, already figuring out which ones she needed most. Ugh, she needed all of them, but now she had to make a choice. Maybe she should get something of Mom's, too? Looking good mattered to lawyers.

Mom's papers! If Mom lost those, the family would be in trouble. But what about the dresses? What was she supposed to do? As head of the Fashion Club—soon-to-be Fashion Guild, if they survived this and worked hard and all that—she had to look her best. But it'd be way worse if Mom couldn't work.

"Actually," Quinn said, almost not believing what she was about to say, "don't worry about the dresses."

Even Tiphannia gasped at that one.

"Help me gather up all these papers. My mom needs them."

"But… Quinn… you need to look, like… fashionable…"

"I know, Tiphannia! But I know how to look fashionable in anything, almost. If my mom loses her clients, though, I'm in big trouble. Tiphannia, get all the books on that top shelf. You can put them in a sack or something. Satheri, go through the papers in that small desk over there and take the ones that have a big red wax stamp. As for me, I'll sort through the case files."

As the Fashion Club got to work, the smell of smoke grew stronger.

Musical Closer - Take Me Out, by Franz Ferdinand

Once again, in her own peculiar way, Quinn shows her mettle and manages to get her charges to her home. Wow, those guard must take ashhole lessons for Magistrate Lli. Not granting sanctuary to three unarmed young ladies!

So both parents did make it to safety, only to be understandably fretting about Quinn. At least they think Daria is safe.

Oh no, they are grimy and stuff? They can't go to high town like that! What will people think? That is soo Tiphanna.

Quinn is still coping, in spite of the grime, and in spite of the dead body. Again, she is showing a lot of maturity here, thinking of everyone else, even as she wishes someone else could be the one doing that. But she is stepping up where she is needed, which is what counts.

Wow, really guards? Of course none of their behavior strike me as being unbelievable. I am sure they would all be out hunting dragons if they could too, and they only missed that takedown of the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary because they were sick that day, yeah right, that was it. *sigh* This is why Blood Raven despises the police. Well, one reason.

Poor Satheri finally cracked, understandable, given the circumstances. And it all finally comes out. Good for her to finally get that off her chest, even if it was during the worst possible moment. Then again, she is doing it because this is the worst possible moment. Once again Quinn shows that she is cut from a different cloth than Sydna with her reaction, which is forgiving and supportive, even though she has no idea what she is forgiving. That is some pretty solid Homie energy

I love Helen's prayer to Talos, she's so much of a lawyer!

That's right Jake, show him how grateful your knuckles are when they meet that guard's face!

Oh no, save mom's legal papers, or the dresses. Who can make decisions like that! I love how keep it grounded in the comedy that spawned all this.

Chapter 5

Daria crossed St. Roris Bridge with Jane, Jeval, and Treads behind her, all the while trying not to think too far ahead. Plans tended to fall apart in disasters. Any move plotted three steps ahead would be out of step by the time she got that far.

If she got that far.

So, she forced herself to think smaller and take things one at a time. They'd returned to the Commercial District, now almost entirely consumed by chaos. Pillars of smoke rose all through the neighborhood, like black bars enclosing lofty High Town. They'd reached the end of the bridge, with St. Roris Square straight ahead, and beyond that a stairway to where the rich people hid. A quartet of guards stood at the base of the stairs. Even if they let people like Daria through, what about Treads?

As she pondered, a dozen or so young Dunmer entered the square from one of the alleys, cheering and howling like students on break. Their clothes weren't rich but weren't ragged either, cared for and tailored to their bodies. Some carried sticks and lit torches, while others passed around clay bottles from which they took swigs.

"Hey, Daria? Remember what you told us about what Andra told you?" Jane asked.

The Dunmer up ahead certainly looked the part of Camonna Tong. "I was thinking the same thing."

She might be overreacting. Maybe they were a bunch of dumb kids loving the tumult. Either way, they posed a danger to outlanders. Guards stood nearby, but she didn't trust them anymore than she trusted the revelers.

"Change of plans," she said. "We'll go around St. Roris Square."

"Good idea," Treads said.

The four of them turned left and struck south past the rows of riverfront houses. Daria couldn't tell if anyone was inside them or not, the windows shuttered to the outside world as the sky swirled with sullen reds and grays, like a nightmare version of Celegorn's abstract paintings. Daria stopped at a narrow passage that she knew led near her house. She wondered if Mom had been given the time to take her work with her. Leaving all that in an empty house struck her as dangerous on a day like this.

"Would it be all right if we stopped by at my place? It's this way," she said, pointing down the alley.

"Shouldn't we get to Quinn first?" Jeval asked.

"It won't take long," Daria said. "Besides, if Quinn couldn't get to High Town, she probably went home."

"Makes sense," Jane said.

Jeval grumbled his assent, and they entered the narrow space single-file.

A small, cloaked figure turned the corner at the other end and ran toward them. A human woman in a guar-hide jerkin and with a knife in her hand careened around the corner a half-second later, in close pursuit. Daria jumped to the side and pressed herself against the rough wall to make room. The runner brushed past Daria, only to lose footing and tumble to the ground.

The pursuer wasted no time. In seconds, she pressed her knee on the runner's back. Grabbing a fistful of dark hair through the hood, she put the knife's edge against their throat. The pursuer chuckled. Then she looked up and saw the people around her. Her hard eyes turned calculating.

"This girl's got bags of cash. But hey, I can share with you all," she said. "I found her, so I get the biggest portion. But we can all walk away a bit richer."

The girl beneath her groaned. Daria's exhausted brain tried to think of a response. She was so close to finding her family, after all the fear and loneliness and frustration of the past few months, and now she had to deal with some random mugging?

"No way!" Jeval cried.

"Yeah, we're not in the stick-up business," Jane said.

The woman frowned, still with a firm grip on her victim's hair. "I'm serious. She's got bags of septims. Come on, no one's going to know. Or I'll take it all myself."

Daria hesitated. She eyed the knife. The mugger wouldn't have to do much to cut the girl's throat. Disarmament had to be the first step.

"You know what? Go ahead and take it," Daria said, using her most callous tone.

The mugger giggled. "What, you kidding me? No one turns down a score like this unless they've got something else going on."

"Yes, that something else being a good standing in society and not wanting to be accessories to your crime," Daria said. She burned to do something, but that knife was one motion away from slicing the girl's jugular.

"Okay, you keep your nose clean. I get that." The mugger whispered something into her victim's ear, put the knife away and pressed the girl's face down into the street. With that, she started working her over. Lifting the cloak revealed bulging bags of what Daria guessed were coins.

They could leave. None of them owed this random person anything, and no legal obligation bound them. But there remained the weight of that pesky conscience. What was she supposed to do, though? This woman had a knife, and Daria didn't know much about fighting.

Daria thought back to all the times she'd been helpless and saved by others. Johanna and Link in Sadrith Mora, Dimartani in Balmora and again in Ald'ruhn. Jane, who'd saved her from a life of isolation with a single friendly comment in that dark classroom almost two-and-a-half years ago.

"Oh hell," Daria muttered.

She stepped forward as if moving past the scene, but as she did, she looked at her companions, raised three fingers on her right hand (to relay the idea of doing something on the count of three), and made a striking motion with her left.

Jane nodded as Daria counted down.

But Jeval struck on the count of two. He kicked and caught the mugger square in the ribs. Jane leaped into action and slammed her with the stick, while Treads grabbed the victim by the arms and pulled her away.

Well, it hadn't gone quite according to plan, but they'd succeeded. The mugger lay against the wall, her eyes wide and in shock. She'd dropped her knife in the scuffle, and Jane had pinned it to the ground with a booted foot, leaning down to take it for herself.

"What'd you do that for? Hey, I found her first—"

"Give back whatever money you stole from her and get the hell out of here," Daria said.

The mugger scowled. "Do you know how much I—"

"No. And I don't care."

Her eyes locked with Daria's, and she pointed at her former victim. "Come on, this girl's a Dunmer. You and me, we're Imperials. This is our Empire—"

"Given that none of the people with me are Imperials," Daria said, "I'm inclined to suspect you didn't think this argument through."

Jane smiled and tapped the tip of her club on the flagstones.

The realization of defeat settled in on the mugger's face. She tossed the two bags of coins she'd taken on the ground before standing up, eyes darting between Daria and Jane. "Could I have my knife back?" she asked.

"Did you seriously expect that to work?" Daria replied.

The mugger shrugged. "Worth a shot."

With that, she ran away. Daria watched her go, wanting to make sure she made good on her promise of leaving.

"Daria?" There was a warning in Jane's voice. "Maybe you should take a look at who you rescued."

Because nothing could ever be simple. "Yeah?" Daria said, turning around to see what her friend referred to.

The girl in the cloak was Synda. Tears streamed from her crimson eyes as she glared at Daria with undisguised hatred.

"How the hell do I keep accidentally saving you?" Daria said.

"Save me?" Synda choked out. "You've never saved me! At every step, you've destroyed me. You humiliated me by taking me to the temple, and you did it again by seducing Serjo Sloan."

"If it makes you feel better," Jane said, "Daria dumped him."

Daria kind of wished Jane hadn't said that, but ignored it.

"He doesn't matter!" Synda shouted. "You don't know how much my parents expected of me. Serjo Sloan was the only way I could save myself, and you took that away."

Daria remembered the conversation she'd overheard. How Synda's mother had been so willing to write Tomal off as a delusion while she consigned her only daughter to a lifetime of penance.

"I may know more than you think," Daria said, trying to soften her tone. She couldn't let Synda off the hook, she was vicious and dangerous. But she didn't look like she could hurt anyone in that state.

"What is this, then?" Synda asked. "Another humiliation? Will you take me back to my parents? They really might kill me this time, you know. Is that what you want to see? I stole their money…"

"What are you trying to do with their money?" Daria asked.

"I'm already filthy," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "There is no forgiveness in Morrowind. The ancestors see all my sins and failures. Even Almalexia is silent now. So, I am leaving. I stole some of my mother's money, but only enough to get me away. She already hates me, and nothing I do can change that."

Daria nodded. "From what I know of your parents, I wholeheartedly approve of you stealing from them."

Synda made a bitter laugh. "You're an Imperial. You people despise our ancient lineages. Know that the Grilvayns will survive, but I cannot be a part of them. Maybe I spent too much time with disobedient outlanders who put themselves above their own families. Your people's corruption spreads ever farther. Perhaps it will one day devour this land like it's devoured everything else."

Daria sighed. "Synda, I don't like you. You put my sister in danger, and you made me live in fear. Those aren't things I can easily forgive or forget. But I didn't save you because I wanted to humiliate you—"

"Yes, you did!" Synda retorted. "Even if you deny it. You did, because why wouldn't you? You had me at your mercy! Only a fool would pass up a chance to break an enemy, and you, Daria, are no fool."

"I saved you because I have a vestigial sense of right and wrong that sometimes motivates me to be altruistic, often against my better judgment. Beyond that, I don't care about you very much. My advice is: get going and seek your life elsewhere. You're a terrible person. It's not too late for you to become a decent one, but that's something you have to do on your own."

Synda stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, she gathered her things and stood up.

"I never want to see you again," Synda whispered.

"The feeling's mutual."

With that, she turned around and walked toward the river.

"She's going to be a pretty easy target with all that cash," Jane said.

Daria shook her head. "We have too many of our own problems to worry about hers. Come on, let's get to my place and then to High Town. We've spent too much time here."

"Uh, can someone fill me in on what that was all about?" Jeval asked.

"Yeah, I feel like I missed a few parts of that story," Treads said.

"You'll learn to savor the mystery," Daria replied.

Despite all the problems remaining, Daria felt a certain relief at ending the one that had gnawed at her heels almost since her arrival in Balmora. This relief lasted until she reached the street and saw the smoke and flames coming out of the windows of her home.

Musical Closer - Backatown, by Trombone Shorty

In your previous episode, Quinn showed how much she’s learned and grown. Wow, this episode it was Daria’s turn. Intervening – at some risk – to save this jingling stranger showed that Daria’s morale compass has become pretty well tuned. Even if she knew up front that the hooded victim was Synda, I’d wager she’d have acted the same. Good job, Daria. And Jane showed the wisdom of bringing that club along. Another upside to this turn of events is that Daria’s little group now boasts a dagger in their meager armaments.

Really good exchange with Synda. Daria nailed it when she said Synda was a terrible person who could possibly redeem herself. I’m afraid I join Daria in expecting Synda will not choose to change though.

Uh-oh, chez Morgendorffer’s in flames!

So they managed to skirt the brewing riot, only to run into a mugging. It is a knife against the throat. Daria is not an action hero. But she was taught some magic by Johanna. Surely she's got a firebolt or lightning bolt up her sleeve.

I do appreciate that Daria ultimate motivation for action here was not simply peer pressure, but also her ability to empathize with being a victim herself in the past, and having a genuine desire to pay forward the same help that she was given by others. Dare I even say it, but that is the kind of motivation actual heroes are born of, rather than just thugs.

Well that probably worked out better. At least no one got killed with the kicks and stomps and wrestling.

And its Syd the Squid! Well, a good deed is a good deed, no matter who it is in aid of. I am sure Sydna will neither appreciate or even pay back the favor. But the important thing is that Daria took a stand for what it right over what is convenient. She actually did something in the world, rather than just snark about it from the comfort and safety of her bedroom.

I bet that Sydna stole her parents money and is running away to start a new life with it. Well, good for her I suppose. Her family are - to borrow a modern phrase - gross. They probably won't even notice that Sydna is gone. Their money sure, but the riot can take the blame for that.

Well that at least does put a nail in the coffin of the ever-looming threat that was Sydna. But of course it has now been replaced by the pillars of smoke rising from Casa de Morgendorffer.

Phew, I am zinging with coffee this Saturday morn. ☕ It's why I go all over the place with the comments, sometimes! Anyway, I apologize in advance!



I know, right? This is like when I was researching the effects of skooma in Laprima's story; there just isn't much out there which explains what its personal effects are like (not just its in-game effects, such as Speed getting boosted).

It's a two-way street in a way, though. If there isn't much info written up in lore, we get to fill in those blanks ourselves! -- That being said, the info on whether Argonians are warm or cold-blooded is contradictory. I recently read that there's a lizardwoman who complains about the cold in Solstheim, for instance. Yet, we never actually see lizard folk struggling with the effects of chill in the game, basking on rocks and so on. I still say they're warm-blooded; that they can essentially generate their own body-heat. So there.

Agh. Better not get off-topic. See, it's the coffee!

Yeesh, you are right. The creation of bonemold is pretty gross. Cannibals and such. Yuck.



Aw. You're doing a fine job, Clav. No worries. But I know what you mean. I often want to change stuff whenever I read one of my past stories. Sometimes I can't help but edit a few words in, even if the story was written way back a decade ago and nobody's gonna read it anytime soon.

Hmm... seems Quinn doesn't know Daria's in town, yet. Especially if she's being her normal mall-princessy self, worrying about wrinkles at a time like this.

Funny how even as there's a huge skirmish going on that politics and racism matter most, not whether a bunch of well-dressed females have somewhere safe to pile into. See, it's a good thing Satheri's bawling. Girl + tears = males amending their original decisions, and doing the right thing. Usually. Hmm. Maybe not in this case.

Whoa, what an admission. She's talking about the flower ritual?!! 🥀 Good gosh.

Now they're in the house, and an ember just flew into a window. Good thing Quinn's here. Hopefully she'll protect the house. Ha. That Franz Ferdinand song. I hear this one on 98 Rock sometimes, this song matches the intensity of the moment.

Cool, Daria's got the insight to go home first. Good plan. I approve wholeheartedly, yes I do. Hmm. Who is this woman being pursued? Is it Synda?? -- That'd really be something right? Daria saves her tormentor not once, but twice. Wow, look at all this dialog. Diabolical menaces love to ramble in stories, just as they're about to commit some dastardly deed.



Ha ha HA, knew it! What a gripping set of outcomes this week, Clavier. Gosh darn I miss writing.

Chapter 6

It was one of those stupid embers! Quinn had been super-careful, doing everything she could, but a stupid wind gust hit the stupid shutters and let in a stupid ember.

And now, Mom's office was on fire.

One part of it, anyway, the side desk where Mom kept some of her old papers and where Satheri had been digging out the stamped ones. Satheri was crawling on her back away from the burning desk, clutching the papers to her chest with one arm and screaming her head off.

"Quinn… these books are… like… really heavy…" Tiphannia said.

Ugh, did Tiphannia not see the fire? Quinn seriously wondered if Tiphannia was under some kind of curse that slowed time for her. But this was one day that Tiphannia needed to be quick.

"Tiphannia, Satheri, get out of here!" Quinn yelled.

"What… about…"

"Just take the ones you have with you!"

"But your mom's office!" Satheri cried. "Your house!"

"Look, I'm Fashion Club steward, and damned if I'm going to lose any more members today! Get the hell out!"

Tiphannia barreled out the door, holding only three of the six books she was supposed to have. Better than nothing. Tiphannia stepped outside. As she did, another gust of wind kicked a whole bunch of burning motes into the air, where they danced around like fireflies before drifting down on the big desk. The one with all the important papers.

Quinn screamed and grabbed the stacks she'd collected, jerking them away as some of the stray sheets burst into flame.

"Quinn, I'll help you!" Satheri called out.

Satheri pulled out a big rug from under the side desk and screamed at the top of her lungs as she used it to beat the flames on the main desk. But the fire jumped to the rug, burning the fabric right to Satheri's hands. She yelped and threw the flaming rug on one of the bookshelves, which also caught fire.

"Ohmigosh! I'm so sorry muthsera! Please don't kick me out of the Fashion Club!"

Quinn knew exactly what to do. "Satheri, don't worry about it! Grab those stamped papers you have and get out with Tiphannia!"

"Yes, muthsera!" Satheri bent down to scoop up the stamped papers, getting… most of them. Then she ran out the door.

