An Argonian's Account, Haa-Rei's adventures in Cyrodiil Options

[Acadian]

What a wonderful surprise to spend an afternoon drinking tea with Buffy’s godfather, Daenlin!

’As with many Bosmer, his stature was certainly in no way reflective of his courage and skill.’ - -

I love that Cirinwe wanted to sleep under the stars – and understand it perfectly. I see that she is finally comfortable enough with Haa-Rei to share her story.

What a joy Haa-Rei’s story continues to be!

[hazmick]

Acadian - Indeed, we are finally learning more about our Altmer friend.



Previously - Haa-Rei and Cirinwe met with Daenlin the Bowyer, and spent a while chatting over tea about the Bosmer's many adventures. Afterwards, Cirinwe decided that the two adventurers would sleep under the stars, but not before she told Haa-Rei her story...

Chapter 54



“Thank you, my lord.” said Ailinwe, bowing and exiting the room.

“Well?” whispered Cirinwe excitedly. Ailinwe shook her head.

“He won’t give me the loan. He…reminded me that baking is not a proper profession for someone of our social standing.”

Cirinwe hugged her sister tightly. All Ali wanted to do was open a bakery, and she was certainly talented enough. Once Cirinwe graduated at the academy, they would surely have enough money for it between the two of them.

“Cirinwe.” a stern voice called from the room, causing Cirinwe’s body to stiffen. She released her sister and entered the chamber where her father was waiting.

“Father.” she said flatly, standing up straight.

She hated her father. He was a cold, uncaring man. Shorter than Cirinwe and her sister, with thin golden hair swept back to resemble the prow of a ship. He peered at her from behind the grimace which seemed to be a permanent feature on his face. The walls of his study were lined with more books than Cirinwe could count, many with Ayleid text on their covers despite the fact that Father couldn’t read it. Cirinwe’s mother, also a stern figure, sat to one side like an owl watching for mice.

“Do not concern yourself with your sister, you have more important things to think about.” Father said sharply.

“Yes father.” Cirinwe replied dutifully. She had long since given up on talking back to him, yet he stilled eyed her suspiciously for any sign of sarcasm or, Aetherius forbid, defiance.

“I need not remind you,” Father began, “that you carry the future of this house upon your shoulders. Unlike your sister, you will not fail me.” he waved his hand, dismissing her. Cirinwe gritted her teeth and bowed to each parent in turn before exiting.

Cirinwe almost wanted to fail, just to annoy him. She knew she would not, of course, as she was one of the most gifted mages at the academy. She had spent months planning and preparing this particular spell, and was more than confident that she’d perfected it.

Graduating from the academy almost guaranteed a student with a good position at court, or on a mage council somewhere. Of course her parents were more concerned with the status of the family name, and the marriage offers that would no doubt be made by other families hoping to capitalize on her own success. Ailinwe, who had no magical talent, was seen as a disappointment by their parents, but as long as Cirinwe continued to do well, Ailinwe was allowed to do as she pleased.

“Have you thought any more about what I said?” Ailinwe asked later that night. Their chambers were at the far end of the family’s large manor, which afforded them plenty of privacy.

“About leaving? I’m…not sure.” Cirinwe replied. Her sister had previously talked about leaving home, and Cirinwe was torn between a desire to get away from their parents, and a fear of them. She didn’t think it likely that they would let their best asset simply walk off into the sunset.

“We’d go far away. Morrowind, perhaps, or High Rock.”

“We have no money of our own.” Cirinwe reminded her sister.

“We could get jobs. I’m a good cook, and you’re one of the most powerful mages at the academy. We’d be fine.” Ailinwe was determined, and also a little desperate. Cirinwe could well understand, but she was still afraid. They’d never left Auridon before, and the world seemed like such a large place that it would be too easy for someone to get lost.

Cirinwe didn’t reply, and after a few minutes of silence Ailinwe went to bed, clearly disappointed. After tomorrow’s examination, Cirinwe would be in a better position from which she could help her sister. Still, that night her mind kept looping back to that conversation and sleep did not come easily.


Cirinwe wasn’t actually sure where the academy was. It was definitely somewhere on Auridon, but all staff and students accessed the grounds via teleportation. It was built in the traditional Altmer style, with pale stones and tall, shining towers of crystal. The whole area hummed with magic thanks to a large Ayleid well beneath the main building, which allowed mages to cast spells as they pleased. Even people like Cirinwe, born under the sign of the Atronach, could replenish their magicka here.

