Jerric's Story, A Nord's Adventures in Cyrodiil Options

[Burnt Sierra]

A very sad update, with the camp and the hopelessness and the distrust brought to life beautifully. I can't help thinking that the future holds nothing good for Valdi though. Though neither has the past, and as she said, what happened to Kvatch could happen anywhere. It really makes you think, with these exchanges, their choices range from the bad they're experiencing, to the unknown of probably no better and potentially much worse.

Really liked how you discussed the impact such camps have on the pre-existing local community too, every action that happens in the world creates tensions elsewhere.

[Grits]

Previously: Abiene did her midday volunteer work at Chorrol’s refugee camp. Valdi announced her plan to leave Chorrol for the unwalled camp at Weynon village.

Acadian: You are correct, if someone takes too many potions in too short a time it will make them very sick. Going close to the limit will make them a little sick. Abiene calls that having a case of healer’s stomach. She goes close to the limit often. I was glad for the opportunity to slip a little politics in. Like many, Abiene wonders who will rule the Empire next and worries that there will be another Interregnum. Thank you, Acadian!

Kane: Yep, this is a tough time of year to live outdoors. We’ll see a little more about the food situation in the next couple of updates. Thank you, Kane!

SubRosa: It’s been about six weeks in the story since Jerric and Lildereth helped Valdi bury her family outside Hrotanda Vale. I expect that all of those weeks were tough for her. I love the word tisane! Most characters would have said moon tea or infusion. Abiene’s word choice often makes me grin. Thank you, Rosa!

Burnt Sierra: Valdi’s hopelessness has been hard to write, and there are so many people across Tamriel in similar situations. It makes me wonder how things are in the provinces. Hm, that gives me an idea. Thank you, Burnt!

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Chapter 21: Underneath, Part Five

After I finished at the camp I walked back toward the chapel. I had overspent my magicka on free treatments again. There was nothing to be done about that now, nor about the host of worries that crowded in once I found myself alone. I unclenched my fists, smoothed my brow, and turned my mind to something I could control.

Seed-Neeus planned for Dar-Ma and I to spend the night at the Hackdirt inn, as she did when she made the journey with her wagon. The horses would be fully loaded with her orders. I resolved to pack as lightly as possible so that I might bring more herbs and supplies for Marta and Ruby, and by extension for any other women in the village who shared their concerns.

With the fur lining buttoned in, my cloak was heavy enough even if the weather turned colder, and it would keep branches and brambles from tearing my clothing if the trail was as rough as I imagined. If the inn bedding was foul or absent, I could sleep wrapped in my cloak. My boots were suitable for walking or riding. I mentally added my house slippers to the pack for wear in the evening, then discarded the idea. Clomping around in boots for two days wouldn't kill me. And I wasn't bringing my pack, only the satchel that I carried everywhere with me, including to the refugee camp.

If I wanted to wear my Nibenese woolen shift, I'd need to set it aside to be sure it was clean when the weather broke. It would serve as a nightdress as well as an underlayer. One of my gowns buttoned the full way down the front. It was snug enough at the top to offer support for trail riding, and by unbuttoning the skirt I could ride astride.

I owned leather trousers, but they were in my trunk somewhere in the chapel's deep storage. Asking for its retrieval would cause some fuss. Every request required a certain amount of grace, and I planned to use up all of mine getting supplies and time off. Leggings would have to do. If I became sore from the saddle, I could use some magicka on myself for once. A spare pair of stockings and bloomers wouldn't take up much room in my satchel. I must remember to set out my gloves and hood.

As I turned onto Chapel Street, I pictured the small wooden caddy that contained my grooming kit and hygiene products. I could do without most of them for one night. It was a shame I didn't know a spell to clean my teeth. I would need to bring my tooth brush and powder, and of course my hair pick.

Now calm and focused, I entered the chapel's Healing Hall.

