Thirty years of work eaten by a visiting Khajiiti “dignitary.” Eaten. All of my careful work selecting only the most perfectly-shaped silverscales for breeding lost in an afternoon of ignorant indulgence. And worse: my own son is to blame. I ordered him quite clearly to accompany the cat-man at all times on our property. His disobedience will be properly addressed later.
For now, I can only lament the loss of my best stock. The most beautiful fish in all of Tamriel, every shining scale a little triangle of perfection, every fine translucent fin ideally shaped—all lost. I found the scoundrel, languid and stuffed, dozing amongst their skeletons.
