astarlis

[astarlis]

Revus Demnevanni:

“I have to learn to fix my mistakes. Or better yet, to not make them in the first place.”

[astarlis]

A snippet from Astarlis’s recent vacation back to Elsweyr with Revus and Mirri.

“I think I understand why the Khajiit say that a sweetroll abroad isn’t the same as those in Elsweyr.” Revus grimaced, pushing away his bowl of curried kwama egg and saltrice.

“Too much?” Astarlis ventured, finding no issue with her apple spanakopita.

“The flavour is just a little too exotic for my palette.”

Behind a frothing mug of sour bock, Mirri smirked. “You’d probably say the same thing about cornmeal.”

Revus sighed. “Have some sympathy for a fellow Mer.”

The Rimmen marketplace bustled around the little table the trio managed to snag amidst the elbow-to-elbow crowd of shoppers. Grocers called out the quality of their produce while the tradesfolk plied coin from any willing purse.

Astarlis tilted her head. “I’ve always found Dunmeri cuisine to be quite flavorful. Is the curry really that spicy?”

“Spice is one thing, Hla’silvar, but this,” Revus gestured to the plate with his fork, “is pure sugar. I think my teeth are rattling.”

“Oh, I’ve always quite liked that aspect of Khajiiti culinary arts.” Astarlis took another bite of apple with a contented smile. “Maybe I’m just used to it.”

Recalling a detail from the correspondence he shared with Astarlis after her first trip to Vvardenfell, Revus nodded. “You lived for a time amongst the Khajiit at Khenarthi’s Roost, correct?”

”My first home that I can remember... I should take you both to visit Juranda-ra one day,” Astarlis replied and then added with a laugh, “You don’t know sugary until you’ve lived on a moonsugar field. It even seeps into the well-water.”

“Must be nice to own property, someplace that you can call your own.” Mirri’s thoughts drifted; she and Astarlis had grown so close so quickly yet there were times when she felt like she barely knew her companion. “How did you ever afford it?”

“I wish I could say that adventuring pays the bills, but it always feels wrong to ask for a reward. You can’t just ask a traumatized person to hand over their gold.” Astarlis skimmed her neatly trimmed nails around the edge of her plate. “You just have to hope for something, even food. My first horse, first armor, first decent bow— all handouts.”

Revus put his hand tentatively over Astarlis’s, still so new to public displays of affection. “You earned those things, Hla’silvar, through courage and selflessness.”

Astarlis accepted his tenderness. “That is certainly one way to look at it. I just wish I had gotten to keep that Armor of Akatosh. Would never have to worry about anymore scrapes and bruises!”

“If coin is so hard to come by adventuring alone, then how’d you earn your fortune, f’lah?” Mirri asked in earnest.

“Luck.”

It was the truth. Astarlis was fortunate to have talent in not just a single trade but seven. When Razum-dar put her on a ship for Vulkhel Guard, she had no clue what awaited her nor how lost she would feel. Man and Mer crossed her path, and she did not know where she belonged. If Astarlis had been told she was a shaved Khajiit, she would have believed it in those first few days after escaping the Wailing Prison.

In Vulkhel Guard’s square, however, she found her first sense of peace in the strike of a hammer upon an anvil, the sizzle of meat roasting, the turn of a spindle. These sounds made her fingers itch with forgotten knowledge, begging to be released. It was the same sensation she had the moment she picked up a bow.

“Just luck. One day, I was gathering materials for a simple bedroll, and, before I knew it, I was in the crafting business. Got my first clients from Rolis Hlaalu, and the Moonstone Trading Company was born.”

“Hero, scholar, entrepreneur— is there anything you can’t do?” Revus feigned a swoon, making Astarlis giggle and Mirri gag.

”Necromancy,” Astarlis returned, “but that is more of an ethical thing rather than a I-don’t-have-the-skill thing—”

“Wait, isn’t Sings-to-Hatchlings a practitioner of you know,” Mirri interjected, referring to one of the alchemists in Astarlis’s employ.

“There’s a big difference between resurrecting field mice to collect herbs and raising an army of the dead. As long as she uses her powers for the former not the latter, then anything she does is between her and the Hist.”