If that couple in the glass house was Heinrich Oaken-Hull and his Bosmer wife, I believe you got the man's race wrong - Heinrich is a Nord. If you had a different couple in mind, then never mind. I did enjoy the stories Jerric and Abiene made up. His story tugged at my heartstrings, but hers was real drama! But his embellishment wasn't bad either! I had to laugh at their stories getting wilder and wilder, then deteriorate into a discussion of the value of high heels for women.

Thaurron was a real treat, talking about his imp's antics and mentioning his dear departed wife. The discussion of Darnand's abilities was interesting, as were the suggested custom spells Abiene came up with. Somehow I never think of those when I'm playing the MQ - but then I'm always doing that one first before starting any other questlines.

Loved loved loved the description of the marsh outside the city, especially the birds. Though when you mentioned the clicking sound, I immediately thought of mudcrabs!

The encounter with the prostitute/streetwalker cracked me up! Jerric's responses to her questions - "Let me guess. Was drink involved? It somehow makes me more friendly." Heh heh. Then when she showed off her -umm- embellishments and bragged about her newest addition, his momentary spark of interest - curiosity? - was hilarious! Abiene took that in stride pretty well, I thought.

Then the sweet scene atop the lighthouse! That's one of my favorite places to watch the sun go down (high in the Valus Mountains is another). The way it ends is typical of this pair.

You certainly covered a lot of ground for a half-day spent doing nothing. But we learned even more of our favorite characters here, and that's important. Loved it!

The band striking up the "Ballad of Kvatch" when Jerric approached was a very touching reminder of what he has done since his last time in Anvil - loved that respect they showed him !!!







Both of these had me rolling laughing!

The chemistry between them seems awkward and stilted when they are trying too hard to find something other than sex to base their relationship on. Maybe they should have had sex and then spent the rest of the day together trying to see what else they had to base a relationship on, lol.

The differences between their personalities become pronounced when Abiene is in charge of the festivities, her idea of a fun day together getting to know Jerric/vice versa reminds me of the proverbial singles ads in the papers: "Love conversation and long walks on beaches..."

This staid day she planned is at such odd varience to how wild and free she is in the bedroom - and how wild and free Jerric is. Maybe he brings out the best in her ... and he should plan their next "day standing up," Lol.

It is amazing how clearly you have defined their characters, AWESOME WRITE !!!!


*

This post has been edited by mALX: May 19 2011, 05:00 PM

I always figured that the human cultures were more patriarchal than the elven ones. At least that is what I am going for in the TF. This is all purely my opinion, so do not hesitate to ignore every bit of it. I got the idea because aside from Alessia, normally only men can be Emperors. It only falls to a woman if there are no penises left near the Ruby Throne. The same with the Counties, women only become Countess if their husband the Count dies, or vanishes to become a master thief (I am still not sure how the chick became Countess in Bruma). Since Patriarchy also means double standards, I figure that just like up until recently IRL, human men can piledrive all the women they want with no social repercussions. But a woman who tries that would have to keep it hidden, or be dishonored and disowned, as you see in Jane Austen's novels.

I am sure there would be priestesses of Dibella who would regularly have sex with the congregation. That was a very common feature in pagan religions. Christians call it temple prostitution, but that is not accurate at all. The priestesses were performing the heiros gamos - or sacred marriage - which insured the continued fertility of not only mortals, but the land, and the gods themselves, as well as reinforcing the bonds between the physical and spirit worlds. Again though I picture it only being the men who get hump like madmen in the chapel, and the women have to be chaste and pure. Likewise, those priestesses were not marrying material. This also leaves room for there being a Prostitutes Guild in Cyrodiil. It creates a culture where women are held to Austenian ideals of fidelity, but men can be complete man-whores (which again is basically RL anway, except Regency Era men did not have temples or official businessplaces to have sex with strangers in). Note that in Ancient Rome, men having sex from prostitutes or slaves was not considered infidelity. The first was simply a business transaction, and the second a man using his property.

I picture the elven cultures as being radically different, with women being on more or less equal terms with men, not only legally and socially, but sexually as well. I got that idea from Barenziah's biography, where it is said that all young dark elf women are promiscuous (which is of course another way of saying they have sex as much as men do). There is not much else in the game that reinforces the idea though, as even she could not be Queen of Morrowind once her son became old enough to rule. So clearly Bethesda has the elf nations thought out as being just as patriarchal as the human ones. But I like the idea because it provides a contrast with humans, and actually creates a tangible difference between the races other than pointy ears. In Oblivion, the ears and skin tone often seems like the only difference between them.

My impression, from Abiene's Saturalia especially, was that you were going for the same kind of culture among Imperials. At least concerning the restrictions on women. It looks like I was wrong (which is a good thing for women in Jerric's Story!). No worries there. It is your writing, so it is your world to create.

But anyway, back from imaginings, and to the current episode.

