It always struck me as odd that Carahil was willing to send you straight into harm's way for a stinking recommendation, and her only help included two battle-mages always following at a distance, as well as protection against frost attacks of only middling decency. Really, unless you're a Nord or Breton with a decent method of dealing with the damage that gets through your natural abilities, Carahil really does send you in way over your head.

I'm glad to see that the potential repercussions are sinking in and reminding her of the human (or in this case, elven) cost of her decisions. She doesn't strike me as the warrior-wizard type, nor as a commander prepared to risk the lives of troops for a clear and necessary objective. She plays at it, concerned to all Oblivion about ethics and responsibility, but not remembering why people can drift from the moral high road.

But more importantly, you impress upon the reader her sense of regret and the second-guesses she makes about herself when Derelas is brought in with frost-wounds. It's the mark of a good commander, somebody that may grow into the role as experience and bad calls (like this one) give her the wisdom to move forward.

Her thoughts were an utter mess of uncertainty that even for one as logical and knowledgeable of the workings of the world as she could be, she could not get over the idea that she might have overstepped her bounds this time.

This sets us up well for Carahil’s emotional state. She is a bit stern and cold in the game, but now we’re ready to see what’s going on in her mind. I’m pleased to see people reacting strongly to Derelas’ frightening state. It shows that they are not intentionally careless with his life, even in a dangerous and violent world. Taking the time in the story to let other characters show us what he can’t really emphasizes how serious the situation is for him.

It sounds like poor Derelas is destined to be naked again. I’m pretty sure Abiene has reached Expert in clothing removal. Hopefully she’ll put him in something modest and comfortable, so when he wakes up he can go straight to being furious.

What an honor and thrill to see Abiene (and hear about Jerric) in your story. I would have recognized her even if you had not used her name, you captured her so well!!

That is as perfect a description as I could imagine for what I have always believed Skooma would be like to the user! I agree with your idea of its effects 100% !!!


WHEW! This is one of your most powerful chapters to date! Excellent chapter! Where to begin...first: The fact that Dere was not uber and conquering on the task - his vulnerability is endearing. Carahil's reaction emphasizes that and mirrors what the reader experiences at his near-death state.

Next, your insight into Abiene's personality and function within the guild was spot on perfect, recognizable as Grits's character - wonderful job on that!

I loved the touch of Carahil's sensitive palette! What a great detail one would expect from someone in her position at the Mages Guild!

I loved this chapter, it is my absolute favorite Dere episode to date - Awesome job, Master Chef TK !!! WOO HOO !!!

@rider: You hit the nail right on the head there. Carahil is still human... err, elven, under that cool, dispassionate facade. Now was the time for her to show it. Thank you for your words.

@SubRosa: Abiene is only the second true cameo appearance in this tale, after Julian's little tussle in the Wawnet Inn back in Chapter 1. The rest are simply references. Now, the goal of the previous chapter was to show to the viewers the immediate repercussions of what happened at Brina Cross, and to really bring home the point that he was nearly killed in his duty. I'm glad you thought the shift in perspective felt natural. Oh, and on the topic of Teresa, her being comfortable with her sexuality is enough to make me quite proud of her. I do not care for the circumstances, she knows her alignments, and has embraced them.
Nit picked.

@Acadian: That reference to Jerric and Kvatch was deliberately written to keep the Hero of Kvatch anonymous, so that it can still go either way. Many of the Kvatch survivors fled to Anvil when the city was destroyed, so Jerric could definitely have been among them. Or was he the one who destroyed that gate? Time will tell.
Nits picked.

@Lady Syl: Do not fear about falling behind, I do not wish to pressure anyone to read, but simply let them do so at their leisure. If you have prior commitments, so be it. Still, good to see you back with us.
Thank you for your comments.

@Captain Hammer: Your insight into Carahil's reaction is quite well observed, and you have thoroughly brought to light everything I wished for the reader to experience when the read of Carahil reacting to the whole fiasco. Thank you very much!

@Grits: I am humbled that you think so highly of my interpretation of Abiene's character, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for allowing her to appear in this tale! Of course, there is the reason that there is no other healer I would trust the removal of clothing to, either. I'm sure Abiene has had some very good practice there.

@mALX: I thought you would enjoy this one. Your words are much appreciated, dearest coffee-guzzling squirellicoon!

next: A couple days later, it is time for Derelas himself to come to grips with what has happened, and to learn a little something about himself in the process.

Chapter 9-4: Repercussions

I woke in a warmly lit chamber to the sight of pink morning rays, a softly blustering curtain, and a Breton upon whose face was written hazy tiredness mixed with what I could only describe as unbreakable compassion. It was apparent that she had seen my eyes open, because once she was sure I was looking at her, she gave me a small smile as she put her soft healer’s hands to my forehead.

“You're still a bit cold, I’m afraid,” she spoke, her soft voice filling the room with the warmth of empathy to match the vivid light. “You might need to stay here for about a day longer.”

“Where am I?” I asked.

“Back in Anvil,” the woman replied. “You were brought back about two days ago, seriously injured. Carahil has been fretting over you for most of that time.”

Carahil… Brina Cross… the Altmer in blue hiding in the bushes who did this to me. It was cold like I had never experienced before; it was so terrible it burned me to my very bones. Nothing could have prepared me for such a powerful frost spell. I desperately wanted to be angry with Carahil, enraged that she nearly sent me to my death. After all, she knew of the murderous intent of that mage. But at the same… the anger would not come. I did not know if it was because of my frail state, or because the woman next to me was capable of stopping a raging bull with just a glance, but though I so desperately wanted it, I could find no anger or hatred for Carahil. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that day, and I would be a fool to believe that she could.

It was at that point the door opened, and the familiar face of Carahil herself glided in.

“I heard voices,” she said in her usual slow voice, but at the same time I noted it was a bit higher pitched than normal. “What has transpired?”

“Derelas is awake,” the woman replied. “Frail, but awake.”

Carahil closed her eyes, and I noticed her shoulders relax considerably as waves of tension left her body. After a few seconds, she found her voice again.

“Thank you, Abiene. Please get some rest now, you look absolutely exhausted.”

The young woman named Abiene hesitated for a moment, but with an insistent nod toward the door from Carahil, she slowly rose to her feet and left. Carahil closed the door after her, leaving us alone. I was shocked when she turned to face me not with her usual manner of cold indifference and dispassionate logic, but with the face of a mother visiting the sickbed of her child. It was enough to make me appreciate that she was in charge of the Healing Hall, as the rest of the Guild called the Anvil chapter.

“I know you must be furious with me at the moment,” Carahil began, “but for now we must put aside whatever differences might consume our hearts, for we still have business to attend to. What happened at Brina Cross?”

“The rogue mage was an Altmer named Caminalda,” I replied meekly, my voice hoarse and frail from lack of use. “She had been staying in the Brina Cross Inn for some time, as far as Arielle had figured out. She took our bait, laid her trap in the night, and waited for me near the intersection between the Gold and Brown roads.”

I shuddered when I came to the next part; I will never forget that feeling… the feeling of being frozen so badly it burns your very soul. It burned until my body could no longer stand it, and she did it again… and again… until I was nothing but a frigid heap on the cobblestones. I then lay still, waiting for nothing more than for her to walk up to me and break my head from my shoulders like an icicle.

But she never did. I heard far off shouts; sounds of battle a million miles away. I could hear the screams of a woman in flames, and the squawking of a impish creature… a scamp, as he buried his claws deep into the leg of the woman in blue. A male in a light blue hood and shining steel armor then dashed forward while Caminalda doubled over in pain. And with a quick and precise strike from his silver blade, he cleanly separated her head from her body as my world went dark.

“They killed her,” I then said simply. It was too much for me to speak of now, what happened to me. “One of the battlemages. He decapitated her.”

The shadow of shock and disgust passed through Carahil’s face, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Well… Arielle and Roliand did what needed to be done, then. No more innocent deaths… though it pains me to think of how close we were to yet another.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to reflect on any misgivings, Magister,” I replied, reaching out with my right hand, but it was then I caught a sight that sent my heart into my throat.

“Where is my ring finger?” I stammered, bolting upright, my breathing going shallow. “What happened to my finger?!”

“Frostbite,” Carahil quickly responded, having flown to her feet in surprise. “We did what we could, but there was too much damage done to that finger. The flesh had already died. I’m sorry, Derelas, but we had to remove it. Now please, lie down before you black out.”

I complied, feeling very faint. I raised my hand, and gazed upon the pathetic stump that once was my finger… a reminder of the cost of living, the cost I thought I paid three years ago, when my life became torture. It was now becoming woefully clear why my anger for Carahil was impossible.

“You look awfully troubled, Derelas,” Carahil voiced quietly. “I know it may not be my domain to ask, but what pains you so?”

“Why am I here?” I asked the Altmer. “What purpose does my life have to this world now?”

“Don’t speak like that, child, you have served a great purpose for our Guild. With your assistance, we have brought down a murderer. Your Guild is quite proud of your sacrifice.”

“I should have died that day,” I continued, ignoring Carahil’s stammered compliments. “All these years, I’ve been searching for something I thought would bring back my family….”

“By the Gods, child, silence yourself!” Carahil nearly squealed, her eyes round as dinner plates. “We have all lived through troubles in our day, but what could possibly be worth your life?”

I said nothing at first. She would not understand. She would not understand living with the pain of having your heart torn from your body when a young man came to realize his parents would never come home. She would not understand why that young man would throw himself into danger at the voice of whim time and time again. She would not understand… not while her life still meant something to her. My old life was gone, stolen from me many years ago when my parents never returned from that expedition to Nornalhorst. And now I had three factions tugging for control, the Vampire Ancient, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Children of Dawn. It now felt to me that it was simply too much to ask to have my life back in my own possession now. There was nothing left in this world for me, everything I held dear was lost three years ago.

“Now, as I said, I know you must be furious with me for allowing this to happen…” Carahil began, but I interrupted.

“I’m not,” I said bluntly. “The world is a safer place for what we have done today, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Selfless of you,” Carahil responded, giving me a faint smile, “but nevertheless, you shall be recognized for your actions. I have provided my recommendation for your entrance to the University. I hope it helps you towards your goals… whatever they may be. Now please rest, you are still very weak.”




----




Carahil closed the door to the healing ward and made her way upstairs. Something about the Bosmer’s reaction to this whole state of affairs deeply troubled her. The way he spoke about his near death… as if it was welcomed. What could have happened to this poor child to make him so willing to toss his life aside? At first, Carahil thought she would be glad that Derelas was not angry with her, but now… now she would have given anything for him to have shown his rage, for him to show he felt he meant something to himself. What she knew now was there was something deeply wrong with that child, what with the way he so briefly spoke of life like a constant chore, just another activity to be endured. She would have pressed him to answer the one question he did not if he were in a more fit state, but for now, all she could do was wonder….

What could have happened to someone so young and exuberant to make him lose his desire to live?

Closing the door to the library behind her, she found a chair and sat herself down. So much has happened in so little time, she thought. It’s probably just the wooziness talking, and the missing finger. He’ll come around once he can get himself off that bed. I hope he finds himself when that happens.

----

Post Script: Character Abiene from Jerric's Story used with permission from Grits.

