Suddenly, tiefling gnomes!

Kacey Pink 2025/11/09(Sun)17:26 No. 1116651 ID: 339783
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I was born under a different star, that’s what they always told me. “You’ll do great things,” my mother was fond of saying. “You’re destined to become a powerful wizard, just like your father always wanted,” my grandmother would often say. When they died in a crossing to Morrowind I was only twelve. There has always been a prevailing feeling of loss and confusion in my early life. I was born in Skyrim, in the City of Kings. I never knew our homeland, but mother always had something sweet to say on it. I was always afraid to admit it sounded ugly. Why would someone want to live in ash wastes? But then, all I knew was the old and the cold of my city.

Windhelm’s isolation had always been a wonderland. It felt like there was more carved stone in the city than people. The dark architecture and the stale breathless darkness, the life of my city had been strangled out by its own history. The stone held it all. Though I loved it, and felt it was mine, I was not blind to how life happened to us in the Gray Quarter. We were pressed into the mud, allowed only into the city as an other, an outside population. We were not allowed to live outside our cramped back alleys, at least not so far as to become comfortable. In life or in death.

When the last of my family died they were not buried in my home, though I often snuck into the graveyards to check. I had been told many stories about how the dead were cared for in Morrowind, a hope often came to me that my mother and grandmother might have gotten to die in their homeland. The place that meant so much to them. It didn’t stop me from missing them, or seeking them in Windhelm’s graveyards. I never found them there, but I did find a tranquility. The old priestess of Arkay didn’t ever seem to pay me much mind, and sometimes in the summers I would help her dig graves for those who died without a family. When I wasn’t working in the Cornerclub.

Ambarys Rendar had known my family before I was born. When I had suddenly been orphaned, he was the one who gave me the news. He had offered me a job, maybe because he needed it or maybe because he couldn’t stomach the thought of me living on the streets. He was not as nice of a man as I had believed. He instructed me once on all tasks, and expected perfection. A feat I seldom could achieve until I was eighteen. The corrective beatings had stopped, maybe because he knew I was old enough to fight him back or maybe because I had learned something from him. Exacting demands. The meat must be cut, the potatoes must be peeled, the cups must be filled; all just so. It did not matter what the product was, there was a law of perfection needed in the process.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/09(Sun)17:26 No. 1116652 ID: 339783
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Ambarys never told me what I was meant for. He never told me I was good at anything. Though, I knew why. When he drank I asked him questions. He was kinder. “Who was my father,” was the question that always came up, and for that question he would pour himself another drink.

“Your… Father?” He would say carefully pouring himself a perfect pint. “I knew him only briefly. It is how I came to be close to his mother, Mola Arxii.”

“What did he do?” I asked, knowing this story already.

“He was a mage,” Ambarys said. “You know that.”

“But he was powerful?” I asked.

“He was not powerful, no,” Ambarys said faintly, through barred teeth. He could never look me in the eyes when we spoke on this. “He was a braggart, and he died in a dishonorable fashion.”
“But he did cast a powerful spell?” I asked.

Ambarys turned his head to look at me. His expression was fearful, as if a saber cat had pushed its way into the back room of the bar.

“He had potential?” I asked.

“If he had it,” Ambarys said slowly. “It splattered out of him across the dead pirates that attempted to steal our lives.”
“Do you think,” I asked, adding a new question to our routine of telling this story. “Could I cast a spell?”

“Why would you go and do a thing like that?” He asked harshly.

“I think about it sometimes, Amb,” I said. “That’s all.”
He drank from his cup and shut his eyes.

“I see it sometimes,” I explained. “Lines in the stars glowing to me in the dark.”

“You are quickly becoming a man, Daren,” Ambarys said. “I have given you a vocation in return for your help all these years. Anywhere you go now, you can cook and clean and pour.”

“And would you hate me,” I asked softly. “If I chose something greater?”

Ambarys smiled, looking at his tankard. “I do not know, boy,” he said faintly. “I know that you will do what you will do.”

“I could be anything,” I said. “Is that what you’re saying.”

“I never asked for a kid,” Ambarys said. I assumed he was trying to say something more. So I let his words hang in the air. He looked at me closely, eyes softer than normal.

“Fine,” I said. “I will do fine with what you’ve given me.”

Ambarys nodded slowly, taking the last sip from his tankard.

It was only a week later that I unlocked the truth of my visions. The lines in my dreams spoke of runes, anchors for the first spell I would ever cast. I had taken what I had learned and applied it. Charcoal, blood, and magicka were apportioned slowly to their cells. Like cutting meat, like pealing potatoes, like filling glasses. There were laws, I couldn’t name them, but I could feel them prickling my skin.

It had been a messy process which spanned weeks. I had put the rats of the bar, of which there were many, through this labor. I found the flesh to be too spirited and too heavy. Only when they were opened, to get at the bones, could I begin to move them. The work was done in a quiet darkness within the Cornerclub. Where no one would pry. Where no one would see the blood stains on the boards. When my work was finished I had a thing, an animate inanimate. The rats of the bar would no longer trouble us, either they were killed by my little creation or they were too fearful of the magic wrought within the building.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/09(Sun)17:27 No. 1116653 ID: 339783
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Hey Doggy Dog, eheh bow wow. Eheh, like a dog? Dogs are sick, they're my top 5 four legged animal, this is a compliment. Lots of people weren't shor about them, but then again they worked out really good.

Oh shit, right! So, I was thinking about this guy. This little person I dreamt of once. People are so interesting. They live. They die. So many have died. Daren Arxii was fond of death, even if he wasn't ready to admit it. He'd learn what his heart needed with time, what he longed for in life.

You're going to help him with that. He's got quite the journey ahead of him now. Feel free to dream about him too. One thing we have to agree upon is he was meant for necromancy. He was born under the Aurbic eye. The star sign of The Ritual, but not just any phase of the sign. He was born in The Shade of the Revenant.

We'll talk again soon. I promise it. You know I'd never lie to you.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/09(Sun)17:27 No. 1116654 ID: 339783
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“Where would one go?” I asked faintly as I worked with him preparing the potatoes for the night.

Ambarys’s eyebrows jumped in curiosity.

“If I wanted to learn magic, where in Skyrim would I find a teacher?” I asked.

“Very few wisemen, as the nords call them, exist in skyrim,” his tone was so frustrated. “The Jewel of the Broken Cape. Is that your aim?”

“That’s where I could learn more, Winterhold?” I asked, suddenly thrilled.

“If you wish it, you have money you know?” He still sounded so angry. “You can leave in the morning, if it suits you. There is a carriage, longer but safer than by sea.”
I set my potato down, looking at him confused.

He didn’t seem to notice me much. He was never disturbed by me. Never really angered, just frustrated.

He gave me what money my mother had left behind, and a sum of gold he’d collected for me as I got older. 500 gold pieces.

I wore only the clothes Ambarys had given me. Black clothes of a mourner. I had never been very good at modifying my clothes, though Ambarys tried to show me how many times. I would need to be warm on my journey, as well as be fed. Food would cost me at least 40 gold and the trip would cost only 50 gold. That left me 410 gold to spend on other provisions and equipment.