I loved the greenhouse. Such a lovely place. A bosmer would feel right at home. Abiene's story about the couple was definitely much better than Jerric's! Well, except for his addendum.

“That wasn’t your most recognizable feature.”
Well then, maybe Jerric should start wearing his pants in public!

I loved Jerric's discomfort at the song praising him. It seems he shares something in common with Julian there.

The clammers scouring the shore at low tide was a good touch of realism. That was a very common activity from shoreside villages IRL.

And wasn't that a nice meeting with that girl in the marsh! You know, I pissed glass for a week after I met you. I hope you got yourself to a chapel.” If Abiene was not already mortified, I am sure his added information put her over the edge!

Goose guts and snails the size of your fist.
Ewww! No wonder those Bretons are so scrawny.

All in all, that was a nice, pleasant date had by Jerric and Abiene. It is nice to see them being a couple.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 19 2011, 09:27 PM

'Sparky has been naughty again, and I have a few things of Carahil’s to replace.”
Ah, the price of pet ownership.

Making up stories about strangers was great fun and very much something an intimate couple might do. The whole idea of the glass house/garden was wonderful.

Donrehdil was from Silvenar! How neat!

'Abiene shook her head. “My knowledge is deep, but narrow. Darnand is a true Mage.”
What a lovely way of describing that Abiene's path is more specialized!

This was a fabulous afternoon, topped off by a wonderful sunset and the promise of the guts of a goose!

Nit: “It’s a complement. Be nice.”
I expect you wanted 'compliment' here.

I am finding Jerric to be more and more interesting with each chapter.

The fight with the thieves: A nice blend of tactical planning, and Murphy's First Law of Combat. Jerric's plans most definitely did not survive contact with the enemy. And after, he begins to go over the things he needs to do better, the things he forgot in the middle of combat, the habits he needs to form for next time. He demonstrates the qualities needed for a man that's not only going to survive the Oblivion Crisis, but one who plans doing his part to stop it.

Then, Jerric spends the day with Abienne. They start the morning with the real breakfast of champions, though apparently Abienne got multiple servings waiting for Jerric to finish off.

I do have to compliment your use of double-entendre. The 'pet-cat-named-Vidkun' sequence was hilarious. Though, if I were Jerric, I would have been a lot more worried if Abienne really had used 'Vidkun' as a name for . . . you know what, nevermind. Let's move on.

Their afternoon in Anvil is a delightful sequence, and you manage the blend of romance, advice, and strategic planning so very nicely.

‘There goes a man on his way to a killing. Maybe he’ll stop and do some raping first.’
That's just hilarious.

‘Anvil Healer Cited for Public Acts of Extreme Lewdness. Local Nord Receives Accolades for Same.’
So is that. Actually, it made me think of something great for Awtwyr's return trip to Kvatch. Swap out 'Anvil Healer' for 'Shornhelm Spellsword,' with Sigrid as the local Nord and Awtwyr getting an earful from Matius. It won't actually happen, so I'm putting it here for you to think about in case Abienne ever does agree to some nice, open-sky bedroll games.

Just beware of the mosquitoes. They can really prick you.

Grits, It's official. I am now LOL ROFL SLAL (Screaming Like a Loon).

And Now I Officially Declare that what follows is ALL HER FAULT.

IDEA for Genital Jewellery: Pohoosee Rings with small bells that are each tuned to a different note and will ring only at certain vibrations...so that two humpers who really know how to hump can produce a TUNE while they hump.

Hoes near military bases can opt for the "Star Spangled Banner" tune package.

If Jerric's mosquito is the size of an ogre's, shouldn't it be called a dragonfly or something? What about a giant carpenter ant? OH! How about a behe-moth!

Mmm... Daggerfall sounds like my kind of city! Escargot and Foie Gras, Ratatouille and Steak Tartar (Jerric would like that one, I think)!

And thank you for painting an image I will take to my grave. Please do not ever give me the displeasure of meeting that harlot again.

I am now completely caught up, too. It's been a good day, and only made better by your writing.

haute ecole rider: That wasn’t Heinrich and Hasathil, just a random couple. By that time of day Hasathil should be behind the stables. I’m glad you enjoyed their normal afternoon, especially the marsh. I loved giving Jerric that walk, since there’s so little left from his childhood. Luckily Abiene just called Jerric by another man’s name, otherwise she might have been a little more vocal about their chat with the bejeweled woman.

mALX: You’re right, their time together has highlighted more differences between them. They’re definitely a mismatch in many ways. You bring up an important point, something that Jerric gets to ask Abiene soon: how can she be so wild and free with him in private, and so buttoned-down in public? It’s also the question Abiene has to deal with for herself, and decide if she wants to be just one or the other. She knows he’s not going to be the guy in the velvet shoes. It means a lot to me that you have picked up on this! One thing she got right for their day was staying outdoors. It could have been all art galleries, lectures, and museums! If only someone was in town to give a talk about rat libido…

SubRosa: I definitely am trying to carry over that patriarchal society you describe so well from Abiene’s Saturalia for Imperials and members other races who have adopted their culture. I’m sure I’ve created confusion by trying to explain! It’s just one layer of the cake in Jerric’s Story. The main point here for Jerric and Abiene is how culture and family have shaped them differently, and what it would mean for each of them if they were to stay together. I’m in complete agreement about equality in mer societies, I think because I see them spending far less of their lifespan pregnant or with small children. That would be a huge difference for them compared to human women, and something that’s not addressed in the game.