The most impressive part of the structure was the Grand Chamber. As the name suggests, it was a vast hall of white stones with elaborate statues and carvings lining the walls. At regular intervals on the floor were circular rings of stones embedded with runes, and nearby viewing platforms from which spectators could judge the students. It was in such a rune circle that Cirinwe soon found herself. Plenty of students were gathered in the hall, and Cirinwe could feel the eyes of the examiners upon her as she tried to calm herself down.

“The candidate for Destruction Mastery – Cirinwe.” A shrill voice announced over the crowd, causing everyone to lower their voices. It wasn’t just at home that expectations were high.

Having mastered all of the destruction spells that could be taught to her, Cirinwe had had to invent some of her own. This latest spell, which she had hubristically named ‘Rising Phoenix’, would be her most powerful spell yet, and likely use up her entire magicka pool even after two fortifying potions. It would also guarantee top marks on the assessment, which was what mattered.

It was a complicated spell, with verbal cues in Ayleidoon and several different gestures. The crowd was mesmerised by Cirinwe’s movements, her flawless golden skin reflecting the flickering lights as embers danced across her slender fingers. She could feel all of her magicka being channelled into the spell as she finished casting. From her outstretched hands rose a large ball of flame, which unfurled itself into the shape of a massive bird and took flight over her head, circling the rune stones on burning wings. It was beautiful.

As with the previous evening, the conversation with Ailinwe rose unbidden to the front of Cirinwe’s mind. She wanted to go with Ali, to run away, to be happy and free like the bird overhead, rising higher and higher towards the ceiling.

A gasp from the crowd snapped her attention back to the present, and then everything went wrong.

[ghastley]

This latest spell, which she had hubristically named ‘Rising Phoenix’, would be her most powerful spell yet, ...

"hubristically" may be telegraphing a bit too much, but it's close to the cliffhanger, so maybe not.

Did you already tell us she's an Atronach? I don't remember, so it can't have played any major role so far.

And I suppose Anvil is as close to Alinor as you can get in Cyrodiil, so they didn't go any farther away from home than necessary.

[Acadian]

It is fascinating to go into Cirinwe’s past and begin to discover some of the things that have forged her. You impart a wonderfully exotic feel to the Altmeri rather harsh culture.

A beautiful description of her spell as she cast it. . . into a cliffhanger! Can’t wait to find out what happened/went wrong.

[ghastley]

And forgot to mention. Cirinwe's much better at naming spells than Delphine Jend.

[hazmick]

ghastley - heh, it was either that or "really good and hot flame spell."

Acadian - I'm not sure why, but I've always seen Altmer as more formal and sharp than other races. Maybe they just seem that way when compared to, say, Nords.



Previously - We began the tale of Cirinwe's past, as she prepared for a final exam at a magical academy with a particularly powerful spell...

Chapter 55



It’s dark, thought Cirinwe. Though after a few moments she began to realise that her eyes were actually covered. She tried to remove whatever was covering them, but found that her limbs wouldn’t respond, as if she were dreaming. Her throat was dry and sore as if she’d be shouting at the top of her voice, and when she tried to speak she couldn’t make anything more than a raspy squeak come out. She thought she could hear someone, but they sounded dull and muffled.

With nothing else to do, Cirinwe tried to think. Her head felt thick and stuffy, but she willed herself to try and remember what had happened.

She’d been casting a spell, the spell, but lost concentration. Then…fire, and pain. She’d used all of her magic to cast the spell, which left none to correct it when it went wrong. Luckily her atronach ability seemed to have absorbed much of it. Well, she assumed that’s what had happened. Perhaps it hadn’t. Perhaps she had died. If so, she thought, the afterlife leaves much to be desired.

She heard the voice again, and tried to speak to it with much the same result as before.

She could feel something touching her lips, and then a cool liquid began to pour into her mouth. It was so refreshing that Cirinwe wanted to cry, but instead she continued to drink until there was nothing left. When she tried to speak again, her voice came out as a croak, but it was at least audible.

“What…is happening?” She managed. Even her own voice sounded muffled, so she decided that something must be wrong with her ears.

There was no reply, but she could feel someone touching her cheek with cool, slender hands. The hands began fidgeting with the side of Cirinwe’s head, before she realised that they were removing whatever had been covering her eyes. Her vision began to return, slowly, and only in one eye.

She was in her bedroom, lying on her bed, and Ailinwe was sitting beside her. Cirinwe blinked a few times until everything stopped being blurry.

“Ali?” She asked, trying ineffectively to sit up. Her sister’s eyes were red and puffy from crying.

“Oh thank goodness you’re awake.” Ailinwe sobbed, hugging Cirinwe tightly.