Quinn coughed, her vision blurry. All this stupid smoke! She grabbed the two stacks she'd collected and ran outside, where Tiphannia and Satheri waited.

"Muthsera, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Watch these papers, okay? I still need to get more."

"No, don't go—"

She had to. Mom still had case files in the bottom drawer. Quinn stepped back into the seething hell that used to be her mother's office. What looked like a dozen angry little fires burned in the smoky blackness. She lifted the hem of her dress and hopped over a bonfire to get to the desk. Good thing she'd worn wool that day.

Gods, it was so dark! She breathed in and bent over coughing, took another breath in the brief time she could, and then fell to her knees in a second fit. The air burned like an oven around her as she wheezed and drooled. Daria once said something about how, in fires, you should stay low since that way you didn't inhale as much smoke, so she pressed herself to the ground, dizzy and feeling like someone had wrung out her lungs. Maybe she should go back. Mom had enough, right?

Which way was the desk?

"Someone…" she broke into another coughing fit. "Help!"

That's when it struck her: this was how people died. They made one dumb move and everything they'd done, everything they were, none of it mattered.

Quinn realized she was doomed.

Satheri and Tiphannia stood wringing their hands in front of the burning Morgendorffer house, a mess of papers and books at their feet. Satheri screamed "Quinn!" over and over again, tears and snot running down her face.

"Where's Quinn?" Daria demanded. "What happened?"

"Daria?" Satheri sniffed. "Quinn's trying to get all your mom's paperwork and stuff. I told her not to go back in. This is my fault; I should have stopped her—"

Jeval ran up to them. "Quinn's in there?"

Satheri sobbed and nodded. Jeval jumped into the burning building without hesitation, shouting Quinn's name.

"When did she go in?" Daria asked.

"Just… before…" Tiphannia shook her head. "Just before you came!" she finally spat out.

Daria turned to look, trying to find some sign of Jeval in the smoky darkness. She called for Quinn. No response.

No. No, no, no, no. She'd never understood Quinn. Never understood how, with one word or gesture, she'd win the loyalty of strangers while Daria's best efforts foundered or won only censure. But it didn't matter. Beneath all bitterness and resentment, one truth shone through: Quinn was her blood, her little sister, so pure and naïve to the ways of the world. Every blow taken, every insult suffered, had in some way been for Quinn. When Daria had stayed silent about Synda, it was not for fear of Camonna Tong blades entering her own flesh, but for Quinn.

Without Quinn, there was nothing. Daria's intelligence, her knowledge… none of it would matter.

Precious seconds passed, and smoke poured out of the doorway.

"Oh gods. Mother Alma, if you hear me…" Satheri prayed.

"Daria!" Jane said. "What do we do?"

Daria took in a deep breath, tainted as it was with Red Mountain's sulfurous exhalations.

"I know some magic," Daria said. "So, I'm the one best-suited to help."

Jane gulped, then nodded.

A spell to resist smoke inhalation probably existed, but Daria didn't know it. All she could do was enhance her meager physicality. She'd sharpened her skill in restorative magic, but her spells didn't always work. She had to try.

Daria called the magic into her muscles and sinews. Power surged in her limbs and along her back in response.

And fizzled out a moment later.

No time to ponder failure. She called again, focusing on the result: the power to lift, to push, to break. Daria Morgendorffer, whose spindly arms rivaled those of a strongman's. Her muscles operated on the same principles. She only needed to convince them that they were, in fact, strong.

The magic died.

Plumes of the blackest smoke oozed out from the windows. The heat of the burning fires singed Daria's nostrils. Gods only knew how Quinn and Jeval fared. Her hands trembled.

Her mana was almost out. If only she'd practiced more…

"Screw it," she said, the self-taught mantra encompassing the light of Aetherius and the connectedness of all things in Mundus. It fell into place with a grand chain reaction: the force of magic, trapped by thought into physical form, the sudden quickening in her veins and capillaries, paltry muscles made mighty by her will.

Thus enhanced, Daria ducked low and rushed inside. Darkness pressed down on her like a living thing as the very air burned her skin. Jeval lay by the door, face-down on the ground. She'd save him if she could. But she had to find Quinn first.

Each breath seared Daria's throat, and the smoke flooded her lungs. She coughed until tears poured from her eyes, but she kept moving, searching for any sign of her sister.

She saw nothing and heard only the roar of flames. Blindly, she advanced, extending her hands in desperate hope. Her fingertips touched soft fabric. She grabbed it and pulled. The weight within gave slightly.

This had to be Quinn.

Gritting her teeth, Daria put an arm under her prone sister and lifted. She grunted from the effort, sweat pouring down her face as she struggled to get a good grip, her legs wobbling under the weight of Quinn's limp form.

But she had her sister.

Heaving and gasping, she staggered back to what she hoped was the door. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. Don't think ahead; think of the now.

Daria glimpsed light and lunged forward.

She tumbled out into the blinding day, greeted by the gasps of onlookers. She dropped Quinn on the ground, and through her bleary vision, saw the rise and fall of her sister's chest.

Now for Jeval.

Her mind reeling, no longer sure if the strength in her limbs came from magic or adrenaline, she went back in. Spotting Jeval right away, she grabbed him by the calves. Holding him as tightly as she could, she pulled him across the ground as flames consumed her home.

The magic sputtered. Her limbs drooped. Her knees slammed against the ground. The world spun. Hacking coughs drove her to the ground, her shaking hands still clutching at Jeval's legs. No magic was left. No strength was left.

She'd saved Quinn.

Then, suddenly, hands grabbed at her, some fleshy, some scaly. She tightened her hold on Jeval and let them do the pulling.

Musical Closer - Subhuman, by Garbage

Uh oh, embers. Things are getting hot.

I do love the idea that Tiphanna is suffering from time dilation. For her time appears to be passing normally. But to everyone else it is like she is slowly crawling through amber.

Some quick action on Satheri's part in trying to beat out the fire with the rug. Too bad that sort of backfired on them. But this is in the age before fire extinguishers. I guess summoning a frost astronach would be the nearest thing to one.

Uh oh, Quinn's own courageous act of trying to save Mom's business is likewise going badly, as clearly she has stayed too long in the smoke.

Daria and Jevvie are there! Hopefully they will be just in time.

Aha! So some of that magical training with Johanna did pay off. Daria is going the same route as January, and is using magic to enhance herself physically. Maybe in a few years she will have a cape of her own after all...

That was a thrilling climax to Daria and Quinn's adventure in the tax riots. At least I hope it is all downhill from here, given that they both nearly died and their home was burned down. I really appreciated how in the end it was everyone pulling together - literally - to save one another.

Now I wonder if Sydna will go to Cyrodiil to start a new life, and settle down in Kvatch... Surely, nothing could go bad there? It would be like the man who survived the Hiroshima bombing, and went to another city - Nagasaki.

Mom’s office wastes no time in bursting into out of control flames, but Quinn and her charges make it out to fresh air. Great job writing Satheri and Tiphannia – as ever, their quirks combine with Quinn’s for some great reading!

“I’m fine. Watch these papers, okay? I still need to get more.”
Quinn, NOOO! Not for papers!

Poor Quinn realizes too late.

Enter Dario and Co. Uh-oh, Jeval makes the same decision – blinded by infatuation for Quinn but courageous nonetheless. Quinn is notably more valuable than mom’s papers after all.

The ripples of Quinn’s well-meaning but poor decision continue as Jeval’s in danger and now, Daria charges in. At least she tries and tries and finally succeeds in some magic enhancement for the task.

On the edge of our seats as, finally, everyone gets out safely. Whew, that was close!

Now that I think of it, this is like mining disasters where they run into a no-oxygen zone, and the people just fall over, and begin to die of suffocation. More people run in to save them, and they keel over. Then more people, and more people, etc...

Chapter 7

Daria awoke to the sensation of someone prodding her face. She raised her hand to ward it off as she opened her eyes to sunlight dimmed by smoke.

"Hey, you're awake!" came Jane's voice.

"Where's Quinn?" Daria said, or tried to. All that came out was a hoarse, phlegmatic hack that ended in a sputtering wheeze.

"Quinn's fine, and so's Jeval. You're a real hero."

Daria's vision finally returned to focus. She'd been propped up against another building. The air reeked of smoke.

"Your house, unfortunately, isn't in such great shape."

"What happened?" Daria managed to croak.

"The Mages Guild came by not long after we pulled you out. They used some kind of magic to dump a small river's worth of water onto your house. Guess they're doing that all over town. Seems like the protest's mostly finished. Hlaalu wins again," Jane said.

"Can I talk to Quinn?"

"Daria!"

Daria coughed as Quinn threw her arms around her. Quinn fell into a coughing fit of her own right after. Once done, they stared at each other's sooty and exhausted faces and both breathed a sigh of relief.

"We were so worried!" Quinn said, hugging her, tighter this time.

"It's been a weird month," Daria muttered.

She turned her head to check her surroundings. The front of the Morgendorffer house was a ruin. Wispy black smoke spirals still unspooled from the burned husk of the front office, though the rest didn't seem too badly damaged. Jane had said the mages used water, but Daria saw no puddles or other signs of it. Too tired to try and figure that out, she turned her attention to the others. Jeval and Treads sat on the street, talking to each other, while Satheri and Tiphannia chatted with a girl Daria's age, whose freckled and bespectacled face wore an expression of intense curiosity.

"Amelia?" Daria uttered.

Hearing her name, Amelia brightened up and hurried over. "Hey! Wow, I was not expecting to run into you today, but I'm relieved you're okay."

"I'm not sure my lungs would agree with the 'okay' part. What are you doing here?"

She giggled, and then her face turned serious. "The Balmora Mages Guild called in some of the other regional offices for support. I'm only here as an observer, but the senior mages were opening up conduits to Oblivion to get the water they needed for the fires. Most of the fires have been put out, I think."

Daria nodded. That explained why the water had vanished; it had returned to Oblivion after the spell's duration.

"Thanks," she said.

"Hey, it's part of the job. How have things been? I sent you a letter a month ago."

"Sorry," Daria said, coughing again. "I've been traveling."

"That's so cool! Where to?"

"Vivec," Jane answered. "She's got a taste of big city life. I'm Jane, by the way."

"Oh, Daria's told me so much about you! I'm Amelia. Me and Daria met in Caldera."

The two shook hands, and Jane smiled. "Welcome to Balmora. We've got busy marketplaces, fine drinking establishments, and the occasional bout of civil unrest."

"It does seem like an… interesting place!"

Tired again, Daria closed her eyes, Quinn's arms still around her. "You know, Quinn," she said, "it was kind of stupid to go back in for those papers."

"I know," Quinn admitted. "But I felt like I had to do something. All my life I've been going on like it's all about me, and stuff, but managing the Fashion Club—Fashion Guild, someday—made me realize there's a lot more. I didn't want Mom to be out of a job or disappointed."

"Mom's main goal is to make sure you survive to adulthood. Ruthlessly destroying her competition in a court of law is a distant second, though I wouldn't advise asking her to admit that in public."

"That's how she feels about you too, Daria. She'll be glad you're back."

Hearing that made it seem so obvious that Daria wondered how she'd ever believed otherwise.

*********

"It was really brave what you did," Treads-on-Ferns said.

Jeval felt okay. A little stupid, but otherwise okay. Somehow, his finely tuned Bosmer senses hadn't been all that finely tuned after all, and he'd gotten turned around and then hit his head on something, so Daria had to drag him out. Not exactly a heroic episode for him.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"What made you rush in like that?"

Jeval shrugged. "I don't know. I remember when I hung out with those bozo friends of mine, we'd all talk about being great heroes and stuff. So, I thought I'd go ahead and try. Dumb of me."

"Maybe a little. Did you want to save Quinn?"

Jeval blushed. "Yeah. I mean…"

He looked over at Quinn, hugging her sister. She was way out of earshot.

"… I still kind of have a thing for her. Maybe I always will. But that's not why I did it. I'm not trying to make her fall for me or anything. I'd have gone in after any of you."

He looked at Treads-on-Ferns, the girl who knew his every secret, who'd listened to him all through the long and lonely months.

"Especially you," he added.

Treads made that hissing sound she made when she was happy about something. "I believe you. You were pretty quick to jump in and help Synda back in the alley, and you don't even like her."

"Must be wired that way."

"The world needs more people wired like you," Treads said. "But be more careful next time. I got pretty scared when you didn't come out of that house."

"Sorry. Hey, you know I'm not going to die on you that easy, right? We're bros."

"Wouldn't I be more of a sister? Or sis?" Treads asked. "Since I'm female phase?"

"If that's what you want, sis," he said.

"Sounds good for now, bro."

*********

At least Mom and Dad were okay. They came back to the Commercial District right when the last fires in the south stopped burning. Tons of smoke still clogged the early evening air, and each breath tasted awful, but it wouldn't get any worse that day. Guards patrolled the streets along with some regular people who had weapons. Most were mixed Dunmer and outlander, which made Quinn feel a little better.

Mom and Dad lost it when they saw Daria and Quinn together, and there was lots of hugging and crying. Well, not on Daria's part, but that's how she was. Quinn could totally tell she was glad to be back. Not that they didn't have problems. Quinn walked into the ruined office, where Mom stood next to the little shrine of Julianos she'd kept. She dusted off some of the soot and sighed.

"I can't believe it all happened so quickly," Mom said.

"I know. But I saved a lot of your papers from the fire! And Satheri got them out of the way of the water."

"Oh, Quinn!" Mom hugged her again, and Quinn lost herself in the warmth. "But you knew I had duplicates of the most important documents, didn't you?"

"You what?" Quinn pushed away, staring at her mom. Had she done all that for nothing?

"Advocates have to be prepared for unforeseen events. I had Marianne copy the key documents and file them over at Moonmoth."

"Oh no!" Quinn wailed. "So I didn't—"

Mom cut her off with a hug. "Don't you ever put yourself in danger like that!"

"I'm sorry," Quinn sobbed. "I guess... I guess I wasn't paying attention when you told us about copying them."

Mom let Quinn go and looked around the devastation.

"How are we going to pay for all this?" Quinn asked, suddenly feeling very small. The day had been so crazy that she hadn't had time to think about what happened next.

"Well, first, your efforts were by no means a waste. While I had copies of the old case rulings, I did not have copies of the notes for active cases. Didn't have time, you understand. So, you saving them means I can get right back to work, which we'll need."

"Oh! I did do the right thing!"

"I still don't ever want you running into a fire again," Mom warned. "But you helped this family quite a lot. As for the house, the city authorities will send an inspector to assess the damage. The office is a total loss, but the rest of the house seems to be habitable. Lucky for us, it's Hlaalu Council Company property, so we won't have to foot the bill. Though I'm sure rent prices will go up to pay for reconstruction."

That was something. "Where will we stay?"

"I talked to Satheri's mother, and she said she'll be happy to have us over until we figure things out. You'll get to live with your best friend!"

Which meant Satheri could ask Quinn for her opinion of every little thing all day long.

"Yeah. That's, uh, great," Quinn made herself say.

"Come on, let's join the others. There's not much good we can do here right now."

A cool breeze rushed through the street when they stepped out. Red Mountain had finally shut up for the time being. She followed Mom to where Daria stood with Dad and Jane.

"… I'm still working with other clients, Mr. Morgendorffer. Trust me, Serjo Olerlo's only the first step, not the end-point," Jane said.

"Now, that's what I call a hustle!"

They turned to look at Mom as she got close. Mom stood a little too straight and stiff, like she was scared but not willing to show it.

"Daria," Mom said, her voice shaking a bit. "I want you to know that, no matter what happened over the past few months, you have a home here. You'll always be my little girl, no matter what—"

"Don't worry Mom, I'm not pregnant."

Mom put her hand on her chest and sighed. "Oh, thank heavens!"

"All things considered," Daria said, "I'm doing reasonably well considering that I ditched an aristocrat boyfriend, hiked across the Ascadian Isles, and slept rough in Vivec."

"She only slept rough for one night, though," Jane added.

"Upon reflection, I've realized that a lot of the difficulties I've faced in the past few years, ranging from my reluctance to engage with the networking that undergirds every aspect of Tamrielic society to my occasional bouts of unpleasantness stem, in part, from me not being open with you about my life."

"What do you mean?" Dad asked.

Daria looked down at the ground like she wasn't quite ready to say what was on her mind.

"Go ahead, dear," Mom said.

Daria sighed and looked her mom in the eyes. "Do you remember that time Synda tried to trick Quinn into going into the Council Club? That wasn't the end of it…"

*********

Daria didn't tell them everything. She stayed quiet about her side trips to Sadrith Mora and Ald'ruhn (though she did open up about her self-taught magic usage; that was the only way to explain how she'd saved Quinn). Mostly, she focused on what Synda had done to her and how that had colored every subsequent action.

It was rough going, at first. The words felt like stones in her mouth, and she had to force out each syllable. But it got easier as she told the tale, until gradually, almost imperceptibly, she couldn't stop. So much had been locked away for so long, in a private and personal pain, that the mere act of telling, of confirming to her family that it had all been real, felt like a kind of absolution.

The hugs were unavoidable, she supposed. She still wasn't that big on the whole physical contact thing. Maybe she never would be. But it was no real hardship for her.

"Oh, Daria. Why didn't you tell us?" Mom asked, tears in her eyes.

"Yeah!" Dad said, crying freely. "We would have kicked Synda's ass for you!"

"I already explained. I didn't want Synda to retaliate against you guys. Of course, I eventually learned it was all a bluff."

"That was very courageous of you. But you didn't need to take that all on yourself," Mom said.

"I think I'm starting to realize that. Maybe, what Morrowind taught me more than anything else, is that the world's a cruel and ruthless place and that you don't have a prayer of surviving if you're not willing to work with people."

"I'm not sure I'd phrase it quite so pessimistically."

"But, with good friends and allies, you can make things suck slightly less. I'd have probably gone completely around the bend if it hadn't been for Jane."

She gestured to Jane, who gave a little wave. "Happy to help!"

