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

[ghastley]

I remember the Wobbly Goblet, from before it became the Lucky Mudcrab. Not many inns got that level of detail.

You captured the strange emptiness of the village nicely, and the odd nature of the well. And Dar-Ma is nowhere to be seen.

[SubRosa]

All of yesterday's trials and travails on the road becomes a simple trip this morning. What a difference a day can make.

The nearly tunnel like forest and layer of mist Abiene passed through on the way gives one a sensation of traveling from one world to another. Which is a classic of both horror and fantasy/adventure stories. Our protagonist goes from the ordinary boring world like Tattoine or the Shire, and travels to an exotic world of wonder and danger, like Mos Eisley or Mordor where the normal rules of quiet life no longer apply.

Nice call out to the Wobbly Goblet!

Hackdirt certainly appears to be less than inviting. Less than anything in fact. It looks like the town is deserted. I wonder where everyone could have gone to? *Looks down at the ominously rumbling earth below*...

[treydog]

Abiene has to be thinking - "I finally made it to Hackdirt! Yay? Is there an echo here?"

Wonderful descriptive writing which builds the creepiness factor, even without the zipping of string music or ominous organ chords...

And so many questions, such as "Who locks a well?" and "Why are there no crops?" and most of all "Where IS everyone - most especially Dar Ma?"

But Abiene is no wilting violet, even if perhaps sometimes she should be.

Most effectively spine-chilling.

[Acadian]

Great to have you back, and here’s hoping your recovery progresses smoothly!

*

Tacked, packed and under full detect life, Abiene and her long-legged companion set out.

Aside from nervousness about the road behind and ahead of her, the trip went smoothly. Spooky channeling by the misty forest around them notwithstanding.

You’re doing a wonderful job building mystery and suspense. And clues! A well with no pulley system that seems oversized and is padlocked. Large piles of dirt – suggestive of digging. Rumbling beneath. All hinting that what Abiene seeks may be underground.

Moslin’s Inn certainly appears much less inviting than mALX’s wonderfully Wobbly Goblet!

[Burnt Sierra]

Yay, she's arrived. Well, maybe that yay is a tad premature.

I can see why Trey made reference to string music and ominous organ chords, it's an incredibly creepy and cinematic description (in a really, really positive way!) You can almost sense the camera panning out and showing the village, zooming in to show all the little weird details, then of course the shot through Abiene's eyes as she takes her slow turn around the well. It's so descriptive and visual I went back over it with a fine tooth comb, and I was caught by surprise. Not only is there a wealth of non-visual sensory description, but the sound effect I could hear whilst reading, doesn't actually exist! My imagination had been so triggered, it had actually added one (a slow, repetitive windchime clanking in case you're curious ), despite you mentioning the complete and utter silence. Guess it's fair to say I got dragged into the atmosphere.

Very beautifully written, roll on tomorrow!

[Grits]

Previously: Abiene and Toby reached Hackdirt and found it creepily quiet. Abiene decided to look for Dar-Ma at the inn.

ghastley: I wonder if I still have the laptop with my Wobbly Goblet install on it. There were so many fun details inside and out. Jerric even used the apartment as his home for a while. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: I've had road trips like that. One leg is a nightmare, and the way back is a breeze. That's a very interesting point about traveling from one world to another. I knew how I wanted that part to feel, but I hadn't put my finger on the why. Thank you, SubRosa!

treydog: Exactly! She's finally here, but what the heck? Any other characters would be checking their weapons by now. So of course it had to be Abiene who went to Hackdirt. Thank you, treydog!

Acadian: I remember that wonderful stable at the Wobbly Goblet with the grape press and the horse Sapphire wandering around. Poor Toby has to stand there all by himself, not even a Blossom for company. Thank you, Acadian!

Burnt Sierra: Very much a qualified yay on arrival. A phantom wind chime, I love it! I spent a lot of time visualizing that scene, so I am delighted to hear it came through to the page. The fine tooth comb, whoop! Thank you, Burnt!

.

Chapter 21: Underneath, Part Eleven

The door creaked open onto a spacious foyer, two stories in height. A reception desk stood in front of me about three paces away. Beyond it I could see the tavern, light filtering in through dirty windows. Twin staircases rose up from the reception area, one on each side. A small landing with a closed door stood at the top of the left staircase. On the right a dark passageway led out of sight.

I stepped up to the desk and raised my voice. "Hello?"

The reception desk's broad surface was empty and free of obvious wear. I saw no guest register with ink pot and quill, no posted menu or hours for meals at the tavern.

When no one answered my call, I slipped around to peek at the desk's business side, expecting to find scrolls, safe boxes, ledgers, and containers of supplies all stashed away perhaps by an overly tidy innkeeper. However the shelves and cubbies stood empty. The single indication that the desk was ever used was a small rug for the innkeeper to stand on, the only one in the otherwise bare ground floor.

The open hallway above suggested that the guest rooms occupied the right-hand side of the second floor. The closed door on the left made me think that perhaps there lay the innkeeper's private quarters. A few steps brought me to the base of the left-hand staircase. "Hello!" I called up at the closed door, sounding impatient even to my own ears.

I received no answer, so I walked into the tavern. A long bar stood along the room's right side, with shelves behind. Three round tables made up the dining area, though there was room for a dozen more. Each table housed two chairs. The occupants of this silent village must not like much company when they came out for food and drink. The usual tavern smells of spit-roasted meat and spilled ale were absent here. I could barely detect wood smoke. The fireplace along the left side of the room held no ready wood nor even ashes.