I could lean on friends in the Gray Quarter, though Mr. Sadri’s stock was usually quite diverse. I could buy something reliable and more costly (120), or I could buy something cheaper (60) just to save money.

When I told Sadri I was heading for Winterhold, he showed me a handful of books he had as well:

• Biography of the Wolf Queen, a book said to help people understand arguments better. It might help me to speak well in the future.

• A Game at Dinner, a spy’s account of poisonings and careful alchemy. I’d never known much about alchemy.

• Or a Spell Tome, said to contain a guide to casting novice offensive fire magic. Surely that would help in more ways than one.

I would need something to do on the cart, and a book costing only 50 gold seemed like a good excuse to practice my reading, but I could suffer boredom if it would keep me safe in the future.

Good supplies will be worth the extra cost.

Also get the spell book. It's always good to have a way of defending yourself without relying on your constructs(summons?).

Get well made clothes for a journey through Skyrim's cold climate. And the spell tome. You're never unarmed with a spell in hand.

Well made clothes, and the Wolf Queen’s Biography. Proper diplomacy can get you out of some of the toughest situations.

Invest in good clothes
Get the speech book. Convincing people you aren't a necromancer is an important part of remaining a living necromancer.

Agreed.
Fine clothes for sturdiness.
No one would respect a magister with his arse hanging out.
The speech book for sure, but perhaps the fire book too.
The former would contribute to your not a necromancer defense. The latter wouldnthen allow you to demonstrate a magic more commonly accepted.
Also, skyrim is bloody feeezing.
Fire on demand could be a boon.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/11(Tue)13:14 No. 1116773 ID: 0172d1
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Collecting my rations for the road and making my purchases it occurred to me. It had been sometime since I last sat down to read. I was only ten when grandmother set me to the task of copying every word and it’s meaning in her dictionary down onto long bolts of fabric. I used chalk, and when I ran out of space she would wash the fabric clean and set me to continue. How had I forgotten those times?

I selected two books for my journey. Mr. Sadri having a novice spell tome in his shop felt like a message, fate was telling me I was on the right path. Fate was also reminding me the nature of my gift. The Wolf Queen was a well hated necromancer in her time. She rose armies of undead to enact her will.

I pursued the revival of those dead rats with such ardor. I took it to be a small thing. I was so focused on the act of doing that I had put little thought to if I should do at all. Such petty questions are for those who cannot. Doubt was for the weak. Though, I did hide my work. Some part of me knew what happened to those that worked the dead in Skyrim. It was a crime, a violation to the pure force of life.

That was what my city would say of my work. My first spell.

When I left the city walls I felt a hollowness. I wanted to look back and feel regret for leaving, doubt over my choices. But when I slipped the gold into the carriage driver’s hand, I felt only excitement for what I might become.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/11(Tue)13:14 No. 1116774 ID: 0172d1
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“Winterhold, ey? Are you a wiseman, young master elf?” The carriage driver asked. I was his only fare though we were to stop at a station in the middle and maybe pick up more folk.

I looked up at him as the carriage began to move down the road. Young master, I’d never heard anyone address me as such. I felt the fine seams of my clothes, underneath I wore my old tattered mourner’s garb for the warmth. “Yes,” I spoke over the sound of the wheels churning through the snow. “What if I am?”

“You study much there?” He asked. “Never met you before is all, pardon my curiosity.”

“I would like to,” I said. The air was crisp and my breath produced thick clouds in front of me. I was thankful it wasn’t snowing. “I have never left home before.”

“Ahh, a brave young man,” he said.

I looked at the back of his head, turning the words over in my head. Brave young man. “Am I?”

“Must be magical too ,” He demanded. “Go on, show us some spellcraft then!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, pulling out my books. “I cannot.”

“Aye, aye,” he nodded, but still watched the road. “Have to save your strength for the entrance test.”

I put my thumb down on the first page of the spell tome. “Test?”

“Of course,” the driver said. “They don’t let anyone in. It’s like a guild, you have to be one of their own.”

“I see,” I said, looking down at the pages of the tome. The pages were too small for so much writing. There were words I’d never read before and diagrams that meant nothing to me. The treaties at least, the language between the symbols, and the casting instructions made sense to me. There was a lot of talk about the nature of destruction spells. The basic facts seemed to make more sense to me. I felt I could relate some of these diagrams to the ones I’d drawn before. There was a common understanding between what had come to me naturally and what wizards had studied and taught. I felt as though I understood more about destruction as a school of magic. I understood as well that there were, in fact, schools of magic. I hadn’t even known that much before.

As the wagon made its way around a bend I noticed just how much time I’d spent absorbed into the tome. The sun had shifted positions quickly, and Windhelm was no longer visible in the distance. It was thrilling, doing this kind of reading. However, I was not versed in the language used. I’d need reference material or someone to ask deeper questions of. Or, of course, if neither of those could be found a peaceful spot with tools and time to physically practice the spell. I’d make mistakes, but hopefully it wouldn’t be too serious with a novice spell.

My other book, however, proved to be much easier to read. The Wolf Queen, who I’d been told was an evil person seemed quiet smart. Intelligence and evil may or may not be bedmates, but I learned much about her acts and how she spoke to people. There were dissections of her language and of her battles, but also discussions of her fatal flaws. What she did wrong, how she’d failed to remain a virtuous leader. Eriphanes wrote her biography in some ways like a manual. A guide to how one should learn from her if a noble finds themselves in a similar position. I’d read the book pretty quickly, it proved to be something like a mental sweet roll compared to the textbook I had started the journey reading.

Near the end of our first day I was reminded of the dangerous of Skyrim. Dangers I’d never witnessed firsthand.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/11(Tue)13:14 No. 1116775 ID: 0172d1
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Along the river, hiding in the forest brush a small bandit group spotted us moving along the road. I heard the driver speed up his nag before I even knew what was assailing us. “What is it!” I shouted.

My answer was the ragged scream of an orc as he charged down the hillside. In fear, I laid along the floor of the carriage, the sound of arrows thunking into the wood of the carriage made me jump. Though I’d seen a few at the Cornerclub, I was not accustomed to fighting. Lying on my stomach, shaking and holding my chest I begged for protection. I had only just begun my journey how could it stop now.

Inside my shirt, I grasped for my old totem. The last gift my grandmother gave me. A bit of rusty iron tied to a strong leather necklace. I thought for sometime it might have been a face or some strange head, but it had many horns, something like horns. I thought of my mother and her mother dying. It must have been just like this, pirates or raiders of some variety. The little amulet always hurt my hand when I held it, so jagged and angry. I never took it off, but I never knew more than it was special to my family. What was it from. What was it for. “Our house,” was what she’d called it. Those words meant little to me.

The sounds of yelling faded off behind us. The driver knew these roads, clearly, and his carriage was swifter than ruffians stomping through the snow. “Young master,” the driver said. “Have any healing magic?”

