“So you don't know anything about goats then,” said Madanach. “Or domestic livestock in general, I take it.”
“Well no, that's what we've got farmers for,” said Liriel, belatedly beginning to realise that perhaps Forsworn society wasn't anything like as stratified as Altmer society.
“Well, Queen of Dragons, allow me to enlighten you,” Madanach told her. “Out in the Reach, we Forsworn have not had a servant class to do all the hard jobs for us, and trade's not really an option either. We grow our own food or we hunt it. We don't have a lot of space for livestock – cows are expensive, they're slow and they're noticeable. Nords see cows wandering around the countryside, they're going to get suspicious. Or they're going to get greedy and start taking them for themselves. But there's wild goats all over these mountains, and no one notices those.”
“They're your prime herd animals,” Liriel guessed. “Clever. But that still doesn't explain why the heads...”
“Herd animal is a bit of a disservice to them,” Madanach said. “They're extremely bright. We don't keep huge flocks of them, but it's rare a Forsworn hideout doesn't have a few wandering about the place. They're intelligent, they're loyal, they eat virtually anything, they give us milk, they make fantastic watch animals, and when they die, we can use the pelt and the meat. Except by the time a goat dies, it's usually become quite beloved by the camp. It kept watch in life, so we honour it in death by ensuring its head can keep watching over us. That's why, Liriel.”
“That... makes an awful lot of sense,” said Liriel thoughtfully. “You've got some here?”
“One,” said Madanach. “Lives inside, keeps watch for intruders, gives good milk. We called her Betsi.”
Liriel couldn't help but giggle. “Betsi the goat! That's so cute!”
“She's not cute, she's a fearless watchgoat of the Forsworn!” Madanach protested, but his heart clearly wasn't in it because a second later they were both laughing.
“All right,” he admitted. “Maybe we're a little fond of her.”
Liriel dried her eyes, smiling. Maybe he wasn't all bad after all. She couldn't call him a decent human being because he blatantly wasn't, but he did at least have feelings.
At that point, Odvan, a Forsworn Liriel remembered from Cidhna Mine, arrived with a tray containing two plates of stuffed roast pheasant and assorted vegetables, and two different bottles, along with glasses.
“Dinner, jenever and Reach tonic, as requested,” Odvan announced, lowering the tray, slipped a bear pelt off his arm and spreading it out on the ground for them both.
“Is it the good jenever?” Madanach asked hopefully. Odvan, far from being obsequious, just looked at his king rather patronisingly.
“It's the only jenever, boss,” Odvan replied. “Unless you wanted some Skooma adding.”
Madanach visibly shuddered at the mere idea. “No. Sithis, no. I had enough of the stuff in Cidhna to last me a lifetime. Just leave me a bottle of this stuff, I'll be quite happy.”
“Thought you'd say that, boss,” Odvan said cheerfully. “You have a good evening now. You too, Liriel.”
Liriel wished him likewise, before turning to her dinner. She'd just reached for a fork when Madanach stopped her.
“Not yet. There's formalities.”
Oh good. Formalities. Liriel hated formalities. Especially the tedious and lengthy kind that went on while food was in front of her, getting cold and she was hungry, dammit! Fortunately, Madanach had never been much of one for that sort of thing either. He just opened one of the bottles and poured its contents into the glasses, measuring out a finger's worth each, then sealing the bottle and topping the glasses up with what was in this one. Both were colourless liquids that might be water but Liriel suspected otherwise. Madanach indicated for her to take a glass.
“What is it?” she asked, sniffing the contents. Definitely alcoholic.
“Jenever. Made from fermented juniper berries and potatoes then distilled,” Madanach told her. “Traditional beverage of the Reachmen since time immemorial so of course the first thing the Nords banned after they overthrew us. Apparently drinking it is bad for our moral fibre and makes us lazy workers.”
Re: Nightshade and Juniper 2.6
“Well no, that's what we've got farmers for,” said Liriel, belatedly beginning to realise that perhaps Forsworn society wasn't anything like as stratified as Altmer society.
“Well, Queen of Dragons, allow me to enlighten you,” Madanach told her. “Out in the Reach, we Forsworn have not had a servant class to do all the hard jobs for us, and trade's not really an option either. We grow our own food or we hunt it. We don't have a lot of space for livestock – cows are expensive, they're slow and they're noticeable. Nords see cows wandering around the countryside, they're going to get suspicious. Or they're going to get greedy and start taking them for themselves. But there's wild goats all over these mountains, and no one notices those.”
“They're your prime herd animals,” Liriel guessed. “Clever. But that still doesn't explain why the heads...”
“Herd animal is a bit of a disservice to them,” Madanach said. “They're extremely bright. We don't keep huge flocks of them, but it's rare a Forsworn hideout doesn't have a few wandering about the place. They're intelligent, they're loyal, they eat virtually anything, they give us milk, they make fantastic watch animals, and when they die, we can use the pelt and the meat. Except by the time a goat dies, it's usually become quite beloved by the camp. It kept watch in life, so we honour it in death by ensuring its head can keep watching over us. That's why, Liriel.”
“That... makes an awful lot of sense,” said Liriel thoughtfully. “You've got some here?”
“One,” said Madanach. “Lives inside, keeps watch for intruders, gives good milk. We called her Betsi.”
Liriel couldn't help but giggle. “Betsi the goat! That's so cute!”
“She's not cute, she's a fearless watchgoat of the Forsworn!” Madanach protested, but his heart clearly wasn't in it because a second later they were both laughing.
“All right,” he admitted. “Maybe we're a little fond of her.”
Liriel dried her eyes, smiling. Maybe he wasn't all bad after all. She couldn't call him a decent human being because he blatantly wasn't, but he did at least have feelings.
At that point, Odvan, a Forsworn Liriel remembered from Cidhna Mine, arrived with a tray containing two plates of stuffed roast pheasant and assorted vegetables, and two different bottles, along with glasses.
“Dinner, jenever and Reach tonic, as requested,” Odvan announced, lowering the tray, slipped a bear pelt off his arm and spreading it out on the ground for them both.
“Is it the good jenever?” Madanach asked hopefully. Odvan, far from being obsequious, just looked at his king rather patronisingly.
“It's the only jenever, boss,” Odvan replied. “Unless you wanted some Skooma adding.”
Madanach visibly shuddered at the mere idea. “No. Sithis, no. I had enough of the stuff in Cidhna to last me a lifetime. Just leave me a bottle of this stuff, I'll be quite happy.”
“Thought you'd say that, boss,” Odvan said cheerfully. “You have a good evening now. You too, Liriel.”
Liriel wished him likewise, before turning to her dinner. She'd just reached for a fork when Madanach stopped her.
“Not yet. There's formalities.”
Oh good. Formalities. Liriel hated formalities. Especially the tedious and lengthy kind that went on while food was in front of her, getting cold and she was hungry, dammit! Fortunately, Madanach had never been much of one for that sort of thing either. He just opened one of the bottles and poured its contents into the glasses, measuring out a finger's worth each, then sealing the bottle and topping the glasses up with what was in this one. Both were colourless liquids that might be water but Liriel suspected otherwise. Madanach indicated for her to take a glass.
“What is it?” she asked, sniffing the contents. Definitely alcoholic.
“Jenever. Made from fermented juniper berries and potatoes then distilled,” Madanach told her. “Traditional beverage of the Reachmen since time immemorial so of course the first thing the Nords banned after they overthrew us. Apparently drinking it is bad for our moral fibre and makes us lazy workers.”