Kvaasik - Change of Wardrobe

1 - The Rise of Thras
2 - The Cold Front
3 - Change in Wardrobe
4 - The Unsinkable City

I found my way to the inn and spent the night in Dawnstar, as the locals had named it. I found it difficult to sleep in the sheepskins the humans slept in, so I eventually wandered away from the main city and found a nice roadside ruin to sleep in, undisturbed. The ruin had a few skeevers within, but otherwise was very nice to simply rest in.

The next morning, I returned to Dawnstar and carefully studied its residents. I quickly realized how to discern a Nord from an Imperial human. Nords tend to have deep, gruff voices and braided hair and unnecessarily long beards. For some odd reason, they are more than comfortable with dirt and grime smeared on their face all day, even when they sleep. Also, they have a very strange loyalty to their gods and folklore, not to mention their foolish willingness to die for their land. However, there is something very impressive about their physical prowess. Their agility and strength is certainly superior to most other races. I considered changing costume to a Nord so that I could also have this strength, but it would be far too risky. I would have to shed my current disguise first, and a Sload is incredibly noticeable in the middle of a city.

About the town itself, the large gulf in the center of Dawnstar reminds me of the polwygle lagoons of Thras, where the gastropod adolescents of the Sload race are left to mature. Were this city to be taken by Sload, I would imagine that it would be used solely for that purpose, with its access to a saltwater bay. It may be slightly too cold, but the Sload could surely adapt.

In the distance, I saw a faint light coming from somewhere near the main city, so I strayed from Dawnstar to investigate. Orange tents soon appeared in the distance, far enough from town to avoid investigation, but close enough to still maintain sight.

I inched closer, noticing humans amidst the fluorescent shapes. Finally, when I was within a leap’s distance of the camp, I recognized the humans’ armor as Imperial leathers, studded with steel. This was my first time encountering the Legion for a very long time; evidently, they have grown sloppy in their choice of hiding spots. Suddenly, a thought dawned on me as I crouched behind a tent; the Empire would undoubtedly have information on this frozen province. If I could, perhaps, learn where they keep such information…

Capturing, killing, and stripping a dozing Imperial soldier of his armor was easy enough. I brought the corpse to the roadside ruin I had slept in (Windward Ruins, as named by the Nords) and performed the transformation there, shedding my armor and elven frame and returning to my natural Sload form. It felt much more comfortable to be in my own skin once more, despite the lack of mobility inherent to the Sload. Wearing those constricting clothes was awful, as if my skin was coated thickly with seaweed. I sampled some blood from the Imperial and smudged it on the Tars Mogrif, then slipped it around my neck. Shimmering light licked my Sload body and transmuted it into the tanned, muscular build of an Imperial Legionnaire.

Clad in Imperial leather, I strode back to the camp, leaving the corpse to the ravenous skeevers. My plan was to investigate the camp for any clues as to where the Imperials keep their records, or simply learn about these ‘Stormcloaks’ the Legion is fighting.

“Quaestor.” I realized the head of the camp was speaking to me, so I turned to face the dark elf in Imperial armor. “Have you seen any enemy movement near the camp?” I cleared my throat and spoke in a soft, Cyrodiilic accent. “No, sir.” I, of course, had no idea if this was true or not, but the camp’s leader seemed to believe me. “Very well. Return to Solitude, and deliver this message to Legate Rikke.” He quickly scrounged up a roll of parchment and scrawled out a message, expertly tying the paper into a scroll with a piece of string. “I trust you to deliver it safely. Farewell.” I took the scroll as he offered it to me.

“Where is Solitude?” I asked him. He eyed me strangely, as if I was a funny-smelling fish and he was contemplating whether to eat me or throw me out, then burst into an awful crooning noise (is that what laughter sounded like?). “You must be the recruit straight from Cyrodiil. Here.” He handed me another piece of parchment, this time adorned with an elaborate map of the province painted onto it with crisp ink. “Solitude is Skyrim’s capital, at the northwesternmost point of Skyrim. Good luck, Quaestor.”

Of course, when I infiltrated the camp, I had not wanted to be ordered about by this landwalker, but if Solitude is Skyrim’s capital, there must be some sort of filing room or at least a library. If nothing else, I can persuade Legate Rikke to divulge secretive knowledge of Skyrim and its citizens that would otherwise be difficult to obtain. I pointed myself in the direction of Solitude, as instructed by the map, and started to walk.