Thankfully the afternoon's schedule did not include any surgical procedures. Two new cases had arrived in my absence. I was able to treat both and release them without exposing that my magicka was low. My streak of luck continued as I finished my work. Guilia must have been bothering someone else. I made it through the locker room without having to interact with her.

Dinner at the chapel's dining hall was a restrained affair. We picked up our plates from a stack at the end of the line and served ourselves a mound of plain potatoes, a spoonful of re-hydrated vegetables, and some kind of meat in under-seasoned broth. Tonight the meat was beef. I had no complaint about the food's nutritional value, and I understood the scarcity of fresh ingredients this early in spring. Rather the lack of flavoring or any attempt at presentation irked me. I had never met the kitchen staff, but I suspected them of being a dour and lightless crew.

After dinner I would exhaust my magicka on evening rounds, but first I wanted to speak with Master Selvilo. I made my way through the echoing halls at a trot. His door was closed, but I was not fooled. I tapped on it in a way that suggested pleasant company, or so I hoped. "It's Abiene," I called as softly as would carry.

"Enter."

I found him as I knew I would, seated in his desk chair by the window. A stream of blue smoke flowed from the bowl of his pipe and a cloud surrounded his head. He had the window cracked open, but somehow he had never mastered the art of the draft.

I quickly closed the door and strode to the other window. "You have to open both so that the air will move." I did as I had instructed him.

Gureryne waved a hand around his head, sending the smoke drifting. "It seems a waste to burn the hackle-lo only to let the smoke escape out a window." He set the pipe into a crystal tray on the window sill.

"They're not fooled, you know." I gestured at the smoke cloud that now made its way out the window.

"Let them bring it to my attention," the Dunmer said. "I relish the opportunity to cross verbal blades with our chaplain. The medicinal use…" He waved his hand again, coughing.

"Mmm hmm," I said.

Gureryne remained seated in his chair but kicked out against the floor, sending himself sailing across the boards to his desk. The chair proper sat on a hinged base and a wheeled leg contraption that squeaked and squealed as he tilted and rolled. He had folded the rug back to allow the wheels free movement on the floor boards. Even as I mentally shook my head over the Dunmeri fascination with mechanical things, I wondered if Darnand might be inspired to add some magicka-powered Dwemer technology to allow the rolling chair independent movement.

Master Selvilo leaned forward with elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "Proceed." He nodded at the chair opposite.

In some circumstances I would have engaged him in small talk while I practiced my Dibellan wiles augmented by a subtle Charm spell, but this mer was too canny for that treatment. I seated myself with feet flat on the floor, folded my hands in my lap, and got directly to the point.

"My trip to the Wayshrine was canceled," I began.

He flicked his fingers, dismissing the event.

"Master Selvilo, I am told of a refugee camp located south of Weynon Village."

"Under the care of the Priory," he said, pushing back from the desk. "Is there more?"

I inwardly cursed my clumsiness. This mer had watched generations of my kind thrive, age, and die under his angled brows. It was no wonder that he could anticipate my fumbling, no doubt the same as hundreds who had polished this seat with their backsides before me.

"I wish to travel to Hackdirt," I said. "There are young women there, pregnant, and without a healer's care. And their religion seems suspect. Let me go there once and assess the community's situation, and by the next day I will report to you what I find."

Gureryne raised his brows.

I continued in a rush. "With cultists killing everyone and daedra about, there could be anything happening there, and no one to help them. Please, give me the time off so that I may go."

Gureryne tilted back in his chair. "On your time off, which you do not have, you wish to travel alone through the woods to assess the condition of a remote community whose village was razed to the ground thirty years ago by the Legion, the specific reason never given, in the event of dangerous cultist activity in the area?"

I swallowed the rock in my throat. "Yes, Master Selvilo."

He slowly shook his head. "Abiene, you do not disappoint." The suggestion of a smile lurked in the corners of his eyes.

"Oh! I would not be alone. Seed-Neeus's daughter, Dar-Ma? Dar-Ma is riding out with a shipment. I would be helping her with the delivery and keeping her company on the way."

