Kvaasik - An Unlikely Patron

1 - The Rise of Thras
2 - The Cold Front
3 - Change in Wardrobe
4 - The Unsinkable City
5 - An Unlikely Patron
6 - The Purring Liar

So far, the most popular topic I have overheard from the townsfolk is some execution, something about a guard who let a Stormcloak through the city gates. It appears that nearly every person in this city is loyal to the Empire. Little do they know that their loyalties will change very soon.
There appears to be two main parts of Solitude: the market, filled with large shops, yelling merchants, and desperate beggars, and the residences, where the villagers live. At the far end of the residential district of Solitude is a palace, where the city’s chief supposedly lives. There is also Castle Dour, where the city’s guards always train. The citizens of Solitude are also Nords, but they lack the apparent strength the Nords of Dawnstar had. This could mean that Solitude’s citizens are more adept at diplomatic skills rather than military splendor, which is slightly disappointing. After all, the Sload have no use for thralls without physical prowess.

Another important aspect of Solitude is the Bards’ College. As far as I understand it, a ‘bard’ is a person who receives payment by making noise with a lump of wood and spouting balderdash banter to a melody. Apparently, the Tamriel-dwellers hold find the sounds that bards make so pleasant that there is a college dedicated to producing these minstrels. Yet another odd quirk in Tamrielic culture.

Halfway through the day, I realized that I had not eaten since I left Thras. The emptiness in my stomach was almost painful, which is a feeling I am not used to. The Sload rarely need to eat, due to their lack of activity. However, humans are evidently much needier when it comes to food, perhaps as a result of their relatively small size. I navigated to the local inn, the ‘Winking Skeever’, and asked the man at the counter what food he had. “Well, we just got a shipment of clams, fresh from the docks. Just five Septims for a bowl of chowder.”

I always did like shellfish, maybe because they were the only creatures on Thras that couldn’t flee when being hunted. I frisked my pockets for the round bits of metal the landwalkers cherish, and I thankfully found just enough for a meager bowl of clam chowder. I didn’t really know what ‘chowder’ was, but it would be better to not ask, for the sake of blending in. Besides, as long as it tasted of clams, I’m sure it would be tolerable enough. I took my seat on a barstool at the counter.

Finally, the barkeep brought me my food: a bowl of white glop with shreds of yellow. The mixture looked awful, but I forced it down my throat anyway for the sake of survival. There were vague traces of the clams I had come to love, but it was clouded by some sort of heavy, starchy flavor. The concoction was absolutely repulsive.

“This one does not like the chowder, either. Too much potato.” I heard a raspy voice say from the seat next to mine. I looked over to see a Khajiit, his black fur so dark that it seemed to make the area around him appear cloaked in shadow. Strangely, I could not remember him taking the seat next to mine. “Well met, friend. Rajhin has much to discuss with you.”