Yes, it's frightening when you meet someone who lacks purpose in life. I've had the unfortunate experience of dealing with a client who literally lost everything when I had to put his beloved pet to sleep. Once that pet was gone . . .

Anyway, so Derelas lost a finger? He should be grateful that was all! Or was it? Are we going to continue reading and discover he also lost a toe, a leg? The points to his ears (the most common frostbite injury in outdoor cats)?

And Abiene stayed by his side until he woke? I'm not surprised - that woman is a natural healer!

Still it's good to see Derelas back, though he's still weak. I've no doubt his innate resilience will be of value in his recovery.

Does the term "ring finger" here mean the usual, or the index finger where an Oblivion player or NPC wears a ring? (I presume they did that so it would show in first-person). The index finger would be much more of a loss, even on the less favored hand.

Holy Cow, we are finally getting to see some of the mystery surrounding Dere! You did a great job with his inner dialoge - Great Chapter !!!

Whew! Dear Dere is back - well most of him . This was a great segment in that it shed plenty of light on what Dere was thinking and more upon his background.

'I could find no anger or hatred for Carahil. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that day, and I would be a fool to believe that she could.'
I thought this was very effective!

A beautiful rendition of Abiene, and a very effective portrayal of Carahil here.

Excellent 'flashback' to what happened when Caminalda attacked him, and interesting how little of it he chose to share. I liked the way you handled that.

I appreciated Dere's ruminations of course, but almost equally enjoyed Carahil's thoughts at the end.

Nits:

'It was apparent that she had seen my eyes open, because once she was sure I was looking at her, she game me a small smile as she put her soft healer’s hands to my forehead.'
'Gave' of course.

“Your still a bit cold, I’m afraid,” she spoke, her soft voice filling the room with the warmth of empathy to match the vivid light.'
Here you meant 'You're'.

'I was shocked when she turned to face my not with her usual manner of cold indifference and dispassionate logic, but with the face of a mother visiting the sickbed of her child.'
'me' vs 'my'.

“I know you must be furious with me right now,” Carahil began, “but for now we must put aside whatever differences might consume our hearts, for we still have business to attend to.'
A minor case of repetition in close proximity that you may certainly choose to leave as is. You might, however, consider replacing the first 'now' with 'at the moment' or perhaps the second 'now' with 'the moment' or 'the time being'. Plenty of ways to avoid double duty for 'now'.

'I hope it help you towards your goals… whatever they may be.'
Here, I expect you wanted 'helps' or perhaps 'will help'.

Oh no, Dere’s finger! I hope that’s all he’s missing. I thought his recollection of the fight was very effective, even more so because he found it too much to discuss right away. It’s sad to see Derelas in this state, since we’ve seen him so lively before. I enjoyed Dere’s first impression of Abiene, and the compassion from Carahil. I hope Derelas can find his purpose again.

He awoke to pink morning rays? Well that is a seaside city for you!

Wonderful descriptions of the frost damage that Derelas incurred. A cold so cold it burns. The visual of Caminalda snapping his head off like an icicle was excellent!

So Derelas now joins Frodo as a Nine-Fingered not-a-hero. Not bad company I must say. Again, here was an excellent example of how deadly extreme cold is. Not to mention how dangerous Tamriel in general can be.

This scene also brings us (well Derelas) face to face with his own feelings for the disappearance - and likely deaths - of his parents. That sense of not only loss, but sense of purposeless. He will have to find a raison d'etre, and soon. Otherwise he will not stand a chance against the vampires or the DB. Let's hope he finds it.

Chapter 9.1

The scene with Sparky and Marc Gulitte was hilarious! I loved that whole segment. And I like how you've portrayed the little imp so very...impishly--stealing sweet rolls and causing mischief. And even Carahil was amused!

Ah, you portray Carahil so well--every time you mention her, your descriptions and use of words describe her perfectly.

A question about "the Flaming Tide." Is this something from lore, or did you invent it yourself? I like it very much, and if you created it, I would like to request permission to use it in Tandilwen's story, since it starts out in Anvil?

At the Brina Cross Inn, when Derelas and Arielle use that code speech to identify each other--kudos to you. That was well developed and certainly believable.

*****

Chapter 9.2

The beginning sequence was most intriguing.... And that whole episode was awash with mystery. I was able to pick up on some of it, but you developed it in such a way as to leave some things unknown, and it was excellently done.

And you tied in your story with Teresa and Buffy's! Yay! I look forward to reading about this tournament of archers!

Hmm...Vicente and Antoinetta are whoring around together, eh? The way you paint the characters from the Brotherhood is so very fitting.

Excellent write!

@rider: A hard revelation for our hero indeed. So much has happened to him in such a short time, as well, it's small wonder he is unconsciously looking for a way out.

@ghastley: Ring finger means ring finger. Assassin's Creed style.

@mALX: We aren't done reliving the past yet. Glad you enjoyed it.

@Acadian: Missing a lot more than just the finger, as you know. I'm glad you enjoyed Abiene's cameo, as well as Dere's inner dialogue.

Nits picked

@Grits: Our lively Bosmer descends to melancholy as he finally figures out how little he has to look forward to. Everything needs to get worse before it gets better, but who's to tell how bad it's going to get for this poor guy? Only time will tell.

@SubRosa: Well, this is the Mages Guild, after all!
I see the LotR similarities are not lost on you. Only our short elf is not trying to toss an ultra-evil ring of doom into a giant volcano this time.

@Lady Syl: You flatter me. Thank you for your kind words.

@all: It has been a REALLY long time since I last posted here in the fan-fic forum, and I have regretfully fallen far behind in my reading, but be assured I will eventually catch up on what I have missed. It took quite awhile, but I am hopeful that now, my muse has been recovered. I have also finally decided on where to go next with our frugal tale here. So, without further ado...

Chapter 9-5: A Rusty Tale

It was two days before I was allowed back on my feet again. In that time, the melancholy that threatened to steal my heart had calmed somewhat, but I seriously doubted that the gaping hole it left behind could ever be filled once again. Today was highlighted by an iron-gray sky that promised rain. Indeed, I could see the faint curtains beginning to lower upon the mountains of Valenwood, just across the Strid Delta. This was the closest I had been to home since I left. It made my mind wander, back to the simple days of treetop homes and learning to hunt, nary a care in the world… all stolen, ripped from my life when my parents never came home that day.

I spent my morning at the harbor, watching a middle-aged woman engrossed in her portrait of the hilltop lighthouse marking the entrance to Anvil Bay. Ships came and went in the numbers of almost five to ten every hour. Above me, honking geese were on the wing, making their ever-dutiful journey southward as the wet, rain-filled breeze blew the morning chill away. Every so often, the laughter of seagulls would play across the masts, occasionally accompanied by a sailor wiping off his clothing and throwing whatever they could get a hold of at the mischievous birds. It began to drizzle as I made my way back inside the walls once I had my fill of the harbor scenery.

It was then I noticed a chest that stood out from the rest of the many hundreds of wooden containers. This one was colored a vivid shade of red, and he stood apart from all the others, no one even sparing a glance at him despite his unique nature. An outcast from his world, he stood apart from his life… it was small wonder I was drawn to it.

The chest was careworn, forgotten, and perhaps a little drunk. While surprising, it was also fitting, considering the bustle of the port upon which it stood, an outcast among the other crates and boxes destined for lands near and far. The rust-red chest seemed to eye me hopefully as I approached.

“You’re the first I’ve seen to look as lonely as I am right now,” I began. I knew that I would get no response, and deep down I felt my conscience yearning me to just walk on. ‘What good would it do to pour your heart into a stupid chest?’ it said. Who knew? If this chest were alive, it would be the only one whom I could relate to.

“I’ve always wondered how some people manage to cope with a life so dreary they have nothing to expect but death,” I continued. The chest seemed to turn slightly to give me his attention as I spoke, which encouraged me onwards. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a life one might consider normal… I think I might have forgotten what it means to live.”

The chest made a slight shrugging motion with its lid, as if to say ‘I’ve been down that road, too. It is hard, really, when you know that no one in the world truly cares about you.’

“I hear you,” I replied, causing a couple passing sailors to raise eyebrows at me. I ignored them. “It’s been five years last since I’ve known peace. Ever since my parents never came home.”

The chest responded by cocking its lid slightly, encouraging me to divulge more.

“They had left to explore the remains of a recently excavated ruin, Ayleid origin, called Nornalhorst,” I said. “It was reasonably close to home, just near the Valenwood border. They only expected to be gone a week.

“But the week came and went, then another, and another… I kept telling myself ‘just one more day, Derelas, just give them one more day.’ But soon, the weeks had turned into a month, and when the person to finally knock on the door turned out to be my uncle Godrian, I knew they were never coming back.”

My face stung thinking back to the day he arrived at my home, his face grim and an official letter from the Guild my parents worked for in his hands announcing them missing, presumed dead. I remember how he held me close as my world fell to pieces, trying in vain to convince me that everything would be okay. But the truth was, it would never be okay. My parents were missing, yes, but no one knew for sure if they had passed on. They might continue to exist in an eternal torment, especially given what was fabled to inhabit the ruins they explored.

“We moved away the next day, sold the home in Arenthia and left for Godrian’s at Greenheart. But we couldn’t afford to move everything, and now the clothes in my pack are all I have left from that time.” Everything else had been sold off, I thought to myself. The furniture, the books, even my father’s collection of Welkynds. The thoughts were a fresh wooden club to my gut as they returned to me. Every memory of my loss was now unshackling itself from the depths of my mind, and I had no hope of retaining any composure as the story spilled out. Tears spilled hot and fast, and my voice was soon hoarse with grief and sorrow.

“Godrian tried so hard to convince me that they had died, that there was nothing we could do for them. I never believed him.” I continued, eyes streaming like the midday rain. “He just kept telling me ‘you have to get over them, Derelas, there is nothing you can do dwelling on them.’ But I couldn’t help myself; it was as if a part of me knew that my parents were still anchored to this world, one way or another. As if their souls had not found peace. I tried for so long to let them go, but I never could. Every night when I went to sleep I was haunted by dreams of dark corridors and red eyes.

“After a year with uncle Godrian, I just couldn’t handle sitting still anymore. I packed my clothes and left in the night.” I continued. “I ran to the port, and stowed away aboard a trading cog bound for Stirk. I figured I could get a ship to Cyrodiil from there, well away from the city guard that would undoubtedly be looking for me all over Greenheart. I didn’t really care where I went then, so long as it was not Valenwood. I needed to find my parents, I just couldn’t take sitting around trying to get over them.”

“And then the most terrible storm you could imagine came when we were nearly out to sea. The winds were so strong the sails were ripped clean from the masts, and the waves… you wouldn’t believe the size of them. Within ten minutes, the ship was capsized… with me stuck in the cargo hold. That was truly one of the most frightening moments of my life, struggling to the surface from a ship that was upside down. I at least managed to retrieve the gold coffers from the captain’s cabin before the whole thing flooded, but I had to leave most of my belongings behind. All I could carry was my rucksack. Once I got out, I was able to get ahold of an empty barrel to keep me afloat, and my one stroke of good fortune was that the winds were blowing toward land.”

