Teresa of the Faint Smile, Adventures of a Stringy Bosmer Options

[haute ecole rider]

And here we go, confronting the Shadow, which has morphed again due to recent events. And as always, her spirit guides were there to show her the way. Teresa just has to listen to them, and obey. Sometimes surrender is the way to victory.

Sorry, but the tone of this chapter has brought out the philosopher in me . . .

Oh, yes, I found the Bow of the Mongolian Horseman and downloaded it. I like its looks a lot - plain and practical. I'm thinking my Breton mage might like it, if it can keep the big baddies far away from her when her magicka runs out. 'Tis a problem still (at level three).

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Sep 1 2011, 05:04 PM

[Olen]

More facing her shadow. That it extends to the present is nicely done and it was a good way of pointing that out. She's hiding from (or at least haunted by) the incident with the trolls and won't face it. I suppose that adds it to her shadow as a recent addition. She might know it's there but that doesn't mean she knows how to face it, especially given that it's still fresh and undulled by years.

The forest has sort of fallen into her shadow too. She needs to go out there to see bear, raven and the other animals but all she thinks of is the trolls. Understandable and the thing which will change it is going out and seeing it and facing it. This story does tie together extremely well.

Now she needs someone to drag her out there, I doubt the spirits will be able to, yet. But if they went and filled the dreams of a certain armourer perhaps... though that seems improbable in several ways.

That she knows what needs to be done is a good sign, even if she won't do it.

[ghastley]

I'm reluctant to speculate, but she's just become a lot better armed and armored than she was in her last encounter with trolls. She also had the misfortune of running into several at once that time. So I expect her next troll to prove a lot less of a problem, but it will remain the bogeyman until she faces one and gets her confidence back. She won't do that for herself, but she'll do it for anyone else, who'll become the avatar of Marius for the event. However, she's got to venture into troll territory to do that, perhaps another escort contract will send her out there?

[Acadian]

’Teresa could smell the dampness of Niben Bay beyond, and hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the other side of the city wall. Sliding down to the floor, she lay her head against the window frame and continued staring outside. Cassius had been right. There was nowhere that she could run where she could escape from herself. Nor from the dead eyes of Marius.’
This passage captures how she must have felt after her dream ever so well!

The entire episode was both powerful and beautifully written. It was wonderful to see Raven and Barenziah again, but heartbreaking to realize that Teresa is unable to follow them into the forest - into what has always been her source of comfort. We know she must return, and despite Teresa’s words, I am sure that she will come to know that she must return as well.

What a perfect touch you used throughout!

[Grits]

Now that Raven and Barenziah have said their piece, it’s up to Teresa. I can’t imagine that the support of any friend will sway her when she’s decided that she can’t do what she’s been shown. Which I think is good, since this kind of recovery comes from within.

A very moving episode.

[Destri Melarg]

The shadow spread its wings with a sound like wet canvass rippling in the wind.

I just love this sentence; it is wonderfully atmospheric and evocative!

I have to thank you because, after experiencing that dream, I was well and truly depressed! If those are the images that drive her nights it is no wonder that she sleep-walks through the day.

One of the many things that I have always admired about your writing is your ability to engage all of your character’s senses in experiencing the world around them. The sounds and smells of the Bravil night are just as important as the sights, but it is something that most writers would overlook.

By the end of this powerful segment we have a message of hope elicited by the appearances of Raven and Barenziah. Even though Teresa has refused the call, she now knows the location that harbors salvation.

In addition to hautee, I think you have infected me as well!

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Sep 3 2011, 01:35 AM

[SubRosa]

All: Wow, I was very pleased to read everyone's comments. Sometimes it is difficult to get across everything you want to in your writing. Here I see I actually managed to hit on all cylinders. Everyone is seeing exactly what I had hoped they would. That is a good feeling.


haute ecole rider: Most of the bow mods out there look at silly as the armor mods. All ridiculous spikes. I like to immerse myself in the game, and things like that just make it impossible. I like the BotMH because of how realistic it looks. I like the vanilla city guard armor for the same reason, it is what a Norman soldier would be wearing. Likewise the steel armor, as it is a good representation of 15th Century Milanese plate.


Olen: Someone does indeed need to drag Teresa out to the forest. You are close in your musings about who too!


ghastley: Next chapter will be all about Teresa finally venturing out into the forest, and yes, it will be guild-related.


Acadian: The aftermath of the nightmare was more difficult to write than the dream itself. I am glad it worked.


Grits: Yep, now Teresa just has to get off her lazy butt and stop feeling sorry for herself. Easier said than done of course...


Destri Melarg: Way back when I started writing in my teens, I remember seeing the advice of other writers to fully engage the senses of your character. It is something I try to keep in mind whenever I am writing, even though it is impossible to do all the time without bogging down the story with too much description. Like jalapenos, a little bit seems to go a long way.


Previously On Teresa of the Faint Smile: Out last episode saw one of the nightmares plaguing Teresa's sleep. When she awoke, she found her spirit guides there, guiding her back to the forest. Yet that is a place she now fears, thanks to the death of Marius. Next, Pappy makes good on his promise to have Daenlin give Teresa a few pointers at archery.