Daria smiled and kept talking. "It would have also been a lot easier if I'd been honest with the rest of you. Easier for you too, I imagine. I'll try to do that going forward."

"I'm so proud of you, Daria," Mom said. "And of you too, Quinn. You've both become such brave and capable young women."

Daria looked at her sister. Little Quinn had led her band of friends through the worst unrest in Balmora's history. It wasn't something Daria could have imagined happening a few months ago.

Maybe there really would be a Fashion Guild someday.

Musical Closer - Sons and Daughters, by The Decemberists

Yay for the Mages Guild and their river dropping firefighting spell. Nice to see Amelia again.

’Wispy black smoke spirals still unspooled from the burned husk of the front office…’
- - Love how you phrased this. Very evocative.

I quite enjoyed the actual, real sisterly exchange between Daria and Quinn. About time, ladies.

Treads and Joval’s chat was great too. Joval’s got a pair of stones it seems and, by Dibella’s silky breaches, it seems the two of them are flirting!

Leave it to Lawyer Mom to have copies of her important papers stored elsewhere. And after a happy family reunion, mom sums things up beautifully here:
“I’m so proud of you, Daria,” mom said. “And of you too, Quinn. You’ve both become such brave and capable young women.”

Yay for the Mages Guild stepping up to act as Balmora's unofficial fire department. Much better than Ancient Rome's version run by Crassus...

Quinn has an exhausted and sooty face! Oh no!

Oh my, conduits from Oblivion to get water? I guess they did not get that from the Deadlands. Maybe from Sheo's realm, that had rivers and seas around it.

And now House Hlaalu can impose a new tax on the people to pay for all the damages. That should smooth over any ruffled feathers in the populace...

Nice nod to Argonian biology, and how they change sex as they age, like clownfish do.

And Mom and Dad are back. That should wrap things up. They lost part of their house, but at least got their eldest daughter back. So I guess a fair trade. Hopefully Dad's eye will remain in its socket.

Thank goodness that Daria is not pregnant.

Daria has learned the value of collaborative action, which is quite a big realization, especially for someone who is such a loner by nature as Daria is. Maybe she will go on to become a Labor Union organizer? The Tax Riots were not quite the Battle of Blair Mountain, but it was a learning experience.

This is a nice finish, or near finish to Daria's tale. I have the sense that there is a little more to go, but only a little. It feels like this is wrapping up, with Daria having undergone some very life-changing character development, along with her friends, allies, and even enemies.

Chapter 8

Wrapped tightly in her cloak, Synda Grilvayn walked up the ramp to the creaking, stinking wooden vessel that'd be her home for the next few weeks. Once on deck, she leaned on the railing and looked at Vvardenfell for the final time. Her ship was docked at the port town of Seyda Neen, its peak-roofed and gabled houses perched fearfully at the edge of the Bitter Coast's dismal swamps.

ALMSIVI alone knew what awaited her in the rest of Tamriel. But she had no future in Morrowind. The money she'd stolen was enough for passage to Haafingar in Skyrim. She shuddered to think of the place. It was probably some freezing hellhole where savage Nords bathed in blood and stuffed their craws with wasabi.

Whatever. She'd made her choice. Synda could not do what a good Dunmer daughter would do because she'd fallen too far to ever be considered a good daughter. But she'd at least removed herself and spared her parents any further shame. They'd not much miss what she'd stolen, either.

A sinewy Nord woman who looked more like a troll (or what Synda imagined a troll to look like) than a human sauntered aboard, a big ax hanging from her belt.

"Where are you headed?" She bellowed, like she wanted the whole world to hear. The woman leaned on the railing next to Synda.

"West," Synda said. "I'm going to keep going west until I reach a place where no one has ever heard about Great House Hlaalu."

The woman snorted. "I don't blame you one bit. Hlaalu! You're a Dunmer and even you're sick of those bastards."

Synda said nothing. She studied the lonely docks and the monstrous trees. Exile or not, she was Dunmer. She'd never truly leave Morrowind.

No one ever did.

*********

Officially, 35 people died in the event that would be known as the Balmora Tax Revolt: mostly protestors, some guards, and a few luckless bystanders. The authorities rounded up four of the supposed ringleaders. One, who had already had a long history of rabble-rousing and assault, was sent to the headsman's block. The other three were initially slated for a similar fate, but at the last minute, had their sentences commuted to prison terms of no more than twenty years.

Great House Hlaalu lifted the onerous taxes that had started the trouble. The move caught Balmora by surprise. Deferring to rebellion risked a complete loss of legitimacy. Most suspected that the Empire had forced the issue and likely repaid Hlaalu in some other way. It was almost enough to make Daria wish she were still with Tomal, as he'd doubtless have insight into the grubby political workings behind the deal.

As it was, on a gray and moody Sundas afternoon when rains crashed down onto the sooty streets, Daria put on her new bug-shell hat, green like the two before it, and left the far-too-crowded Roweni house to go and see Jane before she left for Vivec.

The city was back to normal, almost. People walked around the rubble and ignored the scorch marks, pulled ever onward by the promises of new plans and better deals. That sour kwama smell suffused every inch of space, teaming up with the fresh scent of rain to wipe away the lingering smoke. The air hummed with non-stop chatter about prices and payments. Dark, dirty, and endlessly fascinating, Balmora lived on.

She ran into Jolda and Maiko walking along the Odai River, taking shelter under a big umbrella that Jolda carried.

"Daria!" Jolda called. "I heard you came back."

"The Ascadian Isles were a little too provincial for my tastes," Daria said.

Jolda laughed. "I'm glad you're here. I'm sorry again that I couldn't talk my dad into giving you a second chance."

"It's okay, Jolda," Daria said. "I managed to get a new job at the Mages Guild, so I'm set for the time being."

"Great. I'm sure you'll do well."

"Uh, how are you doing, Maiko?" Daria asked.

Daria had heard the stories. How one young legionnaire rallied his comrades and defused some of the tensions without shedding blood.

"I'm okay. Captain Varro's real happy with my performance."

"Thanks for showing restraint," Daria said.

Maiko nodded. "It's my job. I can tell you that the Empire didn't like the way the Hlaalu handled this. There was no reason so many people had to die."

"It sounds like you're a big reason for the casualty rate not being higher," Daria said.

Maiko shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know all of what happened. All I did was tell my men to put up their shields and separate some of the people from the unrulier guards. It was pretty scary. My sergeant got hit with a rock. He'll live, but they aren't so sure he'll be able to return to service. The damage was too deep to be fixed up by the time the healers got to him."

"Sorry about that."

"Yeah. Wish I knew who threw that rock. Oh well."

Daria bade them farewell and resumed her journey. Her hat didn't block all of the rain, and her sleeves and hemline were soon soaked. But her head stayed dry as she walked through the familiar threshold of the Lucky Lockup.

She felt instantly at home in the constant influx of people from all around Tamriel, brought to Balmora for trade, for knowledge, for opportunity, and for a dozen other things. Already she saw some interesting faces: a broad-shouldered Orc woman in fine clothes and with a chipped left tusk; a portly Nibenese man whose green silk coat looked ready to tear open from the weight of all the administrative medals and badges pinned to the fabric; a pensive Redguard in flowing white robes who drummed his fingers on the cover of a small black book as he watched his surroundings.

And, of course, Dunmer. Dunmer from all over Morrowind and beyond, perhaps not meeting as equals but at least as people with a vested interest in cooperation, however temporary.

Among that group was Jane, already sitting at a corner table with a bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy and two pewter cups.

"There you are!" she said, seeing Daria.

"Sorry if I'm a little late," Daria said as she took a seat across from Jane. "I keep getting turned around from living in the Roweni house."

"Hm, is Satheri's constant need for validation slowly driving you insane?"

"She mostly ignores me. My sister, on the other hand…"

Jane smirked and then gestured to the bottle. "I remembered how we thought about getting brandy the first time you came to the Lucky Lockup and how we didn't have enough money. Since money's no longer a problem, I figured I'd splurge a little bit."

In truth, Daria would have preferred mazte or some other Morrowind drink. But she knew better than to complain. It was a kind gesture.

"Thank you," Daria said.

Jane took the bottle by its neck and poured two cups, first for Daria and then for her. "I can't drink too much, though. My strider leaves in a few hours, and you do not want to be drunk on one of those swaying monstrosities."

Daria raised her eyebrows. "Implying that you've been drunk on a silt strider before."

"Let's just say I wasn't in the best mood when I first went to Vivec and had a bit too much before I boarded."

"Sorry," Daria said, remembering the cruel things she'd said to Jane on the night of their big fight. "I guess that was my fault."

"Hey, the important thing is: now I know not to ride drunk."

Daria took a sip. The liquid burned her tongue, and the sweetness stayed a bit longer than she would've liked. It warmed her up, or rather, gave the impression of warmth.

"Hey, did you ever find out what happened with Lli and Drenlyn Academy?" Jane asked.

"It turns out that the authorities don't approve of school directors who refuse to shelter the kids they're supposed to protect."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "What a surprise."

"Anyway, Lli lost her job, and from what I hear, isn't in Balmora anymore."

"Nothing like some good news to warm my heart," Jane said.

"Don't get too excited," Daria warned. "Now, Ondryn is in charge."

"I guess I should've known better. You're done with the place for good?"

Daria nodded. "There's not any real reason for me to stay, and it wasn't helping me network very much. Quinn's still going to go there until the end of summer."

"The Mages Guild job you got is probably more interesting, anyway."

"I wish," Daria said. "I'll likely be doing a lot of the same rote tasks I did there as an intern, but Amelia says it'll eventually get more interesting. She vouched for me, so I'm obliged to stay."

Jane nodded. "What about that intern who gave you trouble? Hetheria, I think?"

"Turns out she left for Cyrodiil a year ago. The guild doesn't know about practicing magic on my own or my brief alliance with Johanna, so I should be fine as long as I keep my mouth shut."

"Sounds like a good fit to me. You're smart, and a lot of smart people work there."

Daria took another sip. "I'm not sure being smart is all it's cracked up to be. I'm still a lot more interested in working in the Imperial Archeological Society."

"Armand won't give you a second chance?"

"No. The good news is that the IAS is a big organization, and there's a lot of cross-pollination between it and the Mages Guild. If I play my cards right, I could still work there someday. Armand's word has weight, but he's not in charge of the whole thing."

"It's a start," Jane said, taking a drink. "Hey, you're going to be visiting me down in Vivec, right?"

"Only if I can fit it in with my exciting lifestyle of rolling scrolls and researching things that have already been researched."

Jane gave a mock sigh. "How quickly they forget us little people."

"In seriousness, the Balmora guild relay is linked to the Vivec office," Daria said. "Amelia tells me that you're only supposed to use those for official business, but that they have a pretty liberal definition of 'official'. If that fails, I could always use the silt strider."

"Sounds to me like things are going well for us both. Suspiciously well."

"If there's one thing I've learned as a casual student of history, it's that times of peace and prosperity are neither universal nor permanent."

Jane blinked. "Come again?"

"Basically, things are going great, so we'd better enjoy it while we can."

"I like that. A toast to the present?" Jane raised her cup.

"To the present," Daria confirmed, and their pewter vessels clinked together.

Taking another sip, Daria looked around the bustling parlor, full of life and thoughts from around the known world, and the best friend anyone could ever have across the table from her.

At this point in her life, she couldn't ask for anything more.

Musical Closer - Nobody's Empire, by Belle and Sebastian

The End

Synda. *hiss*

Since she is boarding a ship, I wonder if that means she is in Seyda Neen? In sort of a reverse Morrowind experience.

Yes! Maybe she will walk past the Nerevarine getting off the ship, even as she gets on?

The end result of the Tax Riots sounds pretty typical to be honest.

Daria has a new green-bug shell hat! Cool. That is the thing that marks out the Morrowverse version of Daria.

The sergeant who was hit by the rock reminds me of Pyrrhus. As I recall he was killed by a roof tile, thrown at his head in a riot.

So Daria is back at the Mages Guild. It does seem like the best fit for her, among the other options she still has. I am still holding out for her forming Tamriel's version of the IWW.

So Jane is heading back to Vivec, and things are settling back down to 'normal' at Balmora. It is good to hear that Daria is done with high school. It does seem like she has outgrown it. She's done a lot of maturing lately.

“Basically, things are going great, so we’d better enjoy it while we can.”
Words of wisdom. Enjoy it while you can Daria. The Sleeper has awoken, and in places long thought abandoned, darkness stirs with profane ebullience...

Given her situation, probably best for Synda to leave Morrowind. I’d wager her assessment of Solitude is not too far off the mark but it may offer her a bit of comfort as long as she can control her true nature – which is doubtful.

Lli got fired! Gee, that breaks my heart.

Very interesting that, although the great tax revolt was quelled, it still succeeded in tax relief.

I’m glad that Daria has stopped burning bridges long enough to take a position with the guild of mages. Not sure of the Third Era MG structure but in the second Era, one significant position in the guild was the ‘Master of Incunabula, responsible for maintaining the guild's libraries, arcanaea, and seeking out new and interesting works to add to the collection.’ Work in that arena sure sounds like it could be well suited to Daria.

A bittersweet brandy meeting with Jane. Both have learned and grown a great deal but their situations now diverge, with Jane returning to Vivec and Daria staying in Balmora.

Thanks for letting us know where we are in the story and how/when you’ll be posting the epilogue. Looking forward to it.

I'm going to wait until Thursday to start posting the epilogue. But I wanted to do something for Sunday, so I'll address the comments!

@SubRosa - It didn't feel quite right to have a big story about Morrowind and not include at least a little bit of Seyda Neen.

Yeah, nothing's going to be majorly fixed after the Tax Revolt. Empire's gonna empire.

Didn't know that about Pyrrhus! But yeah, a tile can brain a king just as well as a commoner.

The epilogue will go into a lot of the dark times ahead. They won't necessarily be completely terrible for all the characters involved, but even if they do okay individually, the world is on a darker path.

@Acadian - Synda's definitely got a hard road ahead of her. You'll eventually see where she ends up with it.

I figured the Empire was embarrassed enough to push Hlaalu to change. But it's not a meaningful change, and Hlaalu will just figure out a new form of wealth extraction.

That's interesting! Does sound like something she'd be good at. I think the main challenge would be the politicking that's an inevitable part of any organization like this.

Alright, finally I get to catch up with y'all's stories! It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Looks like I'm just in time. Sad this series is coming to an end, but on the other hand it always feels good to complete something, right?



Or at least go into hibernation!

I figure you've edited a few times. I never visited that other site you posted at (Spacesomething) but I've noticed recently that Quinn's latest meeting with the Fashion Guild was described as an "emergency". Probably that was edited in. Because us Chorrolites made such a fuss about what constitutes an emergency for something so trivial as a Fashion Club!

Anyway, this really sucks. Mom's office is on fire. Too bad Daria's not here yet; she'd probably know better how to handle this. Oh crap. Don't die, muthsera. This is really dire...

Wow, what a homecoming. Not at all what the elder sister (or me) was expecting! Those damn protests, ruining the warm, fuzzy homecoming we expected! Garrrh.

Amelia's the gal from Caldera, correct? I remember liking her a lot. Yes, this is she.



Phew, I hope this is true! I think it is.



Shezuss, finally! I bet after all of these events that mom will never be so brusque with her eldest daughter again.

Uh oh, the focus is on Synda now. Yes, let's see what's going on in Syndaworld. Whoa, she's moving away. To Solitude! In all honesty, she'll probably have a better life there. Well, it can't be worse than all the sh*t she's having to put up with from her own family!

Daria got a new bug-shell hat! I don't know why I find that funny. Sorry! It just cracks me up for some reason.

Okay GOOD. Good to hear Magistrate Lli (that B****) has lost her job. Stupid woman. And yeah, the Mages Guild just makes the most sense for Daria. She's already involved with magic, and now she'll be able to practice it completely above-board, not needing to hide her experimenting and so on. And she won't have to go anywhere. Won't have to go trekking off to some faraway ruins and risk her life while doing so. I mean, she's b1tching about needing to return to the MG, but this is perhaps as good as it'll get.



Bravo, WellTemperedClavier. *claps* Really am happy you decided to come here to Chorrol, and share this awesome, unusual tale with all of us. Ciao. 🍷

(Author's Note: I have pretty mixed feelings about this epilogue. Bluntly, I think it goes on far too long and wrecks the pacing. But I am presenting the original epilogue as it was here. If you want a shortened version, skip ahead and read the final two entries.)

17th of First Seed, 3E 429 – East of Ald'ruhn, Morrowind Province, the Third Empire

Andril Golthyn, once Dimartani, lived to serve.

They said that the evil within Red Mountain was no more. Yet Andril watched all the same. Alone in the Ashlands, within a bug-shell outpost owned by Clan Dlera in service of Honorable Serjo Llendu, he stood guard against a fallen enemy. There was a satisfying irony that an outlander Nerevarine was the one to fell the Dunmer's ancient foe. That thought consoled him through the long, gray nights and days.

Vanu emerged from the outpost. She was little more than a girl, but already fierce, her bald head marked with scars.

"Sera Golthyn," she said. "Before I return to Ald'ruhn, there is a question I must ask you. A sensitive one that I cannot ask our honorable hetman."

Vanu was an outlander, a Dunmer born in Skyrim and orphaned soon after. A knife had been her doll and spilled blood her mother's milk. Some in Clan Dlera doubted her. An outlander, they said. Too foreign to our ways. So they gave her errands, like collecting reports from Andril and other watchers.

Andril did not doubt her.

"Ask," he said.

"Is it true that the Nerevarine slew the Tribunal?"

Andril didn't flinch, but the question struck him like a physical blow. The temple said otherwise—but the fearful faces of the priests and the fact that no one had seen the Tribunal for over a year—fed the rumors.

"I tell you TRULY, that I do not know," Andril replied.

"What are we to do, though? If it is true? I did not grow up with gods, but I know the Dunmer here adore them."

