Looks like Nereli is going to make the most of the opportunity before her. Good! She can turn the Knights of the Thorn into a real force, and might even help Farwil grow up.

People really don't like Nords around here. I do like (as in appreciate, not think it is wonderful) that you are displaying the Nords as suffering the brunt of prejudice that is usually assigned to other groups. It is a nice change, and as always it helps illustrate what living under that prejudice feels like.

So Jerric is going to escort Kevin Bacon to Chorrol.

I love his plan to become Vidkun, in order to use his horse. No point letting a good mount go to waste. And he can always count on no one being able to tell one Nord from another.

Well, for once Jerric had a nice quiet journey somewhere. Wait, what am I saying! Of course he could not make it all the way to his destination without some sort of trouble plaguing him. I swear, he is at bad at traveling as Tom Hanks (don't ever get on a plane or boat with that guy, because it's going to crash, or be hijacked, or something...)

Well, by Julianos’ little teapot! Nereli is going to try and make something of that prissy knight club. And I bet she’ll succeed!

Urgh, Burz continues to impress – not!

’He had light blue eyes and a complexion that spoke of store-bought soap and libraries.’
- - A wonderfully creative and evocative description! Then it just gets better as you liken him to a field mouse bringing home an ogre’s breakfast.

A great idea to exploit the ‘all Nords look alike to Dunmer’ phenomenon and claim Vidkun’s horse.

Ahhh, Cevin reminds me of Buffy as he forked over every bit of his gold to the Cheydinhal stable for a precious black mare.

If Jerric decides to close that gate (and I bet he will), Cevin should be placed safely on horse-watching duty well away from the gate.

I'm getting an image in my mind of a rather unimpressed horse giving Jerric a side eyed look here. Though whether that's for the new name, or the very eloquent way of naming, who can say?

Hm, Cevin is a touch on the nervous side.

Might be due to the big, scary Nord, but these two parts jumped out at me, waving their arms and screaming at me to take notice:



I've learned to pay attention to the way you foreshadow things, and whilst this hasn't (yet) been made clear, I'm thinking there might be a little bit more to this story. Is it the shock and fear of what Cevin saw? Or is it more the shock of what he found himself capable of doing in order to survive? His obvious trepidation about being alone with Jerric not overriding his intense desire to not be a part of another caravan. The looking like he wanted to vomit, not shaking, or replaying a visual scene in his head, but a visceral physical reaction suggests to me more of an inner turmoil. I may be reading too much into that, but when you repeat something twice, yet still leave it unsaid, makes me wonder...

Looking forward to finding out more! Oblivion Gate time!

Previously: Jerric and Nereli put a dent in the FG’s wine supply with their late-night chat. Nereli shared her plans to improve the Knights of the Thorn as their Quartermaster. Jerric avoided talking about what was bothering him. In the morning Jerric picked up an escort contract from Burz, collected the lad who needed escorting, and then liberated Vidkun’s horse from the stable by being a Nord and paying the bill. Cevin bought a Cheydinhal Black, one of the fastest, toughest, most reliable horses in Cyrodiil. When they reached the outskirts of Chorrol, they found a Gate to Oblivion. Sorry this update is later than usual. I spent last week walking around Philadelphia, sweating like a Nord at noon on a Sentinel rooftop. Got home last night and I’m still running behind in most departments (including hydration).

ghastley: This Oblivion Gate is near Chorrol’s Statue Gate on the south side of the city. The Gates in Jerric’s world probably won’t line up exactly with the game’s placement and timing. Cevin is a Breton. I had him as both Cevin Geles and Cevin Surilie in my notes. Hopefully only Geles made it into the story. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: I hoped that you would enjoy Nereli seizing the opportunity and changing her own fortunes. That Farwil, though. D’oh! For a career caravan guy, Jerric can’t seem to get from A to B without drama. They are never going to let him back on the roster at Running Wolf Post and Freight! Thank you, Rosa!