Chapter 38.4 – Ravenfeeder

Teresa stood on the parade grounds just outside of the city. The smell of horses - and their droppings - was strong in her nostrils. A glance over her left shoulder revealed the equines and their riders, walking, trotting, and cantering in a circuit around the grassy space. Among them was Ancondil - who ambled along easily upon a blue roan. She also recognized Valerius, who trotted on the back of the same high-stepping black she had first seen at the Wawnet Inn.

Beyond them she could see nearly half-a-dozen city guardsmen. They stood just beyond the road, and the forest loomed beyond them like an ominous green shadow. Apparently the death of Marius had not gone completely unnoticed by the city guard, Teresa mused. A glance to the left revealed the North Bridge and Bay Roan Stables. The very place where Marius had always stood guard.

Her eyes traveled farther west, down the Green Road. She knew that Anutwyll was just out of sight from where she stood, as was Silverbridge. Had it been a week since she had been attacked? Even now, she thought she could see the trolls breaking from cover, hear the howling of their challenges, smell the sickly-sweet stench of death upon their jaws…

With an effort she tore her gaze away. Her fingertips sought out the tuft of fur that she had placed in her pocket before leaving the guild hall. The image of the majestic grizzly from which it had came sprang to her mind, and she found her heart slowing its pace. She closed her eyes for a moment, and concentrated on that mental portrait of Barenziah by the Larsius. Somehow it stilled the dismay that had grown within her, and left her with a feeling of comfort.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes and looked back to her target. Like those used in the tournament, it was a simple iron ring filled with straw and painted with concentric rings. It was set up to one side of the grounds, so the riders would not stray into the line of fire. The vast blue expanse of Niben Bay stretched out behind it, and Teresa wondered if losing one's arrows in the water was meant to dissuade missing?

"Your form is good," Daenlin said as Teresa looked back to the target and buried an arrow to the right of the bullseye. "But you have to learn to stop compensating for the sideways drift of an Imperial bow. With the Bosmer draw your arrows will fly straighter."

Teresa glanced at the wood elf standing beside her. He was slightly taller than her, with a mane of long brown hair brushed away from his face, and a pair of soft brown eyes set above a strong nose and a solid jaw. His frame was sheathed in lean muscle that was plainly visible between the sides of the open fur vest he wore. Similar buckskin trousers wrapped his legs and feet, and a gorytos of wolf-hide hung from one of his hips. Within the combination bowcase and quiver was his own recurve bow, decorated with eagle feathers. Alongside the graceful and deadly weapon rode the same white and black fletched arrows that Teresa now used.

Screenshot

"I've already noticed that the string doesn't rub against my arm," Teresa said.

"Indeed, that is why the practitioners of Sirya do not wear arm guards," the older wood elf explained. "Just a thumb ring will suffice."

"Sirya?" Teresa asked. "What is that."

"You do not speak any of the elven tongues then?" Daenlin's eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "That is not uncommon for our people who have lived all of their lives in Cyrodiil. Sirya means 'flow'. It is the name of the ancient Bosmer art of archery."

"What I am doing now?" Teresa said.

"This is only the beginning," Daenlin smiled. "But I suspect you have been walking the path for longer than you realize."

"Why is it called 'flow'?" Teresa asked. She readied another arrow, took aim, and loosed. Once more her missile sprouted to the side of the bullseye.

"Because to truly master the art of archery, one must learn more than just the rote of nocking and firing. That is only the beginning." Daenlin said. "The true master must open himself to the world around him. He must feel everyone, and everything, and the connections that bind all together. Archery is not a matter of shooting arrows. It is a spiritual communion with Mundus."

"Sounds like a lot of mumbo-jumbo," Teresa muttered. Once again, her shot drifted to the side. She had not thought it would be so difficult to master the composite bow. Yet after ten years of shooting one way, could she really expect to suddenly do it all differently in an instant?

"You remind me of another Bosmer girl I knew a decade ago," Daenlin smiled. He drew his bow from its gorytos, and fixed an arrow to the string. He looked at Teresa as he raised the bow and drew the string back to his ear. "Individuality is a temporary condition. Be we elves, wolves, trees, or even mountains. When we die we rejoin the divinity that gave birth to us. Then later we return again as a new seeker upon Nirn, with a new identity, and begin the cycle anew. Yet through all of this, we always remain a part of that divinity that is Mundus."

Still looking at Teresa, he loosed. A moment later his arrow blossomed from the center of the target. The forester could only stare in amazement. How on Nirn had he done that, without even looking?

"The archer must learn to feel the flow of divinity around him, just as if he was standing in a river and feeling the water rushing past his legs," Daenlin explained. "All of us are connected by the divine energy we share. Feel those strands that bind us, and you will not need eyes to shoot. Simply allow your arrow to sing along that thread."

"How can I do that?" Teresa breathed. It sounded more like magic than archery, more like Witchcraft.

"If I am not mistaken, you already have been," Daenlin said. "I saw you shoot in the tournament. Remember your final round? How did you shoot then?"

"Rapid-fire," Teresa said. "That was Parwen's idea."

"I suspected as much," Daenlin nodded. "She is an excellent teacher. I am certain you saw how your accuracy changed."

"I got nearly all bullseyes, even at long range," Teresa said. "So I should shoot quickly then?"

"Go ahead and try now," Daenlin suggested, "and we shall see."

