As told by the Breton bard, Deandre:
Hail fellow traveler! In your travels, have you come across that magnificent race the Bretons? If not, you do not know what you are missing, my friend. We are an affable people, unlike the supercilious Altmer or the brusque Nords. A Breton would not think twice about inviting you to sit at his table and share his meal. And what a meal you would have! The food may be rustic, but that does not mean it is not good and fulfilling. I have yet to find another race that can grill nix-hound meat to such perfection. Where was I? Oh, yes, my kin folk, the Bretons.
Bretons tend to be more slender than the bulky Nord or Orsimer (Orc to the uninitiated). But what we lack in size, we make up for in brains and natural ability. Yes, the Altmer claim to be masters of the metaphysical world, but one errant fireball and they light up like a brazier. A Breton’s natural resistance to magicka means that while we may be singed, we won’t be rolling on the ground trying fruitlessly to extinguish ourselves. I can attest from first-hand experience that watching a poor Altmer rolling around on the ground is not a pretty sight, nor one I would wish my worst enemy to see. Unless my worst enemy happens to be an Altmer, then I wish he were the one rolling. Be that as it may, I implore you, gentle reader, do not set Altmers on fire merely to witness them rolling on the ground; let them do it to themselves, no matter how much enjoyment may be derived from such a spectacle.
My kinfolk mostly worship the Nine Divines: Akatosh, Magnus, Dibella, Arkay, Zenithar, Mara, Stendarr, Kynareth, Julianos, and Phynaster. Dibella deserves a special mention, what with her succulent comberries; her irresistible fire petals just waiting to unfold and share their sweet nectar; her…ahem. Where was I? Oh yes, the Divines. Yes, they are a very agreeable bunch and we very much like them; unlike those stuffy Daedra Princes the Dunmer worship or the “gods” of the Tribunal. Why, practically anybody can walk around proclaiming to be a god in their culture; except in Morrowind that is. Try doing that there and one will quickly find himself whisked away to the Ministry of Truth, never to be heard from again. Ministry of Truth, hah! Leave it to the dour Dunmer to think of such a name. No sense of humor, those people. Then again, having to breathe in the dust from Red Mountain would sour one’s mood quickly. I suggest you wear a scarf if visiting Vvardenfell. Better yet, don’t visit at all. Wouldn’t you rather go some place nice, like High Rock? Sure we Bretons have our feuds, but that’s what keeps the blood flowing! Though sometimes it flows where it shouldn’t, like outside of one’s body. Still, a pretty healer can help one [deleted] forget one’s pains.
Speaking of healers, Breton women are the fairest to behold. Don’t believe me? Take a walk through High Rock, or visit the Mage’s Guild if you are so unfortunate as to find yourself in Vvardenfell. Better yet, just take my word for it, you won’t regret it. Did I mention nix-hound steaks? I would be remiss if I didn’t suggest that you try one cooked to perfection by a Breton chef!
If you are a frequent traveler of these fair lands, you have no doubt met many of my kinfolk. That’s because we Bretons are an adventurous lot; young Bretons love nothing more than seeing new places and meeting new people. Why, any one of us would gladly share our fire and ale with you should you but ask nicely. Don’t mistake that friendliness for weakness; however, for though we may appear slight, we are by no means frail and will defend ourselves to the death if necessary. Why I’ve even heard tales of naked Nords being left rooted in one spot because they attempted to partake of the charms of our women uninvited. Let this be a warning to you, gentle reader, Breton women are not to be trifled with. Not if you wish to retain your dignity, among other things.
And there you are, gentle reader, the Bretons: a strong, proud people whose natural magicka resistance helps us become some of the premier wizards of Nirn. Sure Altmer may boast of their ability to cast spells repeatedly without rest, but wave a torch near them and they scream like babes before hiking up their skirts and running away. So if you are fortunate to meet one of my brethren with a hand extended in friendship, please take it; just be aware of the dagger in his belt; they are not for show and we will not hesitate to use them when required. We are a friendly lot, but we are not weak.