The chest then gave me a look. “You wondering why I didn’t die from exposure? Well, my dad had taught me a basic spell to light fires before he disappeared that kept me warm, and that certainly helped. The storm broke early morning and by that time I had been washed up on the beach. I spent the day naked in the sun drying off all my clothes and hoping to Y’ffre no one would come around to see me. It was… difficult, turns out the beach is a popular riding ground for the Horse Whisperer Stables. I left as soon as my clothes dried off, first to Anvil, then to Skingrad, and finally to Weye. My plan was to enroll in the Arcane University, as they were the ones who contracted the Guild of Archaeology to excavate and clear the ruin. But then I met Faith… and now I’m here. Huddling for my life because two powerful beings want me killed.”

It was then that I noticed a small key had appeared on the ground, one I was quite sure had not been there a second ago. Wiping my eyes, I picked it up, and tried it on the lock on the rust-red chest I had just poured all my sorrows into. With a click, it sprung open.

“So you want to keep me company? That’s kind of you.” I spoke softly. “Keep my things safe?”

The chest nodded with its lid. Smiling to myself, I closed it, clicked the lock closed and turned to head back to the Mages Guild.

My eyes were greeted by a sizeable crowd, all huddled in the rain and eyeing me with strange looks. It was only then that my brain found its way back to reality again. I had just bawled my heart to a giant, rusted treasure chest… oh, great.




----




“So you have no idea where he is yet?” a man in hooded black robes asked another, who bared very prominent fangs and growled in response.

“We were tailing his ash-born friend, but she gave us the slip around Skingrad. Apparently she managed to convince some crazy Bosmer that our men were Marukhati Selectives or something like that… it didn’t end well.”

“I see…” the non-vampire man replied. “But you are quite sure she was headed west?”

“It is without question,” the vampire replied, though his face still bore marks of repressed rage. “Nevertheless, it is hardly helpful to us; we don’t even know where they might be keeping him.”

“It is a start, Valtieri,” the cloaked man responded, a small, yet sinister smile curling his lips. “There are only two cities where he could hide past Skingrad, one of which is but a mere shell of what it used to be.”

“And how many villages?” the vampire snapped. “Brina Cross, Gottshaw, Gweden, Sutch, and who knows how many more? They could have sent him to Stirk for all we know!”

“And that is why the search must continue, Valtieri.” The cloaked man calmly retorted. He had not even flinched at the vampire’s sudden outburst; he merely stared calmly into his deep red eyes, waiting for him to calm himself. “But obviously the Dunmer lass knows about us now, so we must change tactics. We know that she was in Skingrad, and that she was heading west, so…”

“Sir! News!” A Bosmer came dashing into the room, quickly doffing her simple outfit, revealing the black-as-night leather armor beneath it. “There was a big ruckus just outside Brina Cross a couple days ago; they say a Bosmer got seriously injured. He was working for Carahil of the Mages Guild trying to get rid of some highwayman.”

“Where did you learn of this, Talaendril?” The cloaked man quickly inquired, his expression indecipherable.

“It’s all over the Black Horse Courier, Speaker Lachance.” The wood elf named Talaendril replied, bowing her head slightly in recognition. “You think this Bosmer they mentioned might be the one we’re looking for?”

“Brave but foolhardy deeds for the Mages Guild? Sounds like him.” Vicente mused aloud. “When can you leave for Anvil?”

“Immediately,” Talaendril replied.

“Immediately will not be soon enough,” Lucien responded. “No doubt the Dunmer suspects trouble, that’s why she is headed there. We cannot risk a confrontation with her, not yet.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Vicente inquired aggressively.

“Keep an ear to the ground. It is pointless to try and spy, not when the Dunmer already knows we were following. Put out some feelers in Skingrad, the local vampires might prove helpful, especially if they follow His influence. The least we can do for now is keep them in Anvil.”

“With all due respect, Lachance,” Vicente growled, obviously highly displeased at the response, “I do not wish for this sanctuary to have anything to do with Him.” Vicente put as much contempt into his voice as he could muster into his final word. Lucien simply stared calmly into his eyes yet again.

“Well, unfortunately, you have your orders. Unless you wish to disobey the will of the Night Mother and be Purified?”

Vicente recoiled, hissing. “Fine,” he said after a long pause. “Talaendril, take some Murderers with you and stake out Skingrad.”

“You may need to deal with that crazed Bosmer while you are there,” Lucien added, “Perhaps play into his fantasies. With luck, you might be able to get him to do something stupid. But don’t give him a reason to suspect you of anything.”

“Yes, Speaker,” Talaendril replied, making her way to the central chamber of the Sanctuary.

“Report back to me when they arrive,” Lucien then told Vicente before he left the chamber, as well.

So Derelas is having a heart to heart with a piece of furniture? It looks like you are carrying on the Bethesda tradition of portraying male Bosmer as insane! Hopefully it was cathartic however, and by unburdening his heart, he will now find it little less heavy.

Apparently she managed to convince some crazy Bosmer that our men were Marukhati Selectives or something like that
This was wonderful. I am sure everyone who has ever visited Skingrad can fill in all the blanks here!


nits:
my dad had taught me a basic spell to light firesbefore
The forum ate your space between fires & before

Welcome back! It is good to read of Derelas again.

You paint the opening two paragraphs to set the scene in Anvil masterfully! The sky, the rain, the ships, the gulls – all of it.

A very interesting and curious exchange with the red chest. I found it quirky, whimsical and ultimately quite satisfying to believe that Derelas had perhaps unburdened himself somewhat, stowing some of his cares quite literally in a box. Neat!

Likewise, an effective exchange down at DBHQ. Your references to Count Skingrad and Glarthir were nicely done. I loved the way Dere’s location was further compromised by word of the Caminalda caper. The DB seems quite impressed, even intimidated, by the ashborn elf called Faith.

Nits:
“After a year with uncle Godrias, I just couldn’t handle sitting still anymore.
After referring to the uncle in several other places as Godrian, I expect this was a typo?

“Sir! News!” An Altmer came dashing into the room, quickly doffing her simple outfit, revealing the black-as-night leather armor beneath it. “There was a big ruckus just outside Brina Cross a couple days ago; they say a Bosmer got seriously injured. He was working for Carahil of the Mages Guild trying to get rid of some highwayman.”
“Where did you learn of this, Talaendril?” The cloaked man quickly inquired, his expression indecipherable.
“It’s all over the Black Horse Courier, Speaker Lachance.” The high elf named Talaendril replied, bowing her head slightly in recognition.’
Talaendril in the game is Bosmer. You are certainly free to elevate her to Altmeri high elfdom and if that is your intent, ignore this. I simply wanted to verify if the change was intentional.

’Put out some feelers in Skingrad, the local vampires might prove helpful, especially if the follow His influence. ‘
I think you want ‘they’ here.

I’m so glad Derelas is back!

I love the way the rain came slowly across from Valenwood. The seagulls vs. sailors made me smile. I enjoyed Derelas unloading his woes into a piece of luggage. He had a lot on his mind, and he’s been too busy running for his life to deal with all of it. Although from the crowd that gathered, Anvil might also get a reputation for having a nutty Bosmer.

Poor Glarthir, now we know how that all got started. I’m looking forward to more!

@SubRosa: Considering one Bosmer is known to (seemingly) converse with herself and another jumps off bridges and hugs grizzly bears, it's only fair, right?
Yes, Dere has unburdened himself a bit, but he is still far from recovery. Glad you enjoyed the little stab at Glarthir!

@Acadian: Thank you for the warm welcome back, and for you kind words and nits.

@Grits: Happy to be back. Glad to see you still following along.

@all: My intention now is to have updates available every Saturday, in order to give me the time necessary to deal with making sure the writing comes out the way I want it to as well as deal with whatever that wretched mistress known as real-life has in store for me.

next: Life goes on, but a curve-ball is about to be thrown.

Chapter 10-1: Escalation

“You seem to be looking a bit better today,” Carahil spoke as I entered the dining hall of the Anvil Mages Guild chapter. The morning was dull and gray once again, and it looked to have rained a good deal in the night. The air was chill around the windows, which made me thankful the many candles scattered throughout the hall. Their flames were enchanted to carry their heat far further than any ordinary candle would, and the guild hall was filled with a gentle heat that wrapped around your bones and soothed them with a soft caress. The effect, one of the mages often said, was akin to stepping into a Dunmer sauna.

“The heat is quite comforting,” I replied, taking a seat at the table. “It doesn’t just warm your body… it feels like it warms your soul, too.”

“Abiene’s work,” Thaurron explained, handing a slice of apple to the ever-hovering Sparky the Imp. “She is quite good at relaxation spells and enchantments.”

“She really fits in here,” I replied, grabbing a slice of dark rye bread and slathering it with a generous coating of raspberry jam. “I’ve seen quite a bit of magic that I’d never even dreamed of back home.”

“Indeed,” Marc Guilette replied, helping himself to a sweet roll that looked like it might cause me a heart failure. “Most Valenwood-born Bosmer never get to see the wonders of the Arts Magicka. The Mages Guild isn’t held in high regard in Valenwood and most of the populace would prefer stringing bows and climbing trees to learning such simple spells as to light your campfires and dry your clothes.”

“Well, not all of them,” I replied, my mind on my father, though this time the happiness of the little time we had to spend together. Carahil’s eyes met mine, giving me a strange feeling she knew where I was dwelling.

“It’s been a rough few days for you, Derelas,” she suddenly spoke, catching me off guard. “How are you feeling?”

Oh, erm… quite well, thanks.” I hastily replied. Carahil did not look convinced, though. Rather, she looked frustrated. But she said nothing, and silently returned to her breakfast. Something about her expression said ‘men’ to me.

“You’re missing a finger, Derelas,” Marc piped in, putting down his goblet of milk. “I’m not very sure I’d call that ‘quite well’.”

“Marc,” Carahil cut in, “leave him in peace for now.”

Marc fell silent, and I silently thanked Carahil for quieting him down. Truth be told, I was far from well, and it did not help me much that the only friend I had right now was a rusted treasure chest. Still, it was a start, and despite all that other people might think, the chest seemed to understand my ordeal. It was not a comforting thought, but it was a sobering one; enough to keep me from dwelling during the day. But it was still hard to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt nothing but a compressing darkness closing in on me. It would clamp down on me, suck my breath away, and then I would wake, stars winking in front of my eyes and tears rolling down my cheeks.

Breakfast continued in silence. I accompanied Carahil to continue my treatment once I finished. It had been two weeks now since I escaped death by Caminalda’s hands, and though my strength was almost fully recovered, I still needed to rehabilitate the arm she nearly froze off. She told me I would have full use of it once I was finished, save for the missing finger, a grisly epilogue to a horrific tale.

The clouds showed no signs of breaking as the day continued. Carahil sent me out to obtain some ingredient samples to try and take my mind off things. It did give me a chance to see the Redwood Glade just west of the city. It was a beautiful place, a dense thicket of ancient evergreens stretching all the way to the craggy cliffs framing the western shoreline of Cyrodiil. Arrowroot, Bergamot, and Aloe Vera were in plentiful supply here. The Arrowroot was mostly for my own needs; combined with the dull red-and-white pockmarked Fly Amantia mushroom cap, it brews a potion that aids muscle relaxation. The Aloe Vera was often put to good use in potions to treat burns, but the guild mostly used it to make their special sun-blocking lotion. The Bergamot seeds were to give it a nice, citrus scent. It was quite popular in Anvil with all the beach-goers, and its sales were what paid for most of the ingredients that were hard to find on the Gold Coast.