Teresa took a deep breath, looked down at her feet, and then raised her eyes back to the target. Without further thought she pulled an arrow from her gorytos and set it to her string. An instant later she felt the fletching tickle against her chin, and she fired. Even as the arrow spun down range, she was reaching for another and setting it to her bow. Then another, and another. She thought of nothing else. There was only her, the target, and the arrows in between.

When she was finished, she stared at the target. Her arrows were clustered tightly in the ring surrounding the bullseye. How was it that she could shoot better when she was not thinking about it, and just doing it? Was that what Daenlin meant?

"There, did you feel it?" the master archer said. "It is not a question of speed. It is a matter of letting your mind be at peace. Let it flow with the world around you, rather than stand apart from it. From this place of calm union comes the most wondrous unfoldment of doing."

"So I am trying too hard?" Teresa said. It was just what she had suspected ever since the tournament.

"Yes, that is exactly it. We practice in order to build muscle memory. So that our bodies know what to do without our conscious thought. That is how bards can still play their lutes even after drinking enough ale to drown an ogre." Daenlin winked. "Once you have instilled that memory, you can let your body do what it knows best. Only in that way can you fully realize your Bosmer gifts."

"Bosmer gifts?" Teresa wondered aloud. "You mean like being able to make friends with animals?"

"That is one of them," Daenlin said. "The one most folk know. What many do not realize however, is that we wood elves are made for using the bow. Our depth perception is better than that of other races, so is our hand-eye coordination, and our ability to judge spatial relationships. Some even say that when using a bow, we have the ability to see what a target will do before it acts. Though I would say that is merely an example of mastering the flow of life."

"But not all Bosmer are archers." Teresa frowned. Adanrel could never hit the broad side of an insula with a bow. In fact, she was more likely to shoot someone by accident rather than on purpose!

"That is very true," Daenlin agreed. "Just as not all Altmer are magicians, and not all Orisimer are warriors. Yet each race does have natural gifts in those areas. Surely you noticed how many wood elves competed in the finals of the tournament?"

"Over half of us were Bosmer," Teresa said. She remembered what Kurz gro-Baroth had said the day after: "We can see which Bosmer wins next year!"

"It is always like that." Daenlin said. "That is not to say that other races cannot produce outstanding archers. Take the creator of your bow for example. He was one of the finest I have ever seen, and a good friend."

"You knew Hirtuleius?" Teresa asked.

"Knew him?" Daenlin's eyes took on a faraway look. "I taught him to make that bow. He and I spent many a morning out hunting in the woods, and many a night sitting around a campfire. Now that man could sing like he was Dibella incarnate…"

"Do you think you could teach me how to make a bow?" Teresa blurted out, "a Valenwood bow?"

"Certainly," Daenlin said. "I think we have had enough for today. Meet me at my shop tomorrow morning."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 23 2011, 03:15 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Whoa, that's not Daenlin! I know, I know, you changed him. Your prerogative, and not necessarily a bad thing. Just my knee-jerk reaction. But it highlights my pet peeve. Why are vertically challenged people so disrespected? Short folks are just as talented, capable, and brilliant (okay, maybe more so ) than taller ones. Yet one can't get respect as a teacher, as a mentor, as a warrior unless one has the height to go with it? That's one of the things I loved about Buffy, that she's short. My current character is short too, and I'm liking it very much as well.

That said, I'm getting off my soapbox now. I am not being critical of your choices with this fiction. Like I said, it's your prerogative. It's just that I think the in-game Daenlin is pretty darn cool just as he is, just as Acadian has portrayed him. Why make him taller? There needs to be more male Bosmer like Daenlin.

Okay, on to the rest of my impressions with this post. I loved the archery lesson. Yes, the new way is vastly different from the other, and it does affect arrow flight. One of the reasons Mongol archers (and Korean, for they learned from the Mongols) are so feared is their accuracy. They can even hit a teeny tiny target from horseback while the horse is at full gallop! How cool is that? So it's wonderful to see Teresa struggling with unlearning how to shoot. And now she finally gets her own Valenwood Bow! It's high time!

[D.Foxy]

All shooting is like - well, it's like golf. You practice, practice, and learn every subtle detail, but in the competition you have to 'just do it'. Doesn't matter if it's a bow or a gun. You blank your mind and just do it.

[Acadian]

I enjoyed your description of the stable and (former) tourney grounds. And I loved your take on how Bosmer have natural talents that support archery. Daenlin is indeed perhaps the most qualified elf to elaborate on those.

In several places here, you treat us to familiar connective pieces of TF by mentioning Ancondil, Val, the trolls and, of course, significant mention of the TOA to include how many Bosmers were among the top contenders!

[Grits]

Just a quick refresher for my memory, are the Bosmer of the TF taller than in the game? I’ve wondered before, but forgotten to ask.

The vast blue expanse of Niben Bay stretched out behind it, and Teresa wondered if losing one's arrows in the water was meant to dissuade missing?

I imagine that it would!

Even more than the archery lesson, I enjoyed Daenlin’s what it means to be a Bosmer lesson. I’m glad that Teresa will be spending more time with him.

[ghastley]

Teresa's thinking about the bow, not the target. I've found that it even applies to driving a car. Look at where you want to go, not at what you're trying to avoid, and certainly not at the steering wheel!