From Jerric’s frank comments to the glitter girl, it seems he could use another lesson with Arvena. I’m glad you enjoyed the garden house, I was thinking about all of my favorite wood elves when I wrote it! It was a fun afternoon to write, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

Acadian: Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. I'm glad you enjoyed the glass house. Anvil has a Hammerfell flavor, but I wanted to give it a little Bosmer influence, too. I don’t know much about Valenwood, but it seems like the most fascinating place!

Captain Hammer: I’m so glad Jerric’s evolution has kept your interest. Thank you for your endorsement of his plan for the thieves, he’s learning! I’m glad you’re enjoying the humor. Jerric does seem to get himself into situations. Best of luck to Awtwyr, should he decide to scale Kvatch’s icy peaks.

D. Foxy: Jolly Bellz: the Kitten Collection, inspired by D. Foxy. Sounds like a market opportunity. Just remember when you hear the National Anthem, you’re supposed to stand up!

Thomas Kaira: I’m glad you saw through Abiene’s teasing about the cuisine. Unsettling images abound when you roll with Jerric of the TMI.

Where we are: Abiene and Jerric spent Loredas together in Anvil. Now Jerric and Darnand have some sirens to entrap.




Chapter 10: Septims, Part 15

Darnand stepped into The Flowing Bowl and stood for a moment letting his eyes get used to the light. A smoky haze hung in the room, the mark of a poorly drawing chimney and the patrons’ bad habits. At ten bells of the evening watch, the crowd was still fairly calm. The serious drinking would begin after midnight, or so Jerric had told him.

The tavern contained an assemblage of wood elves partly concealed by a forest of Nords. Darnand’s eyes sorted through the blond heads and broad shoulders until he spotted Jerric’s. Seated alone at the back of the room, hunched over a tankard. Did Jerric see him? Darnand squinted until Jerric’s raised eyebrow told him to get on with it.

He approached the bar. A sharp-featured Bosmer with his dark hair in a topknot greeted him with a smile. “Welcome to The Flowing Bowl. I'm Maenlorn. My twin's name is Caenlorn. How to tell us apart? I'm in brown. He's in blue. Simple, really.”

“Good evening, Maenlorn. How do you do?”

The Bosmer looked taken aback. “I’m… What can I get you?”

“I will have a beer, if you please.” Darnand glanced around at his fellow patrons. Most appeared to be dockworkers or seamen by their rough clothing. Norbert Lelles was the exception in his neat doublet and unstained trousers. Lelles gave him a nod of recognition, which Darnand returned. Lelles appeared to be in conversation with an Imperial woman. Her skirt gave away her gender more than her brutally short haircut. Darnand watched her for a moment before deciding that she was not one of the sirens. Her expression looked sweetly vacant as she spoke earnestly to Lelles, and her posture was in no way inviting.

As he scanned the room, Darnand noticed that nearly everyone in the tavern wore a blade at their hip, males and females alike. He looked down to meet the beatific smile of another dark-skinned Bosmer. “Greetings,” said the mer. “I’m Thurindil, son of Julianos and Mohi-Titona, Queen of Akavir. Mother's coming for me in the dragon ships. I don't like these itchy clothes, but I have to wear them or it frightens the fish."

“Indeed,” Darnand replied. This mer makes only marginally less sense than some others, he thought. “We each have our burdens to bear.”

"Don't mind him. He's not right in the head. Poor fellow." Darnand found a hard-looking Breton woman at his elbow. His stomach gave a nervous jump.

“Good evening,” he said to her. “May I offer you a drink?”

She gave him a scathing glance. "I'm Mirabelle Monet. I run the Fo'c's'le, a boarding house for sailors. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Sorry, I reserve my beds for seamen." She stepped over to Thurindil and slipped her arm around his shoulders. The Bosmer rested his head on her breast, smiling.

“Your beer, Breton.” Maenlorn made the exchange with him, and Darnand found an empty table. He sat so that he could see most of the room, including Jerric. He tried not to look at him. Then he felt that he was being obvious by not looking. He glanced over.

An Argonian with a blazing orange scalp leaned down with his fist braced on Jerric’s table, talking to him. Jerric’s face still held a neutral expression, but he somehow looked quietly menacing. He did not collect those scars playing patty-cake, Darnand reminded himself. Jerric gave the Argonian a brief nod, and the lizard-man backed away a step before turning. Jerric’s eyes met Darnand’s. Jerric gave his head a small shake.

