Morinah Hlaaron, Dunmer of Vvardenfell, curator and relic-hunter. Those artifacts of yours belong in a museum. May the future smile kindly on your House.
âAh! Alright! Just one moment!â Tort cried, pulling away just long enough to grab a few things, stuff them in her satchel, and then write a quick note to let those living with her know where she had gone. The Nord debated on bringing Horst along as well, but assumed his presence might be unwelcome at best.
âAlright, letâs go find this stronghold, hm?â
âYes, we go! You are a good person, Mistress Tort.â
Having secured Tortâs assistance, Morinah was less forthright in pulling her along, although she paused at every branch in Riftenâs walkways to make sure her new companion was close by. It was impressive, too, what a pace such old bones could walk at; Morinah swept so quickly along the wooden planks that if any thieves had beset her again this time, they would have been left behind before they could get near her satchel.
She slowed to a more moderate pace once they were out of town. The afternoon light was low and sweet, the smell of hay in the air from the stables, as she dug around in her bag for the second time that day. This time she produced a map of Skyrim, tattered at the edges but otherwise clearly and carefully labelled. Her finger bent over Riften, then followed the edge of the water.
âWe follow the lake,â she announced. âMaybe you know the way already? We cross the bridge, pass the farm, and carry on south. If we climb mountains we go too far! Ready?â
Hopefully the answer was yes. Morinah was already marching on through the heather. As a cloud of butterflies and bees rose up around her, disturbed by her skirts trailing in the plants, she glanced back at Tortulja, beaming.
âYou say you work at the Hall of the Dead. This is like the Temple? You bury people? What happens to the dead in Skyrim? You are not talking to the Ancestors?â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Braskan -- sailor and general nuisance aboard the Runaway Scamp -- would be an odd choice for anyone as a friend, let alone as a father. Nevertheless, after finding him in the process of tracking down her brother, Morinah has come to think of him as family. She is not blind to his numerous faults, but presumably she must see a good person in him somewhere, unlike everybody else who has ever met him, as she maintains her fondness for him and proudly refers to him as Ata: father.
It's a novel experience. From Maar Gan to the refugee camp to the Museum, none of the family units she has been a part of, however loose, ever contained a proper father figure for her. This may be why she is a little too keen to welcome Braskan into her life despite his history and destructive habits, but the way she sees it, all families are making it up as they go along. Their situation is no different.
From Braskan's perspective, he is mystified as to why someone as academic as Morinah is so happy to count him as family, but certainly not complaining. In fact, the feeling goes both ways. It doesn't matter to him that Morinah was adopted. He reasons that since Hlenil was his son and Morinah was Hlenil's sister then she must, logically, be his daughter, regardless of whether or not she was related to Hlenil by blood. It's an arrangement they are both happy with, and one typical of the House mentality in Morrowind.
Another reason the Scamps dislike taking Morinah as a passenger, apart from their aversion to having landsmer on board in general, is the barrage of questions she brings with her. Even Ethysil gets tired of her efforts to engage him in philosophical debate.Â
Make that especially Ethysil. He signed up for the priesthood because it offered a lifetime of relaxing days in the office, occasionally expressing vague wonderment at how impenetrable the thoughts of Sotha Sil were. Itâs bad enough that he has spent most of his career running for his life from New Temple fanatics â that is, all of Morrowind â without being expected to actually know things about the Clockwork King as well. Most Dunmer have a few general inquiries and can easily be sent on their way with some stock phrases from the Lessons or the Sequence; with Morinah, itâs more of an inquisition. Lord Seht might have encouraged curiosity, but Ethysil canât help thinking that even He would have lost patience with the persistent little Dunmer.
Nevertheless, Morinah is relentless. Despite growing up in a shrine town, she has very little memory of the formal Tribunal Temple, and priests of the same are in short supply these days. There is so much she wants to know about the writings of the Tribunal! Sheâs read all she can find of their scripture during the course of her work with the Museum -- as she reminds Ethysil whenever he quotes it at her in the hope sheâll go away -- but she wants to understand.