"We are Redoran, Vanu. Our WAY is to serve. Gods or no gods, that will never change. We will always do what is right, EVEN if we suffer for it."

It was not much of an answer. But it was all he could give.

"Thank you, Sera Golthyn," she said.

Vanu bowed slightly and set off on the long journey back to Ald'ruhn, her silhouette growing smaller and smaller in the overwhelming gray until she vanished from sight. Andril waited outside a little longer, listening to the bitter winds howl and bluster around him. His life was a hard one, but it was one he'd earned. In the wastes, accompanied by books and weapons and the young warriors who came to him for counsel, knowing he would listen, he was at peace.

12th of Evening Star, 3E 432 – Balmora, Morrowind Province, the Third Empire

No longer cold beneath his fur, his belly full of the tea Jane had brewed that night on one of her visits back to the shop, J'dash closed his eyes and dreamed.

And his dreams took him back on little paws to the white sands of a forever summer in Elsweyr, where the gleaming dunes always held the heat of the day and a Khajiit's bones never grew cold. J'dash ran beneath stars that glittered like sugar crystals against the night's black fur, laughing with arms stretched out in a darkness that was never dark.

And all his family joined him, and J'dash saw them again as if many years had passed, but he'd been with them for all those years, that no whips had ever torn his flesh and no bracers had ever rubbed the fur off his arms. His wife Kisisanda grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close, her golden eyes with moons in them shining from a face furred like snow, her body whole.

All their cubs played as cubs must. Little Z'havirr, who leapt lithe and perfect like the hunter he would've been, only to clutch his paws around a coconut shell and roll in the bright sand, his eyes asking what it was he held. Curious Tsira, who opened baskets and peered inside to see what was tasty, the brown and white fur of her fingers now only stained with juice. Clever Hravirra, who looked like a Mer save for the leopard spots on her neck and calves, alive and reading and talking about what she read.

Boundless and free, they played and hugged and laughed in a land that never grew cold, the beat of the world's heart in tune with theirs, their blood hot and their souls aflame.

J'dash knew the dream. He knew how the nightmares so often snuck in—the gray bodies and red eyes, the jagged spears, the clank of chains, and the years of pain that never ended and never could end.

But that night he only saw one pair of red eyes, those of Jane, his newest child, sitting atop a dune and painting all she saw. And she had always been there, because J'dash had never left Elsweyr. All he loved lay within that land, so Jane was there too, drawing things that were not but felt more real than things that were.

All one blood, all together, all dancing beneath the moons to the beat of the world.

J'dash never woke up.

Ok, so we are jumping forward to post Morrowind main quest, and an outlander Nerevarine (Joan of Arkay perhaps? Or January of Detroit?) has smoted the evil within Mount Doom.

We will always do what is right, EVEN if we suffer for it.
That certainly sums up the former DiMartini quite well.

That was a nice ending for him. He finally found a place where he belonged, and could be content with his life.

And a really sweet but sad sendoff for J'dash. Again, a really good way for the old cat to end his story. No, my eyes are totally not watering right now. Its just something in my eye...

A wonderfully fitting ending for Dimartani. He remains as stoic and noble as ever. Lucky indeed, are those wise enough to seek his counsel.

Beautifully poignant doesn’t even begin to describe your send off for J’dash. I can only wish to similarly depart so peacefully to a place where I am surrounded by everything I love and have loved.

10th of Frostfall, 3E 433 – Rihad, Hammerfell Province, the Third Empire

Jolda always thought that the gilded dome of Rihad's palace made a perfect metaphor for high-level politics: glamorous, superficial, and ominously heavy.

In the brazier-lit throne room beneath the dome, she watched as her liege, King Doondana ap-Blubamka al-Rihad, studied a map of Hammerfell. His advisors (of whom Jolda was by far the youngest) stood at attention as he, only a year into his kingship, tried to steer Rihad through the worst crisis Tamriel had seen in over a century.

"My king?"

That was Radam, an advisor carried over from the previous court. He always seemed to be smiling behind his bushy peppercorn beard, but not in a way that Jolda liked.

"Speak," King Doondana ordered.

"As no emperor sits on the throne—and this Martin Septim may be a pretender—Rihad must see to its own needs. The Crown cities of the north are like daggers pointed at our back, ready to plunge and end us once and for all. We should join with the other Forebear cities and take the war to them. If the Empire survives, I am sure it will be pleased. The Crowns are troublesome to them."

"You're talking civil war!" Hooda exclaimed, crossing her arms. Her white dreadlocks shone in the dim light.

"I am speaking of survival!" Radam protested. "Cyrodiil is in chaos. And who is to say that Martin Septim is not just another Daedric doppelganger? His legitimate brothers were!"

Hooda rolled her eyes. "According to the angry mobs who killed them, yes, but I'd like to get a second opinion."

Fueled by the three cups of coffee she'd had that afternoon, Jolda's mind busily worked the different angles. Radam was a Forebear from northern Hammerfell with a continent-sized chip on his shoulder over how the Crowns had treated his family. Ironically, he acted like a Crown in a lot of ways. Hooda, on the other hand, had spent her life going between Hammerfell and Cyrodiil and was a true believer in the Empire.

"Martin's no demon," King Doondana said, shaking his head. "He wouldn't be fighting the Daedra if he were."

Radam stepped back, knowing he'd made a mistake. "Your majesty is wise. But who can say Martin will reclaim the Ruby Throne, much less keep it? The Elder Council is as treacherous as the Daedra!"

"They aren't that bad, no worse than politicians anywhere else," Hooda said. "If we send troops to support Martin Septim and help him win, it'll be more reason for the Elder Council to get behind him."

"With respect," Jolda said, "I think both of my esteemed colleagues are overlooking the situation at home."

King Doondana looked up from the map and turned to Jolda. He smiled. Jolda knew he favored boldness and informality, and she tailored her arguments that way.

Jolda continued. "Rihad's loyalty must always be to the Empire, but we'd be better off focusing on keeping our people safe, strong, and prosperous. When an emperor does return to the throne, we'll be there for him. We shouldn't get too involved in Cyrodiilic politics until then."

"Yes!" Radam thrust his fist into the air.

"On the other hand, attacking the Crown cities would be a disaster in the making."

Radam growled.

Jolda ignored him. "The last thing the Empire wants is a civil war in Hammerfell. Starting one, even with some justification, ventures on treason. What's more, it's not at all clear we'd win. Sending troops north would leave us completely unprotected from bandits and Daedric incursions, which aren't limited to Cyrodiil anymore."

"A sharp analysis," King Doondana said, stroking his black beard. "But what should we do? In your opinion."

"Rihad should focus on protecting its primary concern: trade. We'd best be served by keeping our soldiers in the area, though we can also send some to protect the trade lanes to our key partners on Cyrodiil's Gold Coast. Just be sure to coordinate with the Imperial Legion so there aren't any misunderstandings. This will ensure a steady stream of income and demonstrate that Rihad is a viable partner for post-crisis reconstruction in the west.

"As for Martin Septim, I think a token gesture of support is reasonable, but shouldn't go further than that until we have a better idea what he's all about."

King Doondana nodded. "All right. Looks like I got three interesting arguments here. I'll think on it tonight. You are dismissed."

Jolda followed her two bickering colleagues for a bit before going off on her own. She walked up stairs and along airy galleries before reaching a balcony that looked out across Rihad, a city of leafy rooftop gardens and sandstone houses the color of sunset.

Jolda had spent most of her life in Morrowind, which meant she'd always have a bit of an outsider's perspective when it came to Hammerfell. But maybe that wasn't bad. She'd already fallen in love with the city and its people after a mere three years. A life spent strengthening Rihad would be a life well spent.

9th of Sun's Height, 4E 3 – Stros M'Kai, Hammerfell Province, the Ocato Potentate

Getting mad (almost) never solved anything. But darn it, sometimes it was hard not to!

Amelia took a deep breath, counted to five, and then let it out before opening her eyes. The rest of the management team for the Stros M'Kai branch of the Synod still sat in the meeting room, none of them looking all that sure of what they were doing.

"Okay," Amelia said, "so the Alchemical Symposium is refusing to honor our invoice because it can't legally do business with the Mages Guild. Even though we officially stopped being the guild two years ago, and everyone knows it."

Which, in turn, meant that half of the Synod's local research had skidded to a halt. With the annual review only a few weeks away.

"We could send someone else to the mainland to ask," Shurgoz, an elderly Orc enchanting specialist, suggested.

Amelia glanced at the window. It was a beautiful summer day outside, and she'd rather be enjoying the beach with her husband and son than be cooped up in here. But the Synod needed to prove itself to fill the shoes of the Mages Guild, even if it was basically the guild under a new name.

She shook her head. "That'll take too long." An idea came to her. "Who filled out the invoice?"

"Pentius did," Dramrys said. Dramrys was Dunmer, but she'd been born in Cyrodiil. When they'd first met, Dramrys had had a million questions about Morrowind that Amelia couldn't do much to answer since she'd never seen much of the place beyond Caldera and Balmora. She kind of regretted that. One day, she told herself, she'd go back to really see Morrowind.

"Okay, let me talk with Pentius," she said.

Amelia walked over to Pentius's desk, near the front of the Synod office. Pentius was an Imperial a few years younger than her, with messy blond hair that seemed to get messier the more he tried to comb it. He looked up at her when she arrived.

"Yes?"

"Hey, could I see the form you sent to the Alchemical Symposium?"

"But I already delivered it."

"I know; show me the form you used."

He leaned to the side and burrowed into his desk, opening and closing drawers, before finally taking out a paper and handing it to Amelia. She figured out what had gone wrong right away: the invoice's letterhead still read: Guild of Mages.

Amelia sighed. "Pentius, you know that we aren't the Guild of Mages anymore. Why did you fill out an invoice that still has the old name?"

He gulped. "Steward Rennik said he wanted this done quickly. We have a ton of paperwork with the old name. Seriously, we practically have a warehouse's worth of the stuff. He doesn't want to order new paperwork."

"Okay," Amelia admitted, "but we can't use the old forms, either. We can't legally operate under that name. Here, how about this?"

Amelia put the paper down at the edge of his desk, grabbed his quill pen, and crossed out the letterhead, blocking away as much as she could. Then, above it, she wrote: The Synod.

"I'm going to talk to Steward Rennik," Amelia said. "I'm not a big fan of using the old forms at all, but maybe it's the best way to avoid waste and expense. The symposium should accept invoices as long as they're labeled as being from us, not from the guild."

"Aren't we basically the same?"

Amelia nodded. "Minus all the branches that got rebranded as the College of Whispers, yeah. We may not have a proper emperor, but this is still the Empire, so paperwork matters."

It always felt good to solve a problem, even if it was kind of a stupid one. They wouldn't have finished their research by the time of the review, but that was okay. The important thing was for them to be working. And if Amelia hurried up with her work, she might have a little bit of time for the beach with hubby and baby later that day.

It looks like Jolda has found an enjoyable niche in Hammerfell. She seems happy there and she’s clearly a wise and appreciated court advisor.

Amelia in the 4th Era! She clearly has a position now of some import in the Synod. As she said, ‘twas a minor problem she solved but one that needed solving anyway and served as a nice backdrop for letting us glimpse into her current situation.

I’m quite enjoying these epilogue segments. Not only do they wrap up things for many characters, but they are a fun presentation that, while providing enough information, leave plenty of room for readers to ‘fill in the gaps’.

Cyrodiil is in chaos, so its time to ignore the Daedra attempting to destroy the world and drag it into the Deadlands and... settle old scores with those pesky Crowns. Yep, someone had to say that. There is always that guy.

Jolda's proposition is the most prudent of all three, and inarguably the wisest for Rihad. Which is why a lot of people will argue with her on it. Whether or not the King takes her advice is another matter entirely of course.

But it is nice to see that Jolda found a place that she can finally call home. It sounds like she is on the path to happily ever after in Hammerfell.

It's Amelia! Things are not going to great for the Mages Guild Synod I see. As soon as she walked up to Pentium's desk, I knew exactly what the problem was. He used the old Mages Guild stationary, didn't he? Because of course he is just that stupid. I have been doing a lot of reading and listening to history lately, and it is full of morons like this guy. Especially military history.

And Amelia at least comes up with a simple, if ad hoc solution. Plus you worked in a nice little bit of exposition about the post Oblivion Crisis Mages Guild Synod in the process.

Like Acadian, I am enjoying these little epilogue segments. It is like the ending slides of a good RPG, where you get to see how things turned out for all your companions and the factions in the game.

18th of Rain's Hand, 4E 5 (RED YEAR) – Balmora, Morrowind Province, the Ocato Potentate

Helen hated to admit it, but she'd been lucky in many ways. Not that she hadn't worked for every inch of what she'd earned, whether studying obscure tomes by candlelight until her eyes gave out or forging her own legal dominion in Morrowind. Yet she'd done it in the context of an empire that, for all its elephantine sprawl and deep corruption, gave avenues for the common to excel.

The Septim Dynasty had died with the sacrifice of Martin Septim. But, with any luck, the transition to the next dynasty would be smooth, and perhaps they'd fix some of the problems that had always dogged the Septims.

"Are you sure the girls are going to be okay over in Whiterun?" Jake asked.

She and her husband sat on the balcony of the Balmora home where they'd built so many memories—some good, some bad, but nearly all made rosy by the passage of time. It was late afternoon, the sky clear from the recent spring rains, and she could still imagine Daria and Quinin coming in through the door after a day at Drenlyn Academy the way they used to, twelve long years ago.

"They'll be fine, Jake," Helen said. "Skyrim will be a bit of a culture shock, but Whiterun's a cosmopolitan city that offers fantastic career opportunities for them both."

"But who knows what could happen next? I'm not so sure about this Ocato guy. The Empire needs an emperor, dammit!"

"Which is exactly what Chancellor Ocato is trying to arrange."

Jake frowned. "I guess. But it feels like everything's up in the air. And what's with—"

Best to cut him off now. "Oh, Jake, any new recipes?"

Jake brightened up all at once. "Oh boy!" He rubbed his hands together and grinned. "So, you know how much I love this kwama stuff, but I keep thinking it'd go great with some good old-fashioned fish sauce like what they used to ship here from the west. I found out the other day that some guy in Gnisis…"

Helen smiled and nodded, paying more attention to the comforting sound of her husband's voice than to the specifics of what he said. Jake had aged well. He'd worked less and less as Helen's firm grew, which she'd thought would be a problem. But somehow it wasn't. Jake constantly pursued new projects—amateur carpentry, cooking, even alchemy—and he tackled them with a young man's guileless enthusiasm. The house was always spotless, and something delicious was always on the table. Seeing him that way made Helen feel young again.

Which had other benefits as well.

Jake was telling her what herbs he'd use when a colossal boom sounded out from beyond the southern hills. A shockwave hit a moment later, a trembling in the earth and air that made the entire city fall silent and take notice.

"What was that?" Jake wondered.

Helen grabbed Jake's hand.

5th of Midyear, 4E 7 – Leyawiin, Cyrodiil Province, the Ocato Potentate

Monsoon rains lashed Leyawiin that morning, the skies above as black as a starless night. Treads-on-Ferns wanted to go out. His scales itched to let the rain fall on them, but he knew better. Ash particulate from Red Mountain still tainted each drop, two long years after its eruption. He'd seen the effects on the careless: rashes on skin, bare patches on scales or fur.

He remembered the cheers that went up from Leyawiin's Argonian neighborhoods the minute they heard about Red Mountain blowing its top. Who cared that the eruption caused earthquakes, tidal waves, and droughts across all of Tamriel? What mattered is that it had killed a lot of Dunmer (and a lot of Argonians, Khajiit, Bretons, and others).

Treads got it. Great House Hlaalu belatedly ending slavery in their territories didn't make up for a thousand years of cruelty. Nothing could. Red Year was a form of justice. Treads accepted it with a bit of grim satisfaction, but he couldn't celebrate it.

He rolled out of bed and walked downstairs to get the teashop ready for the day. The tea came first, as always. He lugged his two iron cauldrons out to the little enclosure, protected by a stout roof of lashed-together bamboo poles and a fence of the same. He used the spigot to fill buckets with clean-enough water from that plumbing that (mercy upon mercies) still worked. After filling the cauldrons, he set fires in the little charcoal pits beneath them. Not a lot of heat, but enough that the tea would be steaming by the time the customers came in.

Treads paused from his labors and looked out past the little fence. The jungle had overtaken the abandoned houses across the street, gutted during the Oblivion Crisis and never repaired. Running a teashop at the edge of the habitable parts of Leyawiin ran a lot of risk, but was cheap. Worse came to worst; he owned a spear and knew how to use it. He'd only ever had to brandish it once.

"Hope you're alive, Jeval. Quinn. Tiphannia. And you too, Satheri," he said.

The members of the Fashion Club had all left Balmora before Red Year. Not always under the best circumstances, but they'd at least put some distance between them and the epicenter. Jeval and Tiphannia were both far away, one going west to Hammerfell (Treads sometimes regretted not joining him), the other east to find her family in Cathnoquey.

Quinn and Satheri had both gone to the mainland, so they'd probably escaped the eruption. But not necessarily Treads's fellow Argonians, who'd boiled across the border to repay the atrocities inflicted on them by the Dunmer. Atrocities that the Empire had allowed for centuries.

Customers filtered in soon enough, along with his assistant, Swims-Like-Fish. Treads's mood improved as conversation and the sweet smell of a dozen different spices filled the bare little parlor. Everyone was welcome at the teahouse, so long as they let everyone else be welcome. It was a simple rule.

The rain slackened toward the end of the day. Treads sometimes chatted with patrons, but never overmuch. They came to hang out with each other, not with him. The old days were gone, but their joys didn't have to be.

Night fell, though it was hard to tell the difference with the cloud cover. Folks came and went. Treads was about to close up when an Argonian hurried inside. She wore a drab Western-style cloak that brought out the vivid magenta of her shades. Quinin would have had all kinds of fashion recs for a woman like her.