A single keg sat at the bar's far end, the tap oriented toward where the barman should be standing. I supposed that this would not be the place to look for a selection of fine wines. The door against the back wall must lead to the rear yard, and the one behind the bar to the kitchen. I debated my next move. Perhaps I should run through the streets shrieking Dar-Ma's name. The mental image of the town's blank windows witnessing such an act made me shiver.

Before I could call out again, a thump sounded above followed by the scrape of boot heels. I held myself just below a run on the way back to the base of the left-hand set of stairs.

Slow footsteps continued behind the closed door. I imagined a reluctant individual loathe to answer a customer's call. What sort of welcome had Dar-Ma received here last night? And why had she not flown down the stairs when she heard my call? Perhaps she had found a kindred spirit in one of the village's other buildings and was even now chatting away, heads together over tea or some project. Or perhaps my dear friend was comfortably ensconced above in her guest room, blissfully napping.

Those hopes evaporated when I sighted the author of the footsteps. The door opened to reveal a lean, bald man wearing soiled breeches with suspenders and a rumpled shirt left unbuttoned to the waist. With his olive skin tone and aquiline nose I took him for an Imperial. In the dim light I couldn't be sure, but his eyes seemed overly large and protruding. His wide slash of a mouth was drawn into a frown, lips thinned so much as to be indistinguishable. Even as I wondered whether he shared Ravenna's skin affliction, he reached up and scratched his neck. The fingernails made a scraping sound, as if drawn over a turtle's shell.

"I'm Abiene Metonne," I said in a rush, biting my tongue on the rest of my usual greeting. It would not serve Marta and Ruby to betray my purpose as a healer here. "I— "

"Good for you. Now get going."

For a moment I was taken aback. When he turned to the chamber whence he came and moved to close the door behind him, I found my tongue. "Wait! I'm looking for my friend, Dar-Ma. Is she still here?"

"Who? Nah, I ain't seen no young women around."

"What? Do you mean to say she didn't spend the night here?"

"No lizard woman was here. What would I know about her? I ain't seen her." The man shifted his feet on the landing.

I felt my eyes narrow. "How did you know she is a young Saxhleel?"

He turned his head so slightly that he may as well not have done and spat onto his own stairs. "Well you're young, and you gave me a lizard name. Now I got things to do." The man closed the door practically on his heels.

"Oh, you wretch!" I said under my breath. I didn't need to pry around with diagnostic spells to detect that he was lying. Pounding on the door and demanding the truth seemed imprudent. Dar-Ma was still outside my reach, and this man had some reason to deceive me. My worries flared into anger.

I retreated to the front stoop and slammed the door like an adolescent. Toby swiveled his ears and snorted at me.

A few steps brought me to his side. I slid an arm under his mane and leaned into his warm side. "Good boy, Toby." His wholesome scent calmed me.

The innkeeper was not cooperating, but he would not have been the only person who saw or even spoke to Dar-Ma yesterday. My eyes went to the faded general mercantile sign hanging crookedly over a doorway across the circle. There was my next stop. But first I had a more urgent need.

The outhouse behind the inn had certainly seen some use. A chamber pot stood tilted against the single-seat structure. I glared up at the back of the inn. Unless the innkeeper had left behind his night jar, he had a guest last night. I resolved to confront him again once I had more information from Seed-Neeus's trade partner.

With the privy door bouncing against its frame and a Cleanse spell still swirling around my fingers, I strode across the circle toward the shop.

[SubRosa]

The inn certainly seems as desolate and abandoned as the rest of the town. And its keeper certainly has the Innsmouth Look about him.

Like Abiene, I also instantly homed in on the innkeeper's slip up in describing Dar-Ma as an Argonian. But even before that when he described her as a young woman. How would he have known that either? Most definitely sus. I hope Abiene remembers how to use her Absorb Health spell...

Keep on looking Abiene! Perhaps she will find more signs of Dar-Ma's passage. Blossom had to go somewhere, and I imagine horse droppings are easier to find than Saxhleel ones.

[Acadian]

Well, the tavern, with its dour innkeeper, was quite unhelpful. Although his explanation about Dar-ma being a young Argonian woman was possible, I agree with Abiene that he is likely lying about having not seen her. One thing for sure is that he wants to be rid of Abiene.

Imagining the outhouse to be dirty and spider-infested, I’m glad that Abiene did not succumb to a likely urge to retreat into the nearby forest to relieve herself. Her stop there yielded a clue that the inn had likely had a guest the previous night.

With few clues, her plan to visit the general merchandise shoppe next seems reasonable – especially as that should have been Dar-Ma’s destination for her delivery.

The ominous atmosphere you are building makes me wish Abiene knew a ‘summon Nord’ spell. . . although SubRosa's hope for an absorb health spell is more likely, given Abiene's skill with restoration.

[treydog]

The mystery deepens in Hackdirt. (Or, as Mrs. Treydog likes to say, "The plot clots.")

I supposed that this would not be the place to look for a selection of fine wines.

Probably not even a "dry white", which would go well with the tone of her thought.

Whenever someone runs into an unhelpful and downright rude inn- or tavern-keeper, I am reminded of the scene in "Lonesome Dove" where Augustus (Robert Duval) pistol-whips the bartender and remarks, "Ain't much of a crime, whacking a surly bartender." To her credit (and despite her impulses), Abiene was more raised more genteelly.

A graduate of the Mage's Guild is many things, but "stupid" is not one of them. If someone slips up, not just once, but twice, and that someone is obviously lying... Abiene is going to find out why. Now, we can argue whether or not she should go and ask for the assistance of "Guard" and his other brother, "Guard," but... she is on the scene, has good reason to believe Dar-Ma is also nearby, and her temper is up. Besides which, the brothers (and sisters) of the family Guard would probably turn down an offer to investigate....