The interrogations usually end in a stalemate of Ethysil insisting that Sotha Sil expected those who wished to understand ALMSIVIâs teachings to find the answers themselves, not bother humble priests about it, and Morinah leaving the ship mildly disgruntled but with her enthusiasm not at all dampened.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Copy and fill out with what your characterâs dialogue would be if they were a Follower in the Elder Scrolls!
Morinah - curator.
Initiating conversation:
âHm, hm, hm... oh!â
âGood day, muthsera.â
Exiting conversation:
âFarewell.â
âGo carefully.â
âMay the future smile on your House.â
Asked to wait:
âI wish I bring a book with me...â
âAll right, I wait!â
âGood. My feet are very tired!â
Spoken to whilst waiting:
âWhat the ghost of a god would be... Iâm sorry, muthsera, you say something?â / âIf I think about it that way... yes, muthsera?â / âI found a beetle! Itâs cute.â - Initiating conversation.
âYes! I am behind you always.â / âLet me finish my notes... all right, we go.â / âHave you found something? Please show me!â - Asked to continue following.
âVery well. Which passage is it...?â / âMm hm.â - Conversation exited without being asked to follow.
Asked to move/interact:
âI try.â / âI do this!â - Command given.
âI cannot, I think.â / âMaybe I do it wrong?â - Command denied.
âThings are only heavy if you think they are!â
Dismissed:
âI go back to my books now, but I see you again, yes?â
âPlease donât explore shrines without me! You might break them, or make them angry.â
âIf you find anything, bring it to me and I take it to the museum.â
After dismissal:
âMy research goes very good! I write a lot about nothing, and everything... but maybe this doesnât make sense. How are your adventures?â
âHave you found anything new, muthsera? I love to see it!â
Combat
âNâchow!â
âFetcher!â
âOuch!â
Other Dialogue (Specific cities, locations, situations, etc.)
âWe look closer, yes? Please say yes.â -Approaching any Daedric shrine.
"Can you read this? I would like to know how.â -At a Word Wall.
"A place of very much waiting, and very much sadness.â -At Dunmeth Pass.
âOh! My boots have a hole. My socks are very wet!â -Ambient dialogue in Hjaalmarch.
âIf there are bones, please save some for me, and I study them!â -Encountering a dragon.
âThe Dwemer know many secret things, and maybe they are lost forever. We look anyway!â -Inside a Dwemer ruin.
âFalkreath is very pretty! It reminds me of Cyrodiil, but very less warm.â -Ambient dialogue in Falkreath hold.
âWhy are Imperial buildings always square?â -Ambient dialogue in Solitude.
âI never thought I would see the Razor! ...You donât keep it, do you? You take it to the museum now?â -Mehrunesâ Razor equipped.
âNot many people win deals with Clavicus Vile. I wonder, who does better in your deal with him?â -Masque of Clavicus Vile equipped.
âThe Ebony Mail is good... while Boethiah likes you! And Boethiah doesnât like anyone!â -Ebony Mail equipped.
âWe have the Mace at the Museum, once. I donât like it. Sometimes I think it watches me when Iâm not looking.â -Mace of Molag Bal equipped.
âIt looks very heavy... Donât drop it! Itâs priceless!â -Volendrung equipped.
âMistress Aram asks me to clean the shield, many times, but itâs never clean!â -Spell Breaker equipped.
âFrom what I hear, I think my brother would have liked that...â -Sanguine Rose equipped.
âI want to study it! But I donât want to touch it! Please donât point it at my notes.â -Wabbajack equipped.
âHm... I donât see Dawnbreaker before. But we have Goldbrand! Until itâs stolen. Why does that always happen to artifacts?â -Dawnbreaker equipped.
âTo take a dream is wrong. All we are is dreams.â -Skull of Corruption equipped.