“Healing?” I asked, pulling myself up to look at him. An arrow struck him in the shoulder. Blood turned his dark jacket and tan undershirt damp and darker still. “I’m sorry,” holding the sides of the carriage as I moved closer to him. His horse whinnied but kept moving. It too had been struck by arrows. I felt remorse, doubt, but mostly rage. I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t defend myself. And I couldn’t even help an injured animal.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/11(Tue)13:15 No. 1116776 ID: 0172d1
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HAHAHAHAHA.

Foolish little mortal. You do not even know yourself.

It matters not who your family was. I demand only power.

I demand subservience. I demand control.

You are weak, pathetic, unworthy of my boon.

Do not persist, release yourself to your betters.

Your death is inevitable, and it would shame me less to see it go quickly.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/11(Tue)13:15 No. 1116777 ID: 0172d1
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I did what I knew how at least, wrapping the carriage driver’s arm with strips from one of his blankets in the back. Thankfully, he didn’t stop. As night began to fall, we pulled into the way station between Windhelm and Winterhold. It was a small place, likely not even visible on any maps of the area. It consisted of a couple of barns and a rundown lodge of sorts. The stop had certainly seen better days. Maybe it was nicer before the collapse of Winterhold. There was another wagon in the station, someone the driver knew. He received some help with his wounds, better than I knew how. I stayed in lodge, in a loosely furbished room. I ate my rations and read from the biography by candle light.

The last leg of my ride was lonely. The driver seemed unwilling to speak to me as much now. It might have been due to my own cowardice. Regardless, I focused on my reading as we traveled. I drilled into the novice tome once more, trying to arm myself for this test I’d have to endure. I needed to prove I was a spellcaster, at least that I had aptitude. The formula and documentation of the spell diagrams was making more sense, but there was still so much I didn’t understand. No amount of careful work could fill in what was missing, that was brutal to accept. The tome spoke of casting spells of higher skill and with higher proficiency. At some point a caster will understand the spell so well that they can simply think of the diagrams and cast them with sheer willpower and using the Magicka within their bodies. Did I have Magicka?

I didn’t know for sure, but I definitely felt something when I cast my first spell. A tiredness fell over my spirit, over my mind. I had trouble speaking, and sometimes I bleed from the nose. Water and light seemed to bring comfort, but not fire light. Only the light of the moons, the sun, or the stars helped. I would have to master this energy, but surely others would have advice for me.

When the sun was beginning to set, I saw it for the first time. The Sea of Ghosts. I had seen it, parts of it, from the Windhelm docks, but looking at it from the carriage. I was simply awestruck. Hazy ice wastes. Something inside me longed to feel its waters, to disappear into the cold. My gaze, however, was stolen by the grand stone work in the distance. “That’s it?” I asked, shifting in the carriage.

“Yes boy,” the driver said. “That’s it.”

The College of Winterhold rested on the very outer most edge of the cliff. No, it rested on its own vast pillar of earth. There was barely any ground under the stones to support it. Clearly magic must be at work to keep it safe. A tree. Were my eyes playing tricks on me. At the very top of the vast castle of a building, a tree with vibrant bows stretched high to the sky. A tiny bridge connected the lonely pillar of earth to the city proper.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/11(Tue)13:15 No. 1116778 ID: 0172d1
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There wasn’t much space for the carriage drive to turn around, so I disembarked early and walked the last stretch up. The road had narrowed quite a bit, and it began to snow. It had been eighty years since The Collapse, but many buildings were empty or stripped for lumber. I had felt the strangle of the ancient past in Windhelm, but Winterhold seemed worse somehow. What had passed was not something prideful everyone tried to remember. The buildings were old and wooden. Nothing seemed newer than The Collapse. It might be worth asking about, but there was a deep soul burning malaise in the city. City, if it could be called that anymore. It seemed more like a thin band of half turned out graves. Why did it feel so inviting then.

It was late and I was very tired.

I probably had enough gold to stay the night at the Inn if I went and asked.

I could also check to see what the gates of the College were like, but then that would probably lead to me failing my first test wouldn’t it. I hadn’t cast a spell on command before, not really.

There was also a Missive Board. It looked like there were a lot of old postings, but maybe I could still find work to do. If I was looking for work though, I had experience working at a tavern and could maybe help at the Inn.

Maybe there was other things as well…

If you're curious what all this stuff on the screen is about.

https://i.imgur.com/PWUeCvH.png

Can't hurt to check the missives board. If there's nothing that you can do with your skills as they are now, then it's off to the Inn for you to see if you can wash dishes or something for a bit of coin before bed. Tomorrow will be more studying of your books and making coin to pay for your bed.

Check the board. You may be here a while before you can learn the spells to pass the test.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/12(Wed)22:38 No. 1116884 ID: 0172d1
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The missive board was a tangled mess of old postings. Missing persons, wanted persons, and memorials. Warnings about weather, about bandits on the road, about condemned buildings growing more dangerous. All of them battered by the snow and bleached by the sun. Newer postings have been nailed over top the forgotten papers. I’d never looked for odd jobs before, but it didn’t seem like there was much on offer here.

“Looking for help. Will pay some.” A simple posting by someone who signed themselves as “Lod, Charcoal Burner.” I had some experience chopping wood, but not burning charcoal. My flames spell would make such an activity faster.

“Recover the lost heritage of Winterhold. Return Skyrim to the Nords. Join the Stormcloak Rebellion.” There are simple woodblock prints inspired by ancient geometric shapes found in Windhelm’s architecture. I just left Windhelm, and I had more loyatly to Skyrim than to the Empire.

“Looking to buy extra pelts and skins from travelers and hunters,” writes Thonjolf the local leatherworker. Pelts and skins, I’d never hunted wild animals before.

The Frozen Hearth. Quaint was a little too nice to describe the state of the inn. The property itself was large, but the construction was nearly ancient. Worn stone floors and creaking support beams. Lumpy, stinky beds, squeaky, uncomfortable seats, and stained, knife pocked tables. There were a few shadowed corners though, worthy to sit in and read. Whatever food was cooking smelled good as well, some form of stew. There was a tall elf wearing vibrant robe. He seemed to have his own room, filled with books. As I entered, he was speaking to a man at the counter. "I'm sorry, could you describe the smell?" He asked.

“Like sulfur and rotting meat,” the man said. “Nelacar, what did you do this time?”

“Me?” The elf chuckled. “I just thought you were making small talk.”

“Don’t play dumb,” the man snapped. “I haven’t forgotten those nasty fire motes.”

“Dagur, calm down,” a woman said as she walked out in front of the bar. She touched the nord’s shoulder. “Just keep it to one explosion a month please, Nel.”

“Of course, Haran,” Nelacar said. “Anything for you, friend.”

Dagur grumbled, looking away from the woman and to me as I stepped closer to the counter. “Oh, a traveler! Are you here to visit the College?”

“Of course,” I said. “What can you tell me about it?”

“What can I say that my wife’s long time freeloader can’t,” Dagur said.