“Well met, Breton,” came a sultry voice. A dark-haired Imperial woman stood by Darnand’s table, one hand on her slim hip. She wore a red and purple velvet gown trimmed with gold that had seen better days. The suggestion in her smile did not match her cold eyes. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Good evening.” Do not appear too eager, he told himself. This might not be one of them. He let his eyes wander over her figure disinterestedly.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Indeed. Are you?”

“I have a friend, Signy. She wants to talk to you. She likes Bretons. I think you’ll like what she has to say.” Darnand kept his eyes on the woman’s backside as she walked away.

A Nord woman approached immediately. Tall, blonde and busty, she was the physical opposite of the Imperial. He stopped noticing her clothing when his gaze reached her cleavage. This has to be them, Darnand decided.

"I haven’t seen you here before,” she purred. “Awww, and you’re all alone too. How sad. Well, if you’re up to it we can solve that little problem. You see, me and Faustina here are lonely too, and we’ve been looking for someone. You look like just what we need.”

Excellent, Darnand thought. Now I do not have to drink the rest of this swill. “Your appearance appeals to me. Which one is Faustina, that one there?”

“That’s her. I’ll tell you what. We have a cozy farmhouse not far from here where we could... well... get to know each other much, much better. You know the old Gweden place? Meet us there around eleven bells. I can promise you a night of fun you won’t soon forget."

“What kind of fun? That is a long way to walk for a conversation.”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You’re a man, and I’m a woman with a certain desire. You figure out the rest.”

“I shall see you in approximately one hour. Make sure to bring your friend. She is thin for my taste, but I am certain I will find a use for her.”

The disgust that passed across Signy’s face matched what he was feeling, but she put a smile on over it. Darnand stood and headed for the door, forcing himself not to look at Jerric. He passed Faustina on the way out.

“Can’t wait to see you later,” she said flirtatiously. “Don’t keep us waiting."



Jerric pounded on the Gweden farmhouse door with all of his strength. Darnand was inside, the door was locked, and it sounded as if the house was being torn down from within. Gogan and Maelona were nowhere in sight. He backed up and crashed into the door with his shoulder. Screams, howls, and roars from inside drowned out the sound of his shouting.

Darnand had followed the plan to the letter, and Jerric had trailed him to the farmhouse, keeping out of sight. Darnand hadn’t been inside long before the noise started.

Jerric crashed against the door again, and silence fell over the house. “Darnand!” he shouted. When he heard the lock working, he stepped back and drew his sword.

Darnand pulled the door open and stood holding on to the frame. Jerric stared at him in shock. He looked as if he had been dragged through a slaughterhouse. Jerric reached out and flicked something meaty off of Darnand’s shoulder. The thick stench coming from inside the cottage filled his throat. He grabbed Darnand by the front of his robe and pulled him out into the moonlit farmyard.

“Are you hurt?” Jerric asked. Darnand’s robe appeared to be intact, but it was wet with blood. Darnand shook his head. His eyes were big, and he was not focusing on anything. “What happened?”

Darnand didn’t reply right away, so Jerric put away his sword and gave him a shake. “Daedroth,” Darnand said.

Jerric thought for a moment. “You summoned a daedroth?” Darnand nodded. “Inside a cottage?” He went to the door and looked in at the single room, and then he really wished that he hadn’t. He went back to Darnand. “Let’s get you back to the guild hall. We’ll tell the Guard later.” Jerric was worried that Darnand’s calm would erupt into something else at any moment. “Are you wearing trousers under there? Good.” He stripped off Darnand’s stinking robe and cleaned his face with a dry section. Blood trickled down out of his soaked hair, so Jerric rubbed the robe over it. It reminded him how he used to clean Rhano up after a night out. Rhano’s mother had always struggled with her son’s Nord side. “Here, put on my shirt. That’s good enough for now, let’s go.”

They turned to find Gogan and Maelona walking up the hill carrying torches. They both wore the russet surcoats of the Anvil City Guard. “You’re late,” Jerric gritted through his teeth. He thought Darnand’s fragile calm would not be bolstered by him shouting. “Where were you?”

Maelona and Gogan stared at Darnand. Jerric noticed that he still looked quite bloody in the torchlight. Jerric stayed with Darnand while the other two went to the farmhouse’s open door. Maelona gagged, and when Gogan threw up on her boots, she also lost her dinner. They completed the obligatory spitting and mouth wiping, then they rejoined Darnand and Jerric.

Darnand seemed ready to talk to them. “I did as you asked. The weasel-faced one is called Faustina. She said we could have some fun, her Nord friend likes Bretons. I met them here and you didn’t come. They had swords and a Khajiit. I had to fight them.” He looked at Jerric. “I heard you but I couldn’t reach the door.”