"Hey!" she said, jogging up to the counter with a small wooden box in her hands. "Glad I got here. So, you want to help our kindred in the fight, yes?"

"Be more specific," Treads said. "There are a lot of fights these days."

Her irises narrowed in annoyance. "Come, you know what I mean! When they told me you weren't part of the cause, I couldn't believe it. An Argonian like you, who's been to Black Marsh, who drank the Hist sap—"

"Let me guess," Treads said. "You want me to put that little box on my counter with a sign telling people to donate money to the An-Xileel."

Not too different from what he used to do for the Argonian Mission as a kid. Except the Argonian Mission had been run by Cyrodiilic Argonians like him and his parents, and the An-Xileel hated anything that smacked of the Empire. He didn't exactly blame them for their hatred.

"We are all People of the Root," she said. "That means we have to stand together. The An-Xileel are liberating our cousins in Morrowind as we speak—"

"It's been a long-time coming. Though it's a bit peculiar to see you trying to raise money in Cyrodiil. My understanding is that the An-Xileel aren't too forgiving to Argonians associated with the Empire. Or perceived as being associated. I've talked to some of the refugees."

Her gills fluttered. "The Empire brutalized our people!"

"I don't disagree."

"So you will help?"

"I know that you can't change society by being nice to the people who have their foot on your neck," Treads said. "The Empire was awful and should never have been in Black Marsh, or probably anywhere outside of Cyrodiil. Most of this mess is their fault.

"But I also know that if I'd been in Black Marsh when the An-Xileel took over, I'd have been a target. Someone to be burned or flayed alive. My family would have met the same fate. And that's why I'm not going to help you. I won't aid a group that kills people whose only crime was being born to the wrong tribe."

"The Argonians who tell you that are liars. They only want your coin, so they tell these sad stories—"

Treads shook his head. "No. I've seen their scars. I know why the An-Xileel do what they do. But the lines were drawn long before we were born, and I'm on this side."

She drew back. "That's very small of you," she said, her nostrils flaring.

"Doesn't bother me."

She huffed and left, leaving Treads in peace. He looked up once she stepped out the door to make sure she hadn't brought any An-Xileel bullyboys. But he was alone. Not surprising. The Potentate still ruled. The An-Xileel didn't have much say in Cyrodiil. And if worse came to worst, Treads still had that spear.

Helen. Jake and Helen seem to be aging contentedly in Balmora. I’m so glad they are happy and okay with the girls off in Whiterun. I’m also encouraged that Quinn and Daria both went to the same place – maybe they’ve gotten more into this sister stuff.

Uh oh. Colossal booms are generally bad. Especially if they come from Red Mountain I figure.


Treads. So the Fashion Club members have gone their ways and Treads has gone into the tea business. I see the Argonian has also changed genders. Buffy has spoken with several Argonians in the Second Era who have changed gender and she understands the Hist is quite helpful in that regard. Treads is as wise as ever, seeing the situations in Morrowind with the great houses and in Black Marsh with the Empire in a realistic way but without hatred or wishes for vengeance.

’Everyone was welcome at the teahouse so long as they let everyone else be welcome. It was a simple rule.’
- - More simple Treads wisdom. We are blessed here at chorrol to bask under the same rule.

Year 429, so this part occurs well after the events of the previous story, okay. Very good. Seems Dimartani has continued to live somewhere out in Redoran territory.

This new character Vanu is asking about the events of the game from our perspective. Hmm, I can't help but wonder who Vanu is. Is this a character you played the game with? Or are all these characters so far just 100% "fictional"? --- If Vanu is fictional, I'm wondering the name of your Nerevarine. Just curious.

Whoa, you're writing up a Khajiit!

Jolda winds up in Hammerfell. She's the one whose father is the guy Daria burned the bridge right?

Talking about Martin Septim. Man, you're really going into the story/lore here, Clav. So that's Jolda's story. Hmm. I really wonder what happened to the three idiots. I'm bad with names sometimes, but one of them is Jeval, I think. Did they continue to obsess over poor Quinn. Heck, I wonder what happens to Quinn! - I'm guessing she'll become the grand entrepreneur of the group.

Amelia's all grown up.

Ah, Helen. The big lawyer mama. Here we go. Interesting that she & Jake are still here in Balmora. Seems they must really like some aspects of this town, which has certainly remained challenging over the years. Hmm, their daughters have moved on... to Skyrim. Wow.



Dad's getting fired up! Laughing, as usual. He always cracks me up.

Treads is in Leyawiin. And it's raining. Funny thing: when I was playing Oblivion (PS3 and then Xbox, which of course means no weather mods) years ago it ALWAYS seemed like it rained more in Leyawiin!

Whoa, whoa whoa.. hold on. That's right. Red Volcano. It was Year 5 when the parents were discussed, now it's Year 7. So: did the parents perish with the eruption? Maybe that's why they held hands at the end. Cripes.

So it is twelve long years in the future. That means they have lived through both Dagoth Ur and the Oblivion Crisis. I am sure nothing else world-shattering will ever happen in their lifetimes. I mean, that would just be laying it on too thick, wouldn't it?

Phew, reading that Daria and Quinn are leaving the province comes as a relief. Still, at least Helen and Jake did build up some good memories in Balmora, enough to smooth out all the rough edges from the not so good ones.

Uh boy, here it comes. The Red Year. Goodbye Helen and Jake. At least you had time to build some good memories, and you got to die together, knowing that your children were safe.

Treads is a 'he' now. Cool to have that acknowledgement of the Argonian life cycle done so simply.

So it sounds like most of the old gang from the Fashion Club made it out of Morrowind alive. That is something.

One can certainly empathize with the schadenfreude of seeing Red Mountain explode from an Argonian perspective. The Germans also have a word meaning something like "A face deserving of being punched" that also applies to the Dunmer Great Houses. Unfortunately, a lot of not evil people like Helen and Jake died in the same catastrophe.

And then there is that guy again, the An-Xileel. Treads has clearly seen them for what they really are, rather than just the propaganda that people outside of Black Marsh and Morrowind have been fed. It reminds me of Stalinism back in the 20s and 30s, before the rest of the world really found out about all the genocide he was doing.

Okay, so that IS what happened to them, eh? Hoo boy. Didn't see that coming.

28th of Second Seed, 4E 16 – the Sloan Estate (north of Cheydinhal), Cyrodiil Province, the Thules Regime

Over two thousand lives hinged on Serjo Tomal Sloan's next decision. It wasn't the kind of decision he'd ever expected to make as a youth. But he supposed adulthood had surprised nearly everyone in his generation. Maybe adulthood always came as a surprise, regardless of generation.

He stood on the balcony of his adobe manse, built in the traditional Hlaalu style, and observed his domain. Miles of rice paddies and fruit orchards gleamed beneath the tropical sun, life positively bursting from the damp black earth fed by the waters of Lake Arrius. At the edges huddled the adobe huts and tents that housed the Sloan family's workers. His father had purchased this land decades ago from a wastrel Nibenese noble and had used it to earn wealth for himself and for the Hlaalu Council Company.

Tomal used it for sanctuary.

Exactly 2,117 people, mostly Dunmer with some outlanders, now called the Sloan Estate home. They came fleeing Morrowind, fleeing Red Year, the Argonian Invasion, and the collapse of Great House Hlaalu. Tomal built homes for them when he could and kept doing that until he could shelter no more. Those loyal to the Sloans got first priority. Second to them, longtime followers of Great House Hlaalu. Beyond that, mostly a matter of first come, first serve. The Sloan name no longer carried as much weight or wealth as it once had. He took on some families at a loss. Good thing his dad had put more investments in Cyrodiil than in Morrowind.

Keeping them safe in an increasingly hostile land posed an altogether thornier problem.

Tomal looked down at his drink, a silver cup half-full of fiery brandy. He was still a bit light-headed from his drinking the previous night.

"Mentally impairing beverages and high-stakes negotiations," Andrava said. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Andrava Nesryn, the eldest (and only surviving) child of a noble family from Andothren, had fled with Tomal and assumed the duties of a seneschal within the Sloan Estate. She did it well.

Tomal shrugged. "Hey, there's a reason we have the phrase 'drunk as lords'."

"And a reason that a lot of lords don't live to finish their careers."

"Point taken," Tomal said, putting down the cup. He turned to Andrava. "How do I look?"

He'd tried to dress as Colovian as he could for this meeting, complete with a stiff jacket of blue wool that was slowly cooking him alive in the jungle heat.

She eyed him doubtfully. "Like a provincial Colovian noble from twenty years ago."

"Well, retro's always in. We're sure that Titus is the only rebel leader with any chance of beating Thules?"

"Yes. He's defeated or rallied all of the other notable warlords. The Jarl of Eastmarch was the only serious rival, and he's dead. His son's still insisting he was murdered, but he's not standing in Titus's way. The odds favor Titus, but this doesn't mean that Emperor Thules is out of the picture," Andrava said.

Plenty of Thules's rust-splotched troops had ridden by the Sloan Estate, demanding to know why so many Dunmer lived on human lands, and so close to the moldering ruins of the Summer Palace, at that. Tenants had been harassed, a few killed, before Tomal could smooth things over. Citizenship didn't mean as much as it used to, and as times got harder, Tomal suspected it'd mean even less.

Likewise, plenty of nobles loyal to Thules took advantage of the man's erratic mental state to nab lands from less popular rivals. A fiefdom owned and run by Dunmer, without any real support from Morrowind, made a tempting target.

"He certainly is not," Tomal agreed. "Have the other Dunmer in eastern Cyrodiil said anything?"

"No. They're probably waiting on you. You're the highest-ranking Hlaalu here."

"Don't remind me. We know Thules will eventually give my land to one of his cronies, which means the people here will be killed or sent back into Morrowind. If we help Titus take over, then there's a chance we'll have a place in the new regime."

"But if we help Titus and Titus loses…"

"Then we start looking for relatively painless suicide methods," Tomal said.

"As astute as always, Serjo Sloan."

By ALMSIVI, he wanted another drink. But no, he needed a clear head for this negotiation.

"Okay, let's go downstairs and meet the emissary. We'll pledge our support, and I'll don the old bonemold and sally forth if I have to."

Andrava's eyelids fluttered, and she looked down. "If you'll pardon my saying, I hope you don't have to."

"Is that concern I hear in my flinty seneschal's voice?" He asked, trying to make light of it.

She didn't say anything. Some things shouldn't be joked about, he supposed.

"It probably won't come to that," Tomal said. "No one thinks of me as soldier material anyway. But Great House Hlaalu of Cyrodiil will stand with Titus Mede. Because we can't stand anywhere else."

"I know, serjo. I know."

21st of Hearthfire, 4E 18 – the Imperial City, Cyrodiil Province, the Third Empire (Mede Dynasty)

Okay, Quinn told herself as she walked down another gloomy, damp hallway that went on forever. It's been a tough couple of decades, so yeah, some of that's going to show in the Imperial Palace. They're fixing it. Slowly.

The disappointment still hit her, though. This place was supposed to be the place, the one where you found the best the Empire had to offer. All she saw were unshaven soldiers and bureaucrats with bags under their eyes, shuffling down galleries that no one had cleaned in forever. It was exactly what Daria had warned her it would be.

But maybe, someday, things would be better. Like they'd been in the old days, before Septim Empire had fallen apart. Before Red Mountain had blown up, taking Mom and Dad and most of Balmora with it.

She sniffed, but didn't let herself cry. Not now. She'd escaped with her husband, and had two wonderful daughters. Daria had escaped too. And everyone else in the Fashion Club had left Balmora before her. Not always under the best circumstances, but they'd gotten out.

Enough.

Quinn found the office right where the directions had said, two doors past the broken statue of Emperor What's-his-name but before the big stairway. She knocked on the door, smoothed her pink moth-silk gown, and touched her still mostly red hair. Hair dye cost a lot these days. Everything cost a lot because of so many trade routes collapsing. Not that it mattered so much, but the little things made the big tragedies easier to bear.

"Come in," ordered the voice.

Quinn opened the door and stepped into the office of General Antabius Corello. He didn't look like a general to her, paunchy and soft, with an oily black mustache that she wanted to shave off for his own good. But she'd listened to palace chatter and knew he handled a lot of Emperor Titus's spies and propaganda.

"Your lordship," she said, bowing.

He acknowledged her with a curt nod. "You've come highly recommended, citizen."

She smiled, like she felt lucky to get that kind of praise. Actually, she hated how much cringing everyone had to do these days. Used to be you could brag about stuff a little as long as you didn't go overboard, but now humility was in.

"I am honored that you have heard, your lordship."

"Your sartorial and cosmetic guidance has made stars out of obscure families like the Secunias and the Ajenois, and in very meager circumstances, too."

"I only brought out the beauty they already had within, your lordship."

He tented his fingers, which looked like little sausages, and leaned back in his chair. "I, however, want to test your mettle in a different way."

"I live to serve the emperor, your lordship."

"His imperial majesty is creating a new diplomatic corps. He wants a uniform that is both visually impressive and tied to Cyrodiilic culture. That is our core, after all. Is that something you can do?"

"Of course!" she said, already getting all kinds of ideas. "Your lordship," she added.

"The false emperor Thules was Nibenese, and we want to advertise the true emperor's soldierly Colovian credentials, so favor Colovian styles. We've let the Nibenese bureaucrats run things for too long, anyway. You will have access to as many assistants as you might need. They'll supply you with fabrics and dyes, and can test out your designs. You'll have a budget of 5,000 septims."

"I promise that the Empire will be known as much for style as for justice."

"Hm, yes. Your office is waiting in the east wing. My servant," he paused to ring a bell, "will show you the way."

Quinn bowed again. A page who couldn't have been older than fifteen showed up at the door, and the general told her to follow. Back out into the dreary halls.

It wasn't the Fashion Guild, but it was the closest she'd get. The whole guild system was history anyway. Nobles and government offices handled most of that stuff now, and people like Quinn had to go along. She'd had an argument with Daria about this. Not one of those arguments that turned into a fight and left everyone with hurt feelings that they never got over, but it had still been pretty intense. Daria didn't think the new dynasty would make things better.

But what was the alternative? Quinn wanted her daughters to grow up in a world like the one she'd grown up in. Where there was always food on the table, the soldiers were usually good guys who protected you, and you could worry about things like fabrics and hairstyles because all the important stuff was already taken care of.

She sniffed, thinking of her daughters, Helena and Vesta. Mom and Dad would've been crazy about them, too, and not a day went by that she didn't wish she could bring her girls to them. But all Quinn could do was light the candles in the temple and tell her daughters how much grandma and grandpa would've loved them, and…

Quinn stifled her sob.

Maybe the Medes could fix the world. Maybe they couldn't. Daria didn't have kids and, at this point, probably never would. It was easy for her to talk about things not working out because she didn't have any real skin in the game. All Quinn could do was try. Try and make an empire that lived up to the Septims, and maybe turned out a little better. She loved Daria, and she always would. But there were some things her sister would never understand.

Tomal. Tough times all over and Tomal is not exempt. His mantle of responsibility weighs heavily, but he has a good heart and a good seneschal. I expect he’s making the best choice from a short, unsavory list of options.


Quinn. Unsurprisingly, Quinn’s fashion sense has earned her a place in this crumbling empire. She’s still very much Quinn but has indeed sobered and sombered up. The world falling apart, her parents’ death and a pair of daughters will do that.

So the Sloans escaped Red Year. Not too surprising, given how entrenched they were in Cyrodiil to begin with.

Tom is certainly navigating treacherous waters. Turning his estate into a refugee sanctuary is difficult enough. Surviving the civil war at the end of this interregnum will be far from challenging. Of course we know from hindsight that Titus will be the last one standing. But Tom does not.

Given Thules' behavior, it seems that picking Titus is about the only real option anyhow. As Tom puts it so succinctly, he cannot stand anywhere else.

I see from the heading of section 2 that Tom backed the right horse, given that it is now the Median Empire.

Looks like Daria is preparing her sister with lowered expectations, as one would expect.

Quinn in this setting kind of reminds me of Effie Trinket from the Hunger Games books/movies. It is the little things like looking good that make the nightmare going on around her bearable.

Quinn is talking to the army guy in charge of spies and propaganda? Is he going to hire her to be the Cyrodiilic equivalent of Hugo Boss, to design their new SS Imperial uniforms? Or is he going to make her a spy? Honestly, I think she definitely would do well as either.

Hugo Boss it is! It sounds like Quinn is definitely living her best life, even as the Empire itself is not.

Wow, Quinn has kids now. That more than anything else brings home that over two decades have passed.

7th of First Seed, 4E 22 – Andothren, Morrowind, Great House Sadras

"Relax your stance a little bit. Hang loose."

A sheen of sweat shone on Vedas's face as the young Dunmer noble nodded, his muscles unclenching. Maiko walked around his student, observing from all angles. Vedas was a good kid. He didn't object to Maiko not being Dunmer and was willing to listen (though not always eager).

"That's good. Hold that for a bit. Remember: You need to move fast in a sword fight. Be like water."

"Yes, sera."

The first thing a rookie needed to learn was how to stand. Then how to move. Fighting came later. That's how Maiko learned it in the legion, and that's what he taught his students, whether they were Serjo Dravaal's security or Serjo Dravaal's kids.

They finished up for the day, Vedas giving Maiko a respectful nod before he left to the main hall, where Maiko already smelled a dinner of comberry-braised ornada and spiced saltrice being prepped. Which made him realize he was getting pretty hungry and that it was time to head home.

It was a clear early evening, a band of stars shining faintly in the east as the sun sank low in the west. The roar of the big cliffside waterfalls, Andothren's claim to fame, filled the air. The place reminded Maiko of Balmora in a lot of ways: same blocky adobe buildings, same marketplace buzz.

He'd heard that Red Year had fried Andothren, even though it was on the mainland. Great House Sadras had fixed it up. Sadras wasn't much different from Hlaalu; knew how to throw money around for a show. And a show was all it was. There was nothing but miles of ashen devastation once you got past the city and the farms surrounding it. Air was still bad too, and Maiko didn't like to think what it might be doing to his lungs or to his family's.