âWhen Iâm small, there is a silt strider dock at Maar Gan and I hear their noises all the time, while I sleep. They are gone now.â -Near Dusty, on Solstheim.
The last few years, since learning about her brother and meeting Braskan, have been rough for Morinah, and it shows in her appearance. She walks more slowly these days, her hands are stiffer, the lines deeper in her face, and the grey is beginning to show in her hair. There are days when she struggles to tie her braids due to the pain in her fingers.
And a body isnât the only thing which ages. Her mind is tired. Thatâs all she will say to Braskan on the subject, and she wonât even mention it to anybody else.
Curiously, she often looks older than Braskan at a glance. It can throw people when she refers to him as âataâ, or âfatherâ. Neither of them notice, content just to have family again no matter how unusual it is.
They were sat in the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Braskan was eating a breakfast of bread and cheese and drinking, under Morinahâs severe gaze, water. She had finished half an apple and was now engaged in picking the skin away from the flesh with a fingernail. The rest of the patrons, who were few at this time of the morning, paid them no mind, tucked away as they were in a corner beside the door, on a table with no candle.
Braskan tore off another handful of bread and pushed some cheese into it.
âThaâs a hell âf a question ta be askinâ afore the morninâ ration.â
âDo you?â persisted Morinah. A curl of apple peel twisted between her fingertips. Braskan shoved his bread into his mouth and chewed it for a while.
âThis a trick question?â he asked eventually, not bothering to swallow first. Morinah nodded. âThen... sure I does. Seht ta lift me, Vehk ta carry, Ayem ta guide th'way. The endinâ of the words is ALMSIVI, anâ all thaâ.â
âOh, I know you say the sailor things. But this is not to mean you believe them. Very believe them, I mean.â
âI got proof aâ thâgods. I seen it. I got you, donâ I? Mebbe they saw fit ta take me son, ta take Hlenil, but in findinâ out he were gone I found you. If thaâ ainât godwork I dunno what is.â
Morinah had abandoned her apple and was playing with one of her braids. She gave a smile, a small smile on small lips, but she didnât look up.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Morinah was dreaming. She was getting very good at recognising that when it happened, although sometimes the dreams were more real than reality. Floating, bodiless yet whole, through a field of flowers suspended in the night sky was a definite clue. She twisted the head she didn't have with interest. The flowers stretched away for as far as she could see and many of them looked back at her.
'I want to go home,' said her brother's voice. 'I want to go home.'
And she woke up.
She took a moment to check that it was, indeed, herself who had woken up, before she swung her own, real legs onto the real splinters of a real wooden floor. Her room, or to be precise -- and Alma had always favoured precision -- her guest room at an inn. The room she had booked the previous night. Yes. She remembered. Hard to tell, sometimes; as the line between reality and dreams became clearer, the line between herself and other people, herself and this person who dreamed of absurdities and happily twisted their own mind apart, was becoming blurred.
It wasn't all dreams and imaginings when he took hold. Sometimes she saw him through his own eyes, away from the flowerfields inside their mind, on the streets of Blacklight maybe, where he was thumping a scarred old pugilist into the gutter. She had felt his lungs push against the inside of her ribs as they inhaled a smoke which sent her mind tumbling into his madness. She had broken a drunk Nord's nose with her fist, her crooked and arthritic fist, and her brother had smiled with her mouth. When she woke up she was leaning against a tree in Mournhold's Arboretum talking to herself in words she couldn't understand.
It was time to put a stop to the nonsense. Asking in Mournhold wouldn't do, people might think she was going crazy, and there was only one group of people whom Morinah knew had neither the interest nor the right to question somebody else's sanity. At this moment in time they were docked in Riften, which had meant a trip across the border to Skyrim.
She declined breakfast in the Bee and Barb, where she had chosen to spend the night, and followed the sounds of coughing and snoring to the inn on the other side of Riften's canal.
