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

[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!

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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.

[SubRosa]

"Dinner! Of course. Dinner will be served… soon! Very soon."
I get the feeling his cookbook might be named "How to serve Bretons..."

Uh oh, when he offered up that water and Abiene forgot to check it for poison, I was worried. Now I see rightly so. Up until now I had at least been confident that with her spells, Abiene would be able to fend for herself against anything the Innsmouth Folk threw at her. But now it just went from an action movie to a horror movie.

It seems like Abiene might have an unexpected ally among the Hackdirtians after all. Zadok Allen perhaps? Part of me wonders if it might be a trap. But the truth is at this point they do not need subterfuge. With her magic silenced, the Hackers can overwhelm Abiene with simple numbers any time they want to. So I expect this stranger is on the up and up.