"Well," Gureryne drew out the word, "I should not like to deprive our Dar-Ma of her company and helpmate." He gestured in a vague circle with his fingertips. "I trust you will make the arrangements. Report your plans to the appropriate staff members. When will you leave?"

"As soon as the weather breaks."

"I look forward to your report."

He spoke again as I reached the door. "Abiene." He was standing now, still behind his desk. "Take great care. There has always been a shadow over Hackdirt. I doubt that one fire-cleansing brought that town into the light."

[treydog]

Gureryne tilted back in his chair. "On your time off, which you do not have, you wish to travel alone through the woods to assess the condition of a remote community whose village was razed to the ground thirty years ago by the Legion, the specific reason never given, in the event of dangerous cultist activity in the area?"

I swallowed the rock in my throat. "Yes, Master Selvilo."

He slowly shook his head. "Abiene, you do not disappoint." The suggestion of a smile lurked in the corners of his eyes.

Love the dry (and affectionate) humor.

There has always been a shadow over Hackdirt.

Where have I heard that phrase before?

Abiene's "calming ritual" as she plans what to pack is a lovely bit of characterization. Hope she is also on high alert, as her suspicions are well-founded. And the fact that the Legion felt the need for a "cleansing" should increase her caution.

[SubRosa]

I enjoyed Abiene's preparations for her journey to Innsmouth Hackdirt. If she had been a man she would need none, she would just get on her horse and ride. So what if she was dirty, smelled, and looked funny? But us girls are not allowed to be any of those things.

Potatoes, bland vegetables, and beef. Probably all boiled. So the cooks are British then?

I do love the idea of putting a levitation spell on a chair. But the Cyrodiilic injunction against levitation would render the magic null outside of Morrowind...

On your time off, which you do not have, you wish to travel alone through the woods to assess the condition of a remote community whose village was razed to the ground thirty years ago by the Legion, the specific reason never given, in the event of dangerous cultist activity in the area?"

What could go wrong? I am sorry to keep belaboring it. Having played the game, we all know what it is coming next in Hackdirt. But I am loving this slow buildup. It is how a good Horror director will build tension by showing you the bomb ticking under the protagonist's seat, then go to the protagonist driving down the road, blithely unaware of her danger. Then go back and forth again, showing the time steadily running out. We in the audience are screaming at the screen to get out. But the character of course, does not know what we do.

There has always been a shadow over Hackdirt.

I see what you did here, and love it!

[Acadian]

During her walk back to the chapel, Abiene wisely uses her time to plan her next moves in detail – hoping the productive exercise will calm her nerves.

'It was no wonder that he could anticipate my fumbling, no doubt the same as hundreds who had polished this seat with their backsides before me.'
- - Not only funny and clever but highlights the human/elf lifespan difference.

Her meeting with Master Selvilo actually went pretty well and certainly makes things easier than wrestling with her options had he said no.

Even if we did not know the some of the details from the game of what we might expect in Hackdirt, you have set the stage for suspense superbly – as SubRosa noted above.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Sep 23 2025, 08:20 PM

[Kane]

Master Selvilo seems to be an welcome and wise guiding hand considering some of the other haughty Mage Guild members Abiene has had to deal with. Hopefully his warning on Hackdirt is considered.

[Burnt Sierra]

The calm before the storm.

Seeing as the update is Abiene focusing on details, I'm going to focus on a couple too. Who am I to argue with her?

First up, food.

We picked up our plates from a stack at the end of the line and served ourselves a mound of plain potatoes, a spoonful of re-hydrated vegetables, and some kind of meat in under-seasoned broth. Tonight the meat was beef. I had no complaint about the food's nutritional value, and I understood the scarcity of fresh ingredients this early in spring. Rather the lack of flavoring or any attempt at presentation irked me.