“How many were there?” Maelona asked.

“Three. Faustina, Signy, and a Khajiit. I didn’t hear her name.” Darnand looked back at Jerric, his face sick. “I should have removed my clothing as they asked. Then you might have had time to arrest them.”

“First time?” Gogan asked Jerric.

“Yeah.” Jerric saw that Darnand had started shaking. He reached for Gogan’s torch. “I’m sure you law enforcers can sort out the parts. We’ll pick up his reward tomorrow. And it better be good!”

Darnand was silent the whole way back to the guild hall. By the time they passed into the Chapelgate district, he was shivering with the cold. Jerric simply kept him moving.

They stepped into the Mages Guild’s empty front hall. “You need a bath,” Jerric told Darnand. “Can you handle it?”

Darnand looked at him as if he had said something foolish. “Where is your shirt?”

Jerric eyed it, hanging open halfway down Darnand’s chest. He decided not to explain. “What were you about to do?”

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”

Jerric thought that sounded accurate. “Good night, then. I’m headed to the beach.” He wished he had better words for the situation.

Darnand nodded solemnly. “See you tomorrow.”

This post has been edited by Grits: May 23 2011, 06:43 PM

So Darnand panicked and summoned a daedroth? Yikes! That sounds as bad as the slaughter of Julian's family! Ugh!

Great depiction of shell shock afterwards. And how appropriate that it's Jerric that helps Darnand through it this time, considering that Darnand helped Jerric with his PTSD on the latter's arrival in Anvil.

ROFL !!! Mirabelle Monet must have a different type of seamen in mind with Thurindil, he is decidedly a landlubber, ROFL !!! His mosquito must be a real "ketch" - maybe it is a "De Havilland Mosquito," I heard they have an arresting hook...GAAAAH! Foxy must really be back, I see dherty in-you-endo!



SPEW!!! ROFL !!!




Poor Darnand, bless his little heart! ROFL !!!

I absolutely love this chapter!!! You have a knack and ability for knowing exactly when to back off at just the right moments - NOT give play by play/blow by blow details - leaving scenes like this to the imagination with just teasers for information - Huge Talent !!!! Gotta add this to my favorite Jerric episodes, AWESOME WRITE !!!!

The tavern contained an assemblage of wood elves partly concealed by a forest of Nords.
I loved your metaphors here.

I also loved how Maenlorn was taken aback by Darnand's greeting, because it wasn't rude!

Excellent, Darnand thought. Now I do not have to drink the rest of this swill.
That is our Darnand alright!

And Darnand opens a can of whoopass on the sirens! Yuck! You handled his shellshock quite well, and the heaving stomachs of the typically useless city guard. Now if Abiene could only see him at at time like this, he might stand a chance with her after all!

Yes, I was in whoops over the puke fest that took place after seeing Darnand's handiwork too !!

BOLD: ROFL !!!!

What a great bar scene! You really captured that place. Darnand being 'out of place' while Jerric fit right in made it priceless.

What a fabulous idea to have used a summoned daedroth! That would certainly create the mayhem you described! Whatever it takes, and Darnand was smart enough to do what he needed to in order to more than even the odds to his favor.

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”
This is brilliant for its unusually striking blend of humor, truth and sadness. Perfect!

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”


Man, now....THAT....IS....W.R.I.T.I.N.G!!!!!


Malx, I was going to do something with "Seamen" and "Semen" but now you have come prematurely into this thread and I shall just have to keep my semen to myself.



Er...

Um...


OH DEAR. ME and my BIG MOUTH.

Wow. Calamity and mutilation galore today. This is the second update I've read through today where people have been torn apart in a very physical way.

See what they say? You mess with the nerds, and you die a horrible death. We may be easy to pick on when young, but once we grow up, we can make our bullies' lives a living hell. Darnand fits this perfectly, and now the whole world will know not to *shablamz!* with him.

Let's hope he wears notoriety well.

So, Darnand gets some experience in a bar, including the ever-popular tavern pick-up routine. 'Course, he's operating at a different game, and so are the Sirens, but you can't let those little things get in your way. At the rate he's going, he'll soon be cruising the local taverns each night, at least until Carahil warns him off for inviting too many strangers to the guild-hall at night.

Then there's this little gem:



Well, where else? I mean, even Darnand can't seem to be in multiple places at one time, and he was clearly in the cottage. Jerric maintains his fabulous propensity of ignoring the obviously practical on-all-fronts solutions that Darnand has a knack for finding.

I'd get a lot of water-tight sacks for the clean-up. And see about selling the place cheap once it's clean. Maybe have a chapel priest perform a cleansing to be on the safe side. Then hopefully get an old legionary to retire on the farm and discourage similar efforts in the future.

I have to echo everyone's admiration of the way you describe the carnage without describing the carnage, but everyone else's reaction to it.

