Peik

Another Dunmer's Perspective

‘’Dear mother and father,

There is little reason to lie to you at this point. I’m afraid the Neverarine’s decided to deal with the Akiviri against the rest of Tamriel and, as such…‘’

Sadri raised his head up from the skewered whale meat that he had been chewing on upon hearing the word ‘Neverarine’, and did not pay attention to the rest until Cilo blurted out an ‘Akivir’, upon which he put his other hand on the young man’s shoulder and tugged at him to stop, pointing at the paper and making a gesture to delete what he had written. 

‘’Gods be damned, Cilo, did they not teach you how to write in the Legion?’’ He asked in a rather condescending tone, frustrated. He only had a limited amount of parchment, and, if Cilo were to fail the next attempt as well, he would have to write the letter himself. Exhausted after all the action he had gone through since the expedition into the Dwemer ruin, and wounded, no matter how superficially, at the ship fight, Sadri was in no mood to bother, but felt a nagging feeling of responsibility against his parents, who could have been worried thanks to him being unable to send the letter he had written in Windhelm.

‘’It ain’t like I have to be able to do everything,’’ Cilo replied. ‘’I still don’t get why this would help me,’’ he continued, looking at Sadri, half frustrated with the Dunmer for giving him this exercise, and half frustrated with himself for being unable to accomplish the task given. You could criticize Cilo for many things, but his aspiration was definitely a positive quality. It gave him dependability, no matter how ineffective it may be.

‘’How’d you feel if your dear Maria went for that pansy bookkeeper instead of you the war hero, Cilo? Ladies like informed men,’’ Sadri lied, urging him to continue. For all the reading he had done, he still had no idea what women wanted, or admired. Or rather, it was the feminine – the few ‘effeminates’ he had been with were also quite vague and, in Sadri’s viewpoint, hysterical. That was probably why he liked Solveig – she was blunt and honest. He thought of her name for a moment. He figured that she needed some alone time, what with the news about her father. This didn’t stop Sadri from feeling guilty about it, about being unable to keep her happy. And with everything else… 

‘’It’s all going to shit,’’ he muttered to himself. The war wasn’t going well, it was a cavalcade of losses with a bunch of partial victories scattered here and there – even Jorwen, in a way their own juggernaut, had fallen victim. The government that he had killed and sold men for was now trying to have him killed; even the group was troubled by bickering, exhaustion, and infighting. Even here, at their ‘reward’, murder. That bitchy Altmer girl, Vurwe, had finally gotten what was coming to her, and now, a pogrom was imminent with the situation concerning the Argonians.

And, of course, wherever there was a problem with the Argonians, there was a problem with the Dunmer. Already, one of his kin had gotten murdered. Yes indeed, it was all going to shit – he could not help but feel afraid that the past would catch up with him, sooner or later. For the first time in a while, he was afraid not for his life, but afraid of losing things, people. ‘’Solveig…’’

‘’What’d you say, Beleth?’’ Cilo asked.

‘’Oh, it’s nothing. Let’s begin again,’’ a sullen Sadri replied. For some reason, he could not help but wonder if Cilo would survive all of this. Was his disdain for Cilo’s gullible demeanor turning into compassion? He had no idea.

Cilo signaled that his quill had been dipped in ink, and Sadri began once more. ‘’Dear mother and father,’’ he said, before stopping to take a couple of bites from the whale skewer. It seemed that he had chosen lesser evils to fill in the place of Skooma. Maybe his grim mood was part of the withdrawal. He took another, bigger bite to fill the void.

Cilo turned, gesturing at the paper for Sadri to continue, but Sadri shrugged a hand and took another bite from the whale, and then noticed a stern figure walking towards the veranda that he and Cilo were placed on. ‘’Shit,’’ he thought to himself, trying to make out the figure. Was it an Argonian? Was it a Dunmer? Somehow, all of the options felt equally terrifying. Could be a past figure come for payback, could be a partisan, could be an assassin come for him or someone else. He attempted to gauge the figure, but as he came closer, Sadri could not help but notice that he was dressed completely in plate armor, no matter how horribly out of fashion the pieces were. The ability to walk from wherever he was coming all the while decked out in plate armor implied to a competence that immediately made Sadri wary of the figure. He eyed the man up and down, but in vain, given how the armor obscured most of the features.

It was only when he came closer and showed a red glint in his eyes that Sadri realized he was a Dunmer. Given the situation, it was equally relieving and distressing.

‘’Pardon me, master Dunmer, have you seen my sister? Her name is Niernen and she is Dunmer, like us.’’ As the man (rather, mer) gave a rather correct estimation for his apparent sister’s figure, Sadri’s paranoia flared, remembering her ties to nobility and the situation with the Armigers. He felt like lying, but the possibility of the fellow being honest made him hesitate, and he figured that the inn was full of hardened mercenaries anyway, who could punish a rash action quite violently. 

‘’Niernen’s your sister?’’ He asked in disbelief. As he pondered for a moment, he did faintly remember from the past a mention of a brother from the girl, back when she was much more hale and hearty. Deciding to stop giving a fuck, he spilled the beans. ‘’She must be inside the inn, I reckon. Send my regards. She wasn’t very well off last I saw her (this was an understatement). She should be glad to see you… provided you take off that helmet.’’