As I wandered the shady evergreen woodland, I eventually found the cliff face. Below, the water roiled and foamed as it smacked against the gray rock beneath me. Every so often a larger wave would come, and the resulting mist reached high enough to give me a cooling shower. Walking along the cliffs eventually brought me to a lagoon. I had to stop here.

The boiling, angry seas that churned beneath my feet before were gone, the water inside the lagoon was calm and clear. A small wooden bridge that definitely looked like it had seen better days spanned across one of the rocky walls to a small pinnacle rising from the sea. A gentle breeze swept across the tattered ropes and soggy boards, giving the bridge a gentle, but slightly nauseating sway. There was a small tower erected atop the rocks, weather-worn, beaten, and battered. So much so, that a portion of it had collapsed, most of the stonework falling into the sea. Finally, on the far horizon, I could just make out the isle of Stirk.

I seated myself on the cliff face, drinking in the astonishing view. Just north of here was the beach I washed up on, I thought. This was where it began for me, on the coasts of the Abecean. I never did stop to admire the view when I was here, though. It was beautiful.




----




“…would appear Bruma is now under siege. An Oblivion Gate just opened outside not even a day ago.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. I had just handed the ingredients I found to the guild Alchemist, Felen Relas, who I never really saw much of during the day. I had returned to the dining hall to find Marc buried behind a newspaper, with both Carahil and Thaurron nearby, a mixture of shock and uncertainty on their faces.

“An Oblivion Gate has been opened outside the northern city of Bruma,” Marc responded to my query. “They’ve called for Legion aid, but they aren’t going to get any.”

“Why not?” I asked, bewildered.

“The Daedra have begun to move outside of Cyrodiil.” Carahil replied. “Morrowind is in a terrible state, Ald’ruhn has been devastated by a recent Daedra assault on Vvardenfell, and the attack in the east extends as far as Windhelm now.”

“They’ve already begun assaulting Skyrim?” Thaurron responded; his voice surprised.

“And Black Marsh, and High Rock, and Elsweyr,” Carahil replied. “The first Gates opened within them just a couple of days ago. The Elder Council is in complete bedlam. No one expected the Daedra to advance so quickly. The Legion is at its absolute limits, half of the Ninth has been pulled from Fort Akatosh to assist in Black Marsh and Morrowind.”

“That leaves Cyrodiil at half strength!” Thaurron cried out.

“Yes, it does. As I said, the Legion is stretched to the limit now, and if any more provinces fall under siege, we will be in grave trouble. There are simply not enough soldiers to fend off such a widespread attack.”

“Men are being scrounged up wherever they can,” Marc added, folding up the newspaper. “Patrols are being pulled from the roads all over the province, and the Elder Council has begun drafting new troops. I doubt it will make much of a difference, though. One volunteer is worth ten draftees.”

“And our work will be well cut out for us, now,” Carahil continued, picking up an official looking document. “The Akatosh garrison has begun placing massive orders for potions to heal wounds,” she began to recite, moving her finger down the parchment as she read, “replendish Magicka and stamina, keep the troops at optimal strength, ensure that they can cope with long battles, fortify their abilities in both, resist and cure common diseases, resist and cure paralysis, resist and cure poison, resist fire and heat, and resist magical spells.”

“Erm… is that all?” Felen Relas inquired, his footing slightly unsteady.

“No,” Carahil replied solemnly, “They also want poisons to accomplish all the above, as well.”

I had never seen a Dunmer look so small in my entire life. It was amazing he managed to remain standing.

“And that’s just for us,” Carahil continued. “The rest of the guild halls in the province all have their own tasks, many of them a lot less fun than simply brewing potions. Derelas, I’m going to need you to stay for a while to help us get through this, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course,” I replied.

“We can only hope this madness subsides quickly.” Marc sighed. “Anything more happens and…”

“Lady Carahil!” A voice cried out. An Imperial male, I noted. My stomach plummeted, any time the city guard came to call bore ill tidings. “Come quickly!”

“What seems to be the problem?” Carahil called out, rising gracefully from her chair.

“It’s the Cathedral of Dibella! Something terrible just happened!”

Well if you don't mind, I'm just going to jump in.

"Any news from the other provinces?"
Sounds like it, but nothing I'd like to talk about.



The guild hall sounds nice and cozy and the sights along the gold coast sound wonderful. I like it that you made the crisis clearly affecting more provinces and not just Cyrodiil. They did not do a good job of that in the game. And the jobs assigned to the guilds are great as well. It's not business as usual when there is an invasion in progress.

And is it the start of the Knights of the Nine at the end there? Someone's going to have their hands full.

was akin to stepping into a Dunmer sauna.
Given their 75% resistance to fire, I shudder at the thought of how hot that would be!

Well, at least Derelas had a mostly (excluding Marc Gilette) pleasant breakfast. The Mages Guild always sets a good table! I see Dere is still depressed, in spite of his new treasure chest pal. I can relate. There was a week in my life that was pure horror, and it was my teddy bear that saw me though. I literally held it every moment I was not at work, including when I was sleeping. I doubt I would have made it through without him.

Also a nice description of the alchemical goodness of the Gold Coast, and its uses. That was a good little touch of world-building.

And I see the world goes on in the news. It is nice to see the events of the main quest played out without the protagonist being at the center of them. I see you are making some much needed changes too. Such as the Mages Guild actually doing something, rather then just ignoring the end of the world as they do in the game.

And finally something terrible happened in the chapel of Dibella? Was the afternoon orgy interrupted?

I’m so delighted that you will be continuing this! I think a weekly episode every Saturday is marvelous! It seems we’re building our own TES entertainment network here at Chorrol: The Teresa show on Monday and Thursday, Buffy of Friday and Dere on Saturday. WooHoo!

I enjoyed your pacing and natural transitions here. A nice catch up on how Dere is doing, the desire to smack Marc Gulitte and a fabulous alchemy walk along the shoreline. Only to return to invasionary news and taskings.

‘Carahil’s eyes met mine, giving me a strange feeling she knew where I was dwelling.’
I quite liked how you worded this. Clear, but evocative.

’The Bergamot seeds were to give it a nice, citrus scent.’

“Anything more happens and…”
Uh oh! Sounds like things are about to get very busy!

I like the way you wove everyone’s actions throughout their conversation at the breakfast table. It brought the whole scene to life.

But it was still hard to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt nothing but a compressing darkness closing in on me. It would clamp down on me, suck my breath away, and then I would wake, stars winking in front of my eyes and tears rolling down my cheeks.

Then he has to deal with Gulitte at the breakfast table.

Oh, I loved the stroll through Redwood Glade to the sea cliffs.


This was where it began for me, on the coasts of the Abecean. I never did stop to admire the view when I was here, though. It was beautiful.

It warmed my heart to see Derelas find a little bit of peace. He has spent much of his time fleeing for his life, so it was nice to see him enjoy the view without getting attacked by spiders or assassins.

Wow, and it seems that’s the last quiet he’ll get for awhile. Gates opening all over, and bad news from the Chapel of Dibella!

@King Coin: Yup, that's one shortcoming in Oblivion's storytelling I aim to correct. There's an invasion going on here, and none of the Guilds are even bothered about it? All we get from it is a charred city and a few passing comments? Not here!

@SubRosa: Indeed, if there is one thing Derelas is missing right now, it is something he can just hold close to his heart and lay with on his bed, hugging out all his sorrows. Wood is too cold and too rigid for that, unfortunately. I love describing the alchemical goodness of anywhere, it's pretty easy for me to envision what such effects the game uses might do in the real world. And yes, it was Dame Buffy that gave me the idea of the Bergamot.

@Acadian: I'm glad you find so much to like in my writing. All I can concentrate on are the things I want to do better, like character-to-character interactions for a heart-to-heart. Those are pretty tough for me.

@Grits: Coming from the master scene-weaver herself, that is high praise indeed.
The shoreline cliffs are a very peaceful place in my game, where you can just sit back on the grass and listen to the ocean crash into the limestone and the wind blowing through the trees with no fear of pesky wolves or minotaurs or goblins or whatever nasties lurk in Cyrodiil. It's a great place to relax, as is the beach Derelas originally washed up on (which is further north of where he was right then).

@all: This posting marks my 1000th post on these forums, and I'd like to take this time to thank you all for being so welcoming to me since I arrived here almost a year ago. You all rock!

next: A chance meeting and an even chancier location.

Chapter 10-2: A Caring Heart

The overcast cleared as the sun began to set. I was in the hills beyond the outskirts of Anvil, searching for Aloe Vera, their bulbous leaves filled with soothing gel. Every so often, I would also come across a Mandrake, whose roots could remedy most common diseases even when not refined into a potion. Carahil had sent all the Associates away the minute she arrived back at the hall. I was only able to glimpse her face once in that time; there were shadows upon her eyes I had never seen before.

I did not know how many died in the attack, but Carahil mentioned several times about associates acting as chapel healers to help further their skills. Seeing them all murdered would certainly have hit her like a berserking Orsimer, but a part of me felt that was not the whole story.

Felen Relas had us harvesting these ingredients for his backlogged order of potions to help keep us busy while Carahil met with the higher guild members. But despite the work, my mind remained fixed on that brief glimpse I had of Carahil returning from the Cathedral. It felt so familiar. Carahil was so good at holding herself steady and dispassionate, remaining objective when others would lose their heads. I reckoned if I were brought to any other Guild chapter, I probably would not have survived my brush with death. It wasn’t like her to seem so… defeated. What could she have seen to put such a ghost within her eyes?

Ghosts… I’ve come to know them well. The ghosts of my past, of my hopeless life… their frigid clutches tearing away at me piece by piece, feasting upon my soul. All I could see in front of me were icy hallways, black as a stormy night. Nothing beckoned me forward, it was just me. I existed, and that was it. It was a feeling akin to being buried alive. No matter how much you bang and scream, no one can hear you, no one can help you.

My feet had wandered their way to a small shrine. Clearly ancient, its marble stone pillars encircling the chipped, but lavishly carved altar showed many cracks. The ornate rimming around the top had broken away in many places, and these pieces had long since been reclaimed by Mundus. But the stones I stood on were still pristine, ascending in a slight stairway all the way to the altar in the center. I could sense a power emanating from it. It felt so soothing, so why did I so desire to scream; to flee and never return? What form of magic so pure could be so terrifying?

It was then I glimpsed the inscription upon the stone of the altar:

“By Benevolence of Mara, Mother to all.”

The world slipped away. This magic… I could never feel it again. No warm embrace to welcome you home, no kiss on the cheek and wish for a safe return when you leave. It was all gone, stolen away. What world could ever be so cruel?

A Breton had settled beside me in the decade or so it took for my senses to return. I had seen her a few times before inside the guild chapter, though she never stayed very long. Her long strawberry-blond hair fell in waves across her face, whose gentle curves and slender chin flowed smoothly with her locks, like a river might babble past a pristine stone. Her eyes were wide and youthful, though her body was fully mature. I could note the subtle hourglass to her figure, which while not particularly well endowed, lent itself well to her undeniably caring nature.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an unhappier person at a shrine to the all-mother,” she spoke. Her voice was light as the twilight breeze, and yet as warm as the midday sun. So why did it not soothe me? “I know I am in no position to ask,” she continued, “but what could have happened for you to find such sadness in Mara’s embrace?”