I do hope no Daedroth was harmed in the making of this scene!

In my Gweden Brothel mod the player has the additional complication of keeping Tsarrina alive. Darnand would not have done too well with that constraint.

haute ecole rider: I don’t know what it is about beautiful Gweden Farm that made me want to paint it with blood. Probably a combination of hideous draperies and the sour grapes of knowing I can’t get back inside!!

mALX: I was so paranoid about spelling “seamen” correctly! Well, Thurindil reportedly has the potential to scare the fish, so… Thank you, mALX!!

SubRosa: I can see it now. “Darnand, you seem upset. You should definitely bone me.” Then when people pass her on the street they could say she has the hoo-ha of a healer.

Acadian: Darnand is extremely difficult for me to write! He doesn’t talk much, and he’s way smarter than me. Thank you for your kind words about his quote.

D. Foxy: Thank you, Foxy! Darnand had kind of a rough night.

Thomas Kaira: Since he went from zero to daedroth, I’m sure no one will cut in front of him in line, ever again.

Captain Hammer: Darnand the playa, trying to pick up women without touching anything in the bar. I’m sure the dismemberments just sparked an overdue redecorating. Those curtains had to go!

ghastley: Looks like Darnand’s pimping career has had a setback. Still, I guess he could offer blood baths?

Where we are: Darnand ended his second real fight with death by daedroth. Up next: some girl time.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 16

Abiene pulled the white wrap from her hair, straightening her back in a painful stretch. She thought by now it must be Sundas. An emergency patient had claimed the hours after Jerric had taken his leave. Their golden afternoon already seemed a distant memory. Now her patient was resting upstairs. Her magicka was depleted. She felt the emptiness inside her more acutely than the soreness from her muscles.

Yanerion finished wiping down the table. They had used the procedure room so that the boy’s cries would not disturb the patients sleeping in the main hall above. Now they were alone. The Altmer folded his cloth and placed it in the basin with the others. Abiene waited while he prepared himself to speak.

“I believe that lad’s parents nearly cost him his life,” he said quietly. “What recourse do we have when someone has been careless with a child?”

Anger and helplessness still twisted in Abiene’s stomach. Below it lurked the fear that the next time she would not be able to save him. “None,” she said shortly. “He is theirs.”

“You have exhausted yourself again.” Yanerion’s eyes remained downcast, his tone respectful. “I could have finished for you.”

Abiene leaned her hip against the high table. She watched Yanerion’s face carefully. “I had to cause him terrible pain. I wanted to be the one who took it away.”

Yanerion nodded. “I understand.”

“You already possess a delicate touch. Your skill is not in question.”

The Altmer’s golden cheeks flushed. “I thank you for the reassurance.”

Abiene found his formal tone irritating. She reached up and rubbed her neck. “You should go on to the guild hall. I know you’ve been here all day. Perhaps Hjordhild made a plate for you. You’re the only one she’ll serve after hours, and you could use a hot meal.”

“As could you.” Yanerion’s long face held concern. “How many days have you gotten by on soup and kahve? There is one more lesson I would have you teach me before you leave for Chorrol, Magister. How does a healer care for herself?”

Abiene’s mind leaped straight to Jerric. Find someone who loves you and don’t let them go, she thought. But I can’t do it.

Yanerion saved her from having to answer. “Hjordhild favors me because I help her with her back,” he continued. “She injures it repeatedly, and will until she accepts her limits or suffers permanent harm. I watch you exhaust yourself and wonder at the cost.” He stepped around the table and reached for her hands. Reluctantly Abiene gave them to him. “I may appear as a lad, but I am many years your senior. I hope you will take my words as coming from one who respects you, and not a student’s impudence. Please look after yourself in Chorrol. I fear that you will not last.”

Abiene had the urge to snatch her hands away and slap his face. Then she let herself feel his sincerity. Altmeri seldom touch, she realized. I don’t remember when Yanerion ever took my hand outside of lessons. I’m not being fair to him.

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m just tired. You and I are much alike, Yanerion. Healing is not a vocation, but a calling. I expect before long you will find your own way to Chorrol. Perhaps by then I will have found the answer.” She dropped his hands and walked briskly to the door. “Come, let’s go back together. I want a long soak in a hot tub, and you ought to put some meat on your bones. You may have twice my years, but I suspect you’re still growing. The guild hall has everything we’ll need tonight.”

They moved quietly through the dimly lit healing hall, careful not to disturb the sleeping patients. Yanerion took her soiled robe with his to the laundry. She waited for him outside the front door.

The cold night air bore a hint of low tide and wood smoke. Abiene stepped out from under the torchlight and looked up at the stars. Formed from the blood of Anu, she mused. The source of magicka from Aetherius. Another wonder that I take for granted until it’s gone. She shivered, wishing she had worn her cloak.