“Ali, what happened? What’s wrong with me?” Cirinwe felt a little frightened.

“Something went wrong with your spell, you’ve been very badly burned. The academy healers did their best, but it might take some time to recover.” Ailinwe cleared her throat and helped Cirinwe into a sitting position, holding a cup of water to Cirinwe's lips.

“…but I don’t feel injured." Cirinwe said between sips. "Though I can’t hear you very well, and only one eye is working.”

“You’ve been given a light paralysis potion, to help you sleep and ease the pain. As for your eyes and ears, you’re covered in bandages. Here, let’s get some of them off.” Ailinwe leaned over and began to remove bandages from Cirinwe’s head and torso, revealing the injuries underneath. Cirinwe began to cry.

Her skin, once so smooth and flawless, was now a ruined mess of scars and blisters. The entire left side of her torso had been burned, as well as both wrists, hands, and the left side of her face. Ailinwe used her sleeve to dry Cirinwe’s eyes and gently applied a cooling ointment to the burned areas.

“Once the potion wears off, it will hurt a lot. You’ll be able to move though, and this cream should help.”

“Thank you.” Cirinwe said. It didn’t seem like there were any words that could accurately express how she was feeling. Then she remembered something. “Ali…about what you were saying before…about leaving.”

“Yes?”

“I want to. We should.” Cirinwe had made her decision. No doubt setting oneself on fire was a certain failure of the academy exam. All she had left in life was her sister, and if Ali wanted to leave, Cirinwe would follow.

“Good. Thanks Ciri,” Ali smiled widely, and Cirinwe wondered when she had last seen such a happy expression on her sister’s face. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re well enough.”

“We’ll leave as soon as I can walk.” Cirinwe decided. She thought her sister was about to disagree, but decided against it.

Ailinwe stayed by Cirinwe’s bedside all night and all through the next day. The only other visitors were the occasional maid who came to deliver food and stare in horror at her mistress’s injuries. Cirinwe’s parents remained in their study.

It was on the second night that the potion finally wore off, and Cirinwe took several wobbly steps around the room. Her legs hadn’t been burned, but she was still a little shaky, and without the potion to dull the pain her burns felt as if she was rolling in needles. She collapsed back onto her bed and began to sob, but Ailinwe was right there with more ointment and plentiful hugs.

“You don’t have to push yourself, we’ve waited 60 years to leave this house, and a few more days wouldn’t hurt.” She applied fresh bandages to the ointment covered areas, her steady hands moving swiftly and carefully.

“No. Tonight. Please.” Cirinwe said, still determined.

They waited until after midnight, when they were sure their parents and household staff had retired for the night, and crept out of the house. The only luggage they could carry was Cirinwe’s magic satchel which, although enchanted to carry a deceptively large amount of items, was not infinite.

From the house they made their way into town and down to the docks, with Cirinwe having to rest every few minutes and lean on her sister when they walked. The exertion was making her sweat, and her bandages felt slimy and uncomfortable.

Even at this time of night the docks were still surprisingly busy. Cirinwe supposed that the ocean didn’t abide by regular work hours, so ships would be coming and going constantly. Which was good news for her and her sister.

After Ailinwe had talked to the sixth or seventh sailor, they found a Redguard merchant willing to take them on in return for a small sum of gold and provided that Ailinwe would cook for the crew on the voyage. They would be going to High Rock.

[Acadian]

What a fascinating, if tragic, story behind Cirinwe’s scars that flows logically into departing her homeland. It does answer many questions and I’m so glad her injuries weren’t even worse.

She’s a strong elf. Even so, her self-consciousness seeps out sometimes. I’m glad she’s got Haa-Rei to share her story with.

[hazmick]

Acadian - I'm glad some questions have been answered, but there's plenty more story to tell



Previously - Cirinwe awoke to find herself scarred and wounded, but alive. Seeing this as a sign, she and Ailinwe left home, bound for High Rock...

Chapter 56



The journey from Auridon to High Rock was long but uneventful. Cirinwe spent most of her time in the small cabin that had been provided for herself and Ailinwe, with only the occasional trip to the deck of the ship for some fresh air.

The crew of the ship was made up mainly of Redguards and Khajiit. The former were muscular and skilled swordsmen, while the latter were nimble enough to clamber around the ship’s rigging without any trouble. They were a pleasant enough group of people, but their manner was a little rougher than Cirinwe was used to. Ailinwe, however, was incredibly popular with the crew, mainly due to her excellent cooking. This was the first time that the two Altmer sisters had met anyone that wasn’t another Altmer.