One big difference from Balmora: a lot of times, Maiko was the only outlander in sight. Dunmer stared at him as he passed, and only the Great House Sadras badge on his shirt kept them from saying what they actually thought about him.

But home and dinner awaited. No point in sulking.

"I'm home!" he said once he arrived.

Marcus, eight years old, four feet tall, and full of energy, bounded up and hugged him. Maiko grabbed him under the arms and lifted him up, gave him a little spin (not as much as he used to, Marcus was too big), and then put him down.

"Good timing; dinner's almost ready!"

The voice of Caelia, his wife, came from the kitchen, along with all the right smells: steamed saltrice and grilled fish. Better than he'd ever eaten in the legion. At dinner, in a cramped little adobe room barely big enough for the three of them, Maiko could forget all his troubles.

The troubles came back later, though, as he lay in bed with Caelia.

"Marcus wants to go to Cyrodiil someday," she said.

Maiko nodded in the darkness and stretched his arms back against the wall. "Maybe he can. I don't think anyone there still cares about me."

"What if they do still care?" Her voice was completely level, like it always was when she was scared of something.

He didn't say anything for a bit. "Serjo Dravaal's a good man. He can find a place for Marcus here in Morrowind."

"I know. It's lonely for him here."

"It's lonely for all of us." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I chose wrong, Caelia, I—"

"No, don't say sorry. You couldn't have known. I thought the same thing too, so I'm just as much at fault."

When Emperor Thules had called the legions to defend the Imperial City against the rebel Titus Mede, Maiko had readied his unit and marched.

But the rebels won.

Maiko knew Thules wasn't any good as an emperor, but an officer didn't disobey orders. Besides, Cyrodiil already had too many crackpot warlords running around and causing trouble. No reason to think Titus was any better.

When it was over, Maiko had fled to Morrowind with Caelia and Marcus. They were safe enough with the Dunmer. Emperor Titus Mede had purged everyone too close to Thules. Had Maiko been close? Not really; he'd only been a captain. But he didn't want to take that chance, not when his family needed him.

"I've heard there are some other veterans in Kragenmoor," he said. "Guys like me who served under Thules. Maybe they can give me the lay of the land back in Cyrodiil."

"I guess. We can always stay in Morrowind."

"Absolutely," Maiko said. "Absolutely."

He hoped his son would feel the same way in ten years.

27th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 33 – Haimtir Village, Skyrim Province, the Third Empire (Mede Dynasty)

Andra, sometimes called Golden-handed, used to hate rainy days. Rain meant rats fleeing drains and the trash of Labor Town stinking worse than it usually did.

Out here on the Druadach Highlands, tucked away in southwestern Skyrim, it was a different story. Rain meant life. As the clouds emptied their contents onto the grass, she could smell the seeds breaking open in the thin soil and sending out little green shoots that'd help ensure another year for Haimtir.

It was hard to tell the ground from the sky on days like this where cloud and water, gray and green, all tumbled together. She looked out at it a little while longer before going back into the conical, straw-roofed common hut. Warmth flowed through her aged bones the moment she did, and she walked across the dirt floor to take a seat by the fire where her ledger for the year so far—a scroll of wormmouth hide weighed down by a few rocks—awaited her. Other villagers, usually on the older side, labored at their own crafts: woodworking, mending, and others.

Andra had never been much of a thief, really. But she knew numbers and organization, and so the Thieves Guild had found her useful. So too did Haimtir. Most folk were Reachmen like her, but they'd survived by being open, counting Redguards, Nords, Bretons, and others among their number. Anyone who worked was welcome, and Andra worked. She kept close track of the tribe's resources—food, hides, ever-meager coin—and made the most of what little they had. And so it was that as jarls raged and the Empire trembled, little Haimtir survived. Not easily, and not without sacrifice. But survival was never easy.

She squinted her eyes as she compared this month's earnings to the last. Glasses, like the ones Daria had worn (she idly wondered if Daria had escaped Red Year), would be useful. But such things did not exist on the lonely mesas of Druadach.

It was mid-afternoon, still gray and pleasantly dreary, when new voices entered the smoky room. Some light and lively, those of children. The other, heavier and with an unmistakable Dunmer rasp, somehow still sounded child-like.

Andra glanced up to see Kavon step inside, his daughter Dragheda (whose fine features and slightly grayish skin showed her mixed heritage), and a few of her friends following close behind, all soaked but with bright smiles on their grubby faces.

"Hey, Andra! So, uh, Dragheda's done all her chores, and she wanted to hear that story about how we escaped from the jail that one time."

Andra smiled. Balmora had always been too complicated a place for someone like Kavon. Haimtir suited him better. In fact, he suited Haimtir. Kavon was a formidable fighter so long as he had good leadership, a fact he'd proven more than a few times in the bloody decades after Red Year. Haimtir was peaceful. But it couldn't afford to be weak.

"Come on, Dragheda," Andra said. "Don't you want to let your dad tell the story for once? He's the warrior."

Dragheda shrugged. "But you're the storyteller."

The rest of the kids murmured their assent.

"Yeah, I always get the details mixed up. You're way better at this kind of thing," Kavon said, sitting down cross-legged before her, his eyes wide and smile guileless.

Sometimes Andra felt a bit guilty. She'd tricked Kavon during a heist years and years ago, costing him his job. They'd ended up in the same cell not long after and, upon breaking free, made the long journey west across a dying Empire together. It hadn't been an easy experience for either of them. But he'd have likely died in Red Year if he'd stayed. Best case scenario, he'd live long enough for one great house or another to use him up and cast him aside. In Haimtir, he had friends. He'd started a family. His kids would be Reachmen, not Dunmer, but nobody—Kavon, least of all—was bothered by that fact.

"Okay. Andra leaned in close so that her pale, wrinkled face would fill their vision. "There we were: me, who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and Kavon, the only guard in all Balmora with a hero's heart. And what did they do with us? They put us in a dank, dirty cell, one so foul that not even a rat would go inside."

"Wait," Kavon said. I'm pretty sure I saw a few rats in there—"

"Hush!" Andra ordered.

I remember that line from Pitch Black. I loved that movie. Too bad the sequels never really captured the same feeling.

So today it's Kevvy and Mac-Daddy!

Water can flow, and it can crash, be like water Vedas.

Given the date, I am imagining that Maiko is in his forties now? So he's a grizzled veteran. It looks like he is no longer a member of the Legion however, but rather working for one of the Great Houses? Ah, House Sadras I see.

Ok, I get it now. Maiko was in the legion, but he backed the wrong horse in the civil war that put Mede in charge.

Still, Maiko is doing pretty good, especially for someone who picked the losing side. It means he survived the war, and survived to escape the aftermath. All in all, it looks like he's actually got a pretty good life for himself in Morrowind.

So Andra has gone from the Thieves Guild to being a Witch Woman of the Western Reach? Well, at least a Woman of the Reach.

Kavon seems to have found a good place for himself too. As Andra noted, Balmora was too complicated for him. But for someone good at knocking skulls, he he seems to have found the right niche for himself.

Maiko. I see the now older Legionnaire paid a price for his profession by being on the losing side. It does seem he was able to carve out a place in Morrowind for his small family and is gainfully employed still as a man at arms. Sad but could be much worse I suppose.


Andra and Kavon. Gotta love Kavon – too simple for Balmora but a fierce and loyal warrior as long as he was well-led. It seems he and Andra have also carved out a fortuitous Reach village existence – friends, family, food – can’t complain.
’It was mid-afternoon, still gray and pleasantly dreary,’
- - although gray + pleasant sounds odd together, the sentiment strikes true for me as desert dweller. Overcast, gray, rain and what some would call dreary are always welcome here and contain an element of delight in their rarity.

11th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 50 – Camlorn, High Rock Province, the Third Empire (Mede Dynasty)

Synda used to hate snow.

She still didn't love it. The stuff turned black and dirty soon after falling between the dagger-roofed shops and houses of old Camlorn. But there was always that moment when it first fell from the gray skies—the white flakes dancing on the Eltheric Ocean's icy winds—that made this bleak and alien land feel like a place of enchantment.

Wrapped up in a purple cloak and a high-necked brown dress of coarse wool, Synda walked along the city's icy streets with her hands in her sleeves, her steps swift and sure. With her walked her son, Revyn, nine years of age and the most perfect Mer she'd ever seen, clearly Dunmer, but his gray skin possessing the everlasting glow of Aelcaro, his Cyrodiil-raised Altmer father.

The father to whom they were paying their respects that day, three years after he'd drowned trying to save a neighbor from the same fate. He'd left them enough to support themselves. Synda's general goods store did a tidy business, even if it did not exactly thrive.

They reached the graveyard soon enough, the markers like grim sentinels on the frozen ground. She wanted to grab Revyn's hand, but she let him walk on his own, as a boy his age ought. A simple stone stood above her husband's grave. It fit his style—simple and direct, like the humans with whom he'd spent so much time. She'd never found the grave worthy of him, but it was too late to criticize. Bending down, she placed the lilies she'd purchased from Oudrienne, the flower seller, upon the cold earth. Lilies were not suitable flowers for him. They were garish and overdone, like so much in High Rock. He'd be better honored by coda flowers and black roses, but those were out of her reach.

She did not allow herself to cry as she imagined taking Aelcaro by his golden hand to see the beauty of her homeland in its prime, that vast garden grown from ash and salt by the bloodied hands of her ancestors. There they'd raise Revyn up high on their shoulders so he could see his heritage and know the strength within him, and honor the three gods whom she knew still reigned, no matter what the New Temple said.

So much of that now buried under the same ash from which it had grown.

Synda had confessed her shame to Aelcaro. He forgave her since he did not understand the gravity of her sins, and she loved him for that. With him gone and her parents likely dead, she was truly free.

"I miss Dad," Revyn said.

"As do I."

Revyn sniffled, and Synda glanced down at her son. "He would want you to be strong," she said.

In truth, Aelcaro had always indulged Revyn with his ready smile and silver laugh. He left it to Synda to be stern, for that came naturally. But Revyn needed to be strong, and it'd be easier for him if he believed that's what his father had wanted. Revyn cried often. Such a trait promised a grim future for a Dunmer boy in a city of humans.

"Control yourself," she warned, and hated herself for being so harsh.

"Why did he have to—"

"I don't know," she said. "The world is a cruel place."

And it was. She'd seen it over and over again, in Morrowind, in Skyrim, in Cyrodiil, and in High Rock. Aelcaro had been the exception, not the rule.

"I wish it wasn't," he said.

She refused to let her tears flow.

"As do I." She knelt next to him, wanting to hold him close but fearing that'd ruin her lesson. "I promise I'll never be cruel to you, no matter what. But please be strong, for my sake and yours."

"I'll do my best," he vowed in a trembling voice.

She knew he'd fail. Because no one was ready for the world's cruelty. But she'd be there for Revyn when he stumbled.

22nd of Second Seed, 4E 103 – Balmora, Morrowind, Great House Sadras

Loose ash swirled around Tedannupal, Ashkhan of the Odaishannabab, as he and his entourage rode their beetles down to Balmora. At his right was Shunaibal, who wrestled nix hounds to the ground. At his left was Bannuzashinar, whose spears plucked musk flies out of the air.

The new town did not look much like the old. Or, more properly, it did look like the much older town from the days of Tedannupal's father and grandfather and great-grandfather: a rude collection of adobe huts and a ramshackle temple atop a hill and surrounded by a low adobe wall. The vivid and alien metropolis of Tedannupal's youth, with its faces and voices and goods from all over the world, was buried under the ash. Part of him regretted not spending more time there, but doing so would have probably made him soft.

He'd heard that Daria had left before Red Year, and that put him at ease.

A few townsfolk greeted them as they rode in, tones respectful but not fearful. Balmora and the Odaishannabab had common cause so long as beasts, and Mer with the hearts of beasts, still threatened. Tedannupal's men protected the farms, and in return, they received weapons, tools, and extra food. Tedannupal had gotten the idea for the arrangement from an old outlander book he'd retrieved from the city's ruins. It was called "mutualism" and struck him as worth exploring. And it had been.

But he didn't know for how much longer. Fresh green shoots now poked their way up out of the ash. The town grew a bit bigger every few years. Monsters no longer roamed as much, and Great House Sadras ran a small office near the temple. Sooner or later, Sadras would send in more guards, which meant less work for the Odaishannabab. He knew that Ashlanders would never win against the House Dunmer, not in the long run.

Tedannupal revered his ancestors, but he also understood that they'd made errors. He'd honor them by learning from their mistakes.

He chatted a bit with the townsfolk, asked about the things they concerned themselves with, and he'd read enough to at least sort of understand crop yields and the strange interpersonal interactions that arose when too many Dunmer were locked into too small a place for much too long. It was fascinating from a… either a psychological or sociological perspective. He wasn't quite sure which term applied.

Finally, he reached the shabby little temple in the center of town. Someone had told him it used to be called the Hlaalu Council Manor, but no one had spoken of the Hlaalu in many decades.

His daughter, Yansurnabba, waited at the front. With her was Menezcherib, Shunaibal's son and fellow student. He'd been sent to protect little Yan since the House Dunmer did not always welcome Ashlanders. But Yansurnabba never reported any trouble.

"Daughter of Odaishannabab!" He greeted her in the formal way (like he always did in front of townsfolk, since that's what they expected), though he smiled to let her know how happy he was to see her. He rode closer, so his weakening eyes could get a better look. By the ancestors, how she'd grown over the past three months!

"Honored Father," she said, knowing the script.

"Have you learned much from the temple school?"

"I have honored my elders and heeded their words. And I asked a lot of questions, as you told me to." She then reached into her bag and took out a book's worth of notes, and Tedannupal's heart soared. He'd learn so much from her!

"Good! I'm sure you'll have much to teach us back at camp."

He wanted to run out and hug her, lift her up, and put her on the back of his mount. But not with the townsfolk watching. So he rode closer to her and let her mount up on her own. Nearby, Shunaibal did the same with his son.

"See you in the fall, Yansurnabba!" called out a voice from the temple doorway.

It was Briltasi, one of his daughter's teachers, standing there and waving. The second of the two teachers at the school was stern, like he'd expected, but Briltasi almost seemed like a girl herself and he worried she'd be too easy on his daughter. Because Yansurnabba and Menezcherib needed to learn because the towns would grow bigger and herding would get harder.

The Odaishannabab could either prepare and adapt or again be left behind to dwindle. Both were types of death. But as a wise Redguard (or Imperial?) had once written, death was not an ending; it was only a change.

They waved to Briltasi before riding off, Yansurnabba promising to come back. Tedannupal would make sure of it.

Yes, so I imagine the former TEACHER gets placed with Vanu because she's an outlander, and so he gets "stuck" with this "lesser" person so the Redoran won't have to give him an actual member of their tribe. If so, I'd rather be with Vanu.

I really got bummed by the way the story ended in Balmora, Clav. Seriously, if there weren't constant other things to do in our lives: shopping, writing, going to the coffee shop, preparing for my new job, etc. I could just dwell on that one moment when mom & dad hold hands. Like... say I was in an accident, and bedridden for weeks or something. And the only thing to look forward to was these stories, ya see?

And It's pretty profound that the children live on.

Oh wow, looks like Tomal became a pretty major benefactor for a while. See, I knew he's a good guy.

Quinn, and it's now some 15 to 20 odd-years later. So with Quinn, I'd expect she's moved on from being the mall princess. She's gonna be more mature. Yup, sounds about right! She's still got that basic seems-careless attitude underneath it all, but she's not quite as Clueless.

Nice, she's working for some royals. See, I knew her ambitious younger devotions would pay off, somehow.

And with Synda, I'm REALLY curious how things turned out with her. Good thing is, we're about to find out.

I love snow. ❄ But now with stupid global warming, we barely see any of it in Maryland. Anyway, she's got a kid as well. I imagine this might help focus her aggression, since she now has to not be as self-centered. Well, Maybe.

Whoa, she's got a store. Did not see that coming. I thought she'd wind up an assassin. Or a thief or something.

How did Ted stay safe from the events of the Red Year?

No worries m8, when you get to reading the other stories, you get to it. We all know what a neg real life can be.

I think the problem with Pitch Black and its successors is that the original was a sci-fi horror movie, with a little bit of action thrown in. It also had 3 protagonists, and one of the real things that brought the movie to life was that no one was what they appeared to be. As the movie went on we found that each one was not what we expected.

The sequels all just ditched that, and went the standard space opera action movie route. And they all focused pretty much purely upon Riddick. They were Riddick movies, not Pitch Black movies. But it was not Riddick alone that made Pitch Black magic. It was the mix of him and the other characters, in that particular situation. And he also was not a superhero in that movie, as he was in the others, so there was a real sense of danger at all times.

We switch to Sydna. I am almost disappointed to see that she survived. Well, we knew she would, given that she left Morrowind before the Red Year.

Dagger-shaped roofs you say? Does that means she is in Daggerfall? I mean High Rock that is. I see on the map that Camlorn is north of Daggerfall. She literally went as far from Morrowind as she could without completely leaving the continent.

Wow, so a husband come and gone, and a perfect Mer child. And a shop. Things certainly have changed dramatically for Sydna.

I see that even though her life has certainly improved, she cannot help but nitpick and find fault and coldly distance herself from everything around her, including her son whom she refuses to hold hands with.

Wow, Ted survived Red Year. And he's the ashcan now? He's moved up in the world. Well, he's inherited more responsibilities at least.

It looks like he's set up sort of an Anarchist mutual aid group with the denizens of New Balmora. Newmora perhaps? That would do Blood Raven and January both proud. People are always more successful when acting as a collective, whether in bargaining or fighting.

Oh goddess save me from the Ashlander names! They are worse than the Dwemer ones.

Britney made it out alive! And she is a teacher! Oh my.