So sound the trumpet - Abiene is on the case.

Most excellent as always!

[Grits]

Previously: The innkeeper claimed he had not seen Dar-Ma. Annoyed, Abiene decided to ask at the shop. Some of these updates run a little short, but some of the upcoming ones run a little long. I think it will even out in the end.

SubRosa: I laughed out loud at the thought of Saxhleel droppings! Too true. Thank you, Rosa!

Acadian: Abiene will be wishing for a 'summon Nord' spell before long! She can't even try to call Darnand on her crystal ball, since she traveled light to get here. Thank you, Acadian!

treydog: The plot clots, indeed! My favorite surly innkeeper is Basil Fawlty. You are exactly right in why Abiene doesn't retreat and return later with help – especially now that she has the bit in her teeth. Thank you, treydog!

Everyone: Happy Thanksgiving! Jerric's Story will take a holiday pause next week for family and a hopefully obscene amount of pumpkin everything. See you in the first week of December!

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Chapter 21: Underneath, Part Twelve

Moslin's Dry Goods looked like any of the other buildings, half-timbered over a ground floor of stacked stone. Dead leaves littered the wide front porch. All but one of the shutters were closed. Around the side of the building a covered area sheltered work benches strewn with various implements. A cart of the size used with a single horse rested there with its braces up on supports.

The porch boards creaked under my boots. Though it was customary to simply enter a public building without knocking, I felt ill at ease doing so. Still, I was not going to knock.

I pushed the door open to find myself in a smaller space than I had expected. The walls were lined to the ceiling with open shelves, mostly empty. A brown-haired Imperial woman leaned against the counter. From her vantage point she could look through the open shutter right across the town center. She must have watched me examine the well, enter and exit the inn, use the privy, and then approach her shop.

The woman stared at me from wide-set, bulging eyes.

I cleared my throat. "Good day. I am looking for Dar-Ma, Seed-Neeus's daughter. She made a delivery here yesterday."

"I don't know any Dar-Ma," she said. "If you're talking about that cursed Argonian swindler from Chorrol, I'd like to know where she is, too. She never showed up. How am I supposed to run a shop without merchandise? You tell her I want half off on my next delivery."

I glanced around the shop without any purpose beyond controlling my impulse to slap her. Why had she said 'She never showed up' instead of 'She's late'? Surely Dar-Ma had been here yesterday and made her delivery. A prickle ran across my skin. If something foul had befallen my dear, sweet friend, these strange folk were covering it up. It would be at least another day before we would be missed enough for Seed-Neeus to send someone after us. I did not wish to find myself at the mercy of these odd people. I must find Dar-Ma without becoming the next victim.

"Well, while I'm here I might as well do some shopping," I said. "I'm afraid I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Abiene Metonne. And you are..?"

"Etira Moslin. Look around and then you'd best move on, if you know what's good for you."

Moslin. Is this whole town related? I walked slowly along the shelves, trailing my fingers through the dust.

Not everything on the back wall was coated in filth. Some linen-wrapped haunches of meat shared a shelf with bolts of new cloth in patterns I had seen at Seed-Neeus's store. Tins of the brand of salt that she carried were there as well, along with some other goods that were new but did not look familiar by their labels. I could have kicked myself for not paying closer attention when I packed and unpacked Toby's loads. Then I mentally slapped my forehead.

"I have some of Seed-Neeus's goods on my horse," I said. "I'm looking for Dar-Ma so that she may fulfill your order. I don't know what else to do with the delivery. Without Dar-Ma I'll have to pack the goods back to Chorrol."

Etira's frog-looking eyes squinted when she frowned. "Bring the goods to me. I'll make the trade."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm not authorized."

"Leave the goods, and I'll have Seed-Neeus bring a bill when she comes next."

"Let me think," I said. "Maybe Dar-Ma will show up with the rest of the delivery, since she hasn't come yet."

While I continued my casual stroll pretending a nonchalance that I didn't remotely feel, I rounded the corner and could see behind the sales counter. Along with the expected ledgers and coin box was a worn axe of the type meant to be wielded in one hand. I looked at it for a moment, at first not comprehending what I saw. Realization dawned with a chill that froze my limbs while sweat broke out on my forehead.

The axe had two nicks at a particular place on the blade. The weathered grip was wrapped in a pattern that I had noticed just a few weeks before. And when I stepped closer I could see the diamond shaped finial and the runes scratched into the base of the blade.

Valdi's axe!

"Where did you get that?" I said, before I could stop myself.

Etira gave me a long stare. "Some Nord slut came through here a while ago. Traded her axe for... food. Told her she should move on if she knew what was good for her, just like you've been told. She wasn't just any dumb Nord. She listened."

This was as much a lie as anything else I had been told, and now I had a new concern. Whatever had separated Valdi from her Ma's axe had not been voluntary. I had two young friends to find.

"I suppose I'll wait around for Dar-Ma," I said. "Maybe get a meal at the inn."

"Suit yourself."

I stepped outside and walked down the porch to where steps led into the loading and work area. I didn't have time to be nervous before a sight took my breath. A hide had been stretched onto a frame to dry, which in itself was unremarkable. This one was a brown paint on a field of white. Like Dar-Ma's beloved mare Blossom. Those wrapped cuts in the shop must be horse meat.

I ran to the hide with my heart in my throat. "Oh no," I whispered, brushing the short hair with my fingertips. "Oh my dear Dar-Ma, you will be so sad."

A soft wicker spun me on my heels. Around the back of the building was a small, fenced paddock. It housed a water trough, a feed bucket, and a brown paint horse, very much alive.

"Blossom!" I hopped the fence with no regard for my dignity or clothing.