The ship carried them first to Stros M’kai, a little to the north of Auridon, and then to a town on the coast of mainland Hammerfell. From there they followed the coast north until they reached their destination – the City of Wayrest. Rather than settling down there, Ailinwe followed some advice given to her by the ship’s captain, and the two Altmer headed further north. No doubt finding work and lodgings in a city as large as Wayrest would be difficult, but their final destination would apparently have plenty of opportunities for Ailinwe. When they arrived, Cirinwe could see why.

The town, which Cirinwe thought was more of a hamlet, was named Moorvale on maps, but Cirinwe wondered if its residents even knew that maps had been invented. The central feature of Moorvale was a partially ruined castle with the town appearing to spread out from there. The buildings were of the classic Breton style - wattle and daub, with thatched roofs and a small garden at the front. The area around Moorvale was mainly farmland, and Cirinwe noticed that there were more cows than people here.

“It’s very charming.” Ailinwe declared when they first arrived. Like Cirinwe, she wasn’t used to such a rural location.

“It’s nice.” Cirinwe decided. She was looking forward to the peace and quiet of the countryside.

At least, that’s what she thought. As it turned out, the countryside was just as active and noisy as many urban areas. The two Altmer found lodgings in a tavern on the outskirts of town, and every morning Cirinwe was awoken by the sound of cows being moved from field to shed for their daily milking. For the first couple of days she found this to be extremely aggravating, but after a while she began to get used to it. She also began to get used to the food here, which was simple yet filling.

She had assumed Ailinwe would be making her food, but her sister had managed to find herself some work as a cook at the castle. Cirinwe wasn’t sure who owned the castle (everyone simply referred to them as ‘His Lordship’ and ‘Her Ladyship’) but according to Ailinwe they were a very nice couple, and well-liked by the townsfolk.

As for the townsfolk themselves, Cirinwe tended to avoid them. Nobody had been rude to her, quite the opposite in fact, but if she wore her bandages she would receive looks of pity, and without bandages her horrific scars would make people uncomfortable. She was also significantly taller than anyone else in town, which made her stand out even more. As a result, she spent a great deal of time in her room, reading whatever books she could find and watching the world go by outside.

Her room looked out directly onto farmland, and beyond that lay a vast forest. According to the locals, the forest was haunted by the spirits of long-dead warriors. If true, it would be fascinating to see them for herself. If untrue, it would be fascinating to see what truly lurked in the trees. Either way, Cirinwe wanted to have a look.

It was on a cool spring morning, after about 6 months of staring out of the window, that the time finally came. Ailinwe would be at work all day, and was to spend the evening with a new acquaintance. Cirinwe left her a note, packed some food, and headed towards the woods.


There were no footpaths into the forest, but the comings and goings of foxes, badgers, and the like had created a series of small tracks that Cirinwe could use. All the same, she soon found herself clambering over logs and ducking under branches as she headed deeper and deeper inside. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but if she kept walking she would no doubt find something interesting.

After a while it began to grow darker, the thick canopy overhead blotting out much of the sunlight despite it being around midday. Cirinwe had begun to get used to walking around, and was better able to pay attention to her surroundings. She’d pause every now and then to watch a bird or beast go about its business, but was soon aware that she was not travelling alone.

Every so often she would see movement at the edge of her vision, but try as she might, she couldn’t see anything. She was wondering how best to confront the issue when she wandered into a large clearing, and her stalker made an appearance.

It was a woman. She had the small frame and fair features of a Breton, with blonde hair in a thick braid over one shoulder. She wore robes of fur and hide, and leaned casually on a gnarled wooden staff.

“Outsiders should be careful in the forest. Lots of dangers for them to wander into.” the woman spoke with a heavy High Rock accent, but the meaning behind her words was clear enough.

“Forgive me for intruding in your forest. My name is Cirinwe.” she bowed slowly.

For a brief moment it looked as if the Breton had smiled, but she didn’t introduce herself in turn. Instead she gestured for Cirinwe to follow, and set off into the woods.

“Where are we going?” Cirinwe asked, struggling to keep up.

“No questions, no noise.” the Breton didn’t even slow her pace to reply, but visibly flinched whenever Cirinwe snapped a twigged or stumbled on a root. No noise was going to be difficult.

Quickly and (almost) silently they moved on, deeper into the forest and the gathering dark.

[Acadian]

A wonderfully described journey and period of time settling into their new farm-surrounded castle town.

I hope the mysterious Breton that Cirinwe encountered is a friend. I should imagine that friends of the forest would much more readily see past the self-conscious Altmer’s scars.

[ghastley]

Just getting back to this.