“That’s not a polite way to refer to your own daughter,” Nelacar said. “Besides, what does she know about wizardry?”

“Very funny,” Dagur grumbled. He then looked back at me. “Well, if you’re looking for a room I can give you the best deal in town.”

I recalled my recent reading and thought about how best to approach the conversation. “I’m not sure,” I said looking around. “Do the bedrooms even have doors?”

“I said it was cheap already,” Dagur said. “Forty gold a night.”

“And what if I helped around a little around here?” I asked. I looked at the large soup pot on the hearth. “I have experience working at a tavern.”

“Is that so?” Haran said, looking me up and down. She laughed after a moment. “If you want to help that badly make we could work something out.”

“Not another stray, Haran,” Dagur grumbled.

Clearly, I had options. Though I might have to be careful about pushing my luck with Dagur. Not only that but clearly I could pick Nelacar’s brain about the College’s inner workings.

>>1116884
Tell him you only plan to stay until you can pass the entrance exams at the College. Then you'll have a room there, and will be out of their hair.

Asking general questions about the College would be a great idea. What sorts of schools of magic do they teach there?

Trading time for a discount seems actually counterproductive, as it would be better to spend that time mastering the flame spell in order to enter the college as soon as possible. The quicker you pass, the fewer nights at the inn you have to pay.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/15(Sat)19:18 No. 1117004 ID: 0172d1
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“You’re a wizard from the college?” I asked to the only other elf in the room.

“Sadly, no,” Nelacar murmured. “My days at the college are long behind me now. I was a wizard there though, a tenured scholar, for many years. Unfortunately, tenure is not limitless. If your time bomb scamp accidentally explodes in the Library one too many times, people tend to grow upset.”

“You see,” Dagur said. “This is why people have a problem with your college.”

“I’ve told you, Dagur. It was only the one time,” Nelacar said. “They don’t detonate within specific indoor spaces now.”

“Destruction magic?” I asked.

“Naturally,” Nelacar said, looking down at me. I had always been short, but beside a high elf it was so exaggerated. “Are you a student of destruction?”

“N-Not really,” I tensed my jaw. “I have tried to learn such spells, but they are challenging.”

Nelacar stared at me, and he then looked away for a time. He stayed beside me, just outside the door to his room. (Speech: Success) I could tell he was waiting to hear more about my magic. Was he so starved for the companionship of other spellcasters?

“I am new is all,” I said. “I hope I can pass whatever test they have for newcomers.”

“Ahh, well,” Nelecar murmured. “It’s been a long time since I’ve supervised or scored entrance exams. I was a teacher for a few years, you know? You have to teach in order to gain access to the locked archives.”

I stared at him, trying to restrain my awe and need for guidance.

“Who are you meeting for your exam?” Nelacar asked. “I hope it’s Faralda.”

“I-I don’t have an appointment,” I said. “Can I not just call?”

“Unfortunately, no. It is not easy to gain admittance. The college serves the entire country of Skyrim, and has to maintain some semblance of exclusivity to serve those in need and not be picked clean. There are three ways to get into the college:

“The Sun, if you are gifted especially at a young age and your magic is a danger or is of such a high caliber you will be admitted immediately. Most students are admitted for their profound mastery or connection to magic.

“The Star, if you are well lauded and perform deeds in service of community and are sent before with a letters recommending and attesting to both your good deeds and your potential, you might earn a scholarship. Students with little aptitude for magic are rarely initiated, but those with intense scholarly drive are vital to the life of the school’s achieves.

“The Aurora, if you have money and aptitude, and are willing to work for your tuition, you could simply buy a seat. However, it is not such a common or easy thing to do. Such students have a lot to prove and are often the lowest rung of the pecking order. Unless they are able to show their skill with magic, they often leave before being initiated as College Mages.”

“I see,” I crossed my arms tightly. “I am… rich in neither skill nor renown. And I have such little coin I’m worried about taking too much time to learn enough magic to gain entrance.”

Nelacar continued to stare at me. A seed of concern was clearly taking root. “What exactly did you say you were having trouble with magically?”

Kacey Pink 2025/11/15(Sat)19:18 No. 1117005 ID: 0172d1
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“I am literate, but I’ve never studied magic,” I said. “I’ve read through a novice tome and found my skills with the work is lacking.”

“But you don’t have any innate magical skill?” He asked. “No spells that you were seemingly born casting?”

I turned over what happened at the Cornerclub in my head. It felt so far away now. “I might have used a spell in the past. A spell that came to me in my dreams,” I said.

Nelacar continued to examine me, scanning my face for clues. He leaned in closer to me. “You are aware that there are no forms of magic considered taboo at the College,” he whispered. “I can help you,” he said louder. “If you’d like some advice, that is. No guarantee I can get you into the college, of course.”

“But you know the process of getting in,” I said. “That would be a big help to me.”

“What spell were you trying to learn?” He asked, waving me to follow him to his room. He quickly pulled out a few gray canvas bound books. I stood before his little bar, where he began to open his book. “Destruction?”

“Just a novice spell,” I said, pulling my flames tome out to show him.

“Ahh, Old Vigge’s work.” He thumbed through the pages of the tome. Nelacar opened a pot of ink and dabbed a quill into it. He quickly scribbled some notes in the margins. “The printer set the pages like this,” he explained as I looked down at his work. “Extended margins are meant for you to take notes in.”

“What, what would I write?” I asked, watching his words formed under his careful quill strokes.

“Anything you need to cast the spell, or to perform your research. Do not accept other people’s posturing that they are better than you. That is a factor of academia, let them stroke their ego. You will focus on your work and your success,” he explained. We met eyes again, and I felt myself smiling. Strange. “This book will be yours forever, until you no longer need it. At which point you might give it to your apprentice to study.”

“My apprentice?” I murmured.

“I am Nelacar,” he said with a smile. “You are?”

“I am Daren, Daren Arxii,” I said.

“Arxii,” Nelacar ran the feather of his quill to his lip. “I see.”

“Is the name familiar?” I asked. “My father studied magic before the red year.”

“Oh,” he murmured as he went back to scribbling. “Is it an esteemed name? I apologize I have not heard it.”

“It’s not,” I murmured. “From what I know.”

“Ahh, well,” Nelacar closed his inkpot. “These notes should help you along, but I’d recommend leaning into your natural abilities. Not everyone can learn spells, but only you can cast your magic, friend.”

“Where would I go?” I murmured. “Where could I cast such things?”

Nelacar still played with his quill, running it through his fingers. “There are ruins all around Winterhold that few are brave enough to traverse at this hour. The men of this city,” he descended into a whisper. “Very few Nords are old enough to hold many memories of these places when they weren’t shuttered for safety. Do not be caught. I shouldn’t have to tell you that I will not defend you if you name me in a trial.”

I took in a sharp breath, looking over my shoulder to Dagur who was busy pouring a new tankard for a guard that just entered the inn. “Of course,” I murmured. “Thank you. I wouldn’t know anything about illegal magic.”

“Good,” Nelacar said. “If I can be of any more help, let me know.”

