It was late afternoon by the time our Silt Strider plodded into the city of Suran, the setting sun painting the waterfront city in reddish-gold hues and deep black shadows. I took in the sights with quiet intrigue: though I had read of the unique cultures of Vvardenfell, it was my first time seeing the island in person. The walls and buildings alike were built in the distinctive style of house Hlaalu—simple, cubic adobe dwellings, built into and atop one another to form a complex maze of stairs, arches, bridges and balconies. Brightly colored rugs decorated the walls and rooftops, draped between buildings to shade the streets and markets beneath from the heat of the day. As the last light of the day slowly faded, paper lanterns began to flicker to life in windows and doorways, creating islands of blue and yellow light amidst the rising sea of shadow.
Even on the cusp of dusk, the city was a hive of activity. Workers made their way home after a hard day's work, or to spend the day's earnings in taphouses and taverns. Housewives hurried to and fro, hoping to take advantage of tired merchants offloading their unsold goods for cheap. The streets below bustled with man, mer, and beast alike, though the beasts, for their part, were clad in the sparse, ragged clothing of slaves.
I knew I should have expected it—Suran was a slave trading hub, after all, yet it was still a strange sensation to see the practice carried on so openly, so brazenly, right before my eyes. As the Silt Strider pulled alongside the platform, I could even make out what appeared to be a slave market below, Argonians and Khajiit languishing quietly in cages.
"This is it, Outlander." the driver intoned in his rough, gravelly voice, indicating the platform beside us. He was a dunmer: tall and ashen-skinned, with a coarse grey mane and gaunt, haggard features. He seemed a reserved, yet kindly sort: we'd spent the trip from Seyda Neen in almost total silence, at first, until he'd noticed my fascination with the island's wildlife. From then on he'd made a habit of gruffly pointing out the fauna for me, drawing my attention to nesting Alit, herds of Guar, and other such sights I'd have easily overlooked without him.
"Thanks again for the ride." I nodded, slipping him an extra couple septims for his trouble, and clambering down from the Silt Strider's back.
"Tell your friends," he called, waving me off. "We make a special trip, just for you. Same low price."
The last rays of the setting sun dancing across the lake to the west, I paused to take a deep breath, savoring the moment. The air was crisp and clean: a far cry from the stale, musky air of the Imperial City. The evening breeze swept in across the nearby fields and plantations, bringing with it the dry, earthy aroma of corkbulb and marshmerrow. Despite the thrum of voices rising from the streets below, the city of Suran felt strangely peaceful to me.
As I descended into the throng below, my thoughts turned to finding accommodation for the evening. I briefly considered heading up the main thoroughfare, towards the upper-class district I'd glimpsed from the Silt Strider, but something caught my ear.
It was the sound of music, a fast-paced and frenetic drumming the likes of which I'd never heard before. The rhythm was faint, yet it spoke to something within me, whispering wordless promises of adventure and thrill. Before I knew what was happening I found myself wandering through the streets of Suran, picking my way through crowded streets and alleys, following the elusive beat of the drums. The beat grew louder with each step, other instruments joined their voice to the chorus—the booming of pipes and the wailing of strings only serving to urge me onward, until I found myself standing at a door. I glanced at the sign hung beside the arch, reading the name of the establishment aloud.
"The House of Earthly Delights?"
I stepped through the door into what I could only describe as a den of debauchery. The walls were draped in red silks, and the patrons lounged in comfort upon piles of cushions arranged around low tables. A thick, smoky haze lingered heavy in the air, teasing my nostrils with the sickly-sweet aroma of moon sugar.