A Sworn Affidavit of a Truthful Account

I, Berry Longfellow Esq., on this 8th day of Sun's Height, 428 3E, under the august and fair rule of his imperial majesty Uriel Septim, 7th of his name, having been duly sworn in under the law, declare:

I have, of my own volition (and in compliance with the terms of my house arrest), committed to record on the subsequent pages a complete account of my knowledge and involvement in the matter of the Twin Manes of Elsweyr to the best of my recollection.

Signed: Berry S. Longfellow

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image [https://i.imgur.com/UvduvtT.png]

My misadventure in Elsweyr began in the sweaty pits of the summer of 427 at a lavish Saint Alessia Day feast held at the estate of my patron and friend, Marius Publius. I had arrived ragged as a dishcloth, having trekked on foot from the imperial capital's fish market where I had been surviving for weeks in the attic of an old fishmonger who had double leased the space between a spice merchant and myself. It halved my rent but left me with a prison bunk’s worth of space betwixt the window and an unsteady wall of crates that shed all manner of flakes, grindings, and peppercorns which brought on the most dreadful sneezing fits whenever I dared to stir too much.

I'd been in the solitary confinement of that stuffy room for weeks, for that was the summer in which several councilors had accused Uriel Septim’s heirs of being illegitimate, and mob violence took hold of the streets. It was the city's worst kept secret that there were paid thugs among those roving bands, sent by the less scrupulous great families of the empire who saw profit in a succession crisis. As a result, the grandest city in the world had ground to a halt, usurped by those who would make it a play stage for the larger political world — a show I had no interest in.

On my departure I'd been reduced to hiding in alleys and alcoves like a common burglar, scampering along in the disguise of a laborer lest some ruffians find me to be a gentleman (downtrodden though I was) and make me their catch of the day. Once beyond the city walls I passed unmolested between the manicured trees and outer estates which ringed the city, crossed an arched stone bridge, and meandered down a picturesque country road. My worst enemy by then was the damned humidity which clung to my skin like a fat man’s embrace and left sodden pools wherever the sun did not shine.

When I arrived at the gatehouse of Marius’ estate a silver haired servant raised an eyebrow at my appearance, only letting me in when I shared my name and showed the more appropriate dinner robes stashed in my bag. Once fully apprised of the circumstances of my arrival, the man seemed impressed by my moxy and informed me that I was the only guest to have arrived from the fish market that day not destined to be served on a platter.

He led me to a sequestered garden where I could change in peace. I stripped naked as the day I was born beneath a pale evening sky of clouds dappled with stuttering pink brush strokes. I washed my pits and nethers with the mossy water of a bird fountain carved in the shape of Akatosh’s open maw — reasoning that if it was good enough for the songbirds it would be serviceable for me. Refreshed, I donned my robe and weighty amulet of Mystara before returning to the silver haired doorman who received my sweat soaked laborer disguise with a sigh and assured me that seeing it washed would be his highest priority.

I made my way to Marius' home, still a decent ways off, through trellises laden with broad leaves and riots of green grapes just beginning to gather their darker blush. The servants were gone at this hour of course, leaving row after row of unattended wooden frames like a ghost legion on silent parade to the trilling tune of cicadas. I struggled to smooth the most prominent wrinkles from my robe as the massive columned manor grew up before me along with the rumbling clatter of festivities from within.

Old Marius was waiting for me on the stairs. The fop wore layered white and gray robes with pearls inlaid within the valleys of the diamond pattern. It was impossibly thick for the weather, yet the polished top of his bald head showed no sign of perspiration.

"Berry you rascal, I was beginning to worry you wouldn't make it."

I bowed. "I could hardly refuse when you mentioned funding my next expedition."

"Your next — of course, yes the ass totalist thing up north."

"Asymptotists..."

Marius waved a hand. "There will be time aplenty for that. But for goodness sake man, it's Saint Alessia's Day! And I've never known you to pass on good company and libations for dull business talk, so I'll have none of it now," he turned towards the plaza above. "Come on in and join the festivities first, you'll see I've spared no expense this time."

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I swallowed before hurrying up behind him. In truth I had done little except enjoy libations for the past two months, often book in my hand until the words blurred together into incoherent gibberish and I passed from my personal jail into the sweet release of mental oblivion. I had arrived from High Rock awash in patronage to interview the reclusive blind priests of the Ancestor Moth Cult, certain it was to be a crowning jewel to my body of research. Weeks of petitioning, bribing, and being interviewed to ascertain the purity of my scholarly interest had come to fruition just as the unrest had broken out. The legion had been brought into the city, skulls were cracked, and yet the violence continued. The emperor himself had slammed shut the doors of his precious seer cult until further notice and wiped all my progress from the board. I’d since been wallowing in drink and waiting for some change in circumstances that grew less likely by the day.