[SubRosa]

haute ecole rider: You are right, that is not the same Daenlin from the game. Nor is it the same Tadrose, or Vincent, or Bravil FG Porter, or Fathis, or any number of other characters. I make the characters fit the story I am writing. I did make the male Bosmer taller than in the game. I simply made them proportionate to the females. I see no reason for them not to be. There is never any mention of the males being weaker or less physically imposing than the women, or it being a female-dominated society because of the women's larger size. So I see no reason they should not have the same male/female proportions as the other elf races.

Given the latitudes of Valenwood, it ought to be a hot place (the other provinces at the same latitude are deserts, jungles, and swamps). A tall, slender body is much more suited to shedding heat than a shorter one. Not that I have described them as being unusually tall, like the Altmer or Orisimer. Now the Falmer OTOH, ought to have been short and round, as that body type is best for retaining heat. That actually fits the Reiklings rather well too.


D.Foxy: Some people might say that Teresa's mind is normally blank! Unfortunately, when people are watching her, she tends to begin to overcompensate, and overthink.


Acadian: I have been wanting to show what the Bosmer's inborn talents are for a long time. Not to mention that Ancondil has a horse (he is literally of the equite class after all )


Grits: I did not change the Bosmer women, but I did make the Bosmer men taller, to be proportional.

I was actually thinking the target was at the waters edge so that if someone missed, they would not shoot another pedestrian by accident. But the added incentive of losing your arrow was too much not to mention.


ghastley: She will get there. She is just fine when the teacher is not watching her in fact!


Previously on Teresa of the Faint Smile: In our last episode, Teresa finally met Daenlin, and learned of the spiritual side of Sirya - the Bosmer discipline of archery - from him. In the final episode of this chapter, we find Teresa at his shop the following morning.


Chapter 38.5 – Ravenfeeder

The Archer's Paradox was a typical Bravil building. Constructed of wood rather than stone, it rose two stories on the south side of the river that divided the city. The interior was dominated by a long counter that cut through the center of the building. To the left it was bordered by a stair that ran up to the second floor. On the other side it turned back at a right angle and ran farther back into the store in an 'L' shape.

Atop the counter was a glass case holding numerous thumb rings set into a soft velvet backing. Stretching down the counter alongside it was a plethora of arrows. There was a swallowtail of elven steel, a pincushion of human metal, a bronze-shaded crescent of Dwemer inspiration, even one of softly glowing meteoric glass, and another of gleaming ebony. It seemed as if there was one missile of both every material and shape imaginable.

After the arrows, where the counter turned to the back of the shop, was an upraised case. Within bowstrings of various materials hung in easy view. They too ranged from simple hemp and flax to the exotic spider silk which Ravenfeeder sported. Beyond that was another pair of glass cases, one containing shooting gloves for those who used the Imperial draw, and another with leather forearm guards.

The walls were lined with unstrung longbows of various colors and lengths. Again, the weapons came in a variety, from smaller ones that appeared to be meant for children, to much larger ones that were too heavy to be meant for only hunting, and everything possible in between. There was even a single bow of overlapping chitin plates, like the one Zerina Sarethi had used in the tournament. Teresa also noted a small bookcase containing volumes that she imagined might be about archery, given that one was entitled The Black Arrow.

"Welcome to The Archer's Paradox!" The voice that rang through the shop was not that of Daenlin, but rather of another Bosmer who stood behind the counter. Like most elves, his skin was smooth and ageless, leaving Teresa to guess his years as being anywhere between twenty and two hundred. The top knot that held back his long brown hair gave him an air of youth however, as did the bright sparkle in his eyes. "I am Angalor," he continued with a mock bow, "and I am always at the service of a sister of the forest."

Teresa stared blankly at the man. Was he flirting? Did she really care? "I am here to see Daenlin," she said simply. "He is expecting me."

"Oh yes, you are Teresa of the Faint Smile!" The forester saw the light of recognition kindle in the other Bosmer's eyes. "I saw you in the tournament. I almost did not recognize you without the leather armor and the longbow." His eyes traveled to the gorytos at her hip. "I see you have moved up to a true Valenwood weapon now."

Teresa let one of her hands fall to the upper ear of Ravenfeeder. She felt its magicka bubbling under her fingers, as she did every time she touched the weapon. It reminded her of the energy within the nightshade poisons that she enchanted. Only there was more to it than just poison. There was something else too, that she was not familiar with. Pappy had said that the bow would not only automatically poison every arrow she set to the nock, but also make her targets more vulnerable to it. Even those immune to poisons - such as Argonians - would be envenomed by Ravenfeeder's bite.

The sound of feet trundling down the stairs caused Teresa to turn her gaze. Following the noise was Daenlin. Like herself, the master archer wore simple brown linen. However his tunic was not nearly so low-cut, and he was still doing up the last of its buttons as he stepped upon the boards of the ground floor.

"My apologies for being late," the master archer said, stifling a yawn. "It was a late night."

Teresa stared at the master archer. He looked no older than Angalor or herself, yet her time with him had given Teresa the impression that he was. That was the way of her race. The only other elves she had known in the Imperial City had been her own age. So she had never learned to tell an old elf from a young one simply by looking at them. The ages of humans on the other hand, were so easy to discern. One could always see the tracks of the Time Dragon's feet upon their features.

Daenlin motioned Teresa to follow as he walked around the counter, and opened a door under the stairway leading up. There Teresa found another stair leading down to a basement lit by glowstones, and it was here that the wood elf led her. It was a simple, one-roomed affair packed with barrels and crates. The archer stepped to one of the latter and lifted its lid. From within he drew forth several long pieces of sila wood, easy recognizable by its distinctive golden shade.