If I'd started reading at this point, I'd be wondering what this had to do with Argonians. Maybe a reminder in each episode that she's telling the story to Haa-Rei?

I'd expect her to be wearing a robe and hood, as it's regular mage garb, and wouldn't draw extra attention. Plain ones don't particularly say "mage" either. Just so long as nobody thinks she's Ma'iq...

[hazmick]

Acadian - You might be right. Though of course there is a big difference between how people actually see Ciri and how she thinks they do.

ghastley - Oh, good point.



Previously - Cirinwe continued telling the story of her past to Haa-Rei, specifically the time she first arrived in High Rock. After hearing rumours about a haunted forest, she decided to see it for herself.

Chapter 57



The Breton had begun to slow her pace, for which Cirinwe was very grateful. They’d been moving through the woods at a very brisk walk, and Cirinwe was covered in bits of leaf, twig, and mud. By contrast, her silent companion seemed to glide through the forest like a spirit – clearly she was very much at home in the dark woodland.

They stopped abruptly, and it was all Cirinwe could do to stay upright and not double over to gasp for breath.

“We’re here.” the Breton said, gesturing with a nod of the head.

‘Here’ looked very much like any other part of the forest. The only difference being a standing stone, maybe a head shorter than Cirinwe and carved with swirling patterns that glowed faintly like Welkynd stones.

“What is here?” Cirinwe asked, hoping that she hadn’t just been dragged through the woods to see a single stone.

“This is a barrier stone, there’s a big ring of them all around the village. Step inside.” she explained. As if to reassure Cirinwe, the Breton took a few steps forward, and once past the standing stone she gestured for the High Elf to follow.

As soon as Cirinwe walked past the stone, she understood. The stones act not only as a barrier, but as a shroud – concealing this patch of forest from view. What had once been just another clump of trees was now a large clearing, with several huts dotted about and people going about their business.

The first thing that Cirinwe noticed was that they were all women, and all wore the same fur and hide outfits as the Breton. Their group seemed to consist mainly of Bretons, Nords, and Argonians, though there were women of every race gathered in the clearing. Many were busying themselves with preparing food, mending clothes, or crafting strange decorations of bone, wood, and feathers.

The Breton gestured for Cirinwe to follow, and they made their way toward the largest hut, drawing many stares from those they passed. Cirinwe could feel her face flush with embarrassment, knowing full well that they were staring at her bandages.

The outside of the huts was an odd design of twisting wood, which Cirinwe had seen once before in a book about Bosmer culture. In fact it looked more like a short, fat tree had been hollowed out and fitted with windows and a door. Inside, it was surprisingly dark. The windows were covered by curtains, and the small fire in the room’s centre did little to illuminate anything.

“I’ve brought her.” said the Breton into the gloom.

“Oh, excellent. Thank you, Amelie.” A voice replied. The Breton nodded and left Cirinwe alone with whomever the voice belonged to.

“My name is Cirinwe.” She introduced herself with a bow. She wasn’t sure if she was bowing in the right direction but it was so dark that they likely wouldn’t see it anyway.

“I know. I’ve been expecting you for a while now – I thought you were never going to get here.” The voice said. “Sings, describe her to me.”

With that, the fire suddenly sputtered into life and several glowing orbs appeared around the room. It was as bright inside now as it had been outside, and Cirinwe could see who she was talking to.

There were two people, an Orc and an Argonian, seated on a pile of large cushions at the back of the room. As expected, both women were wearing the same fur and hide clothing as those outside.

The Orc’s entire body was covered in paint. Black, with a blue skeleton design that seemed to loosely trace her own bones. Her head was shaved, but for several thick dreadlocks on top, which reached down her back. The most striking thing about her was her eyes, which were simply black – no discernable pupils or colours.

The Argonian was a lot less...unusual. Her scales were thick like tree bark, and a beautiful dark purple colour. Several horns on her head poked through her hood, and her bright, amber eyes regarded Cirinwe carefully.

“She’s an Altmer. Very tall, with golden skin and silvery hair like a field of wheat on a warm Last Seed day. Her eyes are bright, but sad. She’s also covered in mud and twigs, not used to the woods.” The Argonian described Cirinwe, while the Orc stared vaguely in Cirinwe’s direction. Presumably she was blind.

“What about the scars?” The Orc asked, touching her own face in the places that Cirinwe had been burned. Now it was getting confusing.

“Oh, yes. Recent burns, on the left side of her body, currently covered with bandages. So this is the one?” after her description she turned to the Orc and asked the question.

