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Angry People Are Not Always Wise (2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

“Who are they?” her aunt repeated tersely. “Nords. That’s what they are. And it’s nothing new. They don’t trust us – they don’t trust anyone but themselves.”

Azrilea hadn’t the chance to say anything in response, because her aunt took less than a moment of pause before continuing in the same vein.

“It isn’t just the Dark Elves they hate, either – they’ve made a target of the Argonians as well. Won’t even let them in the city. They don’t need reason to bully you. You’ll be best off staying in the Grey Quarter at all times. It’s dangerous anywhere else.”

Suvaris moved faster then, as if to prove the necessity.

“What is a Grey Quarter?”

Her aunt stopped quite abruptly. Azrilea, who’d been struggling to keep pace, barely stopped herself before a flight of stairs. Her travel pack swung from her shoulders at the sudden change in momentum. They’d come to stare down the steps of a rubble path. It was shrouded almost entirely in darkness, with torchlight scarce and dwindling. The same could be said for the laneways well beyond it. Wherever there wasn’t snow upon the endless stone, there was grit instead.

“This is the Grey Quarter,” said her aunt. “The place the Nords have shoved us so they can forget we exist. They always remember again when it’s time to raise taxes.”

Suvaris was moving again when she said, “Your mother shouldn’t have sent you here. There’s no place worse for our kind.” then paused, “You’d have been far better off in Morrowind.”

Aside from being a confrontational statement to make upon one’s nieces first night, Azrilea was further rankled by her own mother’s deceit. She – who’d grown up in Skyrim with Suvaris and her brothers – had said not a word of anything less than harmless neutrality. That went without considering, too, the letters from her aunt in years past, which had so evidently declared the land still full of opportunity. The weight of this mutual obtuseness would have been of no importance to Azrilea, had it not been for the bitter reality it had now brought.

Their journey continued silently. And if upon first impression the Grey Qyarter was gritty and dark, then further assessment of its establishments only proved worse. After descending quite some time, as though taking themselves to the bowels of the city, they’d arrived outside a tall stone building draped with tattered banners rendered sodden in the snowfall. Outside of which stood a man who looked vaguely familiar in much the same way her aunt had.

“Aval. Azrilea has arrived.”

“Yes. I can see that.” said her uncle shortly. “And she’s made it past the Nords. Will wonders never cease.”

“Well, there was an incident with Rolff and Angrenor,” her aunt admitted.

His answering grunt made it rather clear that he expected nothing less.

“Oh good. They’ll be on our backsides even more than before,” he declared bitterly. “I’ll be at home if anyone needs me.”

“Take Azrilea’s belongings if you’re going.”

Without another word he did just that, departing with the pack slung over his shoulder. If her aunt thought anything of his silence, she showed it not, and led Azrilea inside swiftly. Their destination proved a derelict establishment that, for all else, appeared prodigiously well swept. The food seemed well enough, even if more of the unsightly banners hung about.

“Azrilea,”

This was uttered by a tall and dark haired man who bore a great resemblance to the woman in question.

“You have arrived. Your journey?”

“Slow and tedious,” she complained. “The horse barely kept a pace.”

“The Nords value strength over speed in their steeds,” Faryl responded, as though trying to have her forgive them. “It serves them better in the climate, and on the farms.”

“But it is such a pain for deliverers,” said a smooth voice. “Such unforgiving delays in... time sensitive situations.”

The woman who had spoken was something unique among the patrons; an Altmer. Additionally to standing taller than others around her, she also seemed better outfitted. She appraised Azrilea with a look of mild curiosity before deciding to introduce herself.