Yanerion joined her, and they walked in silence around to the front of the guild hall. They found Thaurron passing through the entry, chattering with Sparky the imp. When he looked over at them, his face filled with reproof. “Again, my dear? Go and retrieve your night clothes. I shall warm your bath.” Thaurron disappeared with the alacrity of his race.

Abiene felt herself flush and glanced up at Yanerion. His expression matched his neutral tone. “Good night, Magister.”

“Good night, Yanerion.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ve found that mother hens come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Indeed.” He smiled back and walked toward the kitchens.

Abiene stepped into Felen’s day room. The Dunmer sat with his legs crossed under a book, silver wine goblet in his hand. Green brocade and velvet provided a background for the lavish display of gold trim on his doublet. That outfit is worthy of Sidette, thought Abiene. She had only met a few folk who could out-dress her ostentatious sister. “Good evening, Felen.”

Felen smiled up absently. “Good evening, Abiene. You missed a lively dinner. Darnand and Gulitte were at one another’s throats. Highly entertaining.”

As much affection as Abiene had for Felen, she had no stomach for gossip. “It still smells like roast pheasant.”

“That is what we had. I shall not tease you with a description, other than to suggest you go in search of the apple pie that followed. Our Nord failed to join us this evening, so there may be a piece left.” They shared a smile. No mortal ever loved pie more than Jerric.

“Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll say good night.” She walked through to the stairs, knowing that Felen’s attention would already be back in his book.

Abiene collected her things from her bedchamber and walked down the hall in her dressing gown. The long bathing chamber contained three metal tubs, each with a small table beside it. White marble tiles covered the floor. Attractively carved cupboards hung on the walls, concealing general supplies and personal items. Folding screens could be moved to provide privacy, but Abiene doubted that anyone else would want a bath at this hour. Thaurron stood beside the tub at the end, trailing his fingers in the water. Steam carried the soothing scents of lavender and sage into the air. Sparky hovered near the open window, his wings wafting the last traces of destruction magic out into the night.

“Thank you,” Abiene said fervently. She placed her towels and nightdress on the table, then retrieved her basket of bathing supplies. “Will you stay and chat?”

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company this evening.” Thaurron gave her a sad smile. “I planned to go fetch you a cup of soup from the night hearth. I can tell you don’t have an appetite, but you should drink it anyway. You look worn out, my dear.”

“No soup tonight, I dined with Jerric. You look tired, too, Thaurron.” Abiene slipped out of her dressing gown and stepped into the hot bath. “Perfect,” she told him. He smiled wider at the praise, keeping his eyes averted. Abiene knew her bare skin held no interest for him, but he was unfailingly polite. She ducked under the water and reached for her shampoo jar while she still had the energy.

“I am tired,” he said. “Today I taught Flash Bolt to an adventurer from Cheydinhal. He kept burning his own hands, and I had to keep healing him so he would have enough magicka to practice the spell.” Thaurron plopped down on a low stool and leaned against the warm tub. Sparky flew over and tried to land on his shoulder. “Close the window first,” Thaurron told him. Abiene shut her eyes and rubbed shampoo through her hair. She heard the window latch click, and Thaurron chuckled. “There’s a good lad.”

Abiene ducked under the water again, working the suds out with her fingers. She emerged and sighed, leaning back against the tub’s high back. “I don’t know how you get the water just right. I always leave it too cold, or the tub gets too hot to sit in. You have a gift.”

“I have the gift of practice.” Sparky crouched on Thaurron’s narrow shoulder, his wicked claws folded under his hands. He had his wings folded back and his arms wrapped around his raised knees. He closed his glowing eyes and leaned his small head against Thaurron’s.

“Even your imp is sleepy. Better get him to bed. Shall I come in to say good night?”

“I hope you will.” Thaurron reached up to brace Sparky with one hand while he rose, but the imp jumped off and flew ahead of him. “Otherwise I’ll think you’ve fallen asleep in here, and I’ll have to send Gulitte in to check on you.”

Abiene snorted. “I can’t imagine less welcome company.”

“That thought was shared by others at dinner.” Thaurron’s eyes held a glint of amusement. “It was the Battle of the Bretons.” He stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Abiene worked conditioning cream through her hair, pulling out the tangles with her fingers. She breathed out her stress, and drew calm into her body with the scented steam. Her hair piled onto her head to keep it out of the water, she leaned back and closed her eyes while the conditioner did its work. Her mind drifted as she enjoyed her soak.

The holidays are nearly upon us, she thought. She wondered how the guild celebrated Saturalia. An exchange of small gifts would be customary, but Anvil may have different traditions than Leyawiin. No doubt there would be a great deal more drinking, particularly on the Waterfront. The healing hall would see an increase in business, she guessed.

New Life Festival might find her already on her way to Chorrol. I’ll send my trunk as soon as I receive confirmation, she decided. Then I’ll follow when I can by express carriage. I don’t want to miss any time with Jerric. Her mind wandered through thoughts of him while the bath water cooled.