It's been a feature of the story, all the way through, of getting an insight into the characters based on their perspective to what and how they eat. Jerric, with the more is more plus mead approach (and what a fine approach it is too ), and Abiene with the focus on presentation and seasoning and blending - or lack thereof. Love how you do this

Gureryne remained seated in his chair but kicked out against the floor, sending himself sailing across the boards to his desk. The chair proper sat on a hinged base and a wheeled leg contraption that squeaked and squealed as he tilted and rolled. He had folded the rug back to allow the wheels free movement on the floor boards. Even as I mentally shook my head over the Dunmeri fascination with mechanical things, I wondered if Darnand might be inspired to add some magicka-powered Dwemer technology to allow the rolling chair independent movement.

And a three for one this time! Not only is Gureryne brought to life nicely, along with his pipe smoking habits, but also Abiene's curiosity into the mechanical underpinnings and reminding us of Darnand's interest in Dwemer technology. How to fit a lot of character into a very short description.

"There has always been a shadow over Hackdirt. I doubt that one fire-cleansing brought that town into the light."

And I suspect the calm is about to end, along with the scene, on a very ominous warning note.

[Grits]

Previously: Abiene got permission to travel to Hackdirt as soon as the rain stops.

treydog: Thank you, treydog! Now that Abiene has been warned, I’m sure she’ll be even more determined to get involved in Hackdirt’s affairs. But cautiously, as she does not imagine herself to be any kind of fighter. Gureryne surprised me with his chair antics and his affectionate amusement over Abiene. I didn’t know how her mental packing list fit in at first, only that she was doing it. Funny how the characters take the keyboard sometimes!

SubRosa: I’m happy to hear that the slow buildup is working. I drafted part of this chapter in a past NaNo as a standalone story to try a horror flavor and wasn’t sure if I would ever post it. I’m delighted that it’s happening during Halloween month! I was thinking of the mostly gray “boiled dinners” of my youth. My midwestern mom’s spice rack contained only salt. Seriously, not even pepper. Abiene wishes that a British cook worked in that kitchen! Nigella Lawson maybe, or Gary Rhodes! His frozen pea soup is still my go-to for a fast starter. Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Abiene is much more aware of her human-ness in the presence of elves than Jerric or Darnand are. Exactly, if Gureryne refused she had no plan B. Maybe the rest of her trip will go as smoothly as that meeting.

Kane: Given the warning, if Abiene had more caution than stubbornness she might try to recruit more company for their Hackdirt trip. Thank you, Kane!

Burnt Sierra: I love how food does double duty with culture and character. Also, I love food. It’s been interesting to see how much Abiene thinks about Darnand and what she thinks about him compared to Jerric. Thank you, Burnt!

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Chapter 21: Underneath, Part Six

Despite my careful planning, the weather waited over a week before permitting us to depart. On the appointed day I carried my satchel out to meet my rented horse at North Country Stables.

Bongond the ostler saw me coming and ducked under the carriage porch. By the time I reached the stable's turnout, he reappeared leading a tall gelding. The horse's black coat shone in the morning sun. He arched his neck and nudged Bongond as they walked.

Bongond spoke as they approached me. "There are no finer chestnut horses in all of Cyrodiil than you will find at North Country Stables, but Widowmaker here is faster than any of my breeding. Not as hardy, but he'll carry you where you want to go before you know you've left."

White stockings flashed as the horse high-stepped to a halt beside the Dunmer. A matching star blazed on his forehead.

"Widowmaker?"

Bongond's cheeks flushed a darker gray. "That was a jest. This one's called Cyrus."

Cyrus possessed a deep chest, prominent withers, and muscular hindquarters. He returned my gaze with a bold look of his own, ears pricked forward. I was reminded of the hunters of County Leyawiin, and the cross-country mounted events of my youth. Blood sports were not to my taste, but the headlong race across fields and woods made my blood sing. I did not anticipate that the slog through muddy trails with Dar-Ma would hold such excitement.

"He looks as if his name is Thunder," I said, offering him my hand. "Or perhaps Lightning. Are you certain that he will not object to our packs?"