Synda. Looks like she has found a snowy niche far from Morrowind. Casting herself out of her homeland probably saved her life. A widow now with a shop and a son. I don’t believe she is or will make a great mother but I am encouraged by the fact that it seems rather following in her parents’ footsteps, she is strongly rebelling against exactly that. She realizes her faults but seems determined not to cast out, disown or abandon her son – even when he displays ‘imperfections’.


Tedannupal. Ted has survived the red year stuff and his clan (tribe?) is almost flourishing. Wife, kids, and wise arrangements with the struggling town of New Balmora. Clever to have his kids schooled so they can share what they learn. The future of his group is uncertain. . . but then it always has been for the ashlanders.

17th of Sun's Height, 4E 119 – the western Topal Sea, Pelletine, the Third Aldmeri Dominion

It was one of those summer days where it felt like the whole ocean had turned into steam. Drenched in sweat as he stood at the prow of The Fashion Club, Jeval looked out across the warm waters of the Topal Sea, not able to shake the sensation that something watched him. He raised his spyglass to his eye and confirmed his suspicion. In the distance but getting nearer, propelled by magic that pushed it against the day's paltry winds, came an Aldmeri interdiction vessel with its membranous sails spread wide like the wings of an insect.

"Crap," he said. He looked over to his first mate, Treads-on-Ferns, who'd already heard his utterance.

"I had a feeling this would happen," Treads said. "I'll go prep."

Treads ran down to the hold while Jeval gathered the crew. A good bunch, mostly Imperials and Orcs. Jeval had their backs, so they had his.

"The Aldmeri are on their way, and they'll inspect us. Follow your orders, let Treads do his magic, and we'll all be getting drinks in Leyawiin in a few days."

He hoped. But they'd known the risks coming aboard. No point in second-guessing now.

The Aldmeri vessel soon ran alongside The Fashion Club, gleaming in red and gold, the hull gliding a little too smoothly over the water. Jeval got ready to play the part of the Simple Bosmer, too dumb to be any kind of danger and only wanting an Altmer to pat him on the head for being a good little tribesman. He hated it.

Black-clad Thalmor agents stood at the railing, their golden skins smooth and without so much as a bead of sweat. Had to be illusion magic. He'd known plenty of regular Altmer, and they sweat like anyone else.

"Trading vessel will submit to inspection!" one of the Thalmor declared in a shrill voice that stabbed into Jeval's ears.

"Please, honored ones," Jeval said, bending to one knee. "My ship is yours."

Shimmering strands extended from its hull and attached themselves like suckers to The Fashion Club's deck. Agents ran single-file down the strands and soon crowded the deck. The crew all fell to their knees as they'd been instructed to, hands behind their heads. Treads was there too, already done with his cover-up work.

"I wanted to say, you guys are amazing," Jeval said, his eyes still reverently on the plain floor. "What you've done with the Aldmeri Dominion. It's truly our greatest hope."

"You say that, yet your vessel is registered with the Empire."

Jeval cringed, as if ashamed. "Forgive me, sir. But I must feed my family."

The Thalmor snorted. "Hunger is a small price to pay for purity. We shall search the hold," he said, gesturing to a trio of agents, who nodded and wrenched open the cargo door. Jeval licked his lips. Showtime, he thought, and hoped Treads's magic worked. It should, unless the Thalmor had one of those math wizards with them. Mirror logicians, Treads called them. Those guys were usually too important to inspect random ships.

Still kneeling, his neck blistering under the sun, Jeval waited. Minutes passed. What was taking so long? The Thalmor used magic to scan cargo holds, which shouldn't take more than a few seconds. Unless they found something.

If they did, he'd blow the whistle hanging from a twine cord around his neck, giving the signal for his men to take out their knives and go down fighting. Better to die on deck than fall into Thalmor hands alive. The Thalmor never killed their captives quickly.

"No contraband is present!" came a thin voice.

Jeval let himself look up at the agent, whose eyes seethed like liquid gold.

"I'm always honored to be of assistance, sir."

"Continue on your way," the agent ordered.

No one relaxed until the Aldmeri ship was well out of sight. Jeval clambered down below decks to check on his cargo as evening swept across the sea. Treads had let them out of the hiding spaces beneath floorboards inscribed with enchantments of warding, and they stood or sat among the legitimate cargo. Two-dozen dissidents—mostly Khajiit and Bosmer, with a few Altmer among them, all seeking sanctuary in the Empire.

"You guys did good," he said. "We'll be in Empire waters by tomorrow morning, so we don't have to worry much longer."

"Thank you," said an Altmer woman, whose hair shone like silver in the candlelight. "We owe you—"

"You've already been paid for. You don't owe me any further. Sit tight and stay below decks until I give you the all-clear."

Back up on deck, he leaned over the starboard rail and looked out across the endless waters. The planks beneath his feet shifted slightly, and he sensed Treads's presence.

"Looks like we did our good deed for the day," Jeval said.

"Seems so," Treads said. "Don't know how much longer we can get away with it. I have to tell you: these voyages aren't as easy as they used to be."

Argonians lived longer than humans, but not as long as Mer. Treads was getting old. Sometimes he talked about spending more time helping his daughter run the little teashop he'd founded a century ago. Jeval didn't want to get in the way of that. Treads had earned some peace.

"You don't have to stay. You've already given more than most. And you taught me a ton," Jeval said.

Treads had spent decades smuggling Argonians from dissident tribes out of Black Marsh by canoe, by worm, and by foot. He'd said it wasn't too hard to apply some of the same principles to seagoing vessels.

Treads nodded. "You can still get people to help. I know a few who can do what I do. Not as well, of course, but better than nothing."

"Great. But The Fashion Club just won't be what it is without you," Jeval said. "Both now and back in Balmora."

Treads chuckled. "Hey, remember when we first planned this? And you said we should name the ship after Quinn?"

Jeval blushed. "Dude, that was the rice wine talking."

Treads gave that croaking laugh that always made Jeval feel like everything would work out. "I don't know; you sounded pretty serious. Maybe your wife should know about this."

Jeval laughed. "Some bro you are!"

"My silence can always be bought," Treads said with a shrug.

"Then I guess drinks are on me when we get back," Jeval said.

They looked out onto the sea for a few moments.

"Quinn was pretty amazing, though," Treads-on-Ferns said.

Jeval nodded. "She was."

He sadly wondered how many people still remembered her.

20th of Last Seed, 4E 174 – outside the Imperial City, Cyrodiil Province, the Third Empire (under Aldmeri occupation)

It wasn't the first time Satheri had fled. She'd first done it when the Argonians came, their spears sharp and their teeth bloody. She'd gotten lucky, she knew: ALMSIVI—or rather, the Divines—had helped her and her son find their way to Cyrodiil. Her husband hadn't been lucky.

Now, she did it again in the opposite direction, as smoke filled the sky and the greatest city in the world burned to ash.

"Uravan," she said to her grandson, only seven years old, "we'll be in Cephoriad soon, okay? Your mom and dad are there. And they'll be so happy to see us!"

Uravan had been so brave. He'd barely made a fuss when Satheri took him by the hand, through back streets and catacombs and canals, to the far shores of Lake Rumare. He'd been silent when they hid beneath ferns and palm leaves, the shining Aldmeri warriors marching past, as cruel as the An-Xileel but for far less reason.

"I'm tired," Uravan whimpered.

"I know, sweetie," Satheri said, with a catch in her voice.

Satheri wanted to cry. She wanted to hide back in her room and hug the picture of her late husband, like she usually did when things got scary. To think of happy things: baby guars and bright flowers, and the day she'd gotten married to the most wonderful man who'd ever lived, and the ten perfect years they'd spent together...

But Uravan needed her. Satheri thought back to Muthsera Morgendorffer. She'd marched through the Balmora Tax Revolt as if it were nothing, like Tiber Septim, but as a girl with (probably) better fashion sense. She'd made it seem almost fun, like they'd have a great time once they got somewhere safe; they only had to march a little farther. That had made it seem less scary.

"You'll get to see a bunch of legion soldiers in Cephoriad," she said. "I heard that the emperor moved there to strike back. All those Aldmeri going into the Imperial City? They're only trapping themselves."

She didn't know this. She'd heard some rumors, sure, but she didn't know. Satheri only needed to keep Uravan believing for a little bit longer.

"Maybe I can join them," Uravan said.

The words pierced her heart, and she started to tear up. No, no, no, she'd already given up too much to war; she couldn't give up Uravan, too. But she smiled and swallowed the tears.

"You're too young right now. But I'll bet they'll be impressed when they found out you escaped the city and marched through the jungle. They might make you an officer when you, uh, get older!"

Don't make him an officer, she prayed. Keep him safe. But she knew what he wanted to hear, and if that kept him walking and breathing a few more days…

Uravan's expression turned serious, and he nodded. "Okay."

Satheri drew herself up, trying to be as much like Muthsera Morgendorffer as she could. Like she was a queen and the whole world was going to do her bidding, but just didn't know it yet.

"Let's pretend I'm your commanding officer. Trooper Uravan!"

He saluted with a wavering little hand, and the sight of that hurt Satheri in ways she'd never been hurt before, but she didn't show it. She acted like an officer. Impressed, but not too impressed.

"We're on a mission to, uh, reinforce our boys in Cephoriad. Once we do, we'll prepare to retake the Imperial City!"

She barked out each word like some mean drill sergeant and hated how much he loved it.

"I can't wait, sir!" Uravan bellowed.

Please, please don't let the Aldmeri hear our loud voices. "We need to be sneaky though," Satheri said in a whisper. "Tactical stealth. The enemy is everywhere, but we're smarter than them."

She imagined Muthsera Morgendorffer saying that, and for a moment, she believed it.

"Yes sir!" Uravan responded, still in a whisper.

"Follow my lead, trooper!"

They marched through the soft and leafy canopy tunnel of the Blue Road, the ruins of the Empire behind them, and all the monsters and spirits of the Serican Jungle ahead. Satheri walked with fear in her heart but certainty on her face as she pretended like she knew what she was doing. They marched together through darkness, rain, and steam. Until at last they found soldiers of all races in battered legion armor, who took them in and brought them to safety.

Satheri hugged Uravan, told him what a good soldier he'd been, and prayed to Mara and all the Divines that he'd never actually be one.

Wow, we have jumped over a century ahead now. I guess we will be only visiting with the elves at this point.

Though I was expecting Daria to be the last person we visit? Does this mean she has become an immortal Lich? Or did she time-travel to a different game, and become the Dragonborn in Skyrim?

Hey its Jevvie! and his ship is the Fashion Club, that is perfect!

Uh oh, here come the cops. Better hide the booze and other fun stuff below decks. It looks like our old pal Treads has got that part covered with some illusion magic at least.

I liked your unearthly depiction of the Aldmeri ship, with its dragonfly wing sail, and gossamer strands for boarding.

Ahh, they are smuggling people. Very based of you Jev and Treads.

For part two we meed up again with Satheri. I wonder if she found a husband and settled down, as was her plan, or at least, her family's plan for her.

Well I guess that answers that. But at least she escaped Morrowind with her son.

Now she has to escape the Imperial City as the Aldmeri Dominion invades. I guess that means the Battle of Red Ring Road is about to kick off too. It is a good time to get out, that is for sure.

I did appreciate how she uses Quinn as her example of how to act with bravery, or at least how to fake being brave in front of her son, so that he would not panic. Basically what Quinn herself was doing during the tax riots, though Satheri would never have known that.

Phew, they got away.

Jeval. So we leap ahead to find Jeval and the aging Treads smuggling folks to freedom. Being a time traveler, Buffy has always been dismayed to see how the Aldmeri Dominion transitioned from Queen Ayrenn’s admirable vision in the 2nd Era into a bunch of zealous powerthugs by the 4th Era. Like SubRosa, I quite enjoyed their magical mystery ship. The Fashion Club is a good name for Jeval’s ship. He is so over Quinn. . . yeah, about as over her as January is over Hannah. I hope Treads is able to enjoy a comfortable retirement back with family in the tea shop.

Satheri. I’m glad that Satheri’s arranged marriage to a noble worked out well and was graced with ten years of love and a son. And now a grandson that she is escorting to safety. We again see the strong impact of Quinn as Satheri draws on that to appear brave, in charge and know what her grandson needs to hear to keep him steady. I’m so glad they did indeed make it to safety.

It's like that sometimes, right? Hard to write some sections, that is.

Okay, I see what you're saying about social issues and such. It gets tricky to deal with prosperity especially when so many corrupt folks are keen to exploit it! This gets captured again and again during Outlanders for sure. Mostly from the margins, all the politicians and folks like Magistrate Lli and the way House Hlaalu is portrayed, far beyond what's seen in the game itself. There you go.

Whoa, the Year 119, Era Four! Jeval named his boat Fashion Club? Even over a century later, he can't get the Mall Princess out of his mind!

... ugh, Thalmor. 🧝 And they're even more pushy and arrogant than they're portrayed in TES: V. Showtime? What could this mean? ... There's people down there. They've been "paid for?" Are they slaves?

Here is Satheri. Okay, she's moved to the city, interesting that you're doing a lot of this writing in the Fourth Era. I've had characters in Oblivion who lived in the Fourth Era (it's how I explained the presence of all the modded content in their game worlds, most of my console characters were Third Era, you see). I got up to the Year 22 in one of my games, and that world, of course, wound up being the most heavily-modded. The Elder Council and Kvatch Rising are a couple examples. They attempted to add more political / bureaucratic stuff, but nothing as extensive as we're seeing in Outlanders.

Yeesh, Satheri got married, yet her husband's not with them anymore.

Wait, Muthsera Morgendorffer?? You mean Daria? Gotta be Daria, if she's leading a tax revolt. Hmm, but fashion sense, that sounds like Quinn. Nah, gotta be Daria. Doesn' t say. Maybe this gets explained later!

The interplay between Satheri and Uravan's really cute. Even if the circumstances they're dealing with aren't so cute. Yeah, maybe the son won't become a soldier, but it's kind of hard not to imagine that option's gonna be tempting at some point!

Edit: Satheri, Sydna, Quinn, Jeval, the parents, Jorda, a few others.... Daria hasn't been mentioned yet! Saving her for last?

7th of Rain's Hand, 4E 179 – [REDACTED], Summerset Isle, the Aldmeri Dominion

Amidst the endless halls of varicolored glass and crystal, in a place where the light never dimmed, Link labored alone. Seated at his desk, surrounded by arcane charts and graphs, he put the finishing touches on his work. Ink swirled beneath the twisting movements of his thin fingers, coalescing on paper into equations of perfect simplicity.

"It is time, hulkynd," the magistrate said.

Link didn't know the magistrate's name. He knew only that a black mask covered her face, so that she would not have to see a hulkynd—a deformed Altmer—like him. Her lowborn black-clad guards did not possess the same privilege. They had no choice but to see him, and their golden eyes roiled with fear and disgust.

He relished that sight.

"Of course, your grace," he said, bending down on one knee as he handed his latest collection of weaponized mathematics to the guard.

"Remember, Link," the magistrate said, "the Dominion has use for all. Our campaign has only now begun, and there is much work to be done."

The guards guided her away, leaving Link alone in his rainbow-hued prison.

The Aldmeri Dominion was not that different from Great House Telvanni. Yes, they guised their machinations under the ideal of perfection, but they were as venal as the wizard lords Link had once served. Johanna had not survived the machinations of her peers, which had grown somehow more vicious after Red Year, but he'd learned from her mistakes.

In the end, only power mattered. As a hulkynd, as a slave, he had little. But as an expert, he had so very much. Even the finest mirror logicians acknowledged the perfection of his equations and the elegance with which he analyzed the world. Surely, with formulae like these, the Dominion could soon end the Empire.

Except for one little detail. Link had learned a trick from Johanna, one unknown to his masters. How, with a few clever spells, the numbers he wrote would change: ones transformed into twos or zeros, decimal points moved to the right or the left. But the alterations wouldn't happen until later, well after his work had been approved. They'd only change under the eyes of the soldiers and engineers who'd use the now-altered formulae. In so doing, the armies and fleets of the Dominion would cripple their own magicks and vessels.

The resistance against the Dominion knew of Link. Occasionally, they even communicated with him. But he only worked as a silent partner. He cared little for their campaign. Sooner or later, the Dominion would catch him. When they did he would smile as they shrieked their hatred and wept for the plans undone by a wretch like him.

Perhaps the resistance would save him. More likely, they would not. Either way, the Dominion would finally understand the foolishness of their pride.

9th of Rain's Hand, 4E 180 – Skaal Village, Morrowind (Solstheim Special Region), Great House Redoran

Trent had been in a few mead halls and great halls before, but the one in Skaal Village had a different vibe. Not messy and booze-soaked, but bright and clean. Kind of folksy. He thought it was pretty cool.

Sitting next to the big fireplace, its light dancing on her wrinkled face and making her white hair brighter, Lundra Winter's Voice eyed Trent like she didn't totally trust him. Trent didn't blame her. Dunmer—outsiders in general—didn't usually mean good news for the Skaal, who looked like Nords but were their own people. Their own people on a very small island. A few of the other Skaal sat nearby, making candles and carving bones. They pretended like they weren't watching him, but he knew they were. He was okay with that, though.

"You don't have to sing it, Lundra," Trent said.

Lundra frowned. "It is not merely a song. It's a hymn to the All-Maker. The whole world is his temple, but it may only be sung here in Solstheim."

Trent raised his hand. "I'm not here to steal your songs. Heh, you've heard me sing. I don't have the pipes to pull off your guys' songs anyway."

"I still do not understand why you want to hear."

Trent scratched his head. "I guess it is kind of weird. I'm working for some, uh, smart guys down in the Imperial City. What's left of it, anyway. Sages, I guess you could call them. A lot of music is disappearing. Like all the kings and big chiefs want things sung their way. We want to keep some of the older music so it won't be forgotten. If we write it down, at least people can get an idea of what you sound like, even if they can't hear you."

