Postcards from Tamriel, Stories and such that fall somewhere between a snippet and a thread Options

[mALX]

*

Hey, how come Buffy and Aravi both got presents for Saturalia and I got squat again? Not just the toe ring, Jerric gave Buffy some kind of Naked Juices potion too! Do I have to sing for a present around here?

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 5 2012, 05:51 AM

[mALX]

*

Who is this Jerric person that brought me no present on the celebration of my birth, and again now during the Saturalia? Where is my present from him? Take him to the dungeons, where he can join the others that need to reconsider their gift list for Saturalia next!

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 5 2012, 02:11 AM

[mALX]

*

Jerric promised me a bottle of Shadowbanish Wine long before Saturalia last year, what's taking him so long? I made a special Oxtail stew just for him, it won't keep forever you know! I've got my eye on the sundial and my foot tapping, he'd better show by the start of this years Saturalia festivities!

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 5 2012, 05:25 AM

[Grits]

Between the worlds, Saturalia preparations continue…

___

Jerric set the pitcher down and reached back into his pocket. “Take a look at this,” he said to Lildereth.

She watched warily until he placed a velvet bag on the table. Then she opened it.

“Is this an anklet? Pretty.” She gave it a shake, and their ears were tickled by the tinkling of tiny bells. “Who is it for?”

“Maxical.” Jerric leaned back with a grin.

Lildereth looked appalled. “You’re giving her cat bells?!”

“Gods, no! At least I hope that’s not how she’ll see it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She likes Eyja’s laugh so much,” he explained. “Now she can make that sound too.”

“She might not like to make noise when she walks,” Lildereth pointed out. She jingled the bells again. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

“I thought of that,” said Jerric. “You know Maxical likes a prank as much as I do, and there’s a reason they say ‘as curious as a Khajiit.’ So when folk get used to hearing bells when she walks, they won’t even think it could have been her when she doesn’t wear them.”

“An usually devious idea,” Darnand remarked.

Jerric flushed. “All right, someone else thought of that part for me. I just thought it would look nice on her little, uh, foot.”

“How will you enchant it?” Lildereth slipped the anklet back into the pouch.

“A charm to fortify her resistance to diseases.”

Darnand shot Lildereth a look. The elf snorted. “Are you planning to put the moves on her, Nord?”

“What? No! I doubt she’d be interested. I mean, I may have some skills and possibly a slight dose of the pox, but I sure don’t have any Mysteries. Besides, with the— Wait, do you think I would have a chance with her?”

Lildereth shook her head. “The pox? Don’t you know sixteen ways to cure diseases?”

Jerric winked and reached for his belt. “I need a second opinion. Say, Breton…”

“Not in one thousand eras,” Darnand said without looking up. “Get some poor healer to examine it for you.”

Lildereth filled her goblet and passed the bottle to Jerric.

He took a swig. “What are you getting her, elf?”

“Spa weekend. Abiene and I are organizing it. We hope that all of the girls will come.”

Jerric’s jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over. “You just gave me my present.”

Darnand closed his book. “I have written a spell for our Maxical,” he announced.

Jerric was still incapable of speech.

Lildereth asked with a slanted eyebrow.

Darnand reached for his goblet. “Summon Shirt,” he said.

For Dear Maxical

The Anklet of Small Bells Singing



With lots of love from your friends.

[McBadgere]

“Spa weekend. Abiene and I are organizing it. We hope that all of the girls will come.”

Jerric’s jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over. “You just gave me my present.”

Darnand closed his book. “I have written a spell for our Maxical,” he announced.

Jerric was still incapable of speech.

Lildereth asked with a slanted eyebrow.

Darnand reached for his goblet. “Summon Shirt,” he said.

That's just funny right there that is... ...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[mALX]

*

WOO HOO! Thank you Jerric! I love the ankle bracelet's tinkling bells, now everyone will ask what that noise is and I can show off my present! And I really appreciate the spell, Darnand, that will save me a lot of embarrassment, I'm sure! Thank you Lildereth! Can't wait for the spa day with all us girls getting together, that will be the best day ever! Er, hope Janus Hassildor doesn't fly over, the sight of all us girls soaking in the hot springwater together may cause him to crash land again!

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 14 2012, 09:14 PM

[King Coin]

Lildereth looked appalled. “You’re giving her cat bells?!”