"Trained even to a pack saddle, just as Seed-Neeus requested. Heh! You could put your packs on Theodore and rent a donkey to ride!"

Lost in the delight of silken nose and prickly whiskers, it took me a moment to realize what he had said. "Theodore? I thought this was Cyrus." I squinted at the ostler. "Bongond, have you been tippling already?"

The Dunmer laughed until he choked. "No. Yes! What?"

Bongond's wife Nardhil walked around the side of the stable, leading Dar-Ma's beloved paint Blossom. "By Azura, this mer will be the death of me."

"Good morning," I said to Nardhil. I tilted my head at Bongond, brows up.

"It's his back," she said. "He's probably still tipsy from last night. Drinks so that he can sleep, then wakes up in the night from the drink, and then drinks some more to get back to sleep. Wish there was something for him."

"Nardhil, I am a healer! Why haven't you said something?" I refrained from grabbing the mer's narrow shoulders and shaking my exasperation into her.

Bongond stood solidly on his feet, betraying neither pain nor inebriation.

"We don't follow the Nine." Nardhil closed her lips over whatever else she had been about to say.

"I don't care about that one bit." The hand that was not stroking the horse's jaw went to my hip. "Will you allow me to examine you?" I asked Bongond.

The mer waved a hand in the air, as if shooing flies. "Another time, Abiene."

"We're not cultists, you know," Nardhil said.

I blew out a breath. Cyrus/Theodore snorted in reply. "I know, Nardhil, and I don't suspect you of anything." It would do no good to chastise Nardhil over her lack of trust. For all I knew she had an issue with Bretons. She wouldn't be the first Dunmer who looked at me and remembered the slaves of their youth. I decided to explain it away for both of us. "In these times of trouble with daedra about, I can't blame you for your caution. I've met a winged twilight who was simply delightful, but if she appeared before us now, she would be shot down by the guards before anyone could object."

"He's right about the horse," Nardhil said, tying Blossom's lead to a hitching post. "But if you don't trust him, there's not much for it. Anyway this is guar weather."

The thought of myself mounted on a two-legged creature made me smile.

"Hellooo," a light voice managed to both rasp and warble from the road.

"Dar-Ma!" I said. "And Seed-Neeus! Good morning to you both."

Bongond brought my horse to the tacking area while I exchanged hugs with the two Argonians. Dar-Ma saddled Blossom while I familiarized myself with the rented equipment. The horse stood steady and alert under my hands. Seed-Neeus distributed the parcels from her hand cart.

"Well, what is his name?" I asked Nardhil. "Is it Cyrus or is it Theodore?"

"It's Toby," said Nardhil.

Toby flicked his ears toward Nardhil and then back, swishing his glorious tail.

"Let us have a good journey," I said to Toby.

We had planned a route with the washed-out bridge in mind. The trail to Hackdirt forded several streams, and according to Seed-Neeus even at full spring melt they would be passable. However the bridge that Ravenna had reported as washed-out presented a problem. With a wagon we would have had to go a full day's ride out of our way to reach another bridge, but Seed-Neeus had told us of a place where we could cross on horseback. It was not a maintained ford, but an area where the stream slipped its banks and flooded the surrounding meadows in spring. The path was not marked on a map, but Seed-Neeus told us that we would recognize it as more than a game trail. We would need to ride single file there.

Once we had said our farewells, Blossom and Toby carried us side by side to the Black Road. Their hooves rang on the cobbles and leather creaked under each of us. The slower horse and ox carts passed one another in either direction down the center lane. Dar-Ma and I did not try to converse with so many other folk around us. I kept myself entertained looking at the people on foot and in the carts that we passed.

The cool air still carried a piercing damp, but Magnus shone across a clear sky and beamed through the budding branches of the oaks above us. The only reason I knew they were oaks was because Jerric had told me so, relating the tale of his autumn ride to Chorrol on his paint horse Flash. It was hard to believe that was seven months ago. It seemed that everything had changed.