As the metal figure went by, Cilo turned his head to Sadri and hesitantly asked: ‘’You know him, Beleth?’’ 

Sadri rummaged through his mental archive of known Redoran warriors and gathered an average sum. He went over the qualities – they were regal, uncaring, and commonly suffering from Jerkassus Colossalis, a recto-psychological disorder that seemed to target positions of power and nobility.  

‘’I think I’ve got an idea.’’

‘’Dear mother and father,

I see little reason to lie to you at this point. News will probably have reached you by the time you receive this letter. The Nerevarine has allied himself with the Akaviri and launched an invasion of Tamriel.  

I would say that I am safe, but if I did, I would have been lying to you. Dark times loom over us. I have seen how the Kamal treat the people of this continent. Even the Dunmer that they are allied with are not spared should they come across them, despite the alliance (I have seen with my own eyes how they have treated a noblewoman of House Redoran). They are brutish and disgusting. To see that my toil for the glory of our homeland has rewarded us all with a stab in the back by the one we held in high esteem, it is a cause for much regret. 

It would make me happy to write more to you, but truth be told, there is not much to write. Our retreat from the Kamal has led us to settle in a town near the coast. Hunger is rampant, and there has been conflict flaring up with the lizards again. Azura knows what tomorrow will bring. Keep me in your prayers and thoughts.

-Your son and very own fool,
Sadri

P.S. Let me know if Najad is still alive. If not, please give the black-armed statuette in my room to his children. It originally belonged to him.’’

Sadri seemed more satisfied with the letter, now that he had finished his skewer and regulated Cilo’s writing more effectively. It still wasn’t very good, but at least there were no mistakes in grammar, at least, none that he could see. He patted Cilo in the back, somewhat proud.

‘’You know, if you survive all this, you can be a bookkeeper. It sure beats having to kill for a living,’’ Sadri said, with an amused tone. 

‘’Then why do you still keep at this, Beleth?’’ Cilo asked, likely unaware of the importance of the question. Had a smart man asked this, knowingly, he could’ve probably undone Sadri with a couple more important questions. Sadri, not wishing to give Cilo a possible upper hand in a possible debate, shrugged and landed a half-joking smack against the back of the young man’s head. ‘’You’re too young to understand, boy,’’ he replied, causing Cilo to frown in reply.

‘’Get this to the Courier’s Roof, would you?’’ Sadri asked. ‘’And get some cranberry juice and potato distillate on the way back.’’

Cilo, seemingly happy to be someone depended upon, rushed away, and Sadri looked after the quickly disappearing figure. ‘’What a foolish young lad,’’ he muttered to himself, yet no longer could bring himself to hate him the way he could the first time they had met.

SLAM

The Dunmer he had pointed a path to earlier came out of the inn, hand on the pommel of his sword. Sadri sent a nervous gaze at the man’s hand, and when he pulled out a sword of complete black make, he cursed internally. Ebony. The few times Sadri had seen this material, it had turned out to be a complete fight-ender. He still remembered vividly, the one time he had seen the legendary warrior Burog Gar-Wreg, wielding a damned huge hunk of ebony as a sword against seven Redguard knights that had come to apprehend him. All the buildings facing the street where this fight had occurred still painted their walls red in commemoration.

Sadri wasn’t exactly content with how the man looked, and, more importantly, he did not want anything to escalate. That damned drunkard Leif had already picked a fight with a party member. Had this been the Bristlebacks, he would have had gotten lashed. But Sadri wasn’t exactly in a position to complain. He was, however, in a situation to possibly avert further chaos.

‘’You look familiar without the helm, young man!’’ Sadri shouted at ‘Niernen’s brother’, now undeniably a Dunmer and more likely to be honest. ‘’Come closer! Were you at Stormhold? Thorn?’’ He asked, trying to get his attention – rather, a more friendly sort. Attracting this fellow’s attention in his current mood would probably send one to an early grave.

<Snipped quote by Peik>

@gcold

stop oppressing me primary language scum

<Snipped quote by Peik>

They might have interfered if he was actually able to succeed, Jyggalag was an older prince turned into Sheogorath because the other Princes were scared that he became too powerful. The Lord of destruction destroying the entire known world might be "too powerful". Who knows, maybe they empowered the protagonist during all the optional quests because it would possibly help him stop Molag Bal.

On another note, Hircine would care because if Mehrunes Dagon destroyed the world there could be no hunt, the only thing he cares about. Molag Bal couldn't dominate that which was destroyed. So really it depended on whether or not Mehrunes planned to destroy ALL THE THINGS. Because the Princes do tend to care about their specific aspect.@Chrononaut

Dagon is about renewal as much as he's about destruction - he only destroys things that are so they become new things, so he can destroy again and give new life again and so on (he is, after all, also the Lord of Change and Energy). Considering that this gives him a chaotic and life-giving note, compared to the dull and lifeless order that Jyggalag brings (honestly he feels more like an Aedra than a Daedra, what with his essence being against the Padomaic theme all Daedra have), I'm not sure if the Daedric Princes would intervene. 

I remember reading somewhere that this was the reason he wished to invade Tamriel - in Daedric realms everything goes back to what they are (Daedra don't die and end up resurrecting, lost things are found again and so on), which pissed him off.

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