Well, her present seems appropriate at least. Darnand's spell sounds useful too.

[Acadian]

This was a joy to read! Such wonderful interaction (as always) among your characters as they conspire by the fire to produce a trio of magnificent gifts for Maxical! Each gift was brilliantly appropriate for our delightful little white kitty.

[Grits]

*

Who is this Jerric person that brought me no present on the celebration of my birth, and again now during the Saturalia? Where is my present from him? Take him to the dungeons, where he can join the others that need to reconsider their gift list for Saturalia next!

*

So that's how it really started!!

[Grits]

Here’s a day in the life of Sonstra and Kjelling. (Just this one post.)




Spring of 3E403, Kvatch


Sonstra clipped a final sprig of thyme and straightened with a sigh. One hand pressed the ache in her back. Breakfast was not yet on the table and already she wanted sleep. Perhaps it was time to consult with a healer.

She stepped into her bustling kitchen, handing the basket to the cook’s apprentice. With an extended family living entirely under one roof, household help was her fondest luxury. While one meal was being served another’s preparation was already underway. And it took a team to keep up with the laundry.

Sonstra’s daughter-in-law Meja stomped heavily into the room, baby Willem on one hip and a hand under her gravid belly. Nursing while already pregnant again was taking a toll. She looked as tired as Sonstra felt.

Sonstra reached for her grandson as Meja trundled past. Little Willem squealed in delight and slapped his hands on Sonstra’s cheeks. Soon he would be toddling into every kind of mischief. Sonstra smiled and nuzzled her grandson. Every age brought its own delight, but this was one of her favorites.

An escalation in the clamor from the dining chamber told her that platters were hitting the table. “Selka!” she called into the corridor. “Breakfast! It’s getting cold! Bring your sister!” A faint shout echoed down the stairs in reply. It didn’t matter what had been said. Every morning was the same with her girls.

Thunder on the stairs announced her eldest son’s approach. Rothmund leaned down to kiss Willem’s head and Sonstra’s cheek on his way into the dining chamber. The meal passed as always in a noisy rush, with household staff, assorted Running Wolf employees, and the occasional surprise guest sitting shoulder to shoulder with the family. Sonstra spied an unfamiliar young man blushing furiously and attempting to hide behind a kahve pot. Now who does that one belong to, she wondered, glancing around the table. She gave Willem another morsel from her plate.

Her younger son Petr met her gaze with a slow smile. He knew, and he would tell her. The gleam in his eye promised quite a story, if they could both find time for him to tell it.

The diners hustled empty plates to the scullery, then scattered on their way to school, task, or office. Meja took her son from Sonstra’s arms.

“Lie down when he naps today,” Sonstra suggested. She gently removed her sleeve from Willem’s fingers. “You could use more rest. When you care for yourself, you’re caring for my grandchild.”

Meja gave her a quick nod. The girl was still not entirely comfortable in Sonstra’s presence.

“I’m going to the chapel this morning,” Sonstra told her. “You’ll have the house to yourself. Put your work aside and enjoy the quiet.”

“Yes, Mother Sonstra.” Meja waddled away, humming to the baby.

Sonstra ground her teeth. This needless formality was Rothmund’s doing. Her eldest seemed to have sat upon a stick at an early age and never gotten around to removing it.

But it was true that she was partly responsible for Meja’s unease. The young woman’s blatant fertility was a grain of sand in Sonstra’s eye. The last time of her moons had come and gone with no sign of Mara’s flower blooming. Sonstra had to admit that her cycles had ended. Though she and Kjelling had not planned for more of their own children, having the choice removed was the first taste of her age’s bitter medicine.

The gods gave us two boys and two girls, she chided herself. You should be grateful. No more envious glances at the poor girl’s belly.

The morning’s tasks were accomplished with brisk efficiency despite an occasional light-headed feeling. Sonstra dressed for a day out in the city. She always spoke to Mother Kyne under the sky, but she went to the Chapel of Akatosh to make the rest of her devotions.

A damp wind blew warm over the walls and through the city. The sun made a jewel out of every new leaf and budding flower. Kvatch stood formidable on her tower of stone, but within was a garden in the sky. Sonstra walked under trees alive with songbirds’ raucous wooing and tried to forget the stillness within her own body.