"First we will start with the wood itself," Daenlin explained, handing her the pieces before once again rising up the stairs. "We will shape it, then in time we will go out and collect the other materials from the forest."

Back on the ground floor, the master archer motioned for Teresa to sit across from him at a long table whose surface was notched and battered. Sitting upon it was an a small wooden box with hand-holds cut into the sides. Within were numerous tools. Teresa saw a small saw and a variety of carving knives. There were also gouges of varying shapes, some with only a shallow 'U' shape, all the way to another with a very sharply pointed 'V' design. There was even a wooden mallet.

"Before we start, let us take a look at Ravenfeeder, so you know how your new bow will all look once we are finished." Teresa obliged the older elf by drawing the unstrung recurve bow from her gorytos and setting it on the table. "As you know a composite bow is made of several different materials, starting with the wooden core. We do not use a single piece of wood as with an Imperial bow, but rather several smaller parts, that we will glue together. Sila is of course preferred, as it can endure stresses that would snap any other wood. But maple or mulberry will also work if the sila cannot be gathered."

"That only comes from Valenwood right?" Teresa asked as she stared at the delicately carved golden wood before her.

"Yes," Daenlin said. "Sila grows nowhere else in Tamriel. Unlike the other trees in Valenwood, it can only be harvested with the permission of the Tree-Singers."

"Tree-Singers?" Teresa felt her eyebrows raise in confusion. "Who are they?"

"How can I describe them?" Daenlin leaned back in his chair. "In Valenwood we have no temples. The forest itself is our holy place. But the Tree-Singers might be called our priests and priestesses. Imperials would name them Witches. They walk the forest, singing to the trees. It was they who learned to speak with the sila at the dawn of time, and they remain the only elves who can do so. It was they who taught the trees to wander the hills and dales of Valenwood, and it was they who brought them together to form our cities, high in their branches."

"No sila can be felled without their permission, for they are the guardians of the forest. It is not a common event, for only when a sila is nearing the end of its life, or has been badly harmed by storms or fire, that harvesting is performed as a mercy to the tree. When it does happen, every inch of the wood is saved, and the acorns are scattered so that future generations will rise once more. To us nothing is more precious than the sila. They are the beating heart of Valenwood itself."

Teresa remembered the times she had sat with the trees. When she had felt down into their trunks, through their roots, to the damp soil beneath. She remembered sitting with the ancient cedar near Bawn, and how she had watched the centuries roll past from its perspective. Was that what a Tree-Singer did? Could not everyone do that?

"We should have the wood shaped in a few weeks, then another week or two for the carvings on it. Then we will have to gather the horn. It is used in long, straight pieces glued here on the belly of the bow." The bowyer's hand traced along the inner side of the bow, that faced Teresa when she drew it. "Those of water buffalo are best, as are those of the ibex, for they are not only strong, but thick and straight. Both are plentiful in Valenwood, but they cannot be found in Cyrodiil, except near Leyawiin. So we will have to make a trip to hunt one."

"After we give that a few months to dry, we will need sinew for the back of the bow." Now his hand traced the outside edge of the bow. "We can get that from regular deer however. From the lower legs is best. We will glue it on, and when it dries, it will shrink, pulling the stave into its curved shape. After we give that a few more months to set, we will only need to glue on the sihas at the ends, and after they dry we will lacquer the entire thing to water-proof it. Composite bows are very vulnerable to moisture. I use fish glue to counter that, but you still do not want to get it wet."

"Wait a moment, we have to kill animals to make this?" Tersea blinked, staring down at the weapon before her.

"Of course," Daenlin said. "That is part of being an archer."

"I can't do that," Teresa insisted. "I won't."

"You must," Daenlin insisted. "I cannot do this for you. To be an archer is to be a killer. Not just any killer either, but one who takes life from a distance, silently and unseen. The bow is an instrument of death. To make one, you must understand its nature, and be prepared to wield its power with the responsibility it demands."

"I can kill, but not defenseless animals." Teresa shook her head. "Never. No water buffalo or antelope ever meant me harm, or ever will. I will not murder them."

"It is not murder." Daenlin ran the fingers of one hand back through his hair, and Teresa could see that he was becoming annoyed. "It is the natural cycle of life in the wilderness. Is the wolf evil for killing an elk and eating it? Of course not, it is just doing what it was made for. Elk are not helpless. Few wolf hunts actually succeed. Only the old, sickly, or otherwise infirm are brought down. But this prevents the animals from overpopulating the forest and devastating its plant life. That would lead to starvation for all. The hunter is no different. We are a part of the natural order of the forest."

"I am not a wolf," Teresa said. "I understand the need for what they do. They are my friends, the same as the other animals. But that is not what I am."

"Teresa, remember what I said yesterday about the flow?" Daenlin reached out with one hand and made a show of pinching the flesh around his other forearm. "These bodies of ours are transitory, just temporary shells our divinity wears while we walk upon this world. Animals, trees, even the mountains and seas, are no different. Every animal in the forest is divine. They are spirits that have chosen to take flesh upon Nirn. When we kill them, we are freeing their divinity to return to Aetherius, until they choose to return once more. It is not murder, but a holy act, a divine sacrifice which ensures the survival of those that remain behind here on Nirn."