There was no doubting that the crew had been there, as Morinah noted a smashed balustrade on the walkway and some Dunmeri graffiti daubed in charcoal across the wall outside. The scandalised glances of townsfolk all pointed towards Haelgaâs Bunkhouse. It was finding one particular person among the bodies after a night of revelry that was the challenge. The crew were spread around the main hall, most sprawled across tables or stuck to the floor, although the first mate â Morinah had to look hard for this one â was curled up inside the cold fireplace. She edged around the mer on the flagstones and checked each snoring head until she found the one she was looking for.
'Mr Braskan?'
Braskan snorted and rolled over, bottle hugged to his chest, lost in a nightmare of his own. He wouldn't be woken by shaking, shouting or prodding, and it was only when Morinah tried to pull the bottle away that he mumbled half a sentence and swayed upright, tugging it back. He remembered, slowly, how to open his eyes, smiled when he saw her and then broke down into a fit of coughing. She thumped him on the back a few times, having to peel her hand away from the oil, tar and other unspecified substances on his seacoat.
'Mr Braskan--'
'Morinah?â he croaked. âYer a righ' fine sight fer sore eyes. Where ya bin?'
She finished trying to wipe her hand on the table, only making the stickiness worse, and smiled thinly.
'Mournhold. I need help, please.'
Her voice was low but their conversation still drew several groans from the crew. With some effort and no shortage of wincing, leaning on her shoulder, Braskan hauled himself to his feet and steered Morinah towards the door.
The rest of Riften was well awake by now and there were plenty of people to sniff disdainfully as Braskan located the nearest water trough, broke the ice with a fist and splashed a handful of the half-frozen slush over his face. Morinah blew on her fingertips and waited. When he was ready, shaking the frost from his hair, Braskan sat on the edge of the trough with one knee propped beneath his chin.
'Said ya needed help? Anythin' fer me fav'rite daughter.'
It was a phrase Morinah enjoyed hearing as much as he enjoyed saying it, although today she only sighed heavily.
'It's very difficult to explain.'
'Give't a go. Ain't so stupid as I look, some a' th'time.'
She had to admit, he listened more earnestly than she would have expected for somebody who looked as if he might drop off to sleep again at any moment. It wasn't enough to help him understand. He nodded along when she told him about the stranger in her head, about how crowded and noisy her thoughts were, that she could never be sure who was doing the thinking for her, and when she was finished he scratched his head. It was something to fill the pause.
'Uh. Sounds like... sounds like...'
'Sounds like I'm mad. It's true, maybe! This is why I need help.'
'Aye, sure, but what help?' Braskan shrugged helplessly and jerked a thumb at the inn door. 'Could ask our surgeon, Rosie, if ya want?'
'No. I need you to take me home.'
'Wha', ya mean ta Mournhold?'
'No. Home home. Maar Gan. Vvardenfell.'
Morning market setting up. Nords shouting out their wares, an Argonian muttering on the planks below, the trickling sewers. Braskan tried to focus on these things and not the water which seemed to be rushing in his ears. Waves rising. Storm brewing.
'Vvardenfell?' He swallowed. His mouth had lost the taste of mazte and was instead full of salt and iron. 'We bin there before, lass. Didn' end well. Captain won't want ta go back. Lost me own ship there and damn near me life as well. The Kintyra, a sloop outta the Empire, fine vessel she was, an'--'
'My memory is not the best, but I don't recall asking you a question, sera.'
There was no denying that tone, especially not for Braskan, who would have sailed to Akavir if his children asked. It was cold and commanding. The only odd part, he thought as he led the way inside, was Morinah's face. Her features were round, for a Dunmer, soft and gentle, made more so by the fading of age, but for a moment they had sharpened until they looked just like her brother.
She was quiet and thoughtful after that and stood frowning in a corner, playing with the hem of her sleeve, away from the attentions of the crew. Braskan went ahead and explained the situation to Vilayn. Then he explained it a second time, after the first mate finished brushing soot off himself and could just about listen if he kept a hand pressed to his forehead. Vilayn's skin went from pale to dark and stormy, until he had a chance to speak himself.