Two men were stepping out of the chapel as she approached. They exchanged polite nods, and one of them held the door for her. The chapel seemed as dark as a cave after the bright morning. Candle smoke, incense, and the smell of old books and musty offerings tickled her nose.

A Nord boy stood just inside bathed in the flood of light from the door. He turned his head and grinned as if he knew her. Then the door closed, leaving Sonstra blinking in the dim interior. By the time her eyes adjusted, the boy was gone.

She shook herself. There were many things said of old women who imagined things. Few of them were good.

Sonstra began her progress around the chapel’s shrines. Peace filled her as it always did when she made room for it. She spoke her devotions in the Imperials' words, but all the while her heart sang to the gods of her childhood.

Afterward she reluctantly made her way to the chapel's Halls of Healing. She and Kjelling had left their families behind in Skyrim. They had faced every challenge of partnership and parenthood side by side through the years without the guidance of elders. The best they could manage was to make different mistakes with each child, but somehow they were all still together. Her Kjelling would be no help with this change of life, however. And as far as she could tell, Imperial women got their herbs and advice from healers.

In the healing hall Sonstra followed a white-robed attendant to a curtained alcove. The young Redguard walked with the grace of a swordswoman. She had gentle eyes, Sonstra noticed, and the dark, elegant brows that were the envy of every blonde.

“I am Oleta,” said the girl. She swept the curtain closed and gestured to a chair. “What brings you here today, mistress?”

Sonstra blinked at her. This child must be the healer, she realized. Great.

“It’s nothing, really,” she started. Then she gave herself a mental shake. Don’t be silly, and do not offer insult by underestimating her experience.

Oleta smiled. “I have only recently taken my vows, but I am fully qualified.” She sat down and gestured to the other chair again. “I’m from Anvil. I lived there all my life.”

“I’m Sonstra.” She took the seat. “Business takes me to Anvil often. Did you train at the Mages Guild or at the chapel?”

“Both.”

The women spent a few moments talking of small matters. Oleta quickly put Sonstra at ease.

“I’ve come about my moons,” Sonstra finally admitted. “My cycles have ended. That’s not the problem, though. I’m just so tired all of the time now, and my back is achy. I’ll admit that I’ve put on a little weight. I don’t mean to complain, but… Well, are there herbs I’m supposed to be taking?” She felt her cheeks flush. “I don’t know why I even bothered you with this. I’m sure it’s all just what happens at my age.”

Oleta took Sonstra’s wrist in her cool hand. “May I ask how many winters you have?”

“Five and forty. My moons flower should have bloomed weeks ago, but there was nothing.”

Oleta nodded. “With your permission, I would like to first examine you with a spell. Then I’m sure I will have some questions.” She took Sonstra’s hands. “Do you have children?”

“Four children, one grandson, and another grandchild on the way.” Sonstra tried to feel the spell, but she couldn’t tell if anything was happening.

“How many pregnancies?”

“Just the four, and all were healthy. Lady Mara has truly blessed me.”

Oleta let go and leaned back in her chair with a smile. “Our Lady has blessed you again, Mistress Sonstra. Congratulations. You are with child.”

Sonstra could not have related what happened next for all the trees in Valenwood. She found herself standing out by the fountain, hands pressed to her waist.

Another child. Tears filled her eyes. I would never have asked for this, she thought, and now I know just how much I wanted it.

A moment later she remembered that her Kjelling did not enjoy surprises. Of course he wouldn’t even think of asking her to end the pregnancy. The only question was how much he would growl before he smiled.

A solid meal would help. There was no time to go home. Sonstra headed for her favorite grocer.

An hour later she was spreading a feast on Kjelling’s desk at the Running Wolf office. Cold meats, boiled eggs, crusty bread, dried fruits, and small wheels of cheese she could cut with her pocket knife. Kjelling opened a jar of the ale he kept chilled in an enchanted drawer. They ate their meal in comfortable silence.

Sonstra found that she was famished. She finished first as always. Kjelling reached for another loaf as she leaned back and wiped her fingers.

“I would like you to build a high chair for the family table, husband. We will need another before Meja’s baby is through with Willem’s.”

Kjelling spoke around his bread. “Two more grandchildren? If Petr’s been careless, let him build it.”