This was certainly Dar-Ma's horse. I pressed my face against hers in both sudden relief and confirmation of my fears. Here was proof. I spent a moment and some magicka checking Blossom's condition. She was in robust health.

"I'll be back for you, girl!" It wouldn't do to try to hide a horse even in this empty town, but now with the fresh hide and meat for sale I had new worries for my four-legged friends. "I have to find Dar-Ma and Valdi."

When I marched back inside I smacked the door open so hard it rebounded against the racks on the wall. "That is Dar-Ma's horse in your back yard," I said before Etira could make a sound. "These are her trade goods on the shelves. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Etira crossed her arms over her chest. "I already told you, she never showed up. That's my horse. Owned it for years. Now buy something or get out."

I managed to prevent my jaw from dropping at the bald-faced lie, but her arrogance shocked some sense into me. It was going to take more than honest indignation to get information out of this hostile woman.

"I beg your pardon," I said in a soft tone I hoped she would take for humility. "You see Dar-Ma is also my friend, and I'm worried about her. You know there's talk about this town, though it doesn't seem fair, but you can see why I would worry. They say something awful happened here, to your people. How do you cope?" As I spoke I gathered my will to overcome hers and concentrated it into my hand.

Etira's scowl didn't soften and her posture remained wary, but she let her eyes run over me again. "We get by with no help from outsiders like you. The good times are coming back, though, everyone will see. You'd best be moving on if you know what's good for you."

"I don't want to cause any trouble. You're right, if Dar-Ma doesn't arrive soon, I should deliver her goods to you. Perhaps I'll just wait at the inn." With a practiced gesture I brushed a curl from my face, sending the spell swirling in a lazy tumble toward Etira. Its pale green light should not have been noticeable to her. I had learned to conceal my Illusion spells.

Etira leaped aside as if I had flung a bucket of slops in her direction. "No spells! You try another one of your mage tricks in here, and you'll be sorry! Get out of here, witch!"

Heat flooded my cheeks. I hastily left the shop.

[Acadian]

Enjoy your pumpkin fest next week and I shall look forward to sharing our long distance traditional day after Thanksgiving pumpkin pie and coffee breakfast.

*

Well Etira was no more helpful than the dour innkeeper, but Abiene’s look around did yield clues and when she found Blossom (happily in good health), that confirmed Dar-Ma had been there, made the delivery but not departed. Worrisome indeed! And, as Abiene notes, she now also is concerned about Valdi.

Clever using an illusion spell that should have traveled unnoticed but damn – that green illusion magic just travels so darn slowly it is easily dodged if detected.

[treydog]

The horse hide caused my heart to drop... almost more than Valdi's ancestral axe. Sadly, I fear Valdi's fate is not so happy as Blossom's....

As to Hackdirt and its history (as well as its current inhabitants).... Most of the time, when a town is burned to the ground, it is a tragedy. In this case, I think Abiene is looking for a fire spell - a strong one.

Wonderfully slow build to what is going to be a frightening revelation.

[SubRosa]

Looks like the dry goods store is long on dry, short on goods... Plenty more of the Innsmouth Look represented here however...

And there are Dar-Ma's goods on the shelf. Even January - who is normally about the kindest person you can imagine - would have been hard-pressed to keep from sending Moslin through the wall.

Still, that was some quick thinking on Abiene's part, to bring up the rest of the goods for the delivery. Now she has some leverage. I wonder how much she will be able to pry with it?

Valdi's axe too, and Blossom in the back yard? Abiene is truly a very considerate soul for opting to go with the illusion spell rather than Absorb Health...

[Grits]

Previously: The shopkeeper Etira Moslin denied ever seeing Dar-Ma, even when confronted with the evidence of new goods on her shelves and Blossom pastured behind the house. When Abiene tried and failed to use a Charm spell on her, Etira kicked her out.

Acadian: Though I was offline I lifted a cup in your direction (I was in Arizona) to toast our traditional day-after coffee and pie breakfast!
Abiene's confidence took a major hit when Etira dodged that spell. More clues and more frustration! Thank you, Acadian!

treydog: I couldn't keep Blossom in imagined peril for more than a second! I have thrown the book when I've read that an animal came to harm. Abiene is sure getting mad enough for a big fire spell. Thank you, treydog!

SubRosa: Abiene could use January backing her up in this situation! The Absorb Health spell may yet come into play. Thank you, SubRosa!

Everyone: A warning, if mention of pregnancy loss will upset you, I suggest skipping this update.

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Chapter 21: Underneath, Part Thirteen

Etira didn't remark as I fled the shop. I kept my back straight and my steps as calm as possible passing the well, certain that her angry gaze was on me. The hope that I might come upon Dar-Ma engaged in some innocuous activity had been crushed between Etira's and the innkeeper's lies. I must keep my wits about me and find my friends before the town's inhabitants added me to the list of the missing. My satchel's weight against my side reminded me of Marta and Ruby. It was time to investigate the still-silent dwellings.

First I took steps to facilitate our departure. By the time I reached Toby, I had composed myself. I removed the packs of Seed-Neeus's goods and set them against the wall, but left Toby tacked up. When I found Dar-Ma and Valdi we would want to get away quickly.

I walked around behind the nearest house and found signs that it was inhabited. A wood pile stood by the back door with a hand cart beside it. The next house had an empty chicken coop and a blood-stained chopping block. I wandered this way until I reached a two-story house with a porch along the back. An open hearth stood near the center of the yard with utility benches nearby and a wash pot in the cold ashes. A peek inside revealed rancid water, scummy and gray. Curious and still completely alone, I picked up a stick that stood propped against the bench. A dredge through the water produced folds of what should probably be white fabric.