“Bad memories,” I stated simply, returning my eyes to the ground.

“I can’t imagine how horrible they could be,” she replied, her tone turning solemn. “The all-mother’s magic is not the kind to turn people away.”

“Well, there’s one more thing wrong with me,” I responded, voice dripping in sarcasm. The last thing I wanted right now was mollycoddling. “What a joy.”

Silence met these words. I turned to look, the young woman was still there, but she looked quite hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly consoled her, “I… I just want to be alone right now.”

“Alone? On a beautiful evening like this?”

“I don’t really notice them anymore,” I said flatly.

“Oh,” she replied dejectedly. She began to rise, likely to leave. Why should I stop her? I thought. It was what I wanted, after all.

But something about her had spoken to me. I don’t know why, but I found myself thinking I would never be able to forgive myself for coldly dismissing her as I did.

“Wait,” I called out to her now retreating back. It then occurred to me I had nothing to say. Only that inside, I was begging her not to leave, but I could never come to speak that aloud. It appeared she heard, however, because she returned to her original seat at the shrine.

“The shrine made me remember my mother,” I spoke almost automatically.

“What happened to her?” the Breton inquired.

“She disappeared, two years ago.” I explained, turning to face her. “The shrine… it made me remember all the time we spent together. The way she would hug me before I left with Dad on a journey, the little peck on the cheek she always gave me before I went to sleep at night…”

“And now you can never feel her love again?” She finished for me. I nodded, looking away once again as my eyes were pooling over.

“I can’t move on,” I told her, my voice quavering with the effort of not bursting into tears once again. “I’m all alone, I don’t feel I’ve ever needed her more than now, but she isn’t here. She’ll never be here.”

I felt a hand gently cup my shoulder. The softness of her touch warmed my heart and soul.

“I don’t think there is any way I can tell you how sorry I am.” She spoke softly.

“You already have,” I replied, lightly brushing her hand with my fingertips. This brought a small smile to her cheekbones as she brought her hand back to her side.

“Perhaps it would help if you had someone else to talk to?” she asked. “I mean, besides your pet treasure chest?”

I barely suppressed a chuckle. “A mad Bosmer for every city. That’s what everyone was muttering that day. Can’t say I blame them, telling my life story to an animate box. I was so embarrassed I could never bring myself to do it again.”

“Well, whatever that box might think, it certainly heard you. It’s been following you back to the guild hall every day.”

“Really?” I quipped, surprised.

“It found a little alcove in the library to rest in,” she filled in for me, “it’s out of the way, so no one really notices much.”

“But you’re right, it’s not the same as having a person to talk to,” I mused.

“Then would you like me to try and help you take your mind off all those dreary thoughts of yours?”

“It would be most welcome,” I affirmed. The smile I got in return could have lit even the most pitch black hole in Tamriel. Perhaps it just had?

“I’m Ariella,” the Breton said.

“Derelas,” I returned.

“Well, then, do you know what really helps me when I’m feeling like a lich’s backside? Watching the moons,” Ariella told me joyfully. “Look, you can see Masser rising right now,” she added with barely suppressed glee.

She was pointing to the eastern sky. In the last dregs of twilight, I could see the great orange arc of Masser peeking over the precipice that bordered Anvil and the rest of Cyrodiil.

“I love the night sky,” Ariella softly exclaimed as she laid herself down in the grass. “It’s so peaceful, with the crickets chirping and the frogs croaking. Nothing helps me better to get over a bad day.”

“It’s amazing,” I replied. I had just realized I had never properly seen the night sky before. Whenever I was awake at nightfall, I was either running from my past, running for my life, or nearly running off a cliff.

“Well, you can’t enjoy it sitting around like a mopey-head,” Ariella snickered lightly. “Come over here and lie down.”

I did not know how many died in the attack, but Carahil mentioned several times about associates acting as chapel healers to help further their skills. Seeing them all murdered would certainly have hit her like a berserking Orsimer, but a part of me felt that was not the whole story.

This makes the chapel attack hit very close to home. We saw how upset Carahil was when Derelas was attacked by the rogue mage, and now some of her associates have been murdered. I’m guessing they were a bunch of healers, not battlemages who were improving their skills.


All I could see in front of me were icy hallways, black as a stormy night. Nothing beckoned me forward, it was just me. I existed, and that was it.
You captured his loss and hopelessness so well.

How fitting that he should meet the compassionate Ariella at Mara’s shrine. She seems as lovely as her name. I thought their conversation was very moving. I also liked that Derelas could poke a little fun at himself for talking to the treasure chest. Ariella must be upset over the chapel attack, too, but she can still find joy in the night sky and reach out to someone who is hurting worse than she must be. Ariella's company might be just what Derelas needs.

I enjoyed following his train of thought, from Carahil to his own past. Then when he found himself with someone, he was able to talk to them rather than drive them away as his first instinct was to do. With such a dark beginning it’s nice to see some light at the end.

What a sad, almost heavy beginning that turns into such a light and hope-filled ending!

As ever, I really like your depiction and view of Carahil. Derelas’ ruminations did a great job of filling us in on the disasters impacting the Anvil guild.

She began to rise, likely to leave.
I love how you included the word 'likely' in the second clause of this sentence. It really enforces the point of view limitation of staying strictly inside Dere’s head - for you are absolutely correct that the best he could do was speculate as to why the young lady was rising to her feet. A very nice touch of craft.

Your dialogue between Dere and Ariella felt natural and was a pleasure to read!

“It’s amazing,” I replied. I had just realized I had never properly seen the night sky before. Whenever I was awake at nightfall, I was either running from my past, running for my life, or nearly running off a cliff.
“Well, you can’t enjoy it sitting around like a mopey-head,” Ariella snickered lightly. “Come over here and lie down.”
What a completely delightful and perfect end to this bittersweet piece. It is such a joy to have Dere leave us on a note of hope.

Hee! I continue to enjoy hearing of Dere’s talking and walking box friend.

Nits:
The ornate rimming around the top had broken away in many places, and these pieces had long since {been} reclaimed by Mundus.
Recommend inserting {been} as indicated here.

It felt so soothing, so why so desire to scream; to flee and never return?
I had trouble understanding this. After rereading several times, I expect you meant ‘no’ instead of ‘so’ where I bolded the word so

“Perhaps it would help if you had someone else to talk to?” She asked.
I would de-capitalize the word ‘She,’ as it begins the speech tag following dialogue. I’m pretty sure this was just a simple oversight, because your dialogue punctuation is reliably strong as indicated in this analogous example where you correctly do not capitalize ‘the’:
“What happened to her?” the Breton inquired.

I see Dere is out doing his part for the war effort, harvesting plants for the troops. That is another good touch at showing the Oblivion Crisis as being an event that effects all of Cyrodiil, rather than just a few areas/factions.

It seems that Carahil must have been one of the people to have seen the contents of the Chapel of Dibella after the orgy was interrupted. I liked your description of her haunted countenance, combined with Dere's own recollections of how unflappable she normally is.

It was a feeling akin to being buried alive. No matter how much you bang and scream, no one can hear you, no one can help you.
This was a very powerful description of Dere's despair. It really brings across his sense of loneliness and despondency.

A mad Bosmer for every city
Fribble, just fribble! Sometimes there is more than just one per city!

Ariella was certainly a welcome, and much needed, soul. Certainly a more animate one than a treasure chest. She sounds like a priestess, although of Mara or Dibella I am not sure. Given the location, one would think Mara. But that final line of hers implies something more sexual.

I’m feeling like a lich’s backside?
I loved this! I am not sure what a lich's butt must feel like, but it cannot be good!

@Grits: We will see just how badly the attack on the chapel has affected the Guild in due time. The Anvil chapter is becoming a very busy place now, in between the immense potion order from the Legion and now a number of trainee healers and priests murdered by unknown forces. And yes, Ariella is exactly the person someone like Derelas needs right now. Exactly why, however, is something for later on.

@King Coin: This is Light through Darkness, after all.

@Acadian: I'm glad you noted that bit. One of the biggest no-nos when writing in First Person Narrative is omniscience. No single character knows everything, so my style is whenever I am describing the behaviors of another person, I keep the description strictly speculative, unless something is glaringly obvious. No one knows everything, and First Person writing is a good way to challenge oneself to keep from doing that.
Nits picked.

@SubRosa: Did you mag the zaxer, perchance? I am glad everyone seems to be enjoying my take of the Oblivion Crisis, not being the hero of that story means I can focus more on the broad-scale effects of the invasion, which is one reason I decided Derelas would not partake in that storyline directly. And no, ma'am, a lich's bum is not something one would ever want to feel like.

Chapter 10-3: Stargazing

“This is a great night for watching stars,” Ariella spoke to me as I settled myself in the grass, “almost no clouds in the sky at all.”

Masser had revealed himself fully now. The greater moon of Tamriel, its scarred surface and rusty color bespoke of war and death above anything else. Not like Secunda, the playful white ghost who occasionally couldn’t sleep during the day.

“Full moons tonight,” I noted, fixing my eyes upon the pitted surface of the orange giant.

“Secunda should be rising a bit later,” Ariella quipped. “You know what Masser reminds me of?”

I shifted uncomfortably, and not because of the stones sticking into my back.

“Hearth fires. His glow is so warm and relaxing… almost like curling up beside the fireplace on a chilly evening with a cup of tea.”

Ariella turned to me, the subtle orange glow of moonlight playing over her rosy cheeks, illuminating her like a flame would a ruby.

“What do you think of when you look at Masser?”

DEFINITELY not where I wanted this conversation to go.

“Well, uhh…” I sputtered, my mind racing. I certainly didn’t want to tell her what I was thinking a few seconds ago. “It… well, it reminds me of… erm… Anvil! Yes, it, well, it matches the rooftops perfectly!”

“Liar!” Ariella exclaimed playfully, laughter in her voice as she gently pushed at my arm.

“Well, yes… that was a bit obvious,” I admitted.

“A bit?”

“Okay, a lot,” I amended, grinning.

“So, truthfully now,” Ariella pressed me, “what do you think of looking at Masser?”

“It reminds me of war,” I replied, my mind silently begging this didn’t come out wrong. “You can see all the scars on the surface, and the rusty color seems a bit like dried blood…”

“Well, that’s… grim,” Ariella replied, her face sharing my own discomfort.

“I wasn’t finished,” I insisted, desperately looking for a way to salvage the awkwardness of the moment. “Where Masser signifies war to me, Secunda is the one that reminds me of peace; one moon for all of our hate, and another for all of our love.”

“And yet Masser is still twice the size of Secunda, that’s hardly a comforting thought,” Ariella argued back, though the grin she shot my way told me she might actually be enjoying this. It was enough to slow my heartbeat.

“But Secunda can be seen during the night and during the day,” I pressed. “Masser only comes at night; the most fearful of times, when the dark veil of Oblivion shrouds the land. Yet Secunda is always with us; always watching. She is not bound to Oblivion like Masser.”