“Why would you help me?” I asked. “Out of kindness?”

Nelacar chuckled, carefully setting his quill down. “Favors are common in our world, friend. We have only ourselves to rely upon.” Our world.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/15(Sat)19:18 No. 1117006 ID: 0172d1
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With my tome returned to me, I felt the burden of my journey critically weighing on me. Whatever I did next would have to happen in the morning. I paid Dagur the forty gold for one of his open beds and sat on my rented cot. The room didn’t have walls that went all the way to the ceiling. There were so many pelts and so much rough wood. A large ancient elk head looked down at me from the top of the wall. I had seen elk on my trip to Winterhold, but not that looked quite like the one that stared at me.

I laid out my books and examined the notes left for me. They were not extensive, but they targeted specific words that he wrote specific quizzical definitions for. Strange. Nelacar’s handwriting wasn’t hard to read thankfully, and it would smooth over the gaps in my knowledge. However, I’d need to spend time in focused study and practice some rune work. The spell suggested using runes on my hands and arms to make the channeling of energy actually useful in combat, as well as practicing the flow of my Magicka. When I could cast the spell without runes it would flow out of me like a river, and I’d need to know how to control it. So I’d have to use ink to stain my skin.

Though it made me wonder, could I do the same with the spell I already knew how to cast. I knew how raise that skeletons. It lived like a glowing beam of light in my mind, but I hadn’t cast it more than once. I hadn’t done it on something larger than a rat. I hadn’t. I hadn’t read it from a book. It came from me. Somewhere deep in my mind or my soul, it echoed out of me. It breathed life into dead bone. This could be the thing that gets me into the university, but it was dangerous.

I had to find a way to get into the college, if I didn’t… I had to. I had enough gold left to survive at the inn for three days, rent and food included. I could probably talk Dagur and Haran into letting me stay in exchange for work or a few favors.

I could pursue magical talents, practice with the fire spell and some lies could probably get me in. Or I could use my ability to raise the dead. I just didn’t have very much experience casting. It would take time to work on.

I could build a name for myself in Winterhold. I had some skill with speech now and with some work I could dig out more work than I already had leads for. I’d never done anything like this before, but the town was small. How hard could it be to gain some favors. Favors like Nelacar suggested.

>>1117006
Inherent necromancy is probably considered "dangerous". That seems like the easiest path to get inside via the sun path. I doubt they'd take you in just for the fire spell. The star path will take a long time, probably too long...

Tomorrow you will need to see how soon you can get an appointment. If you'll run out of money beforehand then there's nothing for it and you'll just have to work in the tavern for a while. In your free time, you can search for bones in the ruins. Avoid danger. You will at least need some bones to demonstrate your ability in the interview, but fully mastering the spell beforehand would be best so we can try to find multiple sets of bones.

>>1117010
That seems like a good plan. Might also be worth looking into how much simple job-board tasks tend to pay - it might be worth e.g. spending one day doing jobs if it gets you two days' food and rent. Depending on when you can get an appointment, and how quickly you master the raise dead spell. Do you still have the rat seleton, btw?

Practice more with necromancy. See how easy it comes to you. its just a mater of discretely finding bones

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:41 No. 1117424 ID: 0172d1
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In the morning, I purchased breakfast in the inn. “Is there paying work around here? Just those missives out front?”

“Not much else that I know of.” Dagur handed me my plate across the counter. “I’ve heard that charcoal burning is a profitable venture, though I’ve never spoken to the man myself. If you’re a wiseman, maybe you could burn his wood up for him with a spell?”

“I don’t,” I grumbled drinking from my tankard. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’d love a helping hand moving some barrels around downstairs,” Dagur said. “No one else really around for that, and drink is mostly all anyone gets around here.”

“Could it pay for a night’s stay?” I asked.

“One night? Of course,” Dagur said. “I’d call that a good deal for me, honestly. I hate moving the barrels around.”

“Do you know, friend,” I said. “How would one get an audience at the college?”

“Did Nelacar not mention that?” Dagur asked. “Well, I know there are couriers that make their way in somehow, but the bridge crossing takes some kind of trick.”

“There isn’t a person in town I could talk to?” I asked.

“No,” Dagur chuckled, but not at me. “Ask Nelacar how wisemen fair here in town.”

“I could try to walk up to the gate?” I asked.

“If you’d like,” Dagur said. “But I’d recommend waiting to see if one of them to come down. Sometimes the old grounds keeper shows his face at Birna’s.”

“You think I could get his help?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Dagur said. “The only other way would be to write to someone within the college.” I drank my drink and ate my food thinking on it.

Faralda, that’s who Nelacar mentioned. Could I just send her a letter asking to be seen?

“I’ll go and see the college,” I said. “Maybe I’ll be lucky.”

“Don’t slip,” Dagur shouted after me.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:41 No. 1117425 ID: 0172d1
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The early morning was clear, at least of snow, but big clouds were moving slowly in the distance. The bridge’s first gate was adorned with two large statues of hooded figures and two large metal seals hung on pillars which bore ever burning flames. I moved upwards onto the bridge proper, looking around. There wasn’t a person around. Large beams of blue light reached up to the sky from large stone braziers.

As I moved across the first length of the bridge, a huge wind swelled up pushing against me. Before I knew it, a blizzard was slamming the bridge ahead of me. I stopped just before the last stretch, looking out at gates. The bridge itself looked heavily damaged. A narrow path covered in black ice. It wasn’t a long distance across, but looking over the bridge, I could see the ocean and ancient debris at the base of the cliff.

I couldn’t be sure about crossing the way, but as I watched the gate I could see figures moving along the top of the walls. I raised my arms to the shapes, but they didn’t notice or regard me. As I watched, the metal door opened and shut. It was hard to see through the thick swirling snow, but it looked like someone was making their way down. A tightly wrapped figure moved through the snow, waving an old walking stick as he moved closer to me.

“Hello!” He called in a pleasant, aged voice. “Hello, young one.”

“Are you the grounds keeper?” I called through the snow. He motioned me to follow him as he passed. Walking away from the College seemed to slow the speed of the winds.

“That’s me,” he said, having to compete with the howling winds less now. “Name’s Vaktis. Everyone just calls me the old man.”

“How does one get an appointment to get into the College?”

Vaktis pulled his scarf out from around his face. “I’ve heard most people share correspondences with one of the College Wizards. They’re supposed to handle these things as educators.”

“Would you deliver a letter for me?”

“You know one of them?” Vaktis asked, looking me over. We were stopped in front of a trading house. It must have been Birna’s.

“Faralda,” I said.

“Ahh, yes, should have guessed,” he laughed. “She’s the most congenial person I’ve met.”

“Would you be willing to do that?” I asked.

“Sure, sure,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ll take it.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “I don’t have one now.”

“Write your letter, then,” Vaktis said with a kind laugh. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I said, looking at the sky. There wasn’t a storm in town, but snow was slowly beginning to fall. “Thank you,” I said.

Vaktis laughed again, “Hopefully, I’ll be seeing you around the college soon then.”