'We're not taking your daughter on another bloody pleasure cruise!'
The only words Braskan heard were âyour daughterâ and he grinned as if the matter had been settled.
Where the ash falls and the cries of netches still echo through the hills, there were footsteps. They left the ship to unload in its anchorage at an archaeological camp and picked their way into a blasted nothing, slipping through the crust occasionally, suspended a long drop over ruined buildings. Their boots made new paths over roads long forgotten. This, once, was Seyda Neen. Somewhere deep below were the tradehouse and the strider dock and the watch tower. Braskan knew it well. He didn't need to see them to walk the old path from dock to wasteland.
They walked until they were climbing, and then they climbed until they were out of breath. Until one of them was out of breath, anyway. Braskan landed on his knees with a thud and was lost in a sweep of ash.
'Do we got ta keep goin'? Dunno 'bout yersel', but I'm an old mer, technic'ly speakin'. My legs ain't wha' they used ta be.'
Morinah stretched her hand towards him. She hadn't spoken much since they left Skyrim. Eventually Braskan took it, pulled himself to his feet and walked some more. Vvardenfell tried to swallow them with its dead ground. The wind rubbed their ears raw.
This is for them, it said. This is for all the things you didn't do.
They passed an odd outcrop, shaped like the carapace of a crab on its back. Braskan asked if Morinah thought it might be the remains of the Redoran's Great Skar, petrified in ash where it fell in its fight against the Daedra. Morinah didn't answer.
They touched against the ruins of the ghostgate and followed them north. The ancestors were loud here. Braskan said that he could hear his relatives, those whose bones used to shape the fence between the pillars they were walking over, wailing about the loss of their homeland. Morinah said nothing.
They parted from the ghostgate and veered left, navigating by the sun. There were deep pits in the brittle rock. Braskan fell into several and swore loudly.
'Amma?' said Morinah. She was gazing away from Braskan, towards a peak of cold, black pumice. He pulled himself up and tried to put an arm around her shoulders, missing as she took hesitant steps forwards.
'Stop tha'. Ya sound kinda strange.'
'Amma?'
'Y'sound like--'
'Amma! You hear her, yes, Mr Braskan?'
'No,' said Braskan, and then a moment later, 'Yes. Oh, gods. Oh gods!'
Morinah ran as if she were being tugged along and then her shape was running ahead of her, her shadow detaching itself, escaping. Her braid bounced against her shoulders and Braskan was looking at a little girl running after her brother, towards her mother, in an unexpected ash storm. He held his arm up to his face and forged forward, but for each step he took the wind buffeted him back three paces. Never did want him there. When he tried to make out shapes his eyes stung.
At least he heard her voice. One last time; distant, quiet, almost just the wind. But one last time.
'Hlenil!'
'Amma!'
The ghostshapes stumbled towards each other, Red Mountain snarled and as the notliving touched, the world ended.
It started again in a small, blanketed room. Morinah blinked. Not blankets but tapestries. She blinked again. Not tapestries but hammocks, patched together from a million rags of Morrowind silk. A lot of eyes were watching her, but they scattered when a hand waved across her vision.
'All righ', ya filthy s'wits, she's awake. Bugger off! Leave us be!'
The last of the eyes and Eddis's wooden grin slipped away. Morinah might have fallen asleep for seconds, minutes, hours. Maybe she didn't sleep at all. Either way, Braskan was still there when she opened her eyes, crouched on the floor beside her hammock.
'How're ya feelin'?'
'Very quieter, thank you.â
'Yer in the crew's quarters. Wanted ta keep ya safe, like. Outta the way of them archee-logy folk on land. They was real int'rested in ya, so I told 'em ta fuck off.'
Between his words she could hear all the questions he wasn't going to ask, and which he hoped she would answer anyway. The thought of it exhausted her and anyway, she wasn't sure she would be able to. All she remembered was the ash storm, a memory she had always kept with her since--
'Mori?'