Sonstra smiled to herself. “It is indeed a proper task for the expectant father. You should also build another cradle.”

Kjelling grunted a reply, eyes on his meal. Then he froze with a turkey leg in the air and his mouth hanging open.

A junior clerk dashed in, trailing parchment and apologies. He fled as soon as he had exchanged one pile of invoices for another.

“At your age?” Her husband had found his tongue, but as usual his wits were a few steps behind. “I thought you were taking moons potions!”

Sonstra twisted her napkin, fighting the familiar urge to strangle her love with it. “Every child is a miracle, but perhaps this one especially so.”

He completely missed her tone. “There is a fair bit of silver in that golden head,” he objected, nodding at her as if to make clear that it was not some other fading blonde he spoke of.

“It is my turn to choose a name,” Sonstra declared, changing the subject.

Kjelling crossed his arms over his chest.

“I would honor your brother,” she said. “You know it is right, Kjelling.”

They hadn’t spoken of him in decades. In a flash Kjelling’s face showed the weight he still carried. Guilt and honor. Love and sacrifice.

Her husband made a broad, cutting gesture. “Out of the question. That name would bring my family down on our heads.”

“Are County Kvatch’s birth announcements read so far away as Skyrim? Don’t you think by now your mother will have passed beyond caring?”

Kjelling’s beard bristled in the way that told her he thought his mind was made up. “After what has been lost so that we might simply live, how could we take the chance? Though my heart grieves for Jyrik, I would not risk it.”

“Change it, then, in a way that we will still know. Make it look like a Cyrodiil name.” Sonstra placed her palms over her belly.

Kjelling scowled down at his plate, hands gripping the table’s edge. “Change it as we did with Rothmund’s? No one was fooled.”

“The honored dead can see us from Sovngarde, Kjelling. For years he has watched over us. I would have him know our hearts. Let him hear us speak his name with love every day that we have left in this life.”

“You may well carry another girl.” Kjelling stood abruptly and stalked to the window.

In her mind Sonstra saw the towheaded lad from the chapel, facing away but turning his head to look back at her. Light streamed over him like the hand of a god. He stood slim and strong and gangly as a pup, with golden eyes like Kjelling’s and a smile like the sun.

She carried a boy child. Her heart knew it was true.

Sonstra walked over and leaned into Kjelling, resting her face against his chest. Their arms slipped around each other in the way that made her feel whole. Their joy had always come with trouble. Sometimes they ran and sometimes they faced it, but always together.

Peace filled her heart. As in all things, this man would give her anything.

“Jerric,” she said, and a squeeze told her that he agreed. “If we have a boy, we’ll call him Jerric.”

.

.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 23 2019, 03:26 AM

[Acadian]

What a beautiful and oh so relevant short story!

I detect a certain first-hand familiarity with the hustle and bustle of a busy breakfast table.

‘This needless formality was Rothmund’s doing. Her eldest seemed to have sat upon a stick at an early age and never gotten around to removing it.’

There was so much to love in this story. First, was letting us gradually figure out for ourselves who this story was about - via the bread crumbs buried within those quarter million words of Jerric’s story. Then to see, through Sonstra’s eyes, Kvatch in her pre-crisis glory. And a young priestess named Oleta, just starting out in her healing career!

Sonstra captured our hearts in the first short paragraph. Then, despite introducing many characters in a limited number of words, you did each one of them justice - yet so delicately that we barely noticed as Sonstra flowed through her morning.

Sonstra and Kjelling perfectly conveyed the loving comfort that only years of experience together can bring.

Yes, his name shall be Jerric!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 23 2019, 03:26 AM

[mALX]

I am back home, but without a working PC. Will come back to read this when I get something working here, my laptop isn't very good for reading. Urk!

[ghastley]

Kjelling grunted a reply, eyes on his meal. Then he froze with a turkey leg in the air and his mouth hanging open.

It appears that Jerric doesn't take after his father. Nothing would have stopped that turkey leg!

[King Coin]

ghastley hit the line I liked the most! Thanks for sharing this day in Jerric's family's hectic household! To imagine that after all that she still desired another child. Strong woman she was.