"If you are to be an archer Teresa, you must learn to accept these truths," Daenlin continued. "You must become a wolf. For by using a bow, you are a predator."

Teresa stared at the weapon before her. Where she had first thought of it as a work of art, now she wondered what poor deer - or buffalo - had died to create it?

"What is this made of?"

"Ravenfeeder is no ordinary bow, even among composite ones." Daenlin leaned back once more. "Hirtuleius believed in challenging himself. He used to say that if you did not test yourself every day, you stopped growing. So he hunted the most deadly foe, one more likely to kill him than he it. He went into the forest alone, and slew a minotaur lord to create Ravenfeeder. I told him that he was a damn fool, but he only laughed at me. He said that he would die one day, no matter what. So long as he lived life to its fullest, he said he had nothing to fear from death. For he would leave no regrets behind when he left this world. As we say in Valenwood: hoka hey - 'today is a good day to die'. He was more an elf than he ever knew."

Teresa stared at the bow, and thought of how prophetic Hirtuleius' words had been. He had indeed died at Bruma. She wondered if he had really meant what he said, about not fearing death? Had he met his end with no regrets? Had Marius? Had the minotaur whose body made up part of this bow before her?

She stared at the bow. Daenlin was right. It was an instrument of death. Was she responsible enough to use it? She reached out and stroked her fingers along the horn that sheathed its inner edge. A minotaur's horn, she thought to herself. She had only seen them once, in Henantier's dream. They had been creatures of nightmare indeed. Half bull, half man, bundled together with sheer ferocity. She had been lucky to survive then, even with a staff of lightning. They were indeed far from helpless animals. Rather like goblins, ogres, or trolls, they attacked and killed anyone they saw without hesitation.

Perhaps that was why Hirtuleius had sought one out. Minotaurs were forces of destruction. What would be more appropriate for a weapon? Pappy had once said that like trolls, they were not natural at all, but rather the result of magical intervention. In any case, she could not ever imagine one being her friend, or anyone else's. Would that make it alright for her to use the bow?

"Dame Buffy is your foster daughter right?" Teresa chose her words carefully as her eyes moved across the bow that lay upon the table between them. She waited for the older elf to nod before she continued. "Would you kill her, and use her bones and sinew to make a bow? Or Nilawen? Or Angalor?"

"Of course not!" Daenlin exclaimed. "They are people. What would make you think I would do such a thing?"

"I didn't," Teresa said evenly. "What you don't understand is that to me, the deer and the other animals are people too. They are no different to me than you are."

"What about fish?" Daenlin leaned forward again, steepling his fingers together before his face. He no longer looked peeved. Rather he seemed thoughtful.

"They are different," Teresa looked away from his gaze. "I cannot say why. Maybe because they don't have families, or feelings. At least not that I can tell. Or maybe I'm just a hypocrite."

"Or maybe because they are not from the forest?" The master archer raised one eyebrow. "You sound more like a Tree-Singer than an archer. Are you sure you are walking the right path in life?"

Teresa shook her head. Ever since Marius had died, she was not sure of anything.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Sep 10 2011, 04:57 PM

[D.Foxy]

The moral dilemma is subtle indeed. It will be hard for Teresa to find the path that she can walk on comfortanbly: for what we gain by following one path we also lose as well.

I shall read with much interest to see which path she follows!

[haute ecole rider]

It had occurred to me early in this post that Daenlin could be describing Teresa herself when he was discussing the Tree-Singers. Her ability to commune with them is uncanny, much as a spriggan herself is uncanny.

It is interesting that you present the Bosmer as a sort of Native American spirituality. I agree with that, actually. They lived very closely with their environment, as they still do in the Amazon basin. And I like their method of harvesting trees. Much more consistent with nature, though they are removing the sila wood from the circle of life, for even in death there is life.

And the quandary - where to draw the line? Fish have feelings too - the octopus is one of the most intelligent nonvertebrate forms dwelling in the ocean, which is why I cringed when they declared octopus the secret ingredient on America's Iron Chef recently. They are so well adapted to their environment that we fail to understand or appreciate the depths of their experience. Heck, the sharks probably see us as stupid, awkward swimmers! I could never understand the distinction between fish and land-dwellers like chickens, cattle, and sheep.

One has to be careful about setting boundaries on life. For life excels at blurring boundaries. Rather, it is best to see all life as occupying a continuum, not just in two directions but in multiple directions.

[Acadian]

’The ages of humans on the other hand, were so easy to discern. One could always see the tracks of the Time Dragon's feet upon their features.’
Having a few dragon tracks across my face, I love it when any of us draws out the differences between elven and human life spans. And you certainly did so beautifully here.

I love the philosophy of showing one’s respect as a steward of the forest by limiting what you harvest and, when you do take something, ensuring the full measure of respect to its spirit through full utilization of every part. How wonderful that you are explaining this via the forests of Valenwood. Daenlin taught Buffy the same philosophy when it comes to taking a deer from the forest. He further taught her the same companion truth that he just shared with Teresa that the spirit of a taken deer will be set free and, if gratefully encouraged, will return to live again.

In fact you do a lovely job of describing both the valid philosophy of the Bosmeri hunter and the valid philosophy of Teresa in rejecting the hunt. This is so wonderfully done because our anchor perspective is that of Teresa. And here you show us that she has values, an open mind and most importantly that she recognizes she doesn’t have all the answers.