“Hopefully,” I said with a nod.

I had time now, time to study some magic before I sat down to write that letter.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:41 No. 1117426 ID: 0172d1
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I scoured the sections of town abandoned after the collapse, mostly looking for a place that was covered from the snow fall. I came upon the abandoned market stalls and great stone ruins, life once rushed through these streets but now only wind and snow passed through. The ruined section of the city was filled with many little gravesites, where families or city blocks were buried at a crossroads or in little alleys. I didn’t have a shovel. Even if the graves were shallow, I’d have to cut through the permafrost. I was not built for such work, and it’d give me away quickly if someone came along.

The buildings had been beaten down by time so that only the oldest, strongest beams stood still. Ghosts of the forests they came from. Buildings that still had roofs were rare, but I found one that had a larder that still had a roof. Snow had piled up in large banks across the floors of the tiny house. It was barely recognizable as a place of comfort anymore, though I would steal its last scraps of security.

I found it a bit later, after scouring the rubble. It whispered to me, seeking me, asking for my help, my succor. Trapped under three heavy beams and a blanket of snow, it rested painfully. Dried gray skin, stretched thin around the skull and the raised bits of bone and darker in the recessed lower bits where the skin bunched in dry thick clumps. I moved methodically, pushing off the snow and lifting each beam individually until it was free. The last beam touching its hands peeled back the skin and lifted some of it with a crispy tear. Old tendons snapped and the bones fell back to the ground. More work.

I had a knife, a small working knife that I’d kept from my time at the Cornerclub, which I used to cut the mummified skin and winnowed muscle away from the strong yellowed bone. Its dark eyes looked up at the midday sky, but there was no light illuminating my careful hands. The ardor with which I took to the work was addictive. There was a satisfaction, a relief and a comfort to pulling out each bone and laying it neatly onto the coarse blanket I’d found in the inn. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop myself. My lips were dry and cracked, and my eyes ached. I had to force myself to stand and stretch my back, blink, and take deep reassuring breaths.

There were breaks in the bones. It had suffered a broken hip and thigh, but the cracks still fit together well. I wondered at the pain. When I got all the bones free I counted them, and measured them with my fingers. I knew there must be answers to questions that were welling inside me. Looking around the collapsed house there weren’t many signs left of its previous owner, but this was something I’d heard about from Ambarys and my grandmother. Men often found themselves alone and old much faster than they expected. It seemed likely that it had been a Nord, before. Before it became cleaner. Was it still a Nord, was there a way to tell from the bones. Did it matter at this stage.

No. I resolved. When something was dead. When the bones were out. There was no more blood. There was no more filth of life. There was no more pain or fear or hunger or shaking in the dark corner of the room not knowing how to hope for something better. There was only pale beauty. The bone was the same as the rat. It felt heavier, denser, but it was the same. It was older, yellow and dry, but it was the same. Inside, most things had to be the same like this. Like the bones. I couldn’t stop myself from these thoughts returning. My hope. My desire was that deep down, I too was like this. That I had bones below my skin. I’d never checked. I could feel them, or what I hoped they were. My hands. My arms. My arms were so rail thin that they felt like blade steel in my forearms. Surely, they were inside me as well.

I held the forearm bones against my own arm. They were somewhat longer. It had been taller than me in life. Many raised bumps in the bone, maybe healed fractures. Had it been a warrior in its younger days. The sound snow crush pulled me from my stupor. I had been so quiet, so mystified. I set the bones down carefully and silently folded up my blanket. I listened to the wind that rushed around the buildings. A faint rush produced a howling. I pushed the folded up parcel into my bag and stood. I pushed my feet through the snow, producing less noise than big crushing steps.

Looking out into the street outside I saw a shadow. It rose upwards. Moving out still, I could hear the sounds of snow packing again. Something was moving towards me. I stood in the shadows, in the snow, however, there were very few. I watched as the shadow moved down the path and it looked up at me as it moved. A faint chime rang as it shifted down once more. A large woolly beast with wide set horns. A cow.

Just a cow. I felt my chest rattle with a sigh of relief. I watched it pick lichen off a bit of stone wall. I looked at my boots and felt the cold that was seeping into them. I stepped out of the snow and moved towards the roofed larder I’d found earlier.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:41 No. 1117427 ID: 0172d1
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Snow continued to fall sporadically throughout the day, dancing across the wind. It found its way into my workspace falling onto my cold fingers as I worked. Digging through the ruins I was able to find ink, and I used a large splinter of wood to trace the lines onto my hands and arms. I made myself into a channeling circle through which the magic could pass. I sat in meditation with my work, with the bones that I was attempting to breathe life back into. I’d felt nothing like this when I brought the skeleton of the rat back into being.

The rat, though, was a creature. This had been a person. Would the spell be different somehow, would it be more challenging because there was more bone. I couldn’t know for sure. The spell in my head did not have steps or suggestions for rune placement or strong casting stances. It had no measurements or treaties on the art of spell craft or casting. It was just a thing that rested inside me. It was a whispering that spilled out of me when I examined the bones. When I saw death, it was there. I took a slow breath and began my work.

Standing, I touched the spell runes on my arms, tracing the lines as I had when they were charcoal marks on the wood floor of the Cornerclub. I could feel the magic flowing through my skin. It was happening again, the pull. It felt like I was pouring water out of my soul. My lips moved in familiar patterns, to me it was non-sense, but it felt right at least. Without really realizing it I’d formed this ball of energy within my hands. It produced light, gleaming blue energy that rushed between my fingers illuminating the larder. What now.

I looked over the skeleton holding the ball of light tightly between both hands. I rolled the energy from my fingers and let it splash across the skeleton. I could feel it, like the thunk of something falling on the floor above you. A sound you know, that wasn’t just a random noise, it was the sound of the broom handle sliding across the wall and hitting the floor. I felt it like that, a pang. The rat skeleton was like this too, but not so tactile.

This thing, it could hear me. I could hear it. As magic, my magic, pulled it together, lifting it from the coarse blanket and forming into a final shape I felt it begin to grow aware, grow conscious within my grasp. It wasn’t like a sound above me; it was like a sound within me. It was within me, and I was within it. This stranger, no. It was no stranger. It, like the rat skeleton before, was mine: baptized as new life under my hands.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:41 No. 1117428 ID: 0172d1
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EYOOOO, Look at that. Now we're casting with gas.

I'm sure Mr. Abstinence would be proud. Aheh, yeah probably not. Anyway, oh right. I was here to mention Daren's story will open up wider in the future as we continue to dream about it.

Think the void of Is-Not. The Tyranny of the Sun and the twisting plots of Lazy Lords of Oblivion.

Just ideas I'm excited about, doggydog. Hope we're having fun so far.

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:42 No. 1117429 ID: 0172d1
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The skeleton turned, getting its footing in the snow, and it stood up straight. Its broken bones didn’t seem to worry it much, then again neither did its lack of tendons. I examined it closely, but it was unperturbed by the closeness of my proximity. I could feel it, something rested within the bones. “Speak,” I whispered. “Tell me what sticks with you after death.”