“It would seem so,” The Orc nodded and climbed to her feet, picking up the staff that had been on the floor beside her, “we need to talk. Come.” she waved at Cirinwe and left the hut, the Argonian stayed on the cushions.

“Can I ask a question?” Cirinwe asked as she followed the Orc out of the hut and through the village. For a blind woman, the Orc moved extremely quickly on her long legs.

“Ask as many as you like, I’m sure you have plenty.”

“Right, yes, thank you. So…who are you?” the simplest questions are often the best place to start.

“My name is Lagakha. Yes, I’m blind, but I can still see you. I am the leader of this coven.” the Orc was obviously used to such questions, which made Cirinwe feel a little silly to ask them.

“How can you see me if you’re blind?” the words tumbled out of Cirinwe’s mouth before she’d had a chance to think about them.

“I can see your soul. To me, people are just blobs of colour and light in the darkness. That’s why I had Sings-to-Trees describe you. Might as well get this out of the way – I had a vision about you.” the Orc stopped her march in a quiet spot beside a river and sat down on a large rock. Cirinwe didn’t even know where to start.

Coven? Soul? Vision? Perhaps I’ve eaten something funny and this is all some bizarre hallucination. Or perhaps this forest is a lot more interesting than I first thought.

[Acadian]

As one who travels inside a Bosmer, I found this woodsy episode delightful! I loved the shroud stone guardians protecting the coven's secrets from prying eyes. And what adorable little huts the trees have so kindly provided. Your descriptions brought the village as well as the fascinating Lagakha and Sings-to-Trees vibrantly to life.

Can't wait to learn more of why Cirinwe is significant to this mysterious coven.

[hazmick]

Acadian - Unfortunately Cirinwe isn't quite as comfortable with the woods just yet. Perhaps, after spending time with a certain Argonian, she'll change her mind.



Previously - Continuing with her story, Cirinwe told Haa-Rei of her meeting with a mysterious coven of mages deep in the woods, and their leader Lagakha's visions...

Chapter 58



“A vision?” Cirinwe asked, perching on a mossy rock just across from Lagakha.

“As I said, I’m a priestess of Kyne. Sometimes she shows me things. Things that were, things that are, and some things that will be. A few weeks ago she showed you, arriving in the village.”

“For what purpose?”

“I wouldn’t want to presume the intentions of a god, but I’ve seen your future. You have the potential to do great things. Perhaps Kyne herself will call on you one day.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all…” Cirinwe said doubtfully. ‘Great’ is hardly the word she would use to describe herself.

“Right now, I’d agree with you.” Lagakha replied bluntly.

“Can…you tell me about my future?”

“If Kyne wanted you to see it, she’d show you. Just know that if you’d seen what was in store for you, you’d dance naked through the woods.” the Orc laughed, though Cirinwe couldn’t possibly imagine anything that would make her happy enough to disrobe in such a place.

“How am I supposed to know where to go, or what to do, if I don’t know what Kyne wants of me?”

“That’s where I come in. You’re a talented mage, even for a High Elf, and I’ll help you regain your confidence. After that, the world will take you where it will, and things will happen as they happen.” Lagakha nodded to herself, clearly satisfied with her vague wisdom.

“You’re going to teach me magic? I’m not sure…” Cirinwe looked down at her scarred and bandaged hands. How can she be a talented mage if she can’t even make it through the academy?

“You haven’t cast a spell since you burned yourself, so we’ll start there. You pursued destruction magic at the urging of your parents, but your aura is not that of a destruction mage.” Lagakha’s visions had apparently been quite thorough.

“What kind of mage am I?”

“Your aura is warm, but not hot. A pure golden colour. You have a natural affinity for restoration magic.”

Cirinwe had never considered restoration magic before. Perhaps if she had, things would have turned out differently. She certainly wouldn’t be in this situation, though whether or not that was a good thing…

“I don’t really know any restoration spells.” Cirinwe admitted.

“No matter, we’ll start small. You can cast a minor healing spell, correct? Give it a try.” The Orc climbed to her feet and moved a few paces back to give Cirinwe enough room to cast.

Cirinwe was nervous. She wasn’t even sure if she remembered how to cast the spell, and even the hint of magic made her scars tingle. She raised her hand and cast the spell, but nothing happened. Two more attempts met with similar failure.

“It…won’t work…” Cirinwe sighed.

“Hmm. Let’s see…” Lagakha shuffled around to stand behind Cirinwe and placed her hand on the Altmer’s back, between her shoulder blades. “Ah, I see it now. This will hurt a bit.”

Magicka pulsed through the Orc’s hand and pain lanced through Cirinwe’s chest, driving the Altmer to her knees. It faded quickly though, and once Cirinwe had been helped up she felt a thousand times better.

