Mighty Alkosh has blessed this one with many free afternoons since being asked to seek employment somewhere that is not the tavern. What is the point of working so hard if the occasional cup for my own is not allowed, anyway? Plenty of time now for journal-keeping. Plenty of time for watching.
I am watching a Wood Elf now. This is the Wood Elf’s third time walking by the smith, lingering when he thinks no one sees, eyeing a fine helm on display. Nizun-ja thinks this is no plain admirer. No, he wishes to take this helm and run, sneaky Elf that he is. It would be fine sport, taking this thing, and the Wood Elves love such games. I do not wish to steal, but it would be a shame if such a lovely Khajiiti craft ended up in the hands of some shaveskin like this. I accept the challenge.
My search for foreign beverages to present at Queen Ayrenn’s welcoming ceremonies continues to go poorly. I do not know how I will manage to select items that recognize the few foreign dignitaries invited and their cultures without offending the refined tastes of my High Elf brethren. I have been sickened so frequently in this endeavor that perhaps I can make a case that these lesser libations pose an actual threat and should be excluded by necessity.
Every Khajiiti beverage is far too sugary at the very least, and they are often possessed of an unpleasant viscous consistency. Two-Moon Cordial might be acceptable so long as guests are warned of possible tooth- and stomach-aches. Everything the Wood Elves had to offer was absolutely vile—smells of rotting meat and blood, foamy fermented pig’s milk, and bugs (yes, bugs!) in the bottom of bottles. Maybe we can present them as curiosities or only offer them to Wood Elf dignitaries, far away from anyone important.
Much has been made of Maormer storm and weather magic. I have heard several eyewitness accounts of the spectacle and supposed power of their incantations, and one thing is true: all of the witnesses were quite impressed and fearful. However, few of them had any real knowledge of the arcane, much less the aptitude needed to competently assess the true nature of the spells and rituals.
Many of them suggested that the serpent-totems predominantly displayed by the Sea Elves have some empowering effect, and that they are somehow integral to their magical displays. Honestly, I think it’s just show. Laypersons can easily be astounded by the right combination of Destruction and Illusion magic, and I propose that there’s not much real complexity or depth to the magic of these sea-curs.
Charting the coastline of Khenarthi’s Roost and its nearby waters has proved to be quite difficult, owing to inclement weather and interference from Sea Elf “enforcers” who waylaid the trade ship I secured passage on. Luckily, they took no interest in me; we surely would have been delayed further (or worse, judging by the behavior of these brutes) if there was any suspicion of an agent of the Aldmeri Dominion aboard. When we finally docked at the Port of Mistral, I parted ways with the traders—I’ll need some time on the island to perfect and detail my maps, as the most recent records we have are quite crude and incomplete. My superiors will certainly be pleased with the results, which will be well worth my commission.
Visitors to any Temple of the Two-Moons Dance might hear these short prayers uttered from dim cloisters in the native Khajiiti tongue, Ta’agra. Worshiping Khajiit might be heard repeating these chants as they enter a trancelike state, sometimes alongside the temple’s attendant Moon-Bishop.
Jone and Jode, guide my steps.
Reveal the moon-path I will walk.
Bring sweet sugar to your ward.
Roar of Alkosh, fill these ears.
Make sharp my claws and mind.
Grant First Cat’s wisdom to my home.
Khenarthi’s breath, fill my spirit.
Whisper swift secrets in our ears.
Hasten us towards the sky.
"Even if you follow all the laws and pay all the fees, you’re still in danger in these waters. My brother’s got a trading ship, too; runs moon sugar and Khajiiti bead crafts all the way up to Anvil. He was headed out with a new shipment when he realizes this Sea Elf ship is trying to get his attention. He’s traded here before, so he knows what to do; he lets them come over and board, has all his papers ready, the whole show.
Some of the armed guards poke around the ship. After a bunch of talking in whatever language those damned Elves speak, the captain announces that my brother is in violation of some treaty provision and has to hand over his cargo or be taken prisoner! Can you believe it? I thought the damned treaty prevented this kind of aggression. So he does the only thing he can do for fear of his life and his crew’s; he just hands everything over. He’s trying to take it up with the mayor, but I doubt anything’s going to come of it."
