Lillandril Nights - An Altmeri Dissident's Account

Editor’s Note: The following is an account delivered by an Altmeri noble who claims to be part of an underground movement in Summerset Isle. Lady Alryawe, who is currently being held in detention till we can verify whether she is a Thalmor spy, is unfortunately prone to overly flamboyant language (a racial characteristic, I fear). The following has been lightly edited to provide easier reading.

The last grain of sand trickled down the glass. It signalled that the hour was suitably late, and the time to move was now. I breathed deeply and brought myself to my feet. Across the room I slid open the door to the antechamber, and entered my feet into their sandals. I had been summoned to a meeting with Lorendil outside the city, in an old ruin hidden from sight. I opened the door to the city streets quietly, so as to avoid drawing the ire of any overly inquisitive guards.

As I stepped onto the smooth, polished road of outer Lillandril, I was overtaken by the silence that had smothered our city as of late. Our curfew had since been recalled, yet the nights still lumbered empty of life. The Altmeri blood may have been washed off our earth, but it was still splattered over our memories.

A few feet away candles in a stone shrine still flickered with an azure glow. The shrine belonged to my neighbour, Erinwae. A small plinth devoted to our ancestors, like a sewing needle devoted to gods. Her house stood separate from my own, yet the aesthetic was largely uniform across the city. Our long lives and lower populations meant that Altmeri cities need not worry about the slum conditions that plague the lesser races. Yet Lillandril in particular is a diamond among sapphires. All Altmeri cities boast that their aesthetic holds truest to those of our ancestors, yet one need only walk down our streets once to know that Lillandril is the closest to achieving perfection. Her structures are largely made of smoothed wood, yet rest upon sturdy stone stools. The tiles that compose our roofs have been polished till they resemble mirrors, reflecting sun and moon in testament to our connection with Aetherius.

A gentle breeze returned my thoughts to the task at hand. I awakened my parasol from its slumber and rested it gently against my shoulder. The walk to the periphery of the city was without incident. The Thalmor, in their campaigns on the mainland, had stretched their forces thin. Believing the homeland to be secure, they had relaxed guard operations in the cities. They were largely right, of course. Few would dare to dream in these modern nights, and dusk largely turns to dawn without hassle. Yet to those of us who operate in shadows, it provides ample opportunity to act.

As I approached the outer gate, a tall archway signalling the joining of the path to Lillandril with the main road, I noticed that a pair of men dressed in Alinorian armor were standing vigil. One of them turned to me, and with the confidence of Phynaster proclaimed: “Halt! What business do you have leaving the city at this hour?” I eased my parasol, and met his eye with mine own. He barely conjured forth: “Oh, Lady Alryawe. Forgive me, I did not know it was you. What are yo-“

Such insolence did not deserve to be finished. I interjected. “Excuse me?”

He trembled. “I…errr..”

“You clearly know who I am.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Yet you so wilfully inquire into my matters?”

“I’m sorry, Madame. It’s policy, we’re under ord-“

“Oh? Under orders?”

I took three paces forward. He would find reaching his sword difficult with me so close. Not that I feared he would truly try to spill my blood, but caution is a skill the ages teach you. “If you must know, soldier, my mind was dancing with tales of Auri-El, and the tragedy of Trinimac. I was contemplating the relation between Magnus and Phynaster, and lamenting over the false man-god. I was exploring the frailty of man, and the strength of old Aldmer. I was doing all these things when I fancied a late night stroll. I was exhausting my mind when I felt the need for nocturnal air. That, soldier, is what I'm doing. Or at least, that is what I’d be trying to do should I not be graced with your hassling, soldier.”

I had him on the run. His voice shattered. “I apologi-“

“Oh you apologise? How sincere. I accept of course, soldier. I will certainly forgive you, soldier. I will forget this incident, soldier.”

My mouth by this point had surely opened a door to Oblivion, as Peryite’s realm was oozing through my words. The soldier relinquished hope. “I’m sorry, Madame. Please have a wonderful evening.”

Fool. The soldier’s Thalmor masters may have bequeathed him with new authority, but that authority was no match to the weight of centuries of tradition. You can restructure society on paper, yet in the hearts of those who live within that paper, what has survived through the eras will not be so easily forgotten. Soldiers, no matter from whom they derive their authority, will always be below the wise.

I flicked my parasol between myself and the poor fool as a final venomous sting. I doubt such a trick would have worked in earlier years, but these children are a poor replacement for the soldiers who had been called to prepare for the real war.

I went on my way, confident that at least I would get to the meeting. I had overcome this minor hurdle, but my lateness would not be appreciated. I turned left at the main road and proceeded without glancing back. Little point in sacrificing face to see if they were still watching; in these modern nights, they’re always watching.

At this point it was necessary to halt inquiries for today. Lady Alryawe’s insistence on every platitude and nicety being upheld means proceedings are going slowly. I will continue to report once we have acquired more information.

**

This is my first attempt at Apocrypha, or maybe it's just fanfiction, I don't know. Long time lurker, first time poster. It's also the first bit of creative writing I've done in many years, so any pointers for improvement would be appreciated.

I was a bit sad to see the aesthetic of the Altmer, my chosen race, become steadily more and more Tolkien-esque. My degree at university is Japanese and Japanese/Chinese history, so it's safe to say I'm a bit of a Japanese history nerd, and I'm fond of Japanese aesthetics. I'm not trying to turn the Altmer into Japanese, Altmer are Altmer. But rather given how varied the aesthetic and architecture of cities can be within a province, and given the precedent set in Morrowind and Oblvion's concept art, I feel it's okay to add a bit of variety to the Altmer with a return to the Japanese aesthetic. I have an idea that the Altmer, in attempting to connect with the idea of Aldmeris, all developed their own ideas of what the place looked like. Lillandril's interpretation of Aldmeris resembles a Japanese aesthetic.

That raises the question of how both Lillandril and the Tsaesci have a Japanese aesthetic. If Akavir is the literal future, perhaps they were drawing upon Lillandril aesthetic.