“What…?” she asked, wiping her watery eyes on her sleeve.

“Imagine magicka as water in pond. When you cast a spell, the water flows out of the pond and through your body. The trauma of your failure had blocked up the pond, like weeds choking a stream. I just unblocked it. Try the spell again.”

Lagakha returned to her previous position. Cirinwe was beginning to wonder why people like that Orc didn’t run mage academies – they’d be much more successful.

Raising her hand again, Cirinwe could feel the difference. Her shoulders felt less stiff, and the knowledge of the spell came to her easily. She felt the magicka run out of her pool and blossom into the healing spell in her hand, showering her body with golden light. She had no wounds to heal, but she still felt a lot better.

“I did it!” Cirinwe laughed, clapping her hands together. She immediately regained her composure, but the smile wouldn’t leave her face.

“Yes, congratulations. You are now a novice restoration mage. The real training starts here.” Lagakha grinned.

For 3 long weeks Cirinwe was tutored in restoration magic by the coven. They were a fascinating group, and Cirinwe learned more from them than she’d ever learned before in her life. Not just magic, but things about other races and distant lands. Knowledge that only experience can bring. When it was time to leave, Cirinwe was saddened, but pleased to be returning to her sister - she had a lot to tell her.

“Will we meet again?” Cirinwe asked Lagakha, whom she had come to respect a great deal.

“I have not seen it, though it could happen. When you get to a sufficiently civilised place, you should join the Mages Guild. You’d do well there.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The walk back to the small town of Moorvale was easier than the previous journey, but only by a small margin. Cirinwe wondered if she’d ever get used to the wilderness. After getting back to town she received a very firm and emotional telling off by Ailinwe, who had been worried sick by her sister’s absence, and a decidedly more quiet and polite introduction to Ailinwe’s new family – her wife Lynette and Lynette’s daughter Marie. Soon after that they found a cheap house in the town of Anvil, Cyrodiil, and moved there together.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“…and you know the rest.” Cirinwe finished her story, waiting patiently for my reaction.

“That was…I…” I was speechless. Cirinwe had been through more than I’d realised. Her accident, a coven, travelling across half of Nirn. “thank you for telling me, Cirinwe.”

“Ciri.” she said. “I would like you to call me Ciri, if you don’t mind. We’re…quite close now, are we not?”

My jaw worked silently for a few moments, my heart having taken up residence in my mouth:

“Okay. Ciri.” I smiled.

[haute ecole rider]

I've been reading Ciri's story and sorrowed in her loss and delighted in her healing.

But what gets me, really gets me, is the ending of this latest chapter, where Haa Rei tells us his heart has moved.

Wonderful!

[ghastley]

I read this one a couple of times before I decided what was unsettling me about it. Lagakha is essentially telling Cirinwe "Your parents put you in a box. Let me help you escape by putting you in this other box".

I doubt that Cirinwe's talent is even confined to magic, let alone a single school. But perhaps it's your intent for her to discover that for herself, and this is just one step along that path.

[Acadian]

This is beautiful on a couple levels.

I’m fascinated as Ciri begins her journey as a restoration mage of Kyne. I’m so tantalized by what I know of her future here!

It also warms my heart to see the delicate but continuing closeness growing between Scars and Scales. Neither of these two wear their emotions on their sleeves, but their feelings for each other are unmistakable.

[hazmick]

haute - glad you're enjoying it! Ciri's been through a lot, but life's abrasions have polished her into an absolute gem.

ghastley - Very true. Though of course there are some people who like to be put in a box, given a path etc. and sometimes one needs help from a kind Argonian to escape their restraints...

Acadian - Scars and Scales are certainly making progress, slowly but surely. Rest assured, even someone as tall as Ciri has plenty of room to grow



Previously - Cirinwe finished her story, telling Haa-Rei about the training she received while in High Rock. With their bond strengthened, the two companions continue their journey...

Chapter 59



The next morning, Cirinwe and I continued our journey towards Leyawiin. My companion seemed to be in a good mood, as if sharing her tale had lightened a great burden she’d been lugging around. I, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling as chipper.

The niggling feeling of discomfort that had plagued me on my previous trip had begun to return. Again, it was not painful, but it was such a distraction that I didn’t hear or smell the ogre coming out of the treeline.

For a few moments the three of us simply stared at each other – the creature’s beady little eyes flicking between myself and Cirinwe as it tried to decide which one would provide the better meal.