She stood and reached for her soap before she could talk herself into a midnight walk to the beach. Her bath left a trace of oil on her skin, and she rubbed it in firmly. Rinsing herself without soaking the floor held her attention. Her tired mind stayed blank.

Pleasantly warm and relaxed, she stood on the tiles and worked the hand pump as the tub drained. The handle was enchanted with a charm to increase the operator’s strength, so she easily sent the water up through the pipes to the cistern above the adjacent necessary. Bath water flushed the waste away there. The system made indoor facilities possible in a warm climate.

She tidied the bathing chamber and rinsed her hands in cool water before she slipped her nightdress over her head. With her dressing gown belted around her waist again, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen in her slippers. She had no cure for Thaurron’s melancholy, but she did know how to make his favorite tea.

She glanced at Darnand’s door on her way back to Thaurron’s chamber. Still no light under it. He’s probably in the basement, she thought. Or still out with Jerric, wherever they went. Small noises from the bathing chamber gave her another possibility for his whereabouts. She tapped on Thaurron’s door and entered, balancing her tray.

Thaurron’s chamber held a double bed, a relic of the days when he shared it with his late wife. Her clothing still hung in one of the wardrobes, according to the chambermaids’ gossip. Sparky lay at the foot of the bed, curled in the shreds of a velvet lap robe. Letting Sparky keep his stolen prizes only encouraged his bad behavior, but Abiene could understand the idea that a living creature was more important than material things. Of course she kept her own possessions under lock and key. At least since the time he ate her skin cream, then regurgitated on her rug.

Thaurron sat up with pillows at his back and a book on the coverlet in front of him. He beamed at Abiene in the candlelight. “You made my tea.”

She handed him the cup, and he slid over on the bed. “Stay comfortable,” she told him. She placed the tray on the bedside table and climbed up, pulling one of his bare feet into her lap.

“Won’t you have some?”

Dear gods, no, thought Abiene. Roasted bones steeped with salt and powdered sinew. “No thank you. I’ve already cleaned my teeth.” She took Thaurron’s small foot in her hands, kneading the ball with her thumbs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Thaurron sighed. “No, my dear. It is a sorrow that comes and goes, like clouds crossing over the sun. Recent losses bring old ones near again.” He sipped his tea and leaned back into the pillows. “Your sweetness is light enough until the shadow passes.”

“I’m going to miss you, my friend. You have been a refuge to me.”

Thaurron’s keen gaze seemed to pierce her. “There is much you are not saying. Heat in your eyes and sand in your shoes this past week. What will you do, Abiene?”

“I’ll go to Chorrol.” Abiene found herself blinking back tears. “And he’ll go on to who knows what. I can’t think about it, Thaurron.”

The Bosmer pulled his feet back and leaned forward. “No, my dear. What will you do about Darnand?”

Abiene stared at him in surprise.

Thaurron nodded thoughtfully. “Then the fool has still not declared himself. Well, until he does, he cannot deserve you.”

“Did he say something to you?”

“No. I know only what my eyes can see.” They sat in companionable silence until Thaurron finished his tea. “Do you wish to stay tonight? I am prepared to overlook wet hair on my pillows.”

Abiene slipped off the bed, smiling. “I’ll go to my chamber. You snore awfully, and I need rest.”

“It’s the imp.” Thaurron leaned toward her.

Abiene kissed him on the cheek. “Shame on you, blaming the poor creature. You must give him silk to shred as an apology.”

Thaurron tucked his feet under the coverlet. “Leave your door open, and I am sure he will find some. Good night, my dear. May your dreams be sweet.”

“And yours.” Abiene closed the door behind her and stood in the dim corridor.

Thaurron’s words confirmed her suspicions, but now it brought no joy. Instead she hoped Darnand would never mention it. As much as she cared for him, her heart knew that her answer would be no.

Now light flickered under Darnand’s door. She wondered if he was reading in bed, or sitting up at the small desk in his chamber. She imagined him bent over a book, shadows playing over his features. When I think of him, he’s never looking back at me, she realized. But yesterday morning in the healing hall, he had. The respect and admiration that had filled his face still gave her a thrill. She knew in that moment Darnand had seen the deepest part of her, and he had embraced it.

Then the dark hall faded away, and another vision filled her mind. Her Nord’s face lit by the sunset, with eyes the color of firelight through Cyrodiilic brandy.

The man I wanted might finally turn toward me, she thought. But I’ve reached for the one who’s going to walk away.

That was a chapter for the girls, indeed!

The interactions between Abiene and her Guild mates was interesting and heartwarming. Here we see Abiene at her maternal/sisterly best, looking after the men around her.

And Sparky the imp is quite the trouble maker, I see. Thaurron needs to do a slightly better job training that creature! Though his treatment of Marc in an earlier post was a lot of fun!