“I was once a great warrior,” it spoke in a hissing tone. “I was not allowed a warriors death, nor a family to mourn me.”

I stared at the skeleton, unsure what to say. What was happening? I had no grounding in this magic. Was this normal or unusual, should I be wary or trust it?

“What are you?” I asked.

“Falk,” it spoke again. “I was once called Falk Wolf-Eyed. I was not a famed warrior, but I was friend to many a wiseman within the college. This is the fate I was warned of, to be toyed with endlessly by witchings.”

I had no intention of toying with this thing, Falk. Though, I could clearly demand it to do things. “Would your name help me gain entrance to the college?”

The skeleton was quiet for a time. It shifted its stance, looking around with its glowing eye sockets. Its form began to grow inky and purple, magical smoke wafted from it and a voice came to my mind. “You would use the souls of the dead to scrape your way to the top?”

“I wasn’t,” I stammered. “I don’t fear your judgment!”

“It was not judgment, ” Falk spoke again. “But a simple question. You will need to be cunning. ”

“But I am cunning!” I said too quickly.

“Alright, ” Falk spoke softer. Though his bones did not move to simulate the action of talking or even a reassuring gesture, he seemed to be soothing. “Then you must use me. You must be prepared to make powerful pacts and trade things in pursuit of greater power. ”

“Speak plainly,” I ordered, looking at the grand stonework of the College looming over the ruins of the Collapse. “What things would I trade?”

“Power comes at a cost novitiate, ” the voice said. “It must. ”

“Explain yourself,” I demanded louder. It did not speak again.

It stood silent. Staring at me with its glowing eyes. Whatever purple smoke that had surround it before dissipated.

“Falk,” I said. “Give me the name of your friends at the college.”

“Girduin,” It spoke in a raspier voice. “Seek him. My name may still resonate for him.”

Kacey Pink 2025/11/21(Fri)16:42 No. 1117430 ID: 0172d1
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Falk’s bones didn’t seem to winnow, like the bones of the rat I summoned. I couldn’t know for sure, but I could feel it still moving throw the tavern killing living rats for me. His energy seemed unending. I, however, was not so unending. Standing out in the abandoned street, the sun shining down on my through the clouds felt refreshing. My clothes were damp with cooling sweat and my mind was hazy. I could feel my soul beginning to refill, was this magicka.

Falk didn’t speak to me, but he stayed beside me. I got the impression he was waiting for an order of some kind. So I charged him with standing among some of the graves, if he was seen he would be struck down for sure. He held no weapon and I told him not to fight if someone came upon him. He seemed pleased with a task to perform, but maybe I was seeing something that wasn’t there. I needed some rest.

I had something to show at the college now, and it came to me so fast, but what should I write in my letter to this stranger. Would Faralda be receptive? It seemed like everyone thought she was very nice. Did she know Girduin? Would she like to hear about my powers first or should I leave it vague. I could try my best to use my speech skill, or I could just be blunt.

If I wrote my letter now, I still had some time to do more studying or maybe earn some gold or a free nights stay. Or I could wait all together, try and study more before I write this letter? This feeling of tiredness. Understanding it and my magicka would probably help.

You should write the letter now. Emphasize that you want to avoid becoming a danger, which uneducated experimentation may lead to. After all, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Saying that you are doing necromancy seems safe enough. As Nelacar said, no magic is taboo in the college. being straightforward no should help your case.

The other time might best be spent on further study of the flame. If nothing else, it could get you into the supposedly lucrative charcoal business.

>>1117430
You have your spell at last, and a bit of information you could use as proof that you have spoken with the dead. Seems like you're mostly ready... but don't write the letter yet. The groundskeeper will be back the day after tomorrow, so the letter will be useless tomorrow and will even be a risk for you, because you'll have to make sure nobody else sees what you wrote. You can write it tomorrow night.

Try to earn a bit of money with the time you have left today.

Kacey Pink 2025/12/01(Mon)21:45 No. 1118258 ID: 0172d1
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I went to bed once more, satisfied with my work and tired in ways that felt becoming of my new life. I cracked my flames tome open as I ate alone in my bedroom, looking over Nelacar’s notes once more. Something about the work seemed to make more sense now, there was more in common with the raise dead spell than I first thought. Something was missing from the lines and the runes, there was a lack of resonance. That’s the easiest way to describe it. It didn’t glow the same.

It struck me what Nelacar said about The Sun path. Magic that was dangerous, that was important to the application. I thought about that as I closed my book and packed away my little dishes. In bed, I scribbled out a few notes into one of the blank pages at the back of my flames tome. A short list of things I’d need to stress in my letter, but I was careful to keep it vague. My innate magic was dangerous. If not to me, because it was illegal, than dangerous because I could lose control of it somehow. I needed guidance on how to use it, someone who knew what I was doing before my drive pushed me too far. The ability to summon and speak to the.... Surely, I had a unique ability worthy of further study and nurturing.

In the morning, I decided to try and kill two birds with one stone. I’d need money regardless of what happened after my letter was delivered, and if I could help the charcoal burner he’d likely pay me. I could work on casting the flames spell while I did it. I practiced inking the lines of the spell over my notes from the night before, thinking on how they should be reimposed upon my hand and arm. I inked them carefully to my skin and returned to the missive board. There were no directions on the posting, a guard standing before the Jarl’s Longhouse watched me examining the missive. “Lod?” he asked.

“Do you know where he lives?” I asked in return.

“He’s up the little trail behind the village, on the other side of the mountains. A little walk,” The guard said. He crossed his arms, looking at me. “If he gets testy, you remind him why he lives out there.”

I looked the guard over, nodding slowly. A hermit, an outsider, maybe someone good to know.

Kacey Pink 2025/12/01(Mon)21:45 No. 1118259 ID: 0172d1
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I followed the path the guard had mentioned making my way up and over to find his tiny hut. Turning my gaze upwards, I could see a vast statue of Azura I had failed to notice on my ride into town or while in town. The sound of chopping wood echoed up the path. Two fires burned behind the man working. They were heaped in hay and putting out thick clouds of smoke and steam. “Hello!” Lod called. “Come to help out an old man?”

“Yes,” I called back, approaching closer. “What exactly are you looking for help with?”

“Nothing too complex,” Lod chuckled. “I’m always getting behind on my orders. At least, everyone expects it. No one’s getting mad at old Lod.”

“That’s not what one of the guards mentioned,” I said.

“Who’s that?” Lod grumbled. “Oh, never trust the guard, son.”

“They were wrong?” I asked.

“It’s my business which god I worship,” he said. “I wouldn’t judge you for your worship.”

I watched him move some wood around in his piles. “Fine, fine,” I said. “How much are you willing to pay for my help?”

“I’ll give you 50 gold if you can help me get these orders filled,” Lod said, stretching his back.

“Sounds like a deal,” I said, holding out my hand, taking his axe. “Can I practice some magic while I work?”

“Will it help?” Lod asked, walking towards his hut.