Cirinwe didn’t give it time to choose, and stepped forward to meet the beast head-on. I fumbled with my bow but eventually managed to plant an arrow in the ogre’s chest. Cirinwe danced around the creature, dodging its massive arms and giving me a good shot. Two more arrows, one in the shoulder and another between the ribs. An opening presented itself, and Cirinwe lobbed an orb of magicka at the ogre. It appeared to be restoration magicka, but the noise made by the beast suggested that it wasn’t being restored.

Cirinwe ducked beneath another wild swing, but didn’t have time to dodge the next, blocking it with the flat side of her axe. The force knocked her back a little but she kept her balance. Another arrow bounced off the ogre’s thick skull, staggering the creature long enough for Cirinwe’s axe to bury itself in the creature’s neck.

“I think…I’m getting the hang of this…” Cirinwe laughed as she caught her breath.

“Yes. Quite proficient.” I crouched over the ogre’s carcass to retrieve my arrows. Only one was still useable. Ogre hide is tough.

“Are you alright? You seem…quieter than usual.” Cirinwe was now trying to retrieve her axe. It took several attempts, but eventually she managed to heave it from the ogre’s corpse.

“I’m…not sure. It was like this when I last came to Leyawiin. An odd feeling in the back of my mind.” I wasn’t sure how to explain it, which just made me feel more frustrated.

“Sit.” Cirinwe commanded, pointing to a nearby rock. I complied, and she followed.

Healing magic flowed from Cirinwe’s hands and into my body. Her slender fingers felt cool on the sides of my head, and the magic almost felt like it was working. A few seconds after the spell was finished, the feeling returned.

“It’s nothing serious. I’ll be fine.” I lied. In truth I wanted to dip my head into a bucket of icy water to silence the swarm of fleshflies that must have taken up residence in my skull.

“I can’t see anything physically wrong, but that ogre managed to wander up to us without alerting you…I’d say that was serious enough.” She was, as ever, correct.

We left the ogre carcass behind and continued south. We both travelled with weapons drawn, and Cirinwe’s attention was split between looking at the road and shooting glances at me. Every so often she would think of a new spell and stop to cast it on me, with no effect. After while she had to stop in order to conserve magicka.

We made camp in the same place that I had done on my last trip. I previously had Eithne the flame atronach to help out, and my heart felt a little heavier for remembering my lost companion. My current companion was still studying me, trying to figure out what was wrong. We spoke little that night, and I felt guilty for ruining Cirinwe’s earlier good mood, but every time I thought about talking my foggy mind would obscure the words. Eventually I gave up and fell into a fitful sleep.

I awoke with a start. It was still dark, but not far off sunrise. To one side, the campfire did its best to fight off the chill in the air, while to my right sat Cirinwe, holding one of my hands in hers.

“You were dreaming again.” She held up an empty vial of my lycanthropy potion. I could taste the contents on my tongue.

“Thank you, Ciri.” I squeezed her hand and sat up slowly. Between the wolf spirit and the strange feeling, my head was far too busy to process any form of embarrassment I would ordinarily be feeling.

We packed up camp and resumed our journey, with Cirinwe in charge. I was glad that she was here. Had I been alone, I probably would have wandered to my death somewhere in Blackwood. Still, both of us felt relieved when the walls of Leyawiin came into view. The town was more-or-less the same as it had been on my previous visit. An unusual number of Argonians still wandered around, many looking how my head felt. I briefly wondered why so many where in Leyawiin, if they were supposed to be in Black Marsh, but I had more pressing concerns.

I lead Cirinwe to the Three Sisters Inn, which was quiet at this time of day. Once inside, Jötnar was easy to spot – he was sitting in one corner, table strewn with empty mead bottles and tankards. The look on his face suggested that this was no celebration.

“Jötnar, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Cirinwe noticed it too. The Nord raised his head, and for a moment he looked so small and fragile.

“We…we killed them. We killed them all.”

[haute ecole rider]

oh, no . . .

Water's Edge, perhaps?

That is one of the greatest tragedies in Oblivion, TBH


that's what this reminds me of . . .

[ghastley]

Cirinwe lobbed an orb of magicka at the ogre. It appeared to be restoration magicka, but the noise made by the beast suggested that it wasn’t being restored.

So what was it? Explain yourself!

[Acadian]

A well-described ogre fight. I like how you take the time after to detail Haa-Rei recovering his arrows – a messy but necessary task.

Ciri acquitted herself well vs the ogre but I join her in wondering the source of Haa-Rei’s distraction. Lycanthropy-related perhaps? A disturbance in the Force Hist?

Finally they arrive at Leyawiin, only to discover Jötnar trying to drink away some mysterious disaster.