'Yes?'
'D'ya remember much a' the Red Year?'
Since then. Yes.
'No,' she said. 'I'm small, very small. But if you want to know what happens to Alma, I remember she sends me with the others, out of Maar Gan. She goes back into the Ashlands to look for Hlenil. She dies there, I think, but this I don't understand until very later.'
Always waiting to see her. Always thinking of the hasty goodbye before the ash took her. Never knowing why she hadn't come back when she promised, she promised.
'D'ya think...?'
'Maybe.'
Braskan whistled through his teeth.
'Two hundred years.'
Dead and alone and waiting.
'It doesn't matter. She finds him now.'
'Wish I could of... Guess a part a' me knew that... that if she loved summat, like she never-- like she never... loved me, if she loved something like tha', she'd love it ta the ends a' Nirn n' back. She were fierce, was Nyria. Right fine lovely, but fierce. If she said she were gonna find our son she were damn well gonna find him, no matter how long it took.' He stroked Morinah's hair away from her forehead, gently and quietly, like a parent caring for an ill child. 'Gods, but I'm proud of her. Don't matter what she thought a' me. Always said ya couldn' stop her once she put her mind ta somethin'. I ever tell ya about the time she were tryin' ta get in wi' them Redoran lot, and she says ta me, she says...'
A wave bumped against the side of the ship. Pulleys clanked and ropes thudded against the masts. Morinah focused on that and allowed her mind to drift, her eyes to close, time to pass. Let the silence come.
Later, when Braskan thought Morinah was asleep, she heard someone recite a prayer.
The fire is mine: let it consume thee,
And make a secret door
At the altar of Padhome
In the House of Boet-hi-Ah
Where we become safe
And looked after.
As a general rule, striking up a conversation with somebody already engaged in talking to thin air, however quietly they were going about it, was a bad idea. This was probably why most of Windhelm from the docks up to the market had ignored the Dunmer muttering to herself as she walked along. Even the Nords enjoying a cheerful afternoon harassing elves let her pass out of the Grey Quarter and into the city proper with only minimal spitting.
Morinah took just as much notice of them as they did of her. She didnât stop staring at the flagstones, moving her cracked lips almost silently, until she was beside the blacksmith wall. Sparks from the forge scattered around her feet. After watching some of them melt the snow she spread her fingers against the heat and warmed her hands until, quite suddenly, she dropped them to tap a passer-by on the elbow.
âPardon me, muthsera, but I have a question. Can I ask you it?â
I go back to Skyrim today. Mr Captain Relkhan says I get in the way when I am on the deck, so I ask Mr Braskan what I can do, and he tells me I should keep a journal of the voyage. This is a good idea because it will help me practise my Tamrielic. Itâs a better idea if he tells me before the voyage is over, but maybe I keep the journal next time.
I am distracted now anyway. When people tell me that Ancestors can speak to you, I donât think they are this persistent, but I can hear my brother even when I am not before the Waiting Door. He says many things I do not understand and most of them I do not like. This feels like something I should not tell the priests, so I research it myself.
We land (drop anchor? Put into port? I must ask Mr Braskan this) near Windhelm this evening. The weather is much more cold than Morrowind and I think snow is in the air already, which makes the crew mutter and stare at the sails. I hope they travel safely until I see them again.
Tortulja knew from experience that being polite and wanting to learn didnât always matter. She was fairly certain those were attributes that Orcs in a stronghold wouldnât care about when it came to letting outsiders in.
Still, there wasnât much harm in trying, was there? At best, they were allowed inside and allowed to learn. At worst, they were killed. Tort had faced worse odds before.
It didnât seem as if Tortulja was being given much of a choice in the matter. Morinah sprang up in a whirl of skirts and took her new acquaintanceâs hand, tugging her towards the door.