“Tamriel has seen so much war, though,” Ariella continued. “Can it really only be as fleeting as the darkness? And just look at how huge he is, doesn’t that make out like there is so much more strife in this world than peace?” Ariella softly argued back.

“I wish there wasn’t,” I replied, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Y’ffre knows I’ve seen enough strife to last me a lifetime, and given my heritage that is saying something. I just… never really took to Masser that well, it reminds me to much of days long past; old wounds I’d rather not stay open.

“Secunda is where I find my peace,” I continued, my eyes still following Masser’s trail through the sky. “Her surface and glow are so serene and peaceful, so gentle. I don’t really like reds that much, too harsh.”

“You don’t like that feeling of warmth you get when bathed in orange light?” Ariella inquired, giving me a quizzical glance.

“I’m not sure red colors are the best thing for me right now,” I answered. “What I do know about them is they… they agitate me.”

My mind flashed to a blood red room, then to a shadow-veiled man with fiery eyes. Don’t go there, Derelas. You are outside, with Ariella, under the stars. I forced the images away.

“White soothes me,” I finished. “It’s good for the soul; it speaks to me of peace and hope. I can look at Secunda and feel that everything, no matter how bad, will all be okay.”

An intimate silence followed these words. I felt a rather intense glance upon my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to share it; I just continued to intently gaze toward the stars.

“Ah!” I lightly exclaimed a short while later. “There’s my sign!”

Ariella followed my finger towards the constellation at which I was pointing.

“The Steed?” she responded. “Oh, I love horses! They always seem to know exactly what you need to brighten your day.”

“Do you visit the Horse Whisperer Stables much?” I curiously inquired.

“I just love visiting the stables,” Ariella sighed, turning her head back towards the distant walls of Anvil. “Feeding the mares and helping groom them. And it’s always so funny to watch the stallions prance around showing off for the mares. I love going there and helping Clesa with the grooming. It’s a great way to take your mind off things; I think you should try it sometime.”

She paused briefly.

“You’re such a lucky man,” she finished, flashing a small smile my way.

“Well, thanks for thinking so,” I replied, though my head was quite certain the opposite held more truth. “Anyways, what sign were you born under?”

“Me?” Ariella looked a bit surprised to be asked that question, and she shifted in place in almost the same way I did a while ago. “Well… it was not the Lover, if that’s what you are asking about.”

The warmth in her eyes had all but evaporated, and her smile was now replaced with a look that I just might have shared while I was moping at Mara’s shrine. But there was something else, something I couldn’t make out.

I fixed my eyes upon one particular set of stars. This set did not behave as the rest did, its movements were wild and unpredictable, and it often skirted in between the other constellations. It never stopped, and none knew where it might be found next. The Serpent, bringer of the greatest gifts, and the greatest regrets… I wondered; could she, of all people, have been born to it, the unreadable one? I didn’t dare ask her, though.

The next moments were spent in silence, although this one was much more uncomfortable than previously. I spent most of it watching Masser glide through the sky. He almost reached zenith before Ariella spoke up again.

“There’s Secunda,” she said. I turned my eyes to the precipice to see a familiar ghostly white halo just beginning to sidle forth. But very little of her normal playfulness could be heard in her voice. And I didn’t believe it was because her enjoyment was ebbing.

“She was always my favorite,” I noted, trying to find a higher note. “No scars or wounds, just a smooth, white face. She always looks so calm when I see her.”

“And just look at how her light plays across the shrine,” Ariella added. I turned to look. It was a spectacular sight; every inch of the stone was glistening and glittering. It was absolutely awe-inspiring.

“Doesn’t it look like the shrine is saying hello?” I wondered.

“You know, looking at it now, it does,” Ariella replied. “I don’t think I ever saw it that way.”

Ariella then turned back towards me. Her small smile had reappeared, giving her an adoringly peaceful image accented by her now returned warm glance and locks of hair dancing in the breeze.

“Come over here,” she suddenly spoke, rising from her grassy bedding. “I want to show you something.”

Most excellent, I really enjoyed this...I'm gonna have my hands full catching up, but it sure looks from this well worth the effort!... ...

I particularly liked the flirty stargazing bit towards the end...Nice that...

the playful white ghost who occasionally couldn’t sleep during the day
This was a wonderful phrase!

I am with Dere when it comes to Masser. Of course the fact that they used a picture of Mars for it helps. To be honest, Bethesda ruined their moons for me when they made them the rotting corpse of the evil god who brought corprus to the world, not to mention untold amounts of other death and destruction from the dawn of time.

A wonderful discussion about the stars. You used them in an excellent way to tell us Dere's birthsign. Remind me to steal that sometime. Since he's the Steed, does that mean he is hung like his namesake? I imagine that would be the Pr0n star's sign after all.

Ariella's clamping up about her own birthsign was interesting, as well as a tad ominous. It also shows the decidedly Patriarchal European outlook to the ES universe. The serpent is a feminine symbol, a bringer of the wisdom that represents the chthonic powers of regeneration, and renewal. That is why Patriarchal religions warped it into a monstrous image. Anyway, enough of my ranting. After all, I see you described it as the bringer of greatest gifts, which leads me to suspect it does something more than just grant a poison attack in the DF.

“I want to show you something.”
Rawr! If she shows Dere hers, will he show her his?



nits:
It almost reached Zenith before Ariella spoke up again.
I am thinking you wanted a lowercase zenith here? Also, I noticed that you called Masser 'it' this time rather than 'he'. Not a nit, just an observation. I was wondering if you might want to keep the male pronoun throughout, as it does add more flavor.

Ariella is her warm, playful self here, but now we see something more with the talk of birthsigns. I enjoyed the star chat very much. It was great to see a comfortable silence, and then they managed to recover from the uncomfortable moments.

Derelas is so bothered by the idea of scars, it must be difficult for him to face the loss of his finger.

“Come over here,” she suddenly spoke, rising from her grassy bedding. “I want to show you something.”

Well, I’m curious! I have so enjoyed these episodes under the stars.

I have to agree with Grits on Ariella's ability to draw out the deeper inner feelings from Dere. Even through the uncomfortable moments, the growing trust between them is tangible. Awesome Write !!!

TK! I think this is my fave of all the episodes you’ve graced us with here! I so enjoyed the beautifully described setting and natural way in which you revealed much about Dere and Ariella. I think what I enjoyed most was that the focus here really was on what Dere was thinking and feeling.

And Ariella loves horses! Being horse crazy is a good thing, Dere!

Like the wise commenters before me, I thoroughly enjoyed the moon and stars talk.

Ariella needs to learn when to not prod… but then we wouldn’t be enjoying this evening with her would we?
Great chapter. Very relaxing. And Dere got a hello.

@McBadgere: I'm sure you will enjoy yourself reading, considering how much I enjoy writing this tale. Glad to have hooked you.

@SubRosa: Have you been dipping into Foxy's private stash again? Naughty!
On the topic of The Serpent, I consider it to be both. Most of the time, those who back away in scorn from those who are serpent-born have a reason to fear, but that isn't the whole story. As the game lore states about the Serpent: "Those born under it are the most blessed, and the most cursed." I am sticking to that, but at the same time, adding my own twist to the tale. You don't know what that twist is yet, but rest assured it will come.

@Grits: Their relationship did get off to a nice start, didn't it? I'm glad you noticed Ariella's playful side, I worked quite hard to try and bring that out. She is a girl who loves to express herself when joyful, but tends to recede into solitude when things turn uncomfortable for her. That is her personality as I envision it, and I'm glad it is showing through.

@mALX: Yes, Ariella does seem to have a way of drawing out the best in people, doesn't she?

@Acadian: I'm very glad you enjoyed that segment so much. As you have noticed, the narrative I have chosen is very strict first-person. We see the world exactly how Derelas sees it, and I have to say it is a constant challenge to make sure I don't jump out of his head, particularly when conversing with others and gauging their reactions. But that's also why I enjoy this narrative style, as well. Good practice for avoiding omniscience, too.

@King Coin: She loves to prod when the mood catches her right, though! Not too much, though, she is good about not pushing too hard, but she really makes a point of seeing what others enjoy.

Previously: Derelas and his new friend Ariella enjoyed a night of stargazing and moon-watching, sharing several happy, and equally as many uncomfortable moments as they came to know each other. Now Ariella has a little secret in store for Derelas... (not naughty, yes, I'm looking at you, Rosa! )

Chapter 10-4: A Strange Stone

Ariella leapt to her feet. Before I knew it, she had grabbed my hand and was leading me through a dense thicket of bushes. The light of both moons made it quite easy to see tonight, but it was still difficult to make out a path for all the shadowed leaves and twigs. After a few moments of brambles snapping at my clothes and hair, we reached a small clearing. Within was a veritable mountain of herbal flora: Lady’s Mantle, Goldenrod, Viper’s Bugloss, Mandrakes... everything a healing alchemist could want. Part of me was quite annoyed I didn’t find this place sooner.

But those thoughts were quickly shooed away by what I saw in the very center. There was a giant stone, almost four times taller than I was. Embroidered on its surface was a great blue rune, bespeaking of a language long since passed. A power unlike any I had ever known was emanating from this rune cleansing the air around the great stone; allowing no taint to pass.

“This is my secret garden,” Ariella told me. “Well, secret because no one else ever seems to come here. I like to sit here and watch the breeze when I need some time on my own."

“The Runestone right there blesses the soil nearby,” she continued, pointing toward the giant hewn pillar. “It helps these particular plants to grow. Each one is a healer’s herb, all perfect for Alchemist Relas’s needs. I was just heading back in when I saw you at the shrine.”

“I think I’ve seen a few of these stones before,” I quipped, my eyes fixed upon the glowing rune in the center. “But I’ve never seen one glow like this before.”

“Sidri-Ashak stones reveal their full power by Secunda’s light,” Ariella explained, “but no one really knows what they’re supposed to do. Most of the time they just grant weaponry and armor to travellers in need when touched, but judging by this, that isn’t their greatest extent.”

“Have you tried touching it when it was glowing?” I asked.

“Many times,” Ariella answered, brushing her hand along the stone. “But nothing ever happens then. You can sense its magical aura growing when the rune reveals itself, but no one has ever been able to figure out why.”

She leaned against the stone for emphasis. After a moment’s hesitation, I then mimicked her, feeling my hands brush against the coarse surface of the stone. It felt strangely hot, despite the chill of the air around me.

Out of nowhere, everything then went white.




----




“Well, Derelas, it seems you must find it rather difficult to return to our hall outside the arms of a woman, much less awake.”

I was back in the Anvil Chapter infirmary. Carahil was standing over me, a worried, yet stern frown etched through her lips, only allowing a tiny bit of her humor to escape.

“Well, I am quite the charmer these days.” I replied groggily, my eyes still adjusting to the light. “Women tend to follow me all over the place.”

“Ahh, so you do have a sense of humor buried down there somewhere,” Carahil replied, letting her small smile show. “I take it you managed to find some peace of mind, then?”

“I hope so,” I replied. “What happened?”

I tried to sit up, but was immediately greeted with a massive headache that forced me back down to the pillow. Clasping my forehead, I felt a wet cloth linen had been wrapped around it. The warm dampness helped soothe the pain as my head sank back into the feathery cushions.

“You collapsed when you touched the Runestone,” Carahil answered. “Ariella brought you back. We’ve kept you here for most of the night.”