Lundra didn't say anything, getting it all figured out. Finally, she shook her head.

"No. I'm sorry. This song is only for the All-Maker. If my people's song is forgotten, then so be it."

Trent nodded. "That's okay. I respect that."

And in a way, he was kind of glad she hadn't sung it, though he wanted to hear it. Something kind of cool about sticking to your convictions like that.

"We have many other songs, though. Songs for hearth and hunt," she said. "Those I will sing for you."

"That sounds very cool."

She opened her lips, and pure music came out, clear and bright as a bell. Trent put his hands down on the big bearskin rug and closed his eyes, letting this old woman's song take him. Didn't sound like a Nord song at all; completely its own thing.

Trent's life hadn't gone the way he'd expected. But working for a bunch of university geeks wasn't bad. The job didn't pay great, but Janey still had a lot of money and she liked what he was doing, so she helped him out when he needed.

The world had so many songs. Each year, it felt like a few more of them disappeared. Sort of like how the world kept getting smaller and more controlled. Used to be you could just be you. Now, you had to be whatever an Empire or a Dominion or an An-Xileel told you to be. But sitting here at the edge of the world, on a little island that was half ash and half snow, listening to a song that had been sung for thousands of years, no matter what all the jarldoms, empires, companies, and great houses that ruled Solstheim had tried to do, Trent started to think things would be okay.

Ok, it took me a while to remember Link, from the Telvanni Isles. He's traveled a long way, clear across Tamriel from the looks of it. But he's gone from one cutthroat society of wizards to another.

Too bad about Johanna. But that is the most likely outcome of being a Telvanni wizard. There is always another Night of the Long Knives around the corner with them. Or maybe Valentines Day Massacre would be more appropriate.

And Link has made himself a beautiful virus at the heart of the Altmer war effort, one that will eat them from the inside out. I see he has no illusions of what his eventual fate will be. But he seems satisfied with the result.

And Trent! I expect he will still be a musician. After Red Year, I expect that he has once again taken up the traveling troubadour routine once more.

Wow, neat. Trent is doing something like FDR did as part of the New Deal, where the government paid anthropologists and writers to go around and interview former slaves, and record their stories before they could die of old age. Good on your Trent!

Trent's voice really comes across strongly here. I can literally hear the voice actor from the TV show speaking the lines in my head. You really nailed his mannerisms to well.

So Janey is rich? It sounds like she really hit it off with her art career. And we certainly end with a hopeful note out of Trent.

Link. Like SubRosa, it took me a bit to place who he was. Too bad about Johanna. It’s hard to play Telvanni without getting some on you I figure. So Link is a self-appointed spy working to undermine the Aldmeri Dominion. Knowing what they’ve become by the 4th Era, I applaud is effort. I hope he has an impact. Sadly though, I suspect the unhappy assessment he makes for his own future is likely pretty accurate.

Trent. Well, it seems like Trent and Jane are still getting by okay. I quite liked Trent’s observations about jarldoms, empires, great houses etc. There is indeed magic in music and it is nice to see that the Skaal know how to practice that.

7th of First Seed, 4E 200 – the Imperial City, Cyrodiil Province, the Third Empire (Mede Dynasty) - 207 years after the Balmora Tax Revolt

A voluminous hood around her head, Jane walked across the gray flagstones of Titus Square. She remembered how it used to be called Katariah Square. Funny how history kept changing. Being a Mer meant she lived long enough to get a front-row seat to each little adjustment and then watch humans forget it had ever been different. The world she'd grown up with had slipped out of her fingers. The Morrowind she'd known was as long-gone as the Septims, buried under the ash of Red Year. The Dunmer had rebuilt—even Balmora was back—but it wasn't what she'd known, and couldn't spark the hate and the love and the million other emotions that coiled together deep in her heart whenever she thought about old Morrowind.

Not even the Dunmer still believed in the gods of the Tribunal any longer. The new priests now said that ALMSIVI—wherever they were now—had just been saints. So Jane shrugged and bowed her head to the Nine, even though that still didn't feel quite right.

At least most of the people she'd known in old Balmora had escaped before Red Year. Trent, Daria, Quinn (and Quinn's loyal band of friends), Tomal, Jolda, and those Drenlyn students who'd gone to seek their fortunes elsewhere. But not all. Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorffer hadn't made it. And J'dash had died a few years before the eruption.

She passed a town crier shouting the news to the late morning crowd.

"… Lord Sloan of the Elder Council's White Chorus has announced that he will be using his personal funds to continue restoration efforts in the southern islands…"

Jane smiled. She hadn't been that impressed with Tomal when they first met centuries ago in Balmora, but he'd turned out to be a pretty good guy who used his wealth to help as best he could. They sometimes ran into each other in the garden party circuit. Part of her still didn't like them calling Tomal a lord. Serjo seemed more natural for him.

Not like she could complain. She was a baroness herself, thanks to her too-short marriage to Baron Terato Quastius, her first husband. The thought of him made her a little sad. Humans never lived long enough, and that fact hurt more the older she got. It was like the old saying went: a Mer lifespan sounds like a great deal until you have to live it.

The crier kept going. "…Lord Sloan has pledged this effort to the honor of our glorious emperor, Titus Mede II—long may he rule—and to show that the Empire's many Elf citizens are loyal and steadfast!"

A few snorts from the crowd at that last bit, so she quickened her pace. Jane hated being called an Elf. What was so tough about saying Mer? Both were single-syllable words. But hardly anyone used Mer any longer, maybe because there weren't as many of them in the Empire under the Medes. So Dunmer became Dark Elf, and the local Mer seemed okay with it if they'd been born in the past century.

Some of the other rich Mer in the city hired bodyguards for when they went out in public. She hadn't, not yet. The idea of some armored goon hovering around her didn't exactly make her feel safe, and people knew better than to mess with minor nobility. She could always hire one if things got worse.

She walked into a bookstore, breathing in the smell of dust and old papers. The merchant, a young Orc in a black silk shirt and a vivid blue sarong, looked up from his accounts as she entered, his eyes widening.

"My lady!" he said, hurrying to genuflect. "It's not often that a member of the nobility graces my store!"

The poor guy was probably wondering why she hadn't sent a servant to buy a book. The simple answer being that she sometimes missed doing things on her own.

"What would you like? If you want a book that's not among my wares, my lady, I will be happy to contact some of my associates. I'm sure we can dig it up."

"Actually, I'd like to browse for a little bit."

The Orc nodded. "The store is yours."

Jane walked past the cramped store's two little shelves. The place was smaller than the old bookstore in Balmora. Not as many books made any longer, at least not the kinds people read for fun. The seller probably earned most of his money getting rare tomes for clients.

A small green book on the edge of the shelf caught her attention somehow, maybe because of how bright it looked against the worn shelving. The binding was brand new, or close to it, and the paper still crisp. She opened the book and almost dropped it when she saw the title page.

Outlanders: A Mostly Fictional Novel, by Daria Morgendorffer

Jane rushed to the seller with the book in her hands. "Hey, when was this printed?" she asked.

The bookseller leaned in to get a look. "Oh, that's pretty recent."

"I haven't seen anyone read this book in a while," Jane said. Though she remembered a time, more than 150 years ago, when it seemed like every bookish and disaffected young person in the Empire had read Outlanders at least once.

"Outlanders is a classic," he said with a chuckle. "Never the most popular, but always with enough fans to prompt a new print run. I must confess, I've never read it myself."

"The writer was my best friend," Jane said, putting the book under her arm and reaching for her purse.
"Impressive! You can have it for free, my lady."

"Please," Jane said, reaching in and fishing for some coins. "Believe it or not, I used to work for a living. How much?"

"Oh, well, if you wish… 60 septims."

"Sure thing," she said, handing over that amount. Was that overpriced? Whatever, she had money to burn. "I'll tell some of my peers to shop here. I know what a big difference a noble client or two can make."

The seller gaped at her words and bowed again. "Thank you! I always feel so awkward asking for that."
"Today, you don't need to!"

Jane went out the door with the book in her purse. She felt strangely giddy as she walked home, already smelling the smoky air and sour kwama of the city she'd grown up in, imagining the little rooftop studio where she and Daria had relaxed and snarked about the ridiculous world around them, two girls who felt so smart and sure of everything.

She reached her home, a narrow, three-story house made of white stone. It was another inheritance, this time from her second (and, at this point, probably final) husband, Sadresus Durvyn, a Cyrodiilic Dunmer who'd earned his wealth through the perfume trade. He'd died fighting the Aldmeri during the Sack of the Imperial City, which at least meant they never got the opportunity to torture him. It was a small mercy, but Jane had been around for enough terrible things to be grateful even for those.

Jane removed her hood once she stepped into the foyer. Rotellia, the middle-aged Imperial woman who worked as her servant, came up with a smile on her face and a rolled-up scroll in her hands.

"My lady," Rotellia said, bowing.

Once upon a time, when Jane first moved into the home of her first husband, she'd told all the servants to call her Jane. "Lady" set her teeth on edge. But after a while, she'd realized that servants didn't like calling her by her first name. It made them feel like they were doing something wrong. No matter how casually Jane acted, there was still a world's difference between their stations. So Jane dropped her insistence and accepted that always being out of touch was simply the price of nobility.

She still didn't like it, though.

"Hi, Rotellia," she said. "Everything go okay today?"

"Yes! I dusted the tapestries on the third floor, as per the cleaning schedule, and replanted the violets in the balcony garden. The kwama meat arrived as ordered. Does my lady still wish to cook it herself?"

"Yup!"

"Excellent! A letter has arrived from your son, Lord Augustian Quastius," she said, handing Jane the scroll, which she took. "Also, young Lady Tacita attended the First Planting festivities at the Temple of Kynareth, as directed. I fear she returned in a gloomy mood."

Jane sighed. Not too surprising. She'd known Tacita hadn't wanted to go to First Planting. Finding a reward for Tacita was why Jane had gone to the bookstore in the first place. Stumbling across Outlanders was an unexpected bit of luck.

"Got it. She's in the library?"

Rotellia nodded.

Jane thanked her. She took a quick look at Augustian's letter, which offered a routine update on the Quastius vineyard estate just south of Brina Cross on the Gold Coast. The Aldmeri had burned the vineyards during the invasion, but the soil stayed rich, and Augustian had rebuilt the place in the years since. She still saw so much of his father in him: the same drive, love of order, and care for those under and around him.

Augustian was doing fine, in other words. Perennia, her daughter from her second marriage, was off having adventures way up north in Solitude, where she was probably safe. Jane still worried, what with how rarely she wrote back and the worsening political situation in Skyrim. Which only left Tacita.

Little wispy-blonde Tacita was one of Quinn's descendants. Both of Tacita's parents had died in a river crossing accident some years back. Jane, who'd been a presence for eight generations of the line as a babysitter, confidant, friend, employer, protector, and occasionally adoptive mother, made a logical guardian for the girl.

It bothered Jane how much she struggled to recall most of those descendants. Lives, even the ones near and dear to her, had a way of blurring together over the years. Daria and Quinn stayed clear in her mind, of course, as did Quinn's daughters, Helena and Vesta. It was kind of touch and go after them, except for Frumentus, whom she'd adopted and raised to adulthood over a century ago.

That's how she knew she'd remember Tacita. Jane had been with the girl every step of the way, from infancy to the awkward early adolescence she currently inhabited. Twelve wasn't a fun age for either Mer or Men.

Tacita reminded Jane of Daria in some ways. She had the same knack for reading—of tearing through a book cover to cover and somehow remembering each little detail. The knowledge didn't gather dust in her brain either; she thought about it, turned it over, sometimes asked questions. When she did, Jane saw her friend's calm, analytical face in Tacita's solemn expression.

There were differences, too. Daria had always loved the gritty and the macabre. The bloodier the better, whether that was for fiction or nonfiction. Almost like she was trying to inoculate herself against the real darkness just over the horizon, a darkness she'd sensed and predicted. But Tacita only wanted to escape. She read storybooks and romances to hide away from the world. Jane got it. Tacita was quiet and shy, lonely no matter what she did, and without Daria's strange confidence.

Truth to tell, she hadn't seen much of Daria or Quinn in their descendants for a while. There was bound to be some drift over that many generations. Kind of put the whole concept of nobility into question now that she thought about it.

Jane passed by a few of her paintings as she walked to the stairs. She only painted for herself and a few close friends, (which included Tomal). Proper Cyrodiilic nobles didn't pursue careers. More to the point, Jane didn't want to take work away from commoner artists. Having been one herself, she knew how much she'd have hated aristocratic competition.

She came to the library they kept on the second floor. Wasn't that big, but held a neat and eclectic collection. Tacita didn't only read the flighty stuff—sometimes she hunkered down with some big book on the War of the Camoran Usurper or the reign of Uriel Septim VII.

That day, Tacita sat at the reading table. Light from the window fell on the open pages as her eyes went back and forth, back and forth, regular as clockwork. Jane bet she was reading The Princess of Shalawyn again. That was her go-to when she was feeling bad—a fun story about a Breton princess who befriended unicorns, palavered with dragons, and defeated evil knights.

"Hey. The Princess of Shalawyn?" Jane asked, speaking quietly.

Tacita didn't look up. Just like Daria, the book came first, and Jane sort of loved that. "The Adventure of the Far Shores, actually," Tacita replied.

Part of Jane was pleased to have guessed wrong. Plus, she'd always thought Far Shores was a better novel, an adventure about Redguard explorers who were good and righteous and all that, but not boringly squeaky-clean like Shalawyn.

"Ooh, are you at the part where they find the Daedric temple?" She was a little more than halfway through, by the looks of it, so she probably was.

"Almost!" Tacita looked up and smiled, her hair like gold in the sunlight.

Jane knelt before the desk and looked fondly at the girl. "Good job on going to the First Planting Festival. I know you didn't want to."

Her face turned solemn. "It was okay. I don't like being around so many people."

"Yeah, I know. I don't either. But sometimes we have to."

"Why did I have to, Aunt Jane?"

Jane thought about that a bit. "Because it's expected. And if you don't go, that'll make it harder to make friends later."

She cringed at her own words. Gods, she sounded worse than the old boosters in Balmora. But that was the way of things. You didn't get far without allies. Jane probably still had around fifty, seventy... maybe a hundred years of life left to her. Enough to shelter Tacita for a long while. But who knew what might happen? Civil war brewing in Skyrim, the Aldmeri almost definitely planning another war, the risk of random accidents… Tacita needed to make connections of her own.

Though part of Jane wanted one of her human stepkids to outlive her. Watching Frumentus go from apple-cheeked boy to feeble old man over seventy-five short years... she didn't want to go through that, not again.

"I'm not sure I need friends, not really," Tacita said. "Not when I have books. And you and Uncle Trent."

"Yeah, I get that. But a good friend outside the family can do a lot for you, too. Which reminds me, I got something for you."

Jane put Outlanders on the table. Tacita gave a little gasp that made Jane's heart soar as she picked it up.

"It's written by one of your ancestors. Your great-great-great-great-great-great grandaunt, Daria Morgendorffer."

Jane was pretty sure she'd gotten the right number of greats in there.

"Oh, thank you so much! She was your best friend, right?"

"Best I ever had!" Which, more than two centuries later, was still true in a lot of ways.

Tacita's look turned cautious. "Do I have to read it now?"

"Nah, wait until you finish rereading Far Shores. I wouldn't want to interrupt you, not right when you're about to get to the Daedric temple part."

She smiled and relaxed. "What's it about?"

"Well, when Daria was a little older than you, she moved from Cyrodiil to Morrowind. Back then, they were both the same country, sort of. Outlanders is about her years in the city of Balmora. She was a lot like you: liked books more than people, was smarter than most everyone around her."

Jane teared up a little bit thinking of those long-ago days.

"That's where she met you!" Tacita said.

"Exactly. And, in a way, how I got here."

"So, it's like a memoir?" Tacita asked.

"Kind of. It reads like a novel. Daria changed everyone's name, embellished a few things, sometimes put them in a different order. But most everything in this book actually happened."

"You must be in it, then."

"Sure am! Though she changed my name to Livia Hlandren and made me a bit more social than I actually was. Livia's totally me, though."

Tacita giggled.

"I have an autographed first edition back at the estate," Jane continued. "You were too young for the book last time we were there. I think you're the right age for it now, though."

Tacita had already opened the book, her tiny fingers pressing against the flimsy white paper. "Wow, back in the Septim Dynasty. Were things actually better back then?"

"You know, it's funny you said that. Reminds me of a conversation I had with Daria not long after she published Outlanders…”

It is good to know that Jane has prospered, though not exactly in the manner she had hoped for. Still, she seems well off. And I see that her thoughtful, gentle spirit that considers the needs of others is still very intact.

Jane’s centuries’ worth of recollections and memories were poignant to hear. Especially her thoughts on living as a mer among those adorable but short-lived humans.

This looks like a loong one. Yay, its Jane! I wonder if that means this is the second to last episode then?

I am trying to remember where Katariah Square is. But I am just drawing a blank. Is that one you created for the story?

I see that not so young lad Tom is living up to his previously-established beneficence. Good on him.

Baroness Jane? Well good on her for marrying up, while it lasted at least. That is the problem with human-mer relationships.

How appropriate for Daria's book to be her signature color: green. I also love the title, and the implication that we have just read her book in this thread.

It sounds like Jane has not been the luckiest in love. But then, we are only getting the cliff notes of the endings of her relationships, rather than the full story of all the happiness leading up to those points.

It looks like just as Tom did, Jane has learned the hard way that her class has radically altered how others are allowed to treat her, for good and ill.

Wow, so Jane has a crop of kids of her own. I hope Perennia will navigate the troubles about to erupt in Skyland. That of course leaves Tacita. She does sound like Daria in many ways, and not in others. TBH, she sounds a little like she might be on the Autism spectrum. But I might just be reading things into that.

I can't wait to read about this conversation Jane had with Daria, so many years ago. I am guessing that will be the final episode?