It is amazing what one can become accustomed to. My unease had dwindled to a low hum as the minutes had passed without discovery, but now alarm flared through my nerves once again. Someone had been doing laundry and left this pot full of linens soaking until it grayed from lack of attention. I walked over to the bench and put the stick into the washtub there. A red garment embroidered with flowers floated to the surface.

My heart fell into my boots. Here was Ruby's prized bodice, possibly her only connection to her former life. While pregnancy may have caused her to stop wearing it for a time, there was no way she would have carelessly let it sit in wash water until it molded. Nor would her sister-wives have left a wash pot unattended.

The hair on my neck began to prickle. A shadow in the ruins did not seem to belong there. Without looking back or seeming to hurry, I walked around the rest of the circle toward the village's last public building, the chapel. Now seemed a good time to investigate.

The building stood one story high, with a bell tower that rose to the height of the inn's middle gable. At the last moment before I reached the front steps, I changed direction and slipped through the open gate to the cemetery. I paused at the first headstone and turned, peering between my curls to see if I had been followed.

A man with unkempt, shoulder-length hair and an Imperial's olive skin tone stood a handful of paces beyond the gate, openly glaring at me. A greeting died unvoiced in my throat. Something about his bold stance and fearless gaze set my skin prickling. He showed no interest in observing the most basic manners, and in my experience those who were not bound by social restrictions rarely honored them. My feet wanted to carry me back to the inn or even to the shop where I would have at least unfriendly company, but this man was likely behaving in a way that the other equally rude folk of Hackdirt would find acceptable toward an outsider. I lifted my chin and resolved to keep an eye on him while pretending to ignore his presence.

By now I had been standing at the large headstone long enough to notice the name engraved in the surface. Moslin. The family name shared by most of the people I had met who were here or connected to Hackdirt. The uppermost name on this plinth was that of Irlav Moslin, whose inscription informed me had been the founder of the local mines and thus the town that sprang up to support them. A tickle of unease crept across the back of my already unsettled neck. Arkay's symbol of protection was absent here. Nor were any of the Nine represented, and neither did the tombstone hold any familiar death and rebirth symbols. However the inscription was followed by a paragraph in writing that resembled the spiky text I had seen in tomes from the Mages Guild library. Irlav Moslin, the founder of Hackdirt, had been memorialized by his descendants in Daedric text.

Not all daedra are bad daedra, I reminded myself. Just ask a Dunmer. Moreover, several of the Divines had a counterpart in the Daedric pantheon. Arkay and Meridia's spheres of concern overlapped. Julianos devotees were often tempted by the knowledge to be found in Hermaeus Mora's realm. Dibella's influence in matters of art, beauty, and erotic expression were coarsely mirrored in Sanguine's lust-driven revels. None of this gave me comfort as I looked down at the sinister angles of the text on Irlav Moslin's grave marker.

I wandered through the cemetery without a goal other than planning my next move. My follower stood still as a tombstone in the crisp air, his large eyes tracking me. He was shirtless under a roughly made fur vest, and his leather trousers showed years of use. Though his brown hair looked a similar shade to Etira's, I had no basis other than my spiraling suspicions to mark them as kin.

I didn't know what I was looking for until I saw them. Two mounds of raw earth, patted smooth. I kept my pace steady as I moved toward them, fingernails digging into my palms. Those two fresh graves would not bear markers with Valdi's and Dar-Ma's names. My friends were not here.

One grave was marked only with a wooden plank, I assumed as a temporary measure until the local stone carver could craft a tombstone. The other's stone was already in place. I bent to read the name, checking first to assure myself that my unwelcome companion had not decided to join me graveside.

Here lies all that was mortal of Ravenna Moslin, daughter of Gondolina and Farthaer Moslin, granddaughter of Irlav Moslin, founder of Hackdirt and First Leader of the Most Ultimate Church of the Deep Ones. Interred in her arms is infant son Handel, son of Bertollo Moslin, son of Gondolina and Farthaer Moslin.

So Marta and Ruby had been right. They and their sister-wife were married to her brother. The dates showed that Ravenna had died at 43 years of age. Her son had passed on the same day, the day of his birth. As I had feared Ravenna must have gone into labor on the trek home. I wondered if her son had been stillborn, or if he lived to draw breath. Perhaps he had been cut from the belly of a dying Ravenna only to perish, bathed in his mother's blood rather than his birthing waters. I placed my hand on the stone in sorrow for Ravenna's ordeal and for the little lost child. If I had spoken up she would probably not have listened. But my words might have changed something.

And who lay under this second mound of earth? The board bore no markings. The grave's placement suggested a sister-wife lay there, but which? And where was the other one? Until I discovered the abandoned laundry, Marta and Ruby had been my next hope for finding Dar-Ma and Valdi. Now they seemed like ghosts in my mind.

The strange man was no longer in sight. I walked around to the front of the building, my ears straining in the unnatural silence for the sound of unwelcome company. A breeze rattled the barren branches above me, but no crunching of fallen leaves hinted at a follower. I realized that my own feet were largely silent, as the leaves underfoot were soft and rotten from damp.

The fence along this side of the cemetery did not have a gate. I walked over to the stone wall of the chapel to slip between the fence and the edge of the building. Gathering my skirt tightly behind one of my legs so that it would not snag, I braced my hand against the building and wiggled through. When I turned, I found myself face to face with the shirtless vest man, his bold eyes boring into mine. He was close enough that I caught his body smell, an odd moldy odor with the sharp tang of sweat.

I must confess I made a small sound of surprise. Then I stared right back at him. "You startled me, sir!"

The man's lipless slash of a mouth gaped open. "You'll leave this place as soon as you can if you know what's good for you."