Lastly, I am so pleased that, as we have discussed several times, neither of us ascribe to ‘The Green Pact’ in our fictions and consider it to be a failure by Bethesda.

I thoroughly enjoyed every bit of this episode!

Nit: "We will shape the it, then in time we will go out and collect the other materials from the forest."
I’m guessing the bolded word should simply be deleted as perhaps left over from a previous edit?

[ghastley]

One could always see the tracks of the Time Dragon's feet upon their features.

I liked this bit too, although he had me thinking that in my case it was the tracks of the Soup Dragon around my waist. (Any other Clangers fans here/)

[Grits]

"Yes," Daenlin said. "Sila grows nowhere else in Tamriel, and it can only be harvested with the permission of the Tree-Singers."

I love this notion. It fits Teresa so well, much better than the Green Pact business (that I’m still struggling with).

It was a relief to me that Daenlin explained the natural order of the forest to Teresa. She might not agree with him, but at least she’s heard an opinion that’s different from hers and really listened.


"They are different," Teresa looked away from his gaze. "I cannot say why. Maybe because they don't have families, or feelings. At least not that I can tell. Or maybe I'm just a hypocrite."

Ah, the old fish don’t have feelings argument. It makes me think about parental behavior and imprinting among the Lake Rumare Slaughterfish. Too bad I don’t have a biologist character. Anyway, I love that Teresa is questioning her assumptions. Love it!

[SubRosa]

D.Foxy: That dilemna of which way to go is something I have wanted to emphasize, because as you pointed out, going one way means losing something else.


haute ecole rider: The bosmer spirituality is really just taking the way Bethesda says things work, and putting it in a real life framework. Except for their conservation of the sila of course. I also was happy that it came so similar to Native American spirituality. That means I am making it believable. That is why I wound up using the term hoka hey near the end. At that point I felt I might as well embrace it.

I am also glad you noted the issue with boundaries. Ultimately it comes down to just drawing an arbitrary line, as it is just one long and slippery slope. At one end you can become so worried about harming anything that you cannot even eat a mushroom, and starve to death. Or at the other you can end up a homicidal cannibal. Teresa has never really explored why she sets the ones she does. Her talk with Daenlin at least makes her realize that she has never consciously done so. She might start re-evaluating things in the future.


Acadian: Just as with the archery lesson in the preceding episode, Daenlin's spirituality lesson in this one was a long time coming. I was so glad to finally get to the point where I could make it happen. I enjoyed writing Daenlin immensely. Teresa's life would have been so different if she had a mentor like him as a child.


ghastley: I had to look up the Soup Dragon, as it is the wrong side of the ocean for me. But quite appropriate!


Grits: I could never reconcile the Green Pact silliness. In a real world, it would doom its practitioners to extinction. It is one of those many Bethesda idea that I had to just ignore.

Teresa has always understood the law of the jungle. She learned it on the street in fact! That is why she doesn't go postal on everyone wearing fur coats, or eating steak. She has just never had the heart to take an animal's life herself. That will probably never change. But you never know. Marius' death has forced her to re-examine many things in her life.

OTOH, she has no qualms about killing fish and crabs. There is no real way for me to say it in the context of the ES world, but they are not mammals, so she just cannot identify with them in the way she can with a critter that is warm-blooded and fuzzy.


Previously on Teresa of the Faint Smile: In our last episode Teresa learned that to make Valenwood bow, she would have to kill animals for their sinew and horn. She could not do this, and had a long discussion with Daenlin about Bosmer spirituality. In the end, the master archer could not change Teresa's mind, although he did make her wonder if perhaps she is not meant to be an archer, but a Witch instead? Our next episode begins a new chapter, and finds Teresa trying to find some measure of peace.


Chapter 39.1 – Picking Flowers

30th Frostfall - 1st Sun's Dusk, 3E433

Teresa walked along Lady Street and looked for a good tree. While there were plenty of them within the city walls, they were all either in the street - with low barriers of stone to keep traffic from bustling into them - or at the very edge of those thoroughfares. Neither were the kind of place where she could sit down and forget about the rest of the world.

She had nearly reached Chapel Way when she finally came upon a cherry tree that was set back from the road. Its small, gnarled frame rose at the mouth of an alley between two wooden buildings. There was just enough space for a person to walk between it and the walls of the homes to either side, and the wooden porches of each building ended just before its trunk.

Teresa stepped up to the tree and sat down beneath its branches. Leaning back against the short trunk, she reached with one hand and felt the rough bark beneath her fingers. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the people and animals walking past in the street. Instead she tried to feel what the tree did: the soft breeze through her leaves, the dry soil around her roots, and the sap coursing through her trunk. There was nothing but her and the tree. Nothing else in the world existed.

"What's she doing there?"

The voice knifed through the darkness, bringing Teresa back to reality.

"Shhh, she's probably a beggar!"

The forester resisted the urge to open her eyes, and tried to block out the sound of hard-soled shoes clomping away along one of the porches. Breathing deeply and slowly, she once again concentrated on the tree. She felt its bark against her back, and tried to think of nothing else. She was just beginning to sink away into the feeling once more, when the bray of a mule snapped her back to reality.