Acadian: I thought so much of Buffy and Superian as Cevin emptied his account to buy that glorious horse! If he wasn’t horse-crazy before, he will be now! Jerric completely agrees about the Gate. There is no way he’s going to drag a nervous lad who is under his care into one, but it will be nice to have someone holding the horses. And your bet is good that he’s going in to close it. Thank you, Acadian!

Burnt Sierra: You’re exactly right about the horse side-eye, I was picturing “Smoke-y Smoke” as entirely unimpressed! At least the horse can tell that Jerric is not Vidkun! I cut about half of Cevin and Jerric’s first meeting, so I am delighted to hear that what I hoped to convey came through. Cevin will eventually talk about the events that led him to choose a scary-Nord escort over a much-worse caravan. It will still be spring in the story, but probably late autumn for us when we get to that part. Thank you, Burnt!


For our next chapter we're not only switching to Abiene's point of view, but she's telling it in first person. I hope you'll forgive me for not arguing with her. Before we begin, here's a page from her journal.

Abiene's Interlude Two, or is it Three?

429 of the Third Era, 14 Second Seed

"Come in, Marcellus. Abiene, prepare yourself."

The proctor stood aside as Marcellus entered the examination chamber. The door clicked shut behind them.

My bony rear rested on a bench along the wall of an arched passage deep underneath the Arcane University. I slid down to the end position. The line of fellow students behind me scooted one by one to fill the space. We were silent, hoping and hoping not to hear sounds from the testing chamber.

I was about to stand for my final examination in my primary field: Restoration magic. I had passed all of my other tests, demonstrating at least proficiency in every school of magic that the Mages Guild taught. Inside the chamber I would find a long table, housing a representative from every school. We students did not know who would be present for any particular exam. I composed a brief prayer to Lady Dibella that Curciel, newly promoted Master in my school of Restoration, would not have a seat at the table today.

Curciel possessed what I found to be a typical Altmer's view of humans as uppity pretenders whose short lifespans suit us to subservient lives. She reserved her sharpest disdain for those who dared question her. Though she far outranked me, I had done so at every opportunity. Then Curciel received her Mastery. Pride, ever my companion, was not my friend.

My Lady Dibella would scarcely concern herself with scholarly matters or anything to do with luck. Whoever was going to be at the table was already seated. Praying for someone else was tantamount to wishing for something to befall them. Before that caravan of thought went any further, the door opened. Marcellus emerged, stone-faced.

The proctor consulted her clipboard. "Come in, Abiene. Othos, prepare yourself." She held the door open.

I was too nervous to do more than nod at her. These examinations were pass or fail. While it would seem that I should be assured a pass, some examiners took a student with advanced skills or particular talents as a challenge to their sovereignty. I was both highly skilled and naturally gifted. The school of Restoration was broad, and my knowledge was deepest in the areas of healing. I was not confident of a ready pass.

Inside the room I saw Dominus, the Dean of Destruction, Juliana from the Illusion school, Dro'Mari from Alteration, my dear friend Gantos representing Mysticism, Walks-In-Shadow of Conjuration, Dran the Necromancer… then my eyes were drawn over the rest to the center of the table. Of course she had taken the seat in the middle.

Curciel. She sat easily in the large chair, chin propped on the back of one hand.

Raminus Polus, our Dean of Undergraduate Studies, spoke. "Please state your name."

"Abiene Metonne, standing for my practical exam in Restoration."

"Abiene," said Curciel. "You may take your position. Goodness, isn't this your last exam? You must know where you can go by now."

I stepped onto the spot that should be stained with the sweat of a thousand shaking mages, but that was as neatly swept and scrubbed as the rest of the floor's paving stones.

Don't let her get to you. You can perform any spell that she requires. I willed my hands, my chin, and my voice not to shake. "I am ready, Master Curciel."

Curciel gestured with her narrow, golden hand. The proctor opened a door at the side of the chamber.

Two Imperials emerged, wearing the University's shortened battle robes. Between them they dragged a bound, struggling goblin. Its face was swollen on one side, its shirt torn and bloodied.