I followed Marius through a series of imposing marble pillars to the sweeping pavilion at the heart of the manor. Residential wings buttressed the pavilion on either side as sunlight winked between the far pillars. Landed lords and ladies, princes of both the exotic foreign type and their secular merchant counterparts, and all their various hangers-on mingled freely among tables stacked with silvered platters bearing pyramids of hors d'oeuvres. Marius and I navigated through a circle of northmen barking at some obscure societal quip, past sedans of refined nibbenese loungers, and around a cluster of eye-catching debutantes gossiping shamelessly on our way to a crystalline brandy decanter the size of a tombstone. The air was alive with the smell of grilled meat, rich wine, and pungent perfumes all while a paper mache portrayal of Saint Alessia's face looked down on us from where it floated, suspended on rope.

Marius' eyes darted about the crowd as he poured us both a shot into crystal glasses.

"Cheers," he said.

We clinked glasses and I took a deep drought. The brown fluid ran down my throat, biting like acid, but not nearly as bad as it would have months earlier.

"Is everything alright dear Marius, you seem on edge?" I said, speaking louder now to be heard over the surrounding roar.

"Perfectly, dear boy! It's just being a host and all that… you know this is a smaller crowd this year, what with the situation in the city and all."

"Not surprising, my work has also been severely—"

"And that's not to mention the politics. By the gods, the politics! It's becoming harder than ever to survive as an honest plantation owner, what with everyone being an amateur politician and demanding you join their little gang. I invited a split crowd tonight on that topic so don't say a word about it, understand?"

"Unfeigned ignorance will be my shield," I assured him. "Besides, you know I'm only interested in my research."

Marius raised his glass to ignorance and inquired about the state of the city. As I was still regaling him with the tale of my escape his eyes widened. "I'm awfully sorry Berry, but I just remembered an obligation of mine. I know you only just arrived and all, but would you be alright making like a social butterfly for a bit while I attend to it?"

"Of course," I said, the lie coming easily for the man with a heavy purse, "we'll chat later. Do your hosting — the hall is a marvel by the way, the temple itself is put to shame by the display."

His shoulders sagged. "Thank you Berry, you're a better partner in all this than I deserve. Tell you what, let's reconvene by those pillars in a bit, okay? Away from the noise."

I nodded and his bald dome head bobbed off into the crowd. I drowned my foul mood with another biting swallow of brandy.

With my friend and patron gone I must admit that I felt a perfect stranger at the event. The customs of our Imperial cousins were familiar enough to me as a Breton, but the Imperial City was a world unto itself full of power plays, unspoken rivalries, and unparalleled wealth. As the failing academic son of a penniless knight, I felt like a sea bird blown several miles inland and asking some desert buzzards where all the good minnows went.

I decided to keep to myself while I waited, and remain just an anonymous face in the crowd. Clapping my crystal glass on the table I made my way to the pillars Marius had promised to eventually meet me at. I emerged from the heat of the crowd into the breezy evening air bearing a small plate of salty crab meat dumplings and a tall gilded wine glass which I'd generously filled to the absolute brim.

Seated on the hard slate just beyond the pillars I popped the soft dumplings into my mouth, one by one, as sunlight drained out of the sky across the river, leaving a violet skyline broken by the dark silhouettes of the White-Gold Tower and the hulking roofs of the merchant and temple districts. Dancing torchlight grew distinct on the marble pillars beside me and the breeze grew heavy with the sweetness of night flowers strung with a musty undertone of decay lifted off the river.

I wondered if perhaps Marius was working up the courage to tell me he was cutting my funding completely. The trip had been a complete failure which might well define my career for years to come. Yet at that moment I was at complete peace with it all, appreciative of what the city had offered me — if for nothing else than for that very moment.

I sighed, wondering if this was to be my last summer in Cyrodiil.

I was downing the last of my wine, cloyingly sweet stuff for my palate, when a woman's voice cooed behind me. "Excuse me, sera?"

A Dunmer woman stood framed between the pillars. A ravishing dark beauty with an almost childish face that belied a massive bust just barely contained under a maroon gown.

Unknown to me, the lines of fate had already converged.