I circled around him so as not to turn my back. "I am not at liberty to leave at the moment, but perhaps you could give me some information that would hasten my departure. I am looking for my friend Dar-Ma, an Argonian." I drew breath to continue, but he interrupted.

"Never seen her."

I pointed toward the shop. "Her horse is stabled at Moslin's Dry Goods, and the goods she brought are on the shelves."

"Wouldn't know about that." He scratched a flaky patch on his chest, releasing more of the musty odor.

I stepped hastily back, a move unbecoming to a healer but one that should certainly be understandable under the circumstances. "Have you seen a Nord girl pass through here? She has red hair and carries a hand axe."

The man's eyes narrowed to slits. "Maybe so. No Nord girl around here now, though."

I gestured to the chapel's front door. "Do you suppose the chaplain is in?" If this man was religious, a reminder might help ease his aggression toward me. If he was not, I might find refuge within the chapel, Daedric runes in the cemetery notwithstanding.

"Chaplain. Heh." He mimicked my gesture and accent. "Why don't you pop in and see?"

That seemed like a better idea than standing around smelling this man's fungal infection. I brushed my palms down my hips in a brisk, habitual gesture, and marched up the five steps to the chapel door.

The chapel was surprisingly ornate for such a run-down and impoverished looking village. I entered through arched double doors at the base of the tower. The latch clicked open easily, and the door swung on well-balanced hinges. I gave myself a mental shake. Of course this building would be maintained. Even the ridiculous shop was solidly built. This community was founded on a mine after all, for the love of Mara.

The empty chapel seemed normal inside. Two rows of backless benches ran down the axis of the building, one on either side of a central aisle. Candle holders in each corner held unlit pillar candles. A lectern adorned with a four-pronged candelabra stood facing the benches.

Curiosity drew me up the aisle, though caution sounded an ever-increasing alarm at the back of my mind. When I reached the lectern, I turned and stood behind it as if addressing the absent congregation.

A thick book lay closed on the lectern. The cover was deeply embossed with an angular pattern, and the marks had been leafed with gold. I wondered what kind of mine lay beneath Hackdirt. Without my consciously willing them, I watched my fingers open the book and lay the cover to the side. The title page had been inked by hand. 'Bible of the Deep Ones, by Irlav Moslin,' it read.

Despite bile from my empty stomach rising into my throat, I turned the page.

'Given to me by the Chief of the Deep Ones,' I read. 'He taught me his language and his runes. This is the ancient lore of his people which we shall follow from now until forever. Signed in the presence of twelve witnesses, Irlav Moslin, 3E345.'

My knees wobbled as I imagined who or what these Deep Ones might be. I turned the page, and then the next, and then brought both hands to the book to flip through with mounting worry until my feet made the decision to take me out of that chapel of the Deep Ones.

Outside I found that my follower was nowhere within sight, and the sun had dropped below the level of the trees. Dar-Ma had been here. There was no way she would willingly abandon her beloved mare. Valdi had been here, too. Hopefully finding one would lead to the other. I would next search the inn, whether the proprietor liked it or not.

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This post has been edited by Grits: Dec 2 2025, 06:07 PM

[Acadian]

Abiene continues her search, even as the palpable tension and questions continue to mount.

Another local who turns out to be not one whit more helpful than the innkeeper or general storekeeper.

Abiene does learn that whoever – or whatever – this town worships is quite unfamiliar to her.

Mine? Well? Deep Ones? Looks like underground is where the answers may lie.

More and more, I find myself really wishing that Abiene knew that ‘summon Nord’ spell!

[treydog]

An absolutely Lovecraftian feel permeates this episode. Kudos to Abiene for her desire to be fair-minded, as well as for her courage in the face of constant duplicity and rising hostility.

Daedric texts describing the worship practices of the "Deep Ones?" Fresh graves? A town apparently peopled by a single family, consumed by consanguinity? My bumps are definitely getting goosed. And yes, I really do wish Abiene had a way to summon help... but that is not who she is, nor who she wishes to be.

[SubRosa]

Curiouser and curiouser everything proves to be, as Abiene further investigates the mysterious town.

Daedric writing? Deep Ones? Mines? Fresh graves? Every step Abiene takes in this town uncovers new and more disturbing revelations.

[Grits]

Previously: Abiene made some discoveries: Ruby and Marta have been missing long enough for their laundry to mold. Ravenna and someone close to her are buried in the cemetery. The community worships entities called the Deep Ones who seem to have a daedric connection. She decided to search the inn.

Acadian: It does seem that the clues are pointing underground while the warning signs are saying run! Thank you, Acadian!

treydog: Thank you, treydog! That moment at the gravestone happened in the writing. I can outline for Abiene, but she really comes through in the draft. It has been fun to spend this time with her.

SubRosa: It's like she's catching up on the news and all of it is bad. Thank you, SubRosa!

.

Chapter 21: Underneath, Part Fourteen

As before, no one greeted me when I entered the inn. "Halloo, innkeeper," I called out, stomping my feet rudely. I assumed the customer's position in front of the reception desk.

After a few moments the innkeeper appeared on the stairs. He made his leisurely way to his spot behind the counter, posture suggesting the hope that if he took long enough I might disappear.

"I am Abiene Metonne of Chorrol," I said. "You will recall I was here earlier. And your name?"

"Vlanhonder Moslin."

"Oh, I was paying my respects at the cemetery earlier. I noticed an impressive monument to Irlav Moslin. Is he any relation?"

"Irlav Moslin was my grandfather. He built this place, not that it's any of your business."