The violence of the situation sent sick tendrils through my gut. Who had beaten this goblin? A classmate? Did they mean for me to heal it?

Once the guards withdrew, Curciel flicked her fingers at me. "Kill it."

The Novice level of the spell was simply called Absorb Health. Advanced versions had more sinister appellations. I had used it in class on summoned creatures, but I had never killed any living thing. Numb, I cast the spell.

In a blink the goblin was obscured by a red haze. Its life energy rushed into mine through my outstretched hands. Hot joy churned in my chest, mixed with a keening horror. I heard my victim's groan along with a shriek. The cry had come from my throat.

I broke the spell. The goblin lay on its side, face turned away from me. Its arms still twitched against the bindings. I knelt and reached for the pitiful creature, my hands filled with healing light.

A bolt of lightning sent its body spinning into the wall.

"Failed," said Master Curciel. Shock energy still danced across her palm.

I felt frozen in place, unable to draw a breath. The magical light in my hands turned from golden to livid red.

Raminus Polus made a small sound, drawing everyone's attention. He finished his notations with a flourish, then tapped his stylus against the quartz tablet. A copy of his writing would appear on a linked page in his office. An assistant may already have the document in their hands, ready to place it in the stack on top of Marcellus's exam record.

"She passes," Raminus said. "Tamriel needs more healers."

Hah! Shove it, Curciel!

Curciel? The name alone sounds excruciating.

Dominus, the Dean of Destruction. I hate to say it, but this sounds like the ring name of a professional wrestler!

Well, that was disgusting. So apparently being willing to commit murder without question is a requirement for becoming a Mage? Well apparently not everyone there felt so, since Raminus passed Abiene. Granted, if it was a test to see if she would not kill the goblin, then I would have more respect for them. But given that no one blinked an eye at Cruciel killing the goblin, that is clearly not the case.

And yes, goblins are monsters. But that does not make their torture and outright murder ethical. In fact, reducing others to the status of being monsters is how all genocides take place. It looks like Cruciel wants to see only fascists in the guild, who will not hesitate to murder whomever is conveniently labeled as a monster next.

Wonderful job of portraying Abienne’s nervous concerns and their rationale.

Curciel clearly had a good idea of Abienne’s ‘weakness’ by asking her to kill a helpless and pre-bloodied goblin, when a simple summoned scamp or skeleton would have readily tested her ability to cast the desired absorb health spell. As a true healer, Abienne balked at the request.

I’m glad Raminus has the wisdom to understand the mentality of a healer and pass Abienne. His next order of business should be to fire Curciel – or at least remove her from anything to do with the school of restoration!

I enjoyed the subtle additions you made to what the game provides – more practical robes for battlemages and having the school of necromancy represented at the table. It was many years ago that Abienne reshaped Buffy’s thinking about necromancy and the positive role it can play in healing. Specifically, in restoring dead tissue.

Previously: Abiene shared a journal page from her time at the Arcane University. She related the events of her last practical exam before graduation.

Abiene lives at the Chapel of Stendarr in Chorrol doing an internship under the renowned surgeon Gureryne Selvilo. This chapter begins at the end of First Seed. Jerric is in Moonshadow. Lildereth, Darnand, and Jeelius have just reached Cloud Ruler Temple.

Kane: Ha! I’m sure Curciel was annoyed with Raminus. Thank you, Kane!

SubRosa: Dominus, Dean of Destruction sounds like he has a backup career in adult films. Pretty much no one was concerned about the goblin, except presumably his tribemates. I haven’t dug into Abiene’s time at the AU very much, but I imagine that goblins could have been used in necromancy the way animals are used in our biology labs. Cyrodiil culture at the time seems to place little to no value on their lives. I think there’s a story in whatever happened to the Healers Guild, and I think mages like Curciel would be on one side of it. Definitely not a fond memory for Abiene. Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: If Curciel is still in the Mages Guild at the time of the story, I’m sure she and Raminus still don’t see eye-to-eye. (Not just because she’s Altmer-tall!) Abiene remains ashamed that she even cast the spell and started to kill the goblin. I’m glad you mentioned the positive role Necromancy can play in healing, since this journal page highlights the darker side of the Restoration school. Abiene is still thinking about how she can make her ideas work. Thank you, Acadian!

