"The following centuries into and including the Third Era have been times of intermittent strife among the Khajiit of Elsweyr. Successive spiritual leaders, known as Manes, occasionally brought tenuous peace to the land, but never for long. The Khajiit have found security in being absorbed into the Cyrodilic and then the Septim Empires, only to rebel against both." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition, "Sugar and Blood: The Cats of the South"

Sun's Dawn 26, 4E2

North of Torval, Elsweyr

Insect chirps filled the air as the unit was walking the road to the city, Rizzani lighting the way. We could see the portals and bits of the city walls, but most naked was the top of the stone tower in the city's center; it was part of the Mane's palace, in the eye of the storm.

Ahead was the famous, and now infamous, Torval: capital of Elsweyr. It would be our battlefield soon.

The group was heading to it for dinner, to stop by an inn if the vendors of raw goods were closed. Rizzani had said we would try to get as much food as we could through hunter-gather methods (to not attract attention in the city), but right now he didn't think we should delay sating our appetites. I had the sort of hearty hunger only a long bout of work and late meal could bring (but thankfully, we didn't have to unpack all the healing potions).

A few of us had brought our swords, incase of danger on the road, but we hadn't encountered any highwaymen.

A fire fly flashed its light ahead of us.

Something else was becoming visible through the foliage to the right: fencing. There was also a human figure in metal armor.

A Legionary appeared to be standing by the fence (ignorant we were all secret agents for his side), which seemed to encase countless tall, green plants: sugarcane. How atmospheric for this war. There must have been a lot to harvest.

There was some light coming from the area too. Were people still working there, past seven o'clock?

Yes, I could hear the rustling.

The two workers I could make out were clearly Khajiiti: one the type common in Morrwind, a...Suthay-Raht, and the other appeared to be the "furry elf" kind, a... Ohmes-Raht. An Altmer was holding a lantern for them.

The enclosed area nearly stretched to the city wall, with another Imperial soldier at the South end. There was a house at the Southeast corner, with a sign too far away to read.

An additional person, with a magically glowing hand, was walking down the isles of plants. He appeared to be another High Elf.

It was probably a Summerset sugar farm, profiting from the welcoming nature of Ka'Raska and protection of our soldiers. I was observing the commrece they enjoyed first hand while their people back home were our biggest critics.

Another cat-man was walking by with a basket: he was the kind commonly seen in Cyrodiil, but I forgot what they were called. I mentally pledged to study that guide tonight or tomorrow.

We were about half-way to the end of the fence when Deechana, who was walking near and behind me, said to no one in particular, "I'm glad we didn't encounter any highwaymen. They're so bad in Cyrodiil my cousin's actually think of moving to Summerset Isle."

I felt tracely disgruntled at the mention of that again. In a low voice, figuring the workers were too far away to hear but not very concerned if they did, I pointed to the stalks and said "That's why Summerset Isle is able to do so well now: they have our military to clear the way for them here and in the Abacean, so they don't have to spend their own blood and gold on it. And then they spend the money they save pampering their people."

It was a touch sickening that the province which had the least love for Cyrodiil, and which had once had the greatest navy in the world, forced us to do all its dirty work...but now that the words were out I tracely regretted them. I didn't expect to get feisty over those sort of trivialities once back in Elsweyr and now felt like a bit of an ass.

Still, there wouldn't likely be objections from this sort of company.

And there were to be none, just more mute walking. Still, perhaps I shouldn't have created an angry atmosphere.

We passed by the other Legionary. The writing on the house indeed looked Aldmeris. The Imperial Legion protected them, here and in the Abacean...and it saved the Summersets money to not bring in their own military, and it also saved them from getting blood on their hands. It was a shame the Sarius Act prevented us from adjusting foreign taxation accordingly.

But back ahead, the closed portal to Torval ahead had two guards on the ground the one on the left clutching his saber. They were both Suthay-Rahts. Their uniforms were chainmail with the exception of the helmet and the chest (which was painted brown with a mane icon on it). They had a patterned cloth drooping from the belt buckle area down to their knees and they wore no gauntlets.

The one on the right put a hand up, and said in thickly accented Cyrodilic, "Halt, sirs! We need to check your group for any known criminals before we let you in." Tight security.

He started walking towards us and beckoned his more jittery comrade, probably a new recruit.

