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“If you're going to do this song and dance, you could at least keep it down.” You grumble these words between spoonfuls of ruby soup, without looking up from the bowl. “I'd like to eat my breakfast in peace.”
Though you don't look directly at him, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the scornful expression that Janos wears. He expects you to defend your heritage, just like how he rushes to sing the praises of the Empire. The bastard boy of Cyrodiil doesn't know what it's like to be the underdog, he doesn't understand that he's punching down. Radan's reaction isn't much better, as he seems forlorn without your assistance. The Lhotunic often tries to win your favour and without it, he struggles to defend himself from the bastard's contempt.
“Well,” Radan begins, “what are these names, but titles worn by the same gods? Are Akatosh and Ruptga not one and the same, is Stendarr not Onsi? I simply honour our ancestors by using the same names that they once did. Surely there is nothing wrong with this, sergeant?” The lapdog of Sentinel shoots a nervous glance towards you, after his hesitant explanation, in search of support.
“I'm not getting into it.” There is everything wrong with it. Tall Papa Ruptga is the primordial spirit who devised the Walkabout, who carved the path to the Far Shores where your ancestors dwell, who placed all of the lights in the night sky to light the way to those distant sands. Radan spits on his name by daring to compare him to some trite draconic idol. Like the rest of the Lhotunics, he doesn't truly follow the old ways – he just borrows the names to try and appeal to the true adherents of tradition, like you. It doesn't work.
“Like I said, this city belongs to the Empire, so it'd be wise for you to use the Imperial names while you're here. The dead aren't going to be offended, it's not like they can hear you.” Janos sees your lack of input as the opportunity to have the final word, something that Radan doesn't object to. Any other conversation between the three of you is limited, as you all focus on your breakfast instead. Sometimes you wonder why you were saddled with these eccentrics, a half-breed bastard who sees himself as more Imperial than Redguard and a Lhotunic lickspittle from the other side of the country.