Chapter 21: Underneath, Part One

"It is still seeping, Mister Chandler. I will give you another treatment this evening."

Mistress Chandler huffed out a breath. "For what we're paying in donations I should expect to have been out of here yesterday."

I pressed the poultice over Mister Chandler's freshly cleaned wound. My assistant Neen-Samna handled the wrapping while I held it in place. There was no answer I could give that would ease the wife's irritation, but I could reassure my patient.

"Your recovery is proceeding as we expected," I told him. "There is no sign of infection returning."

Mister Chandler's bland gaze remained on my chest. He must be terribly bored to seek entertainment there. My healer's robe offered little to draw the eye. Perhaps he was only amusing himself by annoying his wife.

Spring in County Chorrol had arrived as a flood. Warm winds melted the snowpack and sent it down the mountainsides as rivers, mixed with the relentless rain. Work-related injuries were down at the Healing Halls, and domestic disputes were up. My own temper was frayed, I will admit. It was difficult to shed Mistress Chandler's sour mood at the end of my shift. Striding through the corridors I kept my greetings to brief nods in acknowledgment of my colleagues.

My least favorite fellow healer had beaten me to the locker room. I walked past her, pulling the healer's robe from my shoulders. Underneath I wore a spring weight tunic over a heavier felt skirt. The robe was only lightly soiled, so it went into the regular hamper. My headwrap followed. I opened my locker and arranged my things for the afternoon.

"Packing for your trip, Abiene?" The smirk oozed through her voice.

"Sadly, no, Guilia. The weather, you see." I walked to the row of wash basins.

Guilia followed. I wondered what schedule allowed her to linger in the locker rooms for what seemed like the sole purpose of vexing me.

I finished rinsing my hands in the basin, flicked the excess water from my fingers, and blotted them on a towel. My magicka, spent in the morning's treatments, was already trickling in from Aetherius like water seeping into a well. Though I knew a spell to clean my hands, I would save my magicka for the afternoon's treatments and utilize mundane solutions for ordinary tasks. I have a mage's pride in her spells and a healer's need to use them on everyone. These restrictions chafed on me, yet another small burr under my saddle.

Guilia tilted her head and executed some rapid blinking. "Oh? What has occurred? Surely your Divine Lady does not mind a bit of rain. Has your… celebration… been canceled?" She made a show of smoothing her hand towel.

I had been given leave to join the spring festival at the Wayshrine of Dibella located about a half-day's ride from Chorrol. I was a layman in my Dibellan order. As a Mara devotee, Guilia viewed my interest in grace and beauty as a frivolous exercise in self-indulgence at best. At worst she placed me equal with the ranks of Sanguine's most lecherous orgiasts. The Festival of Bud and Bloom was conducted outdoors at the Wayshrine and hardly an orgy, though Dibella's lily would be celebrated throughout the festivities. Which would take place without me. I schooled my expression to hide the disappointment.

"The festival will go on, rain or shine," I said. "After all, what brings forth the natural beauty of flower and vine but a cool spring rain? Regrettably my means of transport…" I shrugged.

"Will you be kept from your patron by something as simple as a carriage ride?"

I had planned to ride along with Dar-Ma on her way to deliver goods to one of her mother's trading partners, but the trails had turned to mud too deep for her wagon. I was indeed being kept back by the lack of a ride. However I had already shared too much with Guilia.

"If you will excuse me, I have some paperwork to complete." I gave her the tight-lipped expression I kept for when civility required a smile but my thoughts suggested a rude gesture.

Her reply met the empty space behind me. Filling out forms was a mind-numbing chore, but I had a good work ethic and a fondness for order. This meant I never left them for "later." Thus the task never became overwhelming.