"It's a lovely building," I said. "I couldn't help but notice the stonework, here and at the chapel. What surprises me is that there aren't many people around. I would think that a place this skillfully built would be more populated."

"We been down, but we got plans to bring back the good old days. You'll see."

I chose my words and tone carefully. "I was saddened to find the grave of an acquaintance, Ravenna Moslin. I'm sorry for her loss."

Vlanhonder's thin lips twisted. "I don't believe a word of that. Ravenna didn't mix with the likes of you. Now what do you want?"

My cheeks heated. "I want to find my friend! I'll look around upstairs, by your leave. Perhaps she left a note when she was here, so that I might know where to find her."

"I already told you she ain't here. And you don't have leave to poke around in my business. Get a room or get out."

"What an excellent idea." I retrieved my coin purse. "I shall take a room. Until my friend returns, I must stay with you here in Hackdirt."

Vlanhonder could not have looked more surprised had I slapped him with a fish. "I guess I got a room available. Thirty gold a night. Take it or leave it."

I nearly choked on the ridiculous price. It would empty my purse. Thankfully I had the exact amount, as I doubted that Vlanhonder would give me change.

"Here is your gold." I slid three small coins across the counter.

"Fine." Vlanhonder carefully examined the coins. Satisfied, he retrieved a key. "Take the stairs up to the right, the room on the left. No visitors allowed. And no pets!"

I wondered if this innkeeper had also made the assumption that I had come to town for the purpose of prostitution. I almost wished I would find a stray cat simply to test his rule against pets. "My horse is tethered at your hitching post. Where is your stable?"

"You found it."

"When will dinner be served? I assume a meal is included with the price of a room." My stomach chose that moment to make a loud grumble. I hadn't eaten since this morning's bowl of overpriced porridge.

A number of emotions crossed Vlanhonder's face, finishing with a smile that reminded me of a fox illustration. "Dinner! Of course. Dinner will be served… soon! Very soon." His palms made a dry sound when he rubbed them together.

This sudden eagerness concerned me. Perhaps I was the hen. I resolved to check my meal for contamination. "Half an hour?" I asked.

Vlanhonder made a bobbing motion with his head, odd grin still in place.

"I shall return shortly," I said.

Toby had stood long enough in his saddle. Despite my wish for a means of swift egress, I went back outside and removed his tack. As I had the night before I rubbed him down while he ate the last of the oats from his feed bag. A film of fresh dust over sweat added a layer to my travel grime. I could only dream of a warm bath.

My room's two windows faced the village center. A single bed stood against the wall with a small table at its side. Another table stood between the windows. Both surfaces were empty. Inhospitable, but with no window coverings I wouldn't want to use a candle or lamp anyway. After sunset I would rely on moonlight and my Nighteye spell for vision.

It took several trips, but I brought Toby's tack and Seed-Neeus's trade goods inside. Though only one odd character had made himself known, I did not wish for Seed-Neeus's saddle and harness to make their way into one of the local cottages, or even to the sale shelves of Etira's shop. I could imagine myself attempting to bargain for the things I had brought here with her insisting all the while that she had owned them for years.

Vlanhonder met me as I descended the stairs. "There you are, Miss Metonne." He stood to the side, gesturing with one hand as if to present me to the empty dining chamber. "Seat yourself. I will bring your meal."

"Thank you, Mister Moslin. Will any other guests be joining me this evening?"

"No one, no one at all. You are alone." His eyes reminded me of walnuts in the shell, turned to the side with the seams being the slits that he peered through.

Dinner proved to be a muddy-looking soup featuring shreds of gray meat and potatoes sliced so thinly that they resembled peelings. The soup came with a small loaf of recently baked bread. Blossom's packs had carried several heavy sacks. Surely some of them had contained the flour that went into this bread.

A pale blue light shone from my fingers as I examined the food. Nothing reflected back from the soup or from the bread when I broke it open. I had learned the spell Detect Poison to check for impurities in student-brewed potions, but it had never been more useful than it was to me tonight.

The soup's dominating flavor was salt. I ate as little as would satisfy my hunger, avoiding the meat shreds entirely. The bread was fragrant and delicious. I began to wish for a goblet of wine.

Even as the thought entered my mind, Vlanhonder entered through the back door bearing a clay pitcher. As I watched he went to the bar and retrieved a goblet, then brought both to my table.

"Spirits ain't included in your rent," he said, "but the water's free."

I was glad to have it and drank deeply, finding it chalky with a slightly metallic tang. I had certainly tasted worse. "Thank you for the water, and for the meal," I said.

"Funny, I didn't see you say a blessing." There was that smirk again. "Thought you would, being from the chapel and all." He stacked my soup and bread plates and gathered up my utensils.

I began to feel uneasy under his oddly knowing leer. Had he watched me cast my divination spell?

"You can keep the water pitcher," he said, walking toward the kitchen. "May need it later tonight."

By the Lady, I have been fooled! I attempted to cast Detect Poison on the water, to no avail. My magicka was separated from my will as if bottled up and sealed. The air left my lungs. I lifted my skirts and ran up to the guest quarters. Standing in the hall I quickly assessed myself.

Racing heartbeat. Breathlessness. Skin both flushed and clammy. Slight nausea. I pressed my hands against my face. All of these symptoms could be the result of panic over the curse on my magicka rather than of the poison itself.

Calm yourself, Abiene.

As the moments passed and nothing worsened, I did begin to calm. Vlanhonder had poisoned me with a curse of Silence. However I could also feel my magicka draining away. He must have used a simple Mage Bane poison. I did not have a potion of dispelling, and I couldn't cast my spell while under the curse of Silence. And I remembered handing my Papa's scrolls of dispelling over to Lildereth out of this very satchel for Jerric's unsuccessful lesson in poison making.