The guards were clearly on edge, more so than in Dune. It wasn't a pretty sign, especially when Torval still managed to be the most violent city in Tamriel. Hopefully we'd change things.

We were a bizarre enough sight as it was, but once we transformed, I realized getting in and out of the city would be tricky...there must have been another way...a secret way. A tunnel? Another door?

As the watchman got close, he magically lit up his hand. He got in front of the Redguard as the other Khajiit kept his hand on his sword. He inspected Rizzani's face with the callous professionalism of a healer. Were there really many human criminals in Elsweyr? Redguards, no less?

Then he seemed to be heading for me, passing by Sala-Keesh and all the other Argonians.

He got close and I stood still, green light coating peach skin as he examined me with the a stern, quizzical look. Obviously I'd check out, but it was clear that foreigners were playing no small part in Elsweyri crime.

Then he broke away from me and went to those behind, likely the interpreters (both Khajiit, at least).

As I waited, I surveyed the immediate area. To the left of the portals was a building like a large home, with a sign next to it. The sign's writing was only in Ta'agran, but its icon was clearly a Senche: the large, counter-intuitively ape-like breed of Khajiit which would sometimes offer rides on its back for pay.

Then the guard was audibly heading back towards the portals, saying, "I am sorry for your inconvenience. You may enter." He gave a broad gesture to someone up by the turrets, and suddenly the doors started opening.

This cluster of foreigners began walking to the capital's entrance. Ahead, the roads were dirt and the streets were void of civilians. There was one local watchman (or woman, it was hard to tell through the uniform) on the first visible corner who seemed to be wearing a bandanna over his face (no doubt to conceal his identity). To the right it looked like there was a building with its top floor burned off, with two other watchmen guarding it. Given its size, it was likely, or likely had been, an inn. It was one less place to dine, unfortunately. On the left was another building with a sign, though, which could be another spot to eat.

Aside from the tower and walls, Torval seemed to be completely wooden. That wasn't a good material to have shelter one in a warzone. It wasn't difficult to imagine an out of control blaze devestating the city...though upon closer inspection it did look like some of the buildings had short stone walls between them.

We were about the pass under the doorway.

As we did, the sign on the left was legible. It was written in both Cyrodilic and Ta'agran: Weary Traveler's Inn. Not a very creative name, but well placed.

Rizzani said, "Sala-Keesh, why don't you take half the squad in there? The rest of us will keep walking so we don't overburden the publican and can get a feel for the city!" I didn't expect that.

The Argonian turned, saying nothing, and made a sweeping gesture to those on the left side. "You five, come with me," he said.

They broke out of our gathering to walk into the establishment. I felt tracely frustrated with the Captain for delaying us, though then noticed I wasn't so hungry anymore...something else about this city made me not want to linger.

Rizzani started walking again.

The rest of us would go for the next stop. I didn't like being out on the streets of Elsweyr unarmed and unarmored, and felt a bit annoyed at Rizzani since he'd given such a flimsy reason for making us walk some more. Still, I had magic to for protection, which wasn't true of everyone here.

The mustached man seemed to be turning left, to go around the corner.

Reesaka coughed.

Turning revealed some more shops. The closest one was called "Adazzka's Defenses" with a scimitar icon below it and a boarded-up window. There was a second on the other side of the street with a clothing icon, though the sign was only in Elsweyr's native tongue.

The sidewalks ahead were empty. Even most of the shutters were closed. My previous squad hadn't seen much of Dune at night; had it been this vacant there too?

A piece of paper blew across the road.

I would be happier here armed, or at least in the daylight, but right now I was practically a civilian. Hopefully the locals didn't feel like this every time they went out at night...though few of them did venture out, evidently.

Still, with two of seven of us holding swords, we likely wouldn't get ambushed by thieves or xenophobes.

Then there was a faint clanking of metal and jingle of chainmail around the distant corner. Was it a squad on patrol?

Around came a familiar uniform: the Imperial Legion uniform, doused in orange light from the torch the leader was holding.

They were marching along the other sidewalk, but two were on the road: no one seemed to worry about being in the middle of the street here. Maybe it was because traffic was desolate.

They didn't know that on the same avenue were seven important secret agents.

Despite the metal feet and rattling chainmail, I heard snoring as we walked past an alley. There'd been a lot of people left homeless by the fighting in Dune, and probably here too. I'd been involved in building houses for the locals in the deserts to the north, but the guerillas would often evict residents to use their houses as bases.