I worked a full morning and then late into the evening, but two hours at mid-day were mine to fill. Today that meant a stop at my friend Seed-Neeus's store, followed by a visit to the large refugee camp that had sprung up in the park just inside Chorrol's Statue Gate.

Candlelight in the chapel's narthex told me that the sky outside would be gloomy. On sunny days the beams of colored light through the stained-glass window were blinding. Even on a cloudy day the windows showed their worth. I walked through the tall, arched doors and out into the streets of Chorrol.

Rain slanted down at an angle, driven by a steady breeze. Fortunately I wore my Weatherward bracelet, charmed to keep the rain from penetrating a thin field around my body. It would not prevent me from scrubbing my hands in the basin or from drinking a liquid, or even keep me dry if I jumped into a body of water. But it kept the rain beading up and rolling off like water on a swan's wings. I had Darnand to thank for the bracelet. Thoughts of him brought a warmth within my chest. He had chosen the bracelet, written the spell himself, and then enchanted it with his own hands. All of this without legal access to spellmaking tablets or enchanting altars. I marveled at his dedication and initiative.

Chorrol's signature oaks stood bare of new green, but some of the lesser trees had begun to show leaf. Chapel Street was lined with businesses. Shopkeepers often lived over their stores, decorating the buildings as they would homes. Even on this dreary day, spring blooms brightened many stoops and window boxes.

I stepped carefully across the street, avoiding the road apples left by Chorrol's donkeys, mules, and horses. The rain must be keeping the scoopers under cover, but the city's working animals left evidence of their passage whatever the weather.

Seed-Neeus's shop with its snug rental cottage at the rear loomed up on my right. The cottage wall sat flush with the edge of the sidewalk. I felt an urge to brush my fingertips against the wet stone as I passed. My happiest hours in this mountain city had been spent in that cottage with one who had gone to war and left me behind. Though my skills would make me welcome on any battlefield, there was nothing in my nature to suggest that I would thrive there. Still, a part of me reached for some kind of solution. Since the fall of Kvatch every guard spent his watch wondering if their city would be next. Warrior or not, and in my case definitely not, we all lived with the same danger now.

An alley behind the cottage separated the building from Seed-Neeus's shop. The cottage's rear doorway had been sealed off long ago and covered over with a wood shed that now served both buildings. The back of the shop opened onto the alley, and there was a raised platform with a ramp to aid in moving cargo. Today the back door was closed, so I walked around and used the customer entrance.

The shop had been a single-family dwelling before the city grew enough to need a larger shopping district. As little bells rang over the door, I stepped into the broad but shallow entry. Stairs ran up on the right, and a passageway on the left led to the rear chambers. Seed-Neeus used the ground floor for storage and inventory processing as well as household utility. Her second floor had been opened up into a single large space with shelving at the back and a merchandising area in the front. Whatever goods interested you, Seed-Neeus would retrieve onto the tables for your perusal. She and her daughter Dar-Ma had their rooms on the third floor.

"Only the finest wares to buy and barter at Northern Goods and— Oh! Greetings, Abiene!" Seed-Neeus's raspy voice came from the shop level.

"Good day, my friend! I'm coming up."

Mister Chandler's bland gaze remained on my chest. He must be terribly bored to seek entertainment there.
- - It seems that, like Buffy, Abienne’s cup size is early in the alphabet. . . .

Not only thankless patients, but a harpy of a coworker to deal with. And to top off the gloom, relentless rain and a spoiled trip to Dibella’s festival.

Nice Weatherward bracelet, thanks to Darnand.

‘Chorrol's signature oaks stood bare of new green, but some of the lesser trees had begun to show leaf.’
- -Lovely, evocative phrasing here.

Insightful of Abiene to note that, during this Oblivion crisis, every city feared they might become the next Kvatch.

A visit to her friend Seed-Neeus and another name – Dar-Ma.


I’m enjoying reading Abiene’s perspective using first person. How do you like using it for a change? I wouldn’t know any better – Buffy came out of the box insisting on first person and we’ve never looked back (or on the other side of the fence).