Ariella chose that moment to enter. Despite how calmly she opened the door, I was able to easily watch as her face relaxed at the sight of me awake.

“Oh, by Mara, are you okay?” She asked without wasting a single moment. “When I saw you hit the ground, I…”

“I’m fine,” I cut into her brief pause, “just a migraine, nothing serious.”

“Nonetheless, it is best you remain here for a while,” Carahil briskly spoke while shutting the window curtains with a wave of her hand. Ariella made a point of rolling her eyes as the light faded. “At least until you’ve taken some potion. And best keep away from bright lights for now.”

“I’ll go ask Felen for some of that brew he makes for morning-after sickness,” Ariella added. “It might help.”

“It very much could,” Carahil replied, “and if you would be so kind as to collect some, I need a moment alone with Derelas right now.”

Ariella left immediately, closing the door behind her, leaving me to wonder just what it was that Carahil wished to discuss with me. By the slight glow in her honey-gold eyes, I was just able to make out that the ghost who possessed them yesterday had not been banished. Was that why? I would have preferred to give those memories some time to rest before discussing them again.

“I am quite glad to see Ariella brought you back more or less unharmed,” Carahil began. “No one has ever seen a Runestone react like that to another’s touch.”

“And I honestly had no clue that would happen,” I responded, trying to head off the softly scolding question I was sure Carahil had in store for me.

“Of course you didn’t,” Carahil replied, raising her eyebrows. “I never questioned your judgment, I was merely expressing that I’m glad to see you well; as any healer would when their patient awakens.”

Her response left me a bit deflated and feeling rather stupid with myself, but at least she understood my point of view, and perhaps shared it. I was at the same time thankful that she dutifully dodged around mentioning any questions she might have had that would cause me unease. It was not difficult to see how she had obtained her position of Magister of Restoration.

“Do you have any idea why it did react to my touch, then?” I asked; clapping my hand to my forehead as another wave of pain enveloped it.

“None whatsoever,” Carahil answered with a subtle shake of her head as she adjusted the towel I had nearly dislodged. “My skill lies in the healing arts, not the Arcana. You’d probably need to ask the scholars at the University about that.”

“If I ever get in, that is,” I mumbled dejectedly.

“I have no doubts that you will,” Carahil replied. “You have already proven yourself to four of our Magisters, myself included. You need only one more Recommendation to obtain full scholarship.”

“But where can I go?” I wondered aloud. Leyawiin was much too far away, a month’s journey at best; Kvatch was utterly devastated; and judging by how Tadrose and Faith reacted to traveling here by foot, Skingrad was out of the question. That left one option.

“Maybe Bruma?” I decided. It was not the best option at all, considering Oblivion was now right on their doorstep, but it was all I could think of.

Carahil frowned, “Considering the circumstances, Bruma is hardly ideal.” It appeared she shared my thoughts. “Why not Skingrad? It is much closer, and not under siege, for that matter.”

“I… I don’t really like Skingrad that much,” I replied. It wasn’t really a lie, considering how my two guardians reacted to the mention of passing it by; but neither was it the truth. But one way or the other, I did not want anything to do with that city right now.

“I can understand why you might think that,” Carahil spoke. “There does seem to be something not quite right about that place. Particularly the guild chapter, most people find it… a bit odd. Stranger people you will not find, those of Skingrad are one of a kind.”

I cocked my head at Carahil’s rhyme.

“An old saying,” she answered to my gesture. “Skingrad has always been an unusual city, and the Chapter maintained there is no exception.”

“What sort of unusual things go on there?” I inquired. Carahil seemed rather abashed of my asking, considering how her eyes quickly flitted away from me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” I added quickly.

“No apologies necessary,” Carahil placidly replied, albeit carefully avoiding eye contact. “It’s simply… well, you’d best stay at an inn if you have business there.”

I had a feeling I had heard that before. Thankfully, Ariella chose that moment to return, carrying a small vial of bright pink liquid and a cup of tea.

“This is for the migrane,” she explained, lifting the vial slightly to indicate, “and this is to help wash down the taste.”

She gave a slight shudder as she finished, handing me the vial. I was not entirely expecting the taste to be too horrid as I lifted myself to a sitting position. But that notion quickly exited my mind when the potion reached my tongue. I only just managed to keep my bowels from following, though I did end up sputtering for quite some time.

When I had finally regained control of my stomach, I took the tea from Ariella’s hand and took a massive gulp to wash the potion away.

“That was absolutely disgusting,” I commented, handing the empty vial back to Ariella.

“It’s supposed to be that way,” she responded with a shrug, “the taste helps to clear your head when you’ve awakened after a big night at the tavern. Give it a couple minutes, and you should be back on your feet.”

“Thank you, Ariella,” Carahil spoke. “Now, if you would be so kind as to return to your assisting Alchemist Relas, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Ariella gave a quick wave to both of us as she left. Carahil then moved to the door, but turned to face me before she left.

“I must request you join her as soon as you feel able, Derelas,” she said. “Do not cloud your head about the Runestone or where you may wish to travel next for now; there are far more urgent matters that need tending to right here.”

“Is there really nothing I can do to figure that stone out, though?” I pressed.

“As I said, this chapter is ill-suited to look into what happened,” Carahil responded, an irritable tone crossing her voice. “And considering the state of things in Tamriel, it is also rather low on the priority list. You have been bequeathed a task, so I must insist you perform it. Worry about the Runestone later.”

She then left; emphasizing that was her final word. I looked down at my teacup, noting a small lemon slice floating in the liquid that was now half-drained. Heaving a sigh, I finished the sweet, brightly flavored tea and traced Carahil’s footsteps out of the room.

Ok, note to self, don't touch the sidi-assrack stones. That was a nice little discussion about the runestones, and their power over living, growing things. Right up until Dere got hit between the eyes with mojo. Although granted, waking up to Carahil standing over your bed almost does make up for it...

I am wondering if Dere's strange experience with the runestone has something to do with the deeper mystery of what happened to his parents, the vampires, and the Dark SisterBrotherhood?

Well, at least Dere only has one more fetch and carry mission left for the Mages Guild. Assuming he can ever escape from Carahil's leash.

A lovely evening fouled by a shocking surprise. Poor Dere, keeps waking up injured. After waking from his encounter with that angry stone, I'm surprised Dere didn't take a quick inventory of his body parts to make sure no more were missing.

You continue to do a great job with Carahil. A businesslike magister of healing - with a heart, sense of humor and ability to be a taskmaster.

Fun stuff about Skingrad!

Nits:

“Well, secret because no one else ever seems to come here. I like to sit here and watch the breeze when I need some time on my own.
You’ll want to add a closing quotation at the end.

’The warm dampness help soothe the pain as my head sank back into the feathery cushions.’
I think you wanted ‘helped’ vs help.

“Well, Derelas, it seems you must find it rather difficult to return to our hall outside the arms of a woman, much less awake.”

Once more, and she might call it a habit. It’s a relief that Derelas only has a sore head this time, and Carahil is a little more pulled together than she was before. A mystery! I wonder what the heck is going on with Derelas and the Sidri-Ashak stone?


“This is for the migrane,” she explained, lifting the vial slightly to indicate, “and this is to help wash down the taste.”

Ugh, but it seemed to get him back on his feet. Carahil put him right to work, but it sounds like he’ll get to see some more of Ariella. Maybe Felen will have some advice. Like, don’t try to sleep at the Skingrad guild hall.

Ah, yes, Julian would second Grits's advice!

D'you know, in all the hours I've spent on Oblivion, I've never touched a runestone... ...

Aaamywho, lovely episode...I will catch up... ...

What a lovely garden area you described. It is too bad that Dere was knocked right out by the stone! That must have been one heck of a shock to Ariella.

Ha ha, Carahil and Ariella get him mobile again and send him off to work. At least he’ll be working with Ariella.

@SubRosa: It will be a long while yet before Carahil lets him free. And yes, the Runestone has something to do with the overarching mystery behind the story that Derelas thinks he might have just escaped from. And yes, I would say waking up to Carahil's stern, yet concerned face would be well worth any trouble.

@Acadian: Skingrad has always been an unusual place, after all. I'm sure Buffy has heard all the rumors (especially since the NPCs in Oblivion insist on repeating them at least 15 times daily). I'm glad you enjoy my depiction of Carahil, which is not all that dissimilar to her depictions I've seen in other fics, after all.

@Grits: Well, Dere was only unconscious this time, he wasn't actually hurt. Carahil is well experienced enough to know what ailments are urgent and which are not, and this one wasn't really very serious, all things considered. For all she knew, he might have just had a rough evening at the Flowing Bowl, and probably might have if Ariella was not there to tell her the story.

@haute ecole rider: I've heard others say the same.

@McBadgere: Take your time, I'm just so glad that you've joined us! Runestones aren't really very special in-game, as I said in the text, all they really do is give you some Bound equipment when you touch them. So, of course, I am making them more special.

@King Coin: Carahil was the one more interested in getting Dere back on his feet to get him back in the fields, Ariella just wanted to make sure he got well. Oh, and maybe so she might be able to spend the day with him, it seems she has taken to our not-quite-as-depressed-as-before hero quite well. In fact, one might think there could be something between them forming....

Chapter 10-5: Pastoral Morning

Ariella had held up with Alchemist Relas in his laboratory just long enough to wait for me to catch up. Once she saw I was up, she wasted no time greeting me.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she sighed as we exited the Guild to the fields for today’s work. “I had no idea that Runestone would have such an effect on you.”

“Nor did I,” I replied as we passed the central tree of Yokuda Loop. Even in the early morning, I could already make out the sounds of the blacksmith’s hammer pounding away and the children’s youthful glee as they played behind their homes. A solemn-faced, middle-aged Redguard woman was sitting beneath the shade of the plaza tree, her eyes searching for something, or someone. They paused on me, but left just as quickly as they came.

“Shall we go back to the shrine today?” Ariella asked, glancing my way. “There are a lot of plants growing there that Alchemist Relas can use.”

“Okay,” I consented. “By the way, I really enjoyed stargazing with you.”

“Thank you,” Ariella beamed as the city gates swung open to our approach, “It was such a beautiful night, too. I could never have asked for a clearer sky.”

Ariella waved at another Redguard, male this time, toiling away in the stables at Horse Whisperer shortly after we exited Anvil.

“Mornin’, Ariella!” He called out, returning her wave. “Fancy givin’ an old man here a hand with the hay today?”

“Maybe later,” Ariella called back, “Carahil is driving the Guild pretty hard right now. She seems determined to get this potion order finished before Saturalia.”

“Aye, that’s a pretty hefty load the Legion dropped on your shoulders,” the Redguard replied, leaning on his pitchfork. “Well, you just come on back whenever you feel up to tossin’ some hay ‘round.”

He then took his pitchfork back up and continued shoveling dung from the kennel into a giant barrel. Likely the dung was used for fertilizer by all the farmers on the city outskirts. As we passed the Whitmond plantation, I noticed a woman making powerful gestures at a man nearby, who seemed to be shouting back. I was too far away to hear anything over the morning clatter of horses, carriages, and galleons, though.

“That was Ernest,” Ariella told me, “I like to help him in the stables when I’m not doing much for the Chapter.”