[mALX]

But it was true that she was partly responsible for Meja’s unease. The young woman’s blatant fertility was a grain of sand in Sonstra’s eye. The last time of her moons had come and gone with no sign of Mara’s flower blooming. Sonstra had to admit that her cycles had ended. Though she and Kjelling had not planned for more of their own children, having the choice removed was the first taste of her age’s bitter medicine.

Loved this little detail thrown in, you couldn’t have expressed her emotions on this more eloquently!

Kjelling grunted a reply, eyes on his meal. Then he froze with a turkey leg in the air and his mouth hanging open.

Uh…do I detect Jerric’s inherited personality? Is this late gift Jerric on the way? HA! I knew it !!! Absolutely LOVED this little insight into Jerric’s beginnings!!!!!!! Awesome Write!

[ghastley]

This thread needs a bump, so I hope Grits doesn't mind a postcard from Clark. This is a snippet that never quite fit into anything else.

---------

Clark's Tales of the Bear Riders were being published by the Black Horse Courier's press as a subscription. The public could purchase each monthly chapter separately, and then have them all bound into a single volume when the series was complete. He'd already sent them the Claudia chapter, and it was just appearing in the bookstores around Cyrodiil.

He met Simplicia in the Market District, on his way to sign copies at Phintias' First Edition. She thanked him for the mention she'd got, as the one who told the Champion about Claudia in the watch-tower. "I'm famous now, and that makes people a lot more generous," she told him.

He hadn't used anyone's real names in the story, but it seemed that everyone knew who he meant. He asked if that got her any extra trouble from the watch-captains, as they hadn't appeared in quite the same light in the tale. "Oh, no, they're too busy keeping out of sight now everyone knows what they're like!" she laughed. "And the patrolmen see it the same way as the public."

There was a line of people waiting at the door of the First Edition, with a couple of extra watchmen keeping them in order. Inside, Phintias had put a stack of copies next to the small table in the corner, which was cleared off apart from a quill and inkwell. He seated himself behind it and nodded to Phintias to let the first customers in. They filed past Phintias, who took their money and announced their names, so he could make the inscriptions personal.

It seemed that everyone in the city came through over the next few hours. His hand was tired, and he'd worn out a dozen quills, before the last one left. There were only a handful of copies left from the pile he'd started with. He took one and wrote Simplicia's name on it, before signing his own.

She was delighted to have her own copy. "Most people just assume a beggar can't read," she told him. "I'd have bought one myself if it didn't mean going into a shop. I don't like being inside. I always feel like the walls are closing in on me. Silly, but I can't help it."

Simplicia was worried that she had nowhere to keep it dry. She just had a sack that she kept her food in, and it didn't matter if vegetables got a bit damp. The sack was just to keep them clean. He was going to get her a chest from Jensine's but Simplicia stopped him. If she had anything that locked, people might think she had something worth stealing. Not all thieves were in the Guild, and some of the freelancers would even steal from beggars. He fetched a small crate instead, one that had held flour, and had a lining to keep out moisture. That was perfect, and he put it under her sack at the head of her bedroll.

[mALX]

I LOVE this! Not only is Simplicia one of my favorite game characters anyway, but Clark publishing his memoirs and having a sold out "book signing" for them - you had me in stitches and touched at the same time (for him getting Simplicia that crate) - Awesome Write !!!

[Grits]

mALX said it for me too, it’s great to see Clark’s success in the big city! Getting the special crate for Simplicia was so sweet. He has a real touch with the ladies.

I loved getting a postcard from Clark!

[SubRosa]

I have a postcard from Cyrodiil. This is a scene that came to me a few nights ago, that I wanted to get down on pixels while it was still fresh in my mind. It will fit somewhere into the Aela fic, probably as a prologue. I am not sure the exact date yet, except it takes place in the spring or summer


Aela - There Goes The Neighborhood

?, 4E001

Aela stretched out on the warm sand of the beach, wearing nothing but a linen wrap around her small breasts, and a similar strip of cloth around her hips. She shut her eyes against the bright rays of Magnus overhead, which delightfully toasted her pale skin. Her arms reached out to either side, and her slender fingers dug through the amber grains of sand below. She let her breathing slow, felt her body relax, and sent her thoughts drifting through the beach underneath her.