"Damnit Number Seven!" a man's voice rang out. "Move your lazy carcass!"

Another of the 'hee-haw' sounding brays answered the man, and Teresa could no longer keep her eyes closed. In the middle of the street before her stood a Breton with a snowy beard, and equally white strands of hair fell from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. He was dressed in worn buckskins. An unstrung longbow was slung over his shoulder, and a hand axe was tucked into his waist belt.

A brown mule with a white muzzle stood before the Breton. The animal was laden with numerous bags and packs, although he seemed oblivious to their weight. Still, no matter how the man tugged at his lead, the mule refused to budge an inch from where he stood in the road. Instead he seemed content to simply stare back at the old man, who threw his hat down in the street and began cursing a blue streak.

Teresa shook her head. It was clear that she would get no peace here. Rising to her feet, she cast her gaze farther westward. She could see where Lady Street ended at the intersection with Chapel Way. Beyond that she could see the wrought iron fence of the cemetery. Tall willow trees rose up within its confines, promising cool shade to all who sheltered beneath their drooping leaves.

The dead face of Marius Helvius rose up in Teresa's memory, soaked in blood and helmet knocked away. She turned her gaze away from the graveyard. She would find no serenity there either.

With a heavy sigh, Teresa turned and walked in the opposite direction. There was nowhere else to go except back to the Fighters Guild.

* * *

Teresa frowned as she stared into her storage cupboard in the guild's alchemy lab. Many of the glass jars were empty, and most of the others nearly so. How had it all vanished so quickly? She had gathered ingredients during her trip to Bawn earlier in the month. But that had been mainly nightshade, bergamot, and arrowroot. What she needed now was summer bolete and lavender, neither of which were present. She needed to gather more materials, and soon.

But how was she going to do that?

"How are we doing on those potions?" Pappy leaned over his still at the other side of the lab.

The copper contraption reminded Teresa of her own alembic and collection flask, except that the still was much larger. It's condenser was diamond-shaped, and stacked directly atop the boiler. Several copper tubes ran about it, and so far as Teresa could tell, they directed the condensed liquid right back down through the rising vapors. Pappy had once told her it was a reflux still, and actually re-distilled the alcohol many times, rather than just once. For not the first time, Teresa wondered if she could use the same kind of apparatus for her alchemy?

Screenshot

As Teresa watched, the Colovian poured a clear liquid from the spigot of the still into a chipped redware cup. After taking a tentative sniff of the brew, he knocked back a mouthful. Then he turned and offered Teresa the cup.

"Try some of this," he said. "It'll put hair on your chest."

"I like my chest the way it is now." Teresa frowned. "What is that anyway? I thought you were making soju?"

"Naw, that Argonian rice syrup is too damn sweet," Pappy declared. "This is good old Wrothgarian vodka, just like the orcs make."

"That explains all the potatoes I saw down in the kitchen," Teresa said.

"Aye, I got them special from Orsinium, so I could get the taste right." Pappy drank another mouthful of the alcohol. Teresa noted that he winced ever so slightly as the liquid hit his tongue. "So don't you use them for dinner! You can make mashed potatoes from those spuds they grow in Chorrol."

"Too bad I can't use them to make potions," Teresa said. She turned to look back at her cupboard. "I heard a bard telling a story of how Galerion the Mystic made shield potions from potatoes yesterday."

Pappy rolled his eyes. "A bard couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel," he spat. "If people could really make potions from peas and carrots, then healing potions wouldn't be twenty drakes a bottle at the Mages Guild. Don't even get me started on what a cure disease costs…"

"Well, we have plenty of mandrake still, so that's not a problem," Teresa said as she stared down at a jar of brown powder. "But we're out of lavender and summer bolete. I can't believe how many potions we go through."

"Well it's like I tell you meatheads: 'when in doubt, drink the stout'," Pappy said. "Those potions save lives. It's your job to keep them stocked."

Teresa said nothing. She simply stared down at the empty jars. She had been certain there had been more ingredients. But she had not looked in weeks. Not since Marius had died.

"Marz gave you a clean bill of health, so let's go out tomorrow morning and see what we can dig up," Pappy said. "The weather hasn't gotten too cold yet. I'm sure we can find some of your mushrooms and flowers."

Teresa bit her lip. Was he really offering to go collect ingredients with her? But that would mean that she would have to go back into the forest, where the trolls were. She could not do that. But how could she say no to her guild commander, when they both knew how much they needed the potions?

"Okay," she found herself saying. "After the morning workouts?"

"We'd miss half the day then." Pappy shook his head. "We'll go first thing in the morning. Tadrose can lead the workouts."


Note: The mule and mountain man in the first scene are an homage to a t.v. show in the '70s. Can anyone guess what show, and the names of the characters? (well, the mule's name is the same here as in the show).

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Sep 12 2011, 05:14 PM

[Grits]

Pappy rolled his eyes. "A bard couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel," he spat.

LOL. Pappy makes me smile. And we learn a little more about alchemy in the TF.


Teresa said nothing. She simply stared down at the empty jars. She had been certain there had been more ingredients. But she had not looked in weeks. Not since Marius had died.

Do I detect the hand of a commander perhaps with the collusion of a vice-commander pushing Teresa out to the woods? Yay.


Sorry, I have no idea about the mountain man and the mule. I’m old enough, but I didn’t have a TV in the 70s.