The aim of the stories is to explore the culture, politics, religion, history, and geography of Cyrodiil through the daily lives of individual characters. As pretentious as this might sound, most of the meaning is actually between the lines. I'd love to hear what you think the story means, and how it means it

First one:


Consul
Imperial Consul Claudius Dectus woke up in a gutter in the Imperial City on a fine summer day. A few steps over, a portly Nord, pants down at his ankles, was taking a piss at a white marble column and singing a jolly tune about the Empress' thighs. A few fine folks strolled by, paying neither noble nor bum any mind. Somewhere in the distance a shrill voice was advertising fresh hotcakes. Claudius could not help but smile: this city, the greatest that ever was and ever would be, was his.

Claudius was born on the other side of the Rumare, in the small town of Weye. His father was a fisherman, as were all of Claudius' brothers. Even as a young boy the future Consul had known he was destined for more. Each day he traveled to the city – his city – and worked as a dockhand, a courier, or a pickpocket. He put the money he earned towards an education. His grades were poor, but those were simply shallow, contrived measures of learning which did not suit Claudius' multi-faceted mind. His teachers did not recognize his genius. He was finally able to graduate, after 15 years, and pursue his true calling in politics.

It was there that the world embraced him. He was a true man's man: someone you could share a beer with, and often did. Someone you could trust to hide your mistress and take good care of your hard earned money. Someone who knew who his friends were, and rewarded them greatly. The women loved him too, for he never missed an opportunity to complement a lady's figure or ask her for an intimate moment. Claudius started at the lowest level of the bureaucracy, but after many promotions and lateral moves over the span of 25 years, he managed to find himself in the position of Consul.

As he staggered back to his villa, Claudius remembered the hard work which brought him here. There, where that house now stands, he convinced the workers of the injustice in their situation. In that side street, the riot condemned three corrupt officers to death. Here was the Inn where he first made passionate love to the daughter of Councilor Dram. There, on that corner, he accepted the title of Lord to keep quiet about the affair. In that temple he married his first wife. In that office she was convicted of smuggling and he was granted a divorce, along with all of her hereditary holdings. In that alley over there he witnessed the murder of his predecessor. In that copse of trees he found the massive pay-off he was promised for ignoring it. Here, in the three story villa that was now his, he gladly accepted the title of Consul from Emperor Uriel himself.

He entered wrought iron gate and proceeded down the cobbled path and up the stairwell to the massive oak doors of the manse. He pushed them open and entered the dark foyer. He used to keep a butler, but the bastard had seduced his wife. The cook, too, had taken advantage of her delicate faculties, but luckily Claudius managed to locate a woman for that job. He could not blame them, really, Donei was as lovely as she was smart. Redguard royalty, if he remembered correctly, tall and graceful, with copper skin and a sultry accent. At 21, she was 33 years his junior.

Today, he found her in the villa's modest library playing some exotic board game with a pair of handsome young gentlemen. The men were quite surprised to see him – being in the presence a famous political genius tended to have that effect on people. Donei stood up, placing her arms down on the low table and bending over slightly so as to further accentuate the low cut of her dress. She smiled in greeting. “How has your day been, my dearest?”

“Rotten,” Claudius replied. He had not been back here in three days, but his wife would understand: she knew that he was a busy and important man. “The Elder Council held us up with petty matters over taxes and border disputes. The Nords and Dunmer can't divide some gods forsaken stretch of mountains, and the whole damn government is suddenly involved. And as if that was not enough, Juliek insisted on going down to the waterfront to look over imports.” He did not mention the night of drunken revelry he could barely remember. There was no need to bother her with the affairs of men. “Whats worse, I almost got pissed on – excuse the language. These people should be grateful for everything I have done for them, and they don't even acknowledge my presence.”

“Oh, poor honeysvckle, they are and they do.” She leaned close and kissed him briefly, “these two have come to be your personal guards.”

He answered her, loudly, so that he was sure they heard, “what about you? What if they try to take advantage of you?”

She was behind him now, her body pressed close and her hands caressing the buttons on his vomit stained jacket, “I will be fine. They care more for the rooster than for the hen,” she whispered sensuously.

He could hardly deny the men, especially if they came here especially for him. He knew that the people loved him, he just wished they would show it more often, like these boys had. He hired them on the spot.

After that was done his wife started talking of silly woman things, like her sewing circle and what sort of linens to buy for the bed. His head was pounding from last night's drinking, so he opened up a bottle of fine Tamika vintage and fought fire with fire.