She felt Bawnwatch Island stretching out around her. The sand turned to black topsoil as it receded from the waves of Niben Bay. Hard stones slept within the dirt's cool embrace. So too did the twisting roots of cottonwood, sycamore, and willow trees that dotted the long, crescent-shaped island. She felt the foundations of the deserted village's small homes pressing down upon the ground near the center of the isle. They were just south of the small ridge that ran the length of the isle like a spine, shielding the settlement from the north wind off the bay. The wooden piles of the bridge that connected one corner of Bawnwatch with the mainland to the south bit down into the soil like teeth. Yet the land endured it all with grace. In fact, the dark, rich ground gladly nurtured the life which sprang from its breast. At the same time it slowly absorbed the cold, hard rock and unliving wood that thrust down into it. In time, Nirn would have its way with all.

Aela was greeted by the spirits of the island. There was the soft, dark energy of the soil, contrasted by the hard, flinty essence of the deep rock. Then there were the bright, playful flower spirits, the somber quintessence of the trees, and the humble life force of the brush. About them all glowed the hot and vigorous animal spirits: patient Turtle, bounding Rabbit, sly Rat, wise Serpent, watchful Eagle, and hungry Raven. Finally she felt the sylphs riding the winds high above the island, and the undines frolicking in the deep waters of the bay.

Aela let the physical world slip away as she danced with the spirits. She could think of no other way to describe how she interacted with the vital essence of the world. No words were spoken, even conscious thought became inadequate. There was nothing but the deep, powerful feeling of kinship that resonated within her as her divinity joined with that of Nirn. She felt the threads that bound her to everything else in the world. Her fingers played along those strings, and the music filled her soul with rapture.

Magnus rode higher in the sky as she danced, and Nirn rolled away underneath his fiery gaze. However, the music of Aela's dance was interrupted by the grinding of cold, dead wood into the warm sand of the beach. Human feet crunched deeply into the ground a moment later, each step resonating through the membrane of sand that covered the looser soil and hard rock beneath.

Aela opened her eyes and breathed deep. Rising to a sitting position, she felt the physical world spin about her. Bracing herself with one hand in the sand, she held the other to her head until the spell of dizziness passed. Squinting in the glare of the sun, she stared down the beach at the dory that had been pulled out of the water less than twenty paces away. Leaning over it was a man with the pitch black hair and olive skin of the Nibenean race. He wore the threadbare clothing of a peasant, and lifted a simple wooden toolbox from the innards of his boat. As he turned to face her, Aela saw that he was young, perhaps not even two decades old, but his body was lean and solid with muscle.

Screenshot

He stared as Aela rose to her feet. The Breton Witch took a moment to brush the sand from her backside, and found that he was still staring when she was finished. That is when she remembered that she was practically naked. But Aela did not fool herself into thinking that he was dumbstruck by her beauty. Aside from her long, brown hair, her body was a far cry from the ideal feminine form. Where other women were shaped like an hourglass, she was more like a minuteglass. She was taller than most women of her race, her shoulders were too broad, her hips too narrow, and her breasts too small.

Screenshot

Instead she imagined that like any fine, upstanding Imperial, the image of a scantily clad woman must come as a shock. It simply was not proper for a woman to be so attired in the presence of a man after all. Or perhaps he was horrified by what he beheld?

"What brings you here fisherman?" Aela frowned as she walked to the peasant. She found her gaze traveling to his left arm, to the midpoint between wrist and elbow. There was something there that tickled at her memory. Calling up her magicka, she felt the energy burn hot behind her eyes as she stared at the Nibenean's arm. She saw through the warm, healthy flesh, to the strong bone underneath. There it was, the telltale ghost of an old break that had cut clear though the bone, now knit back together so well that naught but a faint line remained to whisper the tale. Whoever had healed that had been very good, Aela considered, very good indeed.

The Nibenean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and tried again.

"Greetings," he began. "I'm from Thistledown, my name is-"

"Severus," Aela interrupted him. "Severus Afer. I remember you now. You broke your arm - what was it - five years ago? You've grown since then."

"Aye," the young man lowered his head sheepishly and ran his fingers through his hair. "When I fell out of that tree, I thought I might be able to fly, if only I could manage to miss the ground. Didn't work though…"

Aela stifled the urge to laugh at Severus' unassuming humor. She knew that peasants did not come for social calls. They only came to Bawnwatch if they needed her healing. Since he looked healthy as an ox, she imagined it must have been someone else in his family that was ill.