“Hopefully,” I said, putting the axe over my shoulder.

“Why not,” Lod murmured. “Should have taken you for a spoiled academic type.”

“Why’s that?” I murmured.

“You’re dressed like a courtly, Breton fop, son.”

Kacey Pink 2025/12/01(Mon)21:45 No. 1118260 ID: 0172d1
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The work was about on par with what I was used to at the Cornerclub, there was just a lot of it. Chopping lumber and learning that there were two stocks of wood to pay attention to, was different. There was one kind of “junk” wood meant to burn and turn the other “good” wood into charcoal. Damp heaps of hay and thawed soil mixed together was used to create a kind of barrier to bake the wood into charcoal.

I focused my time, after chopping all the wood, on casting the flames spell to speed up the burning. I double checked the markings from my tome, and there were a few smudges I needed to adjust. I’d worked up a sweat, but there was still a cool pool of energy within me, and I was ready to test myself with this new spell.

My magicka ran with the symbols, not the ink, and it seemed to feed itself as much as I fed it. It was a wilder bit of magic. It took off as soon as I opened my mind to the spell. When I focused on the runes on my hand and arm, they began to glow. I tried to control the flow of magicka, like a stream from a water skin, but it wasn’t anything like water. It fell out of me like a torrent, and it was hot. It burned my hands and cascaded out across the hay in a great gout. I felt it trickle back, like fire seeking the bottom of an oil wick. It burned me good, but I pushed back against it. If I pushed all of my magicka out, the fire could burn down fast enough. Eventually though, I learned to keep the fire forwards. To not let it control me, but to force it into a ball with my energy.

I could feel it wobble back out of control when I slacked in my focus. I wiped sweat from my brow and it singed me and burned the bottom of my sleeve to soot instantly. I found that I didn’t have to focus on turning the magicka to flames. It was burning as soon as it reached the surface of my skin. I had to focus to keep the fire from forming inside my own skin after that. That’s how it happened, how my father blew himself up. I knew it. I was lucky, lucky I had such little reserves of magicka. When my well ran dry, the spell sputtered out with a clean pale smoke. The ink had sweated or burned away, but the symbols still illuminated my pallid blue skin. I let go of my focus on the runes, and they faded away.

Lod watched me from his deck, drinking from an old tankard. There was a gleam to his eyes when I started to cast. There was curiosity, or maybe, it was hunger. Did he know anything about clevermen or wisemen? He watched me in silence as I shifted the burning wood with his big metal shovel. When I looked up again, he handed me a big tankard of spicy snowberry tea. A warm twist of steam drifted into my nose as I took a sip.

“The snowberries are sweet and taste nice. The plant’s roots can help you recover your magic over time,” Lod said, “but only so much. There are stronger ingredients and potions.”

I coughed, feeling the spice hit the back of my throat. “And the spice?”

“When mixed correctly with other neutralizing salts and spices, Fire Salts can help dry out and empower the effects of Snowberry roots,” Lod explained.

“You’re an alchemist?” I asked, looking him over.

“No, no,” Lod laughed. “I just know a few bits of Wortcraft. The Woodland Man has taught me much of the land and its history.”

“The Woodland Man?” I asked in confusion.

“The wise whispers of the grove. The wind under the owl’s wings,” Lod explained. “Herma Mora. You might know him as The Golden Eye.”

“The daedric prince?” I gasped. “I don’t know him.”

“I’ve helped him and he’s helped me,” Lod murmured.

Taking a few more sips from my tea, I could already feel my Magicka flowing back. Like a cool wind softening the tired edges of my mind. I’d never cast a spell twice in a row, I could do it. I could try.

Kacey Pink 2025/12/01(Mon)21:46 No. 1118261 ID: 0172d1
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I raised my arm to cast again without thinking. I was tired, but I still had the symbols in my mind. When I focused on them, the smeared ink and gaps in the marks glowed as if they were still fully drawn out. I wasn’t casting without runes. I could create them with my own magicka. The tome mentioned that this was something I should practice, a basic element of all spellcraft that came from the alteration school. Rune summoning, or channeling magicka into glowing patterns, would help me to memorize the spell’s inner arithmetic, but I had no idea I could do it at all. It reminded me of my visions of my spell. The flames spell flowed through me again, but this time I knew better how to control the flow.

A steady unbroken stream of flames spread across the lumber burning it down to charcoal. Keeping it going wasn’t hard now, at least when I didn’t worry too hard about it. I practiced pulling the flow of magicka shut. The flames sputtered to a stop, and the magicka warmed in my arm. It burned. It felt like a hot steam rolled under my muscles and threatened to bubble my flesh off in clear running boils. It raced through me. Along streams inside my hands, into rivers under my veins, and then into lakes within my torso. The pain finally ceased. My whole arm, up to my shoulder blade, was covered in aching pins and needles.

I struggled to catch my breath, clenching the aching inside my hands. That was where it hurt the most, not just from the burns. There was no way I could call upon this suddenly or while in danger, but I controlled it. For at least a few minutes, I had complete control over fire. Lod watched me for a time, and then he clicked his tankard to mine. I had held it this whole time and simply forgot it existed. I took another deep swig of my tea and stared at the burning piles.

This new spell was at my command, mostly. I’d far from mastered it, but I could call upon it. And the work had come to me so naturally, at least now that I had experience with magicka and had those helpful notes from Nelacar. There were so many things I thought of studying now, of practicing. I felt like I could do almost anything.

I could try practicing rune summoning with my magicka. I didn’t understand how it worked at all yet, but I could experiment with what I already knew.

I needed more practice with my two new spells in general. It didn’t seem like I could control my magicka with my spell, not in the same way as the flames spell. There was a lot more practice I could probably find with both spells.

Lod counted out my gold, smiling. He seemed kind, at least in the short time I’d known him. He must know more, and being alone out here, maybe he’s eager to share more wisdom. Ancestors knew I needed it.

The day was practically over, and I was as tired as I’d ever been. I still had a whole other day before I needed to have a letter ready for the groundskeeper.

Kacey Pink 2025/12/01(Mon)21:46 No. 1118262 ID: 0172d1
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Kill him. The old man. Kill him and deny Mora his play things.
It would please me to see that prying eye gouged away.
If he was given wisdom from that sloppy, bile page it can be extracted with your spellcraft.
If you listen now, weakling, you might earn my favor.

>>1118262
I feel like we're more likely to seek Namira's favor. Sorry Bal. Also it's a bit early for us to start murdering. Although... it *would* open up the possibility of joining the Dark Brotherhood... No, still too early. We need to at least master the basic fire spell first.

Plus if we extracted knowledge as suggested, we'd have a zombie standing around like that skeleton from before. We'd either leave it standing and risk someone finding it and knowing for certain that a *murderous* necromancer is nearby, or destroy it ourselves.


Write a first draft of that letter tonight. You'll be able to keep it close to your chest, and tomorrow you can polish it up to get it ready for delivery.

There must be some less conspicuous bones around to practice on. Mice or small birds. And while you look for those you can organize the letter in your head.