There was nothing to do but wait and watch for additional symptoms. I was inconvenienced but in no way removed from the search for my friends. I turned toward the guest room doors, stomach still tight.

If Dar-Ma had been in the room I rented, Vlanhonder had scoured away any trace of her. Sliding my feet across the floorboards to prevent them creaking, I made my way to the only other guest room. To my surprise the knob turned without resisting, and the door swung open on silent hinges. Finally, something had gone in my favor. Inside I found a room of similar size to mine. The double bed was rumpled, blanket pulled halfway to the floor. The bedside table stood askew, and the stub of a candle lay on the floor. The table between the windows had been turned onto its side. I clenched my fists against a wave of fear. Surely Dar-Ma had gone to sleep here and then been dragged violently from her bed.

I did not see Dar-Ma's pack or any other belongings. However this was my dear friend, and her habits were known to me. I went to the bed and slid my hand beneath the pillow. My fingers brushed against a slim book. Dar-Ma's diary. She kept it beneath her pillow at home, and I thanked the stars she had continued the habit here rather than stow the diary in her pack as would have seemed more prudent.

Given the circumstances I felt certain that Dar-Ma would approve the invasion of her privacy. I opened the book to the last pages that had been written upon, resisting the childish urge to scan previous sections for my name. After a few paragraphs detailing our journey before we separated, I found the following entry.

'Dear Abiene and Toby had to turn back for Fort Carmala when Toby threw a shoe. The road was just hardly more than a TRACK, doesn't anyone ever come down here? The trail around the bridge was hard to see, so I broke some branches to mark it for her. That shop keeper took ages to come to the door — even though I saw a light in an upstairs window. RUDE!!

Abiene isn't here yet and it's dark now, but at least this inn was open (although the proprietor is kind of creepy — kept giving me these weird grins when he thought I wasn't looking — ugh.) And what's wrong with his face??

Seems like I'm the only one staying here tonight. I admit to being kind of spooked — but I'll never admit that to Mother! Or she'd never let me go on another one of these deliveries. She still thinks I'm just a baby (she would probably say "Hatchling," and in front of my friends too!) Remember to ask her about the creepy innkeeper when I get home.

Well, the candle is almost burned down (they don't even provide a lantern in this horrible old inn!), so I guess I'd better try to get some sleep. If I CAN even sleep with all the creaking in this old place! I keep thinking I hear footsteps outside the door, I'm so on edge — GROW UP, Dar! I'm sure in the morning it will all seem quaint and charming, and Abiene will be here. Good night, Diary!'

I pressed the book against my chest. Those footsteps Dar-Ma thought she heard outside her door were real, and whoever they belonged to had taken her. The thought of my sweet, kind friend captured and mistreated made hot anger chase away my fear. With the image of Dar-Ma's beautiful orange eyes swimming with tears in the front of my mind, I ran back down through the reception area and up the stairs that led to Vlanhonder's private chambers.

I pounded my fist against the door. "Mister Moslin! Mister Moslin!"

Vlanhonder yanked it open. "What is your problem? Is there a fire? With this racket, there had better be a fire!"

That was an ill wish, considering what had happened to the town some thirty years ago. I brandished the book. "This is Dar-Ma's diary, which I found in your inn room! This proves that she stayed here! What has become of her? I will have the answer, sir!"

"Oh, you meant the Argonian wench. Must've slipped my mind. Yeah, she was here. Then she left. I don't know nothin' else about it." A sly smile slipped over Vlanhonder's features and then away. I shivered, imagining that Dar-Ma had seen the same expression before she disappeared. He tried to close the door, but I stuck my foot into the crack and pushed it.

"She left? Where did she go that was so urgent that she would leave her diary?"

"How would I know? Maybe she got tetched by Sheo and run off into the woods. Now shove off, I got things to do." Vlanhonder gave me a push and while I struggled for balance on the stairs, he slammed the door.

A number of Jerric's favorite curses sprang to mind, but I refused to lower myself. Dar-Ma wasn't here any longer. Now I would search every house until I found her, and if necessary even their mine. Eventually the poison would wear off and I could use my spells again. Perhaps I would start with an unfriendly one.

I closed the inn door quietly this time, unwilling to give Vlanhonder any help if he wanted to keep track of me. Before I had taken three steps, a shadow separated itself from the darkness beside the inn.

"Psst," it said in a man's voice. "Over here."

I stepped into the shadows. "Have you seen my friend, Dar-Ma? She stayed here at the inn last night."

"Shh," the man said. "We can't talk here, they'll get suspicious. The girl is in danger. Meet me at my house. It's the one over there, with the porch. I'll leave the door unlocked. And hurry!"

[Acadian]

Clever using a detect poison spell on dinner. Oops, not so fast – her magic’s been cursed! Yikes! I imagine Abiene not very handy with blunt or stabby things so she is certainly vulnerable.

This is beginning to feel like the setup for a trap and, fortunately, Abiene recognizes that – especially after she discovers Dar-Ma’s diary.

Who is this stranger? Could Abiene be so lucky as to have gained a possible ally? Can’t wait to find out!

[treydog]

Don't you just hate it when the bad guys are also clever? Excessive salt in the soup, just to make sure Abiene would need the water... which Moslin Number 2 made sure to withhold until she was lulled by the lack of any obvious tampering with the food.

She again shows her courage (and her impulsiveness - not the best lesson to have learned from Jerric) when she confronts the odious inn-keeper immediately upon finding the diary.

And now a mysterious stranger. Hmm. Given everything else, I wonder if this person is trustworthy? I suppose we (and Abiene) will just have to find out.

Another most excellent installment.