"So is it a potion you need?" She decided to cut to the chase.

"No, not at all," the fisherman said. He stared back at her, almost expectantly, or was it almost dreadfully? Aela came to realize that he was afraid of her. It was no great revelation. Thanks to the propaganda of the Mages Guild and Imperial Church, she knew that the word 'Witch' struck fear into many peasants. They were 'rogue mages', immoral, unskilled, heretical, and untrustworthy. Worst of all, Witches like her cut into the profits of both Imperial organizations…

Aela knew that being a two-spirit only made it worse. Few humans seemed to be capable of even imagining what it was like to be born into a body that did not match one's identity, or that it was even possible. "The gods made you that way, so you should be happy that way," was the usual mantra. How dare anyone gainsay that? It was no surprise that the only time people like herself appeared in bard's tales or plays it was as villains, or comic relief.

"So what brings you here?" the Witch asked.

"The village." Severus licked his lips again and nodded to the broken down houses rising up at the edge of the beach. "I'm here to work on a house."

"You what?" Aela blinked once, twice, and wondered if she needed to heal her ears.

"I'm going to repair one of the houses," he repeated, "in the old village."

"What are you talking about?" Aela stared back at the strange man.

The Nibenean's fingers clutched hard around the wooden handle of his toolbox, enough for his knuckles to show white. "I am here to stay," he repeated. "I'm going to live here, with my family."

"You can't do that." Aela felt the words spill from her tongue before she even had a chance to think about them. "Turn around, get in your boat, and get out!"

The fisherman stood his ground however. "I will not," he insisted. He pointed to the crumbling stones of one home with a callused finger. "That house was in my family for generations. I grew up there. It wasn't until the mudcrabs came that we all had to leave. I got a right to live here, as much as you do."

"So now that I've gotten rid of the crabs, you're coming back." Aela felt a volcano rising within her. Standing with her hands on her hips, she spat lava at the young man.

"No, No, No!" Aela waved a finger in his face. "This is my home now. I led the crabs back to Castle Irony. I killed the vampires there. I made this place livable again. You are not going to drive me out of here!"

"I never said you don't have a right to stay here," Severus gave back evenly. "All of us folk from up and down the coast know what you've done, and what you've done for us." Now he rubbed his once-broken arm absentmindedly. "But there's plenty room here for me, my wife, and our baby. We aren't gonna do nothing to get in your way, of whatever it is you do out here."

"And how long until more of you come here, and I start hearing about how it's not safe to raise children around me? Because I'm unnatural? Because I'm a Witch? How long before the snide remarks, the hushed laughter, and the curled lips? How long before I have to go, or else?" Aela felt her face burn with a heat that had nothing to do with the sun, and did her best to keep from shaking with rage.

"No one will ever count me as one of the wise," Severus said. "I'm just a dumb fisherman. But it seems to me that maybe if folk got a chance to know you, they might feel a bit more hospitable. Instead you sit here all alone on this island, and leave people to make up stories about why. We don't know a thing about you, and cause of that people get scared, and their stories get scarier."

Aela ground her teeth as she stared back at the man. Part of her wanted to reach out with her magicka and rip his heart from his chest. But she knew that she could not do that to a defenseless man. Whether or not he knew it was another thing. But even if he did not, he was still not budging.

"Why can't you go someplace else?" Aela grumbled. "You must live somewhere now, go back there. There's villages all up and down the coast, go to one of them."

"I'm the third born son of a fisherman," Severus explained. "The eldest inherits our house in Thistledown. I get nothing. My other brother went to serve in the Bravil Guard. Another one's in the clergy down in Leyawiin. I'm lucky I've got this boat. But that's all I've got. I don't have two drakes to rub together, and I got a wife with a baby on the way. There ain't no room in that house for us, not with my parents, my brother, and his wife and kids. I've got no money to buy land, and I won't build a house in the middle of nowhere and get my family killed by goblins or bandits. I've got nowhere else to go."

Aela fumed. Severus told a believable tale. It was one she had heard - and seen - played out all of her life. She was a firstborn herself. She would have inherited her family's estate and business in Wayrest if she had only remained male, and in her family's good graces. Her younger brothers would have had to live at her sufferance, become wandering mercenaries, or join the priesthood. It was the same for all younger siblings in every human land.