As the Legion patrol passed us on the other side, I realized we'd been mute for a long time. There was an air of tension in this city.

I thought back to those who were now in the Weary Traveler's Inn. They were already indoors, likely surrounded by conversation and awaiting food and drink. They wouldn't walk these streets until they were all armed.

Our Captain began turning right as I wondered how long before this group found another place; Torval probably wasn't big on tourism these days, so there couldn't be a lot of inns.

Though there were no buildings of commerce visible yet, it look like a second corner wasn't far off, which would put us back to moving east. There were no additional guards, however. I didn't like that.

Hopefully we could lift this place out of the abyss. A lot more than this nation's capital would be saved if the Empire's plan succeeded: Cyrodiil's name would be saved, the spirit heroism would be, the belief in national salvation would be, and the Khajiit would not continue to be associated with barbarity as they tore themselves apart.

With the other corner close, my superior officer was turning again. How much longer would we need to go?

But around this corner was another sign, a beacon in the night: This Evening Bar and Restaurant. Good, a way off the streets.

"There's a place! Come on, men." The Redguard started crossing the read diagonally.

But to left I noticed something else. It looked like looked like the eastern wall of the city, also with a portal and guards. But Torval had to be bigger than that. It seemed worth inquiring about.

"What's that wall to the east for?"

The other human glanced at it. "The end of this district," he replied. So Torval was split up like our capital. Did that design have something to do with being a capital city? I couldn't imagine what.

The Captain's feet were back on a sidewalk, and he opened the weathered door, walking in.

I entered, feeling more comfortable.

The man behind the counter was the breed of Khajiit most frequent back home. He had pallid fur and was giving a broad, grandfatherly grin.

One of our group members closed the door behind us, and then Rizzani said, "Hello, sir. We'd like to know what food you have available here." The shelves behind the bar looked somehow sparse, but I wasn't sure that reflected the availibilty of the dishes here.

"Ah, yes," said the oldman, "please, sit down. This one is very happy to have new customers!"

The Captain headed for a stool, and so did I as the owner ducked behind the bar. After hitting the cushioned seat, I looked around. There was one set of salt, pepper, and moonsugar shakers on the table. The room was poorly lit, and we were the only ones here. Hopefully the food would be decent.

Still, simply being indoors was nice.

The publican came up with a stack of menus. He began passing them out.

As soon as he put one in front of me I picked it up. It was in both Ta'agran and Cyrodilic. It was sorted according to the native Elsweyri words' alphabetical order. But it was also split into sub-categories like "Meat" and "Pasta" and "Soup." I was in the mood for soup.

I read the options for that category:

Ataz'Raji:

Zalasi'vatabel vazim shucozzin noodad, ualanva, riez ro.

Sweetened onion stock with noodles, celery, and rice.

Rashir:

Zalasi'been vazim shucozzin karrotad tsalim, dajad podadad, riez, ualanva ro.

Sweetened beef broth with sliced carrots, potato chunks, rice, and celery.

Tasha'Arji:

Zalasi'been vazim shucozzin been, noodad, riez ro.

Sweetened beef broth with beef, noodles, and rice.

Only three choices, and it looked like a lot of ingredients were reused. This was the sub-par world of Elsweyr: a bad economy meant fewer supplies and that meant less variety. Still, I was not discouraged from ordering soup. I ran the three items through my mind again, and decided the Rashir sounded most appealing.

I assumed they had beer but skimmed the "Drinks" section for the word just incase.

They did.

Hoping I'd pronounce the soup name correctly, I looked back up at the proprietor and said, "I'll have the Rashir soup and a beer, please," and then looked back down at the menu for some reason.

Then Rizzani gave out his exotically named order, as did Colovian-born S'Bassa (no more confidently pronounced) and, after a bit of silence, Deechana. The other three continued scanning their menus, but for me it was just time to wait.

Reflecting on my first experience in Torval, I was unsettled by the feeling I'd had just outside. When one was uneasy about walking the streets even in a large group, things were very bad. Nonetheless, at least we'd be able to help.

Tonight was our first taste of Torval, literally and figuratively. This was the capital of Elsweyr, where the Mane lived in near unparalleled luxury, but it was also torn by the ravages of war. The land of the Khajiit needed our help, and hope for the Fourth Era needed the sight of at least one province getting back up on its feet.