The Black Road dropped down through the Great Forest on its way east toward Weynon village. By mid-morning the Priory's spire peeked into view. Dar-Ma and I had resolved to stop briefly there for a comfort break and to water the horses, but not to approach the refugee camp or wander in the village.

Still, I thought there was no harm in making inquiries. "Let's use those," I said, indicating a row of outhouses placed nearer the road than the camp. "You go first."

I looked around at passersby while Dar-Ma relieved herself and I held the horses. After I took my turn, I waved to her that I would be back in a moment. Then I picked up my skirts and jogged over to some men leaning on a fence with dry grass stalks hanging out of their mouths. Two wore homespun tunics over rough trousers, and the third wore a leather vest. All three had the type of round-brimmed hats worn by field hands pushed back on their foreheads.

From the way they looked me over as I approached, I suspected they were hard-up for entertainment.

"Good day," I greeted them.

"G'day."

"Aye-yup."

"Miss."

I directed my attention to the man in the striped tunic whose greeting had sounded the most like words. "I'm Abiene Metonne, from the chapel in Chorrol. I'm looking for a friend who may be staying here. Her name is Valdi." I gestured above my head. "Nord girl, about this tall, red hair, and she has freckles. I wonder if any of you have seen her?"

My chosen communicator had the olive skin and dark eyes of a Nibenean. A few days' worth of stubble shadowed his chin and cheeks. "Nope," he said.

"I seen her," said the man in the vest. His solemn expression did not fit his rosy apple cheeks. "She was here for a bit and then gone. Like a lot of young girls with no one beside them. Can't say where they go or where they're from. They just drift on through."

The third man gestured with his piece of grass. "Can't say I blame 'em. Barely food to go around and no work at all. That Bosmer lass would go flat on her back for a piece of bread, she was so hungry. You could walk out into the fields and pick up what you need off the ground, but they wouldn't let us wander."

"Are you saying there's not enough food, they're starving you? And you're not allowed to leave?" I looked out over the fields around Weynon. "Surely there will be work when it's time for planting?"

The Nibenean pointed at the third man with his elbow. "He's talking about the place we came from. There's nothing left to glean in these fields. Some folk in the village caught our lads in their chicken coop. Now the whole town's up in arms about thieves. And we've heard the village is riddled with cultists, and their lads have come sniffing around our girls. Now we're penned up like animals."

I didn't see anything keeping them there, but custom and suggestion could be as restrictive as walls. "Do you know where she could have gone?" I directed my question to Mister Vest. "Or is there someone who befriended her that I might speak with?"

The vest man snorted. "Let her go, miss. There's plenty who need your thoughts that ain't on the run."

He was right, I should just let her go. She was not mine to try to keep, and I couldn't anyway. What would I have been to that young woman had she stayed in Chorrol? I had my chance to help her, and it wasn't enough. Stendarr, guide her steps, I prayed, walking back across the road. Mother Mara, cast your loving eye upon her. Akatosh, show her purpose. My Lady Dibella, some day may she find joy.

Dar-Ma stood chatting at the horses, rocking up and down from heel to toe. "I found out where we can get some water," she said. "I asked everyone who passed until someone knew."

Even Dar-Ma's cheer couldn't bring a smile to my heart, but I put one on my face. "Thank you, my friend. Let's get going." I smoothed my hand down Toby's neck before mounting.

We followed the Black Road south until it turned east, where we took the narrower Fort Carmala road. After a time we passed a pair of weathered columns.

"That's how you would've gone to your Wayshrine party," Dar-Ma said, pointing. "I'm sorry you had to miss it."

"Now we'll have each other's company on the whole journey." This time my smile was real. I reached over and we clasped hands for a few paces.

"Well anyway, I'm glad you're with me."

The turnoff to Fort Carmala marked the end of paving stones. Like many of the ancient forts, this one had been put back to use though partially ruined. I wondered what enchantments had been laid down by the builders to keep the roads solid while the walls slowly fell. Or perhaps the walls had fallen in some prior crisis. Much of my Tamrielic history had slipped my mind as soon as I finished the exams.