But this was her home, hers! After all that she had done to make it so, it was not right for someone else to come along and intrude, to force themselves into her quiet, peaceful life. She had the right to live without the constant stares, the muttered jibes, the sneers, and the self-righteous hatred that so many humans had for anyone that was different from them.

Clenching her hands into fists, Aela turned from the fisherman and stormed up the beach. Her fingernails dug into her palms, turning the skin red underneath by the time she finally reached out to open the door to her home and stomp inside. Sighing, she stripped off her sandy underclothing and pulled on a plain flax bodice and skirt.

Staring out the window, she watched as Severus strode up the beach to the empty house across the street from her. Setting down his tools, the young man rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He started by gathering up all of the rotten thatch from the long-collapsed roof and throwing it to one side. Then he went to work repairing the damage that ten years of wind, rain, and plant life had wrought upon the untended home. He started by cutting down the ivy and other vines that had crept up the walls, wormed their way through the crumbling mortar, and dislodged or loosened many stones.

The Nibenean clearly had his work cut out for him. Soon he stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his waist. His bared chest glistened with sweat as Magnus rose ever higher and brighter in the sky. Yet he toiled on, pausing only rarely to take a sip of water from a skin before continuing on with his work. In time he had cleared away all of the invasive plants, and began piling up the fallen or loose rocks from the walls.

He certainly had a lot of nerve to come out here, Aela thought. She could only imagine the tales the farmers and fisherfolk told about her. Yet still here he was, resolute in his desire to make a new life for his family.

"There is nothing that can stand in the way of an honest man." Aela recalled the old Imperial saying. Not that Imperial and honesty were words often associated with one another…

Aela sighed as she continued to stare at the interloper. What was she going to do? She could try to scare him off, but that had hardly worked so far. She could make life so unpleasant for him with snide remarks and insults that he might finally grow exasperated and leave. But she was not going to stoop to the same level as the people - students and faculty alike - who had tried to run her out of the University. So what did that leave her with?

Either fight it or embrace it, Aela thought. Which would it be?

Setting her jaw with firm resolve, she strode out from her home and crossed the street to where Severus worked. He looked up as she raised a fist skyward, and gaped as a disc of blue energy formed in the space between them. It fell to the ground a moment later, leaving a colossus of stone looming within its wake. The archaean stood as tall as the houses around them, and his body was entirely comprised of rocks fit together into the rough shape of a man. With a grinding of stone upon stone, the small mountain turned to stare expectantly at Aela.

She nodded to Severus and the house he was working on, and the nirn spirit lumbered into motion. The ground trembled as his massive feet ate the distance between him and the Nibenean. The fisherman dropped the stone he was carrying, and held his hands out before him to ward off the giant.

"Now just wait," he sputtered. "There's no…"

The archaean ignored him however, and reached down to pick up the stone the fisherman had dropped. The spirit swept it into the pile of loose rocks that Severus had built, then scooped a mass of them up into both of his granite paws. One more titanic footstep took him to the side of the building, where he proceeded to lay out the stones upon the battered walls. Each stone melded perfectly into place with the others around it, and Aela could see that the nirn spirit was reshaping them with his magic as he went, as well as creating fresh mortar between the pieces.

She knew that in no time at all the archaean would have the walls restored to their original condition. To better than that in fact. No mortal builder could work stone like a spirit of the land. Afterward she could ask a tree spirit to rebuild the timbers of the roof, and lay on fresh thatch. She imagined that the exterior would be restored before Magnus fell from his zenith. Then there would just be a matter of furniture, and cleaning the interior.

"Thank you kindly," Severus extended his hand to Aela, "neighbor."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jun 23 2019, 03:24 AM

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

What a great postcard! Aela seems to possess what I could only call "Earth-sense". A sixth sense that makes all that is good (and bad) about the land around her as palpable as any taste, smell, or sight. And a trans-gendered character...truly unique. You deftly touched on the prejudices of "normal" folk, and just as deftly showed how Aela could rise above that with her own actions. Great stuff here Ms. Rosa!

Nit - Instead you sit here all alone on this island, and leave people to make up stories about why. We don't know a thing you, and cause of that people get scared, and their stories get scarier."
I suspect you meant to type "about" between thing and you.