âI show you! You donât think this is bad, I promise. Say yes.â
      Kids x MGMT - - Dreaming x Bruno Coulais - - Ribbons Undone x Tori Amos - - Joking x Indigo Girls - - Field of Innocence x Evanescence - - Through Heaven's Eyes x The Prince of Egypt - - Touch The Sky x Julie Fowlis - - Chamma Chamma Baaje Re x China Gate - - Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) x Kate Bush - - Love, Love, Love x Of Monsters and Men - - I Always Liked That x Maria Mena - - Little Talks x Of Monsters and Men - - Get Out Of My House x Kate Bush - - Within You Without You x The Beatles - - Learn Me Right x Birdy / Mumford & Sons - - Amarantine x Enya - - Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again x The Phantom of the Opera - - Take Us Back x Alela Diane
                                                       hello aurbis are you there
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Today is, I am told, a day when the families of Tamriel show their appreciation for their fathers, wishing them well and bringing them small gifts. Understandably, we never celebrated this tradition in my fatherless families, and somehow I doubt it is a festival to which you have given much attention in the past. Nevertheless, I felt I ought to do something in honour of your help and kindness concerning the search for my brother -- your son. After all, if you are his father and he is my brother, does that not make us family, in some small way?
I donât know you quite well enough for a gift yet. I asked your captain and he said I should get you a bottle of greef, which I donât feel is entirely appropriate for the occasion. Please accept this book instead, as a token of my gratitude if not something you find particularly interesting, and know that while you may not be my real father, from here onwards I shall always think of you as such.
Yours sincerely,
Morinah Hlaaron
PS. It seems I didnât know my brother as well as I thought, either, but I am sure he would have valued you as much as I do had the two of you ever met. Thank you.
The letter, tucked inside a copy of Pirate King of the Abecean, arrived late and crumpled, having been passed around every member of the crew before it was scrunched up and tossed at the head of its intended recipient. The book followed shortly after. Swearing and rubbing the scratch across his head, Braskan kicked the book aside and squinted at the neat, hesitant handwriting, while his shipmates jeered in the background.
âThink she got the wrong Brass, Brass!â
âShe ever actually met ya?â
âSoppy liâl sâwit, ainât she?â
âHow much did yâhave tâpay her, gettinâ her tâwrite shit like that?â
It wasnât hard to ignore them. Braskan read the letter again, and again, blinking hard. After a while he rested his chin on his hand and read the letter a third time. The jeers behind him turned to whispers.
âIs he crying? Like, proper crying?â
âAh, shit. Donât tell me heâs goinâ tâget all soft on us.â
âHow do we make him stop?â
In the end, it was decided that the best way to end the display of emotion was for Drasonval to thump Braskan in the nose. The letter fell to the sodden deck when he jumped up to retaliate.
But later, when the officers calmed the fighting down, when everyone was ordered back to their bunks or to work on the rigging, he retrieved it, and smoothed it out across his knee, and hid it safely away inside the depths of his sea coat.
Tortulja waited for the womer to expand on the idea that the Daedra would get more angry with Dunmer due to their history, but when none was offered, she merely nodded in understanding.Â
âGo try and find a Daedra?â Tort repeated, clearly surprised at the offer. On the one hand, she had done more foolish things in her life. Although nothing worse than actively seeking out contact with a Daedra came to mind at the time. On the other, the Nord didnât want the womer to go alone.
âIâm not sure the Orcs would be pleased if two outsiders showed up wanting to speak to their patron god of choice,â she said, offering the womer a small smile.
âBut weâre polite! We learn! This makes people happy.â
Which wasnât strictly true, in Morinahâs experience. The number of people who had turned away the grubby child from the travelling Dunmer camp when she only wanted to see what was inside the jars they had, the number of people who batted her hands away when she reached out for their books -- none of them had been happy with her eagerness to learn. Nonetheless, she clasped her hands in the hollow of her lap and beamed, as if the matter were already resolved.
âIf they say no, we leave,â she promised, with a solemn nod. âNo harm is done. Yes? You come?â