Somewhere in the warm belly of Cyrodiil sits an unassuming village.
Once it had been filled with the simple workers of the land; farmers and apothecaries working alongside cobblers and blacksmiths in relative harmony. The winters were mild and the summers occasionally baking and for the longest time the most intensely debated topic was whether the local patisserie's apple or almond tortes were best.
As is always the case with these lethargic little communities there came a curious stranger. A Dunmer from Morrowind. And a sorceress at that. Gossip poured from the local's lips as she settled into the sleepy town. She was wealthy, buying up one of the nicest manors just outside of the village. Richly dyed robes, dresses with flirtatiously low backs, and jewelry caked in crystals and gems set the Dunmer apart from the drab and practical locals.
Word at the patisserie hinted she might be a Telvanni. Others scandalized her as the well taken care of mistress to some lord that set her up in the village to keep her hidden from his suspicious wife. Whatever it was about the stranger that had capture everyone's attention soon faded into the background when other wealthy individuals began taking to the village as a sort of retreat from hectic city life. It seemed money attracted money, birds of a feather. Barracks for Legionnaires popped up seemingly over night as every abandoned manor in the area filled up with barons, duchesses, counts, and whoever had enough gold to secure themselves a spot in what had once been a dull little town.
But none of that was really any of Sansine Couturier's business.
Well, that's not entirely true. As the only professionally working tailor in town it was quite literally her business that got her acquainted with the new folk, including the odd Dunmer.
Sansine did her best to keep her mouth shut over the pins between her lips while doing fittings for the sorceress, leaving the empty shop air to be filled with the babbling Dunmer's words. Whether she liked it or not Sansine quickly learned more about the elf than she thought proper.
Liobah Telvra was over a century old but didn't look a day past forty, her favorite color was citrine, she had a slight allergy to dog dander and as such she'd erected a tall pointed iron fence around her property to keep them away, there was a hint of Redguard lineage on her father's side of the family, and she was inclined to play within the Arcane Arts to a degree that made Sansine uncomfortable to even listen to. Between taking measurements and seeing Liobah in the nude more times than she could count while trying to wiggle the sorceress into tighter and tighter corsets, they somehow ended up sort of friends.
"You know what I like about you, Sansi?" Liobah asked before immediately answering her own query, "you mind your own business, your eyes and hands are always busy with your work. All filled up with no room to look at me like I've stepped in something dirty and tracked it in all over your imported Khajiiti rugs." Sansine decided against pointing out that her store had only worn hardwood flooring, not a thread of fine rugs in sight.
Pulling the last pin from between her lips Sansine slid it into place in the shimmering cerise fabric, "I suppose I like you too. It's nice to have a little eccentric finery to work on. Gets dull fixing buttons and patching knees." Finishing up the appointment and scheduling ahead for pick up Liobah tipped Sansine clearly too much then left with a flourish, the dented bell on the door dinging off-key. Then it dinged again as Liobah reentered, leading someone in behind her.
"Almost forgot, I wanted to introduce you to my latest thrall," the sorceress spun, placing a lithe lavender gray hand on the shoulder of the man behind her. Grasping his forearm she pulled him further into Sansine's innocent little tailoring shop. The seamstress in question was bundling up the dress, her back to the couple as a crawling chill tickled her neck.
"Liobah, I said no more atronachs near the finery - " her jaw clacked shut as she turned, fingers digging into the countertop. Her ruddy Imperial cheeks, nearly always too warm and red, drained to a Secunda white. Liobah preened over her Dremora, brushing unseen fuzz from the daedra's black robes while he stood and glowered at the cramped and cluttered shop.
Sansine had never seen a Dremora outside of an illustrated text she'd flipped through as a child. She found him nightmarishly beautiful. Skin as dark as ink shone an indigo violet where the light struck, his high cheekbones and strong brow framing liquid black eyes the likes of which were punctured by a disc of color that burned as brightly as a hungry sun. From his brow curled two horns with a smaller set emerging further back, like charred wood in texture and color. Lovely pointed ears were decorated in golden rings and cuffs that glinted like stars in the dimness of the store's lobby. Sansine's eyes drew to the markings on his face, a symmetrical pattern of red violet that was as cruel as flames.
"A daedra in my shop!" Sansine choked, slapping a hand to her forehead, "there's a daedra in my shop. Oh I think I need to sit for while," she found a stool, plopping down and rubbing her eyes while Liobah chuckled.
"He's certainly lovely, isn't he? Listens to every order I say with the loyalty of the dead." Sansine decided she didn't want to understand that comparison. "His armor and weapons were certainly interesting to pull apart, lovely to get a glimpse of genuine daedric smithery and enchanting but it seems like I've neglected preparing appropriate clothing for him."
For the first time Sansine realized the hemlines of the robes were nearly a hand's breadth too short, exposing ankles and wrists. Then it clicked.
"You want me to whip something up for him?"
"If you'd be so kind. A few different pieces, something fitting for a noble Dremora and someone so closely associated with my lovely self," she made to leave but once more spun back around, "I'll leave him here for the time being, nobody seems to have taken a liking to him and it's bloody hard to get anything done with everyone quaking in their ratty boots at the sight of us. Make use of him while I'm gone, and you," she pointed to the daedra, her finger looking in danger of being bitten off, "listen to every word Sansine says. Don't cause any trouble." With that she bustled from the shop, Sansine's small objection dying in her throat as the doorbell dinged oddly behind the retreating elf. Then she was left alone. Staring at a Dremora.
"I suppose we should get those measurements then?"
/AN: so hey long time no see! this fic was never finished but after some mild prodding and my own want to let it see the light of day i decided to post what i have done. anyway, hopefully i'll get hyped up enough to finish it up but if not maybe some of you darlings will enjoy it as is. have a nice day!/