Our horses' footsteps thumped on the soft ground. As Seed-Neeus had warned, the Hackdirt road was little more than a track. The land became wilder, with clumps of trees spread out in great natural meadows. I could see antelope and deer, and once a shy fox dashed across the road. This was cattle country, with most of the farmland farther south and at a lower elevation. Farmers tended to stay close to the roads with their Imperial Legion protection. The ranchers kept their own law, or so I had been told. These days folk were more concerned about daedra than ogres, trolls, or goblins, but our old enemies still lived all around us, perhaps closer than we knew. The daedra had disrupted Tamriel's way of life whether civilized, uncivilized, or wild.

"We must be approaching the first ford," Dar-Ma said. "Look how the road drops ahead into those trees."

"Good. We can take a break and water the horses."

"Speaking of, would you look at these puddles? Mother used to let me paddle about in the rain when the park flooded. Can you imagine?"

"I can!" I said. "In Leyawiin Ilonea let me play in the garden when it rained, naked as a newt. Shall we revisit our girlhood at the ford? I warn you, it will be chilly!"

"No!" Dar-Ma's head fins rose and fell with her choking laugh. "What if someone saw us?"

"We haven't met a soul since the turnoff. Our reputations will be safe between us and our horses."

I nudged Toby away from Blossom as they slipped and splashed on the sodden trail. Any lingering resentment over the weather delay faded into concern about the current conditions. Blossom carried on with head low and relaxed, but Toby laid his ears back. His feet made sucking sounds as he walked.

"Let's get out of this mud," I said, raising up in the saddle to look around. "We can— Whoa!"

Toby spun in a sudden circle, lifting both front feet as he jumped. Somehow I kept my seat. He finished standing on the grass above the trail, rigid and snorting.

"Easy," I said, sliding to the ground. My Command spell kept him still.

Dar-Ma and Blossom stood wide-eyed on the trail. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Give me just a moment. I need to figure out what in Mara's name just happened."

My healing spell found no injury, but my hands discovered the trouble.

"Stendarr give me strength," I said, putting Toby's foot back down.

"What?"

"I'll have to pull the rest of these nails." I sighed, picturing myself knees and elbows deep in mud. "And then find Toby's shoe."

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This post has been edited by Grits: Yesterday, 01:32 AM

[treydog]

An idyllic and yet troubling journey. You brilliantly weave in the tensions and doubts that lie just beneath the surface as the empire reels with the impact of the daedra invasion. Troubled times rake up old resentments and fears, as the interaction with Nardhil demonstrates.

Abiene cannot help to want to heal everyone who is in need - even those like Vardil, who seek to leave their injuries behind by taking to the road.

Lovely and lyrical and thought-provoking all at the same time.

[Acadian]

A funny scene at the stable. I think I prefer Toby to the other offered names for Abiene’s rented black gelding. And, of course, Dar-Ma will ride her paint, Blossom.

The stop at Weynon was another sobering look into the indirect effects of the Oblivion Crisis.
’That Bosmer lass would go flat on her back for a piece of bread, she was so hungry.’
- - Traveling with a Bosmer lass as I do, this was particularly heartbreaking.

Good job staying on the rearing Toby. Urgh, lost a shoe in the mud – which will likely soon cover much of Abiene as she gets him sorted out. I guess the debate as to whether to get naked as a newt and have a quick cold bath in the ford ahead is settled. . . .

[SubRosa]

I personally prefer the name Widowmaker over Billy Ray Cyrus.

How many names does this horse have? Apparently as many as the drunken stableman wishes!

Once again some disturbing showing of how current events are affecting people, and leading those with the least power and privilege to be extra cautious lest they invite a pogrom down upon their heads.

Other than all that, we enjoyed a nice - albeit muddy - jaunt through the country. Until Widowmaker/Theodore/Toby threw his shoe. Let's home Abiene has some veterinary experience along with her human and mer healing skills.