“You must see a lot of him,” I commented, “whenever I saw him, he always seemed a bit grumpy.”

“He is a bit of a grouch,” Ariella replied, “but he’s really a good person once you get to know him. And you won’t find another man in Anvil who loves horses as much as he does.”

“Do you know who owns the stables?” I asked.

“That would be Clesa,” Ariella replied, grinning as she pointed out yet another Redguard who was fussing with a customer over a dapple-gray roan mare. “She runs the stables and breeds the horses. Hers are actually some of the most prized in all Cyrodiil, ‘None are hardier than those bred at Horse Whisperer’, that’s what she says, and the rest of the province agrees. She often barters with the Legion to provide animals for their more distinguished officers.”

Ariella pointed towards a stall housing a small gaggle of what could only be the most beautiful horses I ever laid my eyes upon. Each had a coat of pure white, gleaming in the morning rays of Aetherius. They held their heads high, as if they were flaunting their beauty for all to see as they slowly swished their long, bushy tails. Finally, I noted a concave profile to their bodies I didn’t see in most horses, which undoubtedly made for a very stable riding position.

Image

“Those are her most prized,” Ariella explained. “No other horse can come close to matching their strength. Those are the horses the Legion purchases.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them,” I replied, following the swishing of one of the mare’s tails.

“They are a breed exclusive to Horse Whisperer,” Ariella continued, “Most of their bloodlines come from Elsweyr, but the color came when she started experimenting with mixing them with trail horses from High Rock. She could not have asked for a better outcome. These horses easily beat out the stamina of both of their ancestors by a dragon’s wings.”

Clesa had just brought another customer around to the stables housing her prized horses and began to show them off. Unfortunately, before I could get a better look at who was shopping, a great bellowing roar befitting of one from Skyrim issued from Whitmond, causing both me and Ariella to jump. My eyes left the stables and returned to the farm, where I was just able to make out a door slamming shut.

“Looks like Maeva and Bjalfi are at it again,” Ariella sighed, shaking her head.

“They argue often?” I inquired.

“Almost daily,” Ariella replied. “Maeva wants a quiet life, but Bjalfi, her husband, wants to adventure. He keeps saying he can make the family rich with spoils from the ruined forts and disused mines around the county. Their relationship has been hanging by a thread for a while now.”

“And I think it might have just snapped,” I commented quietly, as I saw a brute of a Nord carrying a brilliantly glowing bronze mace at his hip make a hasty exit from the farmhouse.

“Oh, no you don’t, you brusi!” I heard Maeva shout out, the ensuing ruckus startling a murder of crows, who took to the skies calling their displeasure. “That’s my family’s heirloom you’re stealing there! Get back here! GET BACK HERE, S’WIT!!”

All she got in response was a very rude gesture as her now quite assuredly ex-husband stormed away. Maeva said nothing more as she stomped into the farmhouse, slamming the door so hard it was nearly ripped from its hinges.

I looked to Ariella; she looked back at me.

“Well, that was certainly dramatic,” I remarked. “And it doesn’t look like he intends to come back at all.”

“Nope, and I’m pretty sure even if he did Maeva won’t be very inclined to a warm welcome,” Ariella agreed. “I wonder what she meant by her ‘family’s heirloom’, though?”

“I think it was that mace he strapped to his belt,” I replied, “It looked magical, but I couldn’t tell the enchantment; too far away.”

“You’re probably right,” Ariella replied, shrugging. “Maeva was completely beside herself when he left. He’s stormed away several times before, but he never got screamed at that hard those times.”

“Well, if he did steal that thing, we should probably tell the Guard about it, shouldn’t we?” I inquired.

“I don’t think they’ll do anything,” Ariella answered, hanging her head. “He and Maeva have been at each other’s throats for a while now. Besides, he’s part of the family that that mace belonged to, so he’s perfectly in his right to take it with him.”

I gave a deep sigh. It was rather obvious the guard would not step in; arguments between married couples are ten to the drake, after all. Besides, it really wasn’t my place to step in to try and fix familial problems, I’m no consulate, I’d probably just make things worse.

“You’re right. It’s probably best we don’t get involved in their dispute. We would probably just anger them further,” I voiced my thoughts aloud.

“Right, so let’s get back to happier talk now,” Ariella replied.

Our desires alike, I returned to gazing at Clesa’s beautiful snow-white horses. Clesa and her customer had long since left, and I could only barely make them out on the horizon. It looked like they were headed for Driftwood Beach, the very same place I washed up all those months ago.

“Do you ever wish you could have one of those horses?” I asked Ariella, turning my thoughts back to the stables.

“Every time I see them,” she sighed. “I love helping Ernest groom them when I’m there. You wouldn’t believe how soft their coats are….”

“How about we go this evening? After we finish gathering, you could, maybe, show me around?”

“Count on it,” Ariella replied, giving me a brilliant smile, one which I returned to the best of my abilities; one that remained etched in my mind long after it was given. Perhaps she really was the one person I needed right now?




----




Post-Script: Clesa's prized white horses are based off of a mix real-world Arabians and Andalusians (Elsweyr and High Rock equivalent breeds, respectively).

Oh, most excellent...*Applauds*...

Love the picture of that horse...Very pretty...

Nordy-Boy - or Farn Olfsson as he's now named - has got an Anvil white horse...Named Binky...(After Pratchett's Death character's horse...)...

Nice one... ...

Loved the Maeva/Bjalfi bit...I killed him (again) just the other day... ...Ooopsie... ...

Farm related nit...You'se not going to pick up much manure with a pitchfork...Toss the hay, yes...But really, only a shovel will do...Trust me...I have moved much in my time... ...

Beg to differ. I've pitched quite a bit of manure with a pitchfork, myself, and it works very well so long as you have the right spacing between prongs. With the right fork, it's a lot easier to shovel manure with than a shovel. You don't have to worry about scooping up dirt, and it's easier to perform the work because of that (no resistance from said dirt when you scoop). Also, a pitchfork is lighter than a shovel. Those are the reasons I have to prefer a pitchfork for manure shoveling.

Everyone has their own methods, and that is mine. Ernest was pitching manure based on how I learned, and that is reason enough for me to leave it as is.

A solemn-faced, middle-aged Redguard woman was sitting beneath the shade of the plaza tree, her eyes searching for something, or someone.
I wonder if perhaps she had white hair tied back in a ponytail?

As we passed the Whitmond plantation, I noticed a woman making powerful gestures at a man nearby, who seemed to be shouting back.
Well, that is what you get for marrying a man named "the Contemptible"! Seriously, what was that chick thinking? I love how you are planting these little slices of Anvilian life throughout your tale.

Yep, that is the characteristic dish-shaped forehead of an Arabian. Or is would that be an Alik'r? Such an excellent decision for the endurance-noted horses of Clesa. I have heard it said that Akatosh created the Alik'r breed from the four winds: spirit from the North, strength from the South, speed from the East, and intelligence from the West.

Ooops, I see you decided to go with Elsewyr Barbs and High Rock Andalusians instead.

Instead of bastiche, you might find a more interesting curse or two for Maeva here.

Hmmm, so Ariella is going to show Dere around. Hubba hubba. This was a simply delightful episode to read, giving us a chance to get to know Ariella a little better, allowing Dere a little time to feel like a normal person again, and of course giving us a peek at the other dramas unfolding around them.

Enjoyable, as always!

One horse-related nit: Arabians are great for endurance, but not so much for weight-carrying. The baroque breeds (of which the Andalusian and Blanco's own model the Lippizan) are. If your Legion don't go around wearing tin suits like mine do, then Arabians are fine. But plate armor requires deeper-bodied horses with sturdier legs than the Arabs. Speed isn't of as much essence here as being able to carry weight and rear and kick and all the other cool things Blanco does.

And I'm a bit perturbed by your choice of kennel instead of stable/stall for the horses' housing. A kennel is a small shelter for a dog or cat, according to my dictionary. Horses live in stalls or stables. In England they call them mews. But that's the British for you.

Pitchfork or shovel? Depends on the kind of manure you're shoveling. Cow manure - definitely shovel. They come out goopey (what we mean by cow-pies!). Horses produce road apples that might plop a bit on landing but usually keep their sort of round shape (and dry that way). Very forkable. Sheep and goats produce pellets reminiscent of the round things you stuff inside your Daisy BB gun for plonkin' at the paper plate target on the backyard cherry tree. Shovel would be better there, too. Possum poop - same as dog and pickable with a plastic bag over your hand.

Also, manure regardless of source can be made more forkable if straw is used for bedding, as the long fibers trap the smaller bits and make it easier to catch 'em in the tines of a fork. On the other hand, if you use wood shavings/chips, then horse manure is pretty much the only stuff you can pitch a fork at.

This is an awesome scene !!!





And this had me rolling !!!


I love the personality you have given Carahil way better than the one Bethesda gave her !!!

**

Gorgeous horsey picture !!!


Be careful Dere !!! Don't let Maeva the Buxom get her claws on you !!! URK !!!


I won't get into the manure/pitchfork debate, but I'll personally take a 5 prong pitchfork over a shovel anyday for all around stall cleaning (when bedding down with straw).

Using shavings as bedding, the shovel is the better tool.

A solemn-faced, middle-aged Redguard woman was sitting beneath the shade of the plaza tree, her eyes searching for something, or someone. They paused on me, but left just as quickly as they came.

Maelona? Doesn’t she think Derelas will make good jail bait?

I liked spotting the domestic disturbance at Whitmond Plantation. It’s great to connect to such familiar things in the game, even if they’re not part of the main action.

“Count on it,” Ariella replied, giving me a brilliant smile, one which I returned to the best of my abilities; one that remained etched in my mind long after it was given. Perhaps she really was the one person I needed right now?

And she seems just as pleased with his company. How nice to see Derelas smile, especially since there’s probably going to be more darkness.

Just to clear the air:



Their look is based off the Arabian. Remember, I did state that they had been cross-bred with High-Rock native horses (thanks for the idea, by the way, h.e.r). This gives them the grace and stamina of a modern Arabian as well as the raw strength and power of an Andalusian.

Sorry for the confusion that may have caused.

’A solemn-faced, middle-aged Redguard woman was sitting beneath the shade of the plaza tree, her eyes searching for something, or someone. They paused on me, but left just as quickly as they came.’
I envisioned Maelona here, looking to recruit a Siren hunter.

’As we passed the Whitmond plantation, I noticed a woman making powerful gestures at a man nearby, who seemed to be shouting back.’
I imagined this was Maeva and Bjalfi. What a treat to have you confirm it a few paragraphs later. And the possibility of a quest has peeked its head into view.

’These horses easily beat out the stamina of both of their ancestors by a dragon’s wings.’
What a wonderful expression!

Ariella’s display of horse craziness just caused her stock to skyrocket in my book. So nice to see Dere with a touch of hope, or is that some Light Through Darkness?

What a lovely ending!

Lol...Never thought I'd have that sort of discussion on a writing forum...*Chuckles*...

Absolutely fair enough matey... ...

Loving it...



Do we really?...Never knew that... ...Could be where various small streets we call *Something* Mews comes from...Cheers... ...

Technically "mews" in England refers to a row of stables or carriage houses. Nowadays they mean rowhouses converted from old stables or new ones built to look like they were converted from old stables.