waywardbattlemage – vvardenfellcat

School is not for Horsing Around- TAKE 2 Icarus/Jhasi

Icarus shuffled his way down to the Hall of Elements. He curled his lips inward as he felt most of the attending students glaring at him– probably due to the incidents from last night, Ancano included– Fuck, that godsdamned mer was there already. Somewhat thankfully, he had seemed rather occupied by the… They were calling it The Eye now, weren’t they? Didn’t matter, it kept Ancano off his arse, thats all he needed.

The justiciar recomposed himself as he gave the students a smug scoff. He looked around– he didn’t see the cat around thankfully, maybe today would be a good day.

He crooked his brow his brow when it wasn’t Faralda approaching the class, but another mer he had seen around the college as of late. He wasn’t sure what to make of him, his first guess by his appearance was a Bosmer, but that mer was far too tall for a Wood Elf, and blue-eyed Altmer were too rare of a sight to see around Skyrim, plus the lack of an Altmeri accent.

“Greetings class. Faralda has-has c-come down with the- uh- the uh– th-th-the flu. I’d ad-ad-advise t-to stay clear if-if you uh– you see her and lets all re–uh-remember th-that I am not a ch-ch-charity healer if you uh– get sick, I have bills t-t-to pay too.” The mer centered himself between all of the students, “Th-th-this is the uh– the uh– destr–uh-… destruction class, yes? Is thi- Is this everyone?”

Icarus rolled his eyes. It’d be sunset before this instructor finishes the godsdamned role call.

After last night’s shift, the resulting lack of sleep, the splitting headache from the morning after, and the stress of knowing he’d been spotted in his ‘wolf form by the Thalmor whelp wasn’t really dulled all that much by his hastily-drunk mead, and in fact, only seemed to worsen things, especially light… Light was…not comfortable at all… It wasn’t helping his churning stomach, either… The Khajiit just wanted to sleep and get something in his stomach to calm it down, but he had class this morning, and he was cutting it awful close already. He wasn’t looking forward towards a reprimand from Faralda on top of it all. It was bad enough that he had to deal with the whelp in class.

J’hasi managed to slip into the classroom in the nick of time, but unfortunately seeing who was in the room made the morning ten times worse than it already was. The two Thalmor he never wanted to see again and…by the Hist that was…

Oh no…

The Khajiit could just feel his insides cringing at the sight of that mer he’d met at the inn, the one that had patched him up. Granted he’d probably saved his life, but…Hist, couldn’t’ve he been just a little bit gentler about it? And the tail end of his introduction made his stomach feel even worse…he was going to be teaching them in the class he most often got hurt in… Maybe…maybe he could still sneak out…?

Unfortunately Ancano’s eyes had caught sight of him, and the Khajiit’s muzzle wrinkled in the barest hint of a scowl. He wasn’t going to let that bastard think he was leaving because of him. He wasn’t afraid of that snooty, crooked-nose pompous fuck. J’hasi quietly made his way towards the other students, slipping in next to Brelyna, getting a brief, mildly-surprised glance from her before she returned her attention to the new mer up front.

Not a Free Healer- Alabyn/Jhasi

forgottenchampions:

The mer stared the khajiit deadpan in the face as the profanities were hurled at him. That was fine- two could play that game. <”Hold still and th-this wouldn’t be a p-p-problem.”> He responded rather curtly in surprisingly fluent Dunmeris. He exhaled, blonde strands of hair flew out of his face, before going back to the artery. He was nearly finished patching up the tissue before the khajiit jerked forward, undoing most of his work.

<“D-dammit, hold st-still y-y-you’re reopeni–”> Alabyn gritted his teeth, having enough difficulty patching up the small but potentially lethal cut in his shoulder. He stretched his lips thin and his eyes rolled as the khajiit spat out another set of obscenities. Seeing he was going to get nowhere with his… ‘patient,’ the mer clutched his shoulder to the chair– enough was enough. His cold blue eyes shot daggers at the khajiit.

<“Alright you.”> The mer raised his voice. <”For th-the record you have an-an open arter-uh-… artery. You c-c-can either bleed out or y-uh-.. you can hold still and– an-an-and let me do my godsd-damned job.”>

J’hasi’s face twisted into a snarl, a bit of panic rising when he was pinned in place, but flicking his ears back at the mer’s reprimand. He was going to throw up, he just knew it, everything was just… And he was getting cold… Where was…? The Khajiit’s teeth chattered in pain and shock before he hissed quietly.

“<Wh-who th’fuck are you?>” he snapped, shuddering as another wave of nausea washed over him, gagging a little but keeping the contents of his stomach down for now. He was wavering between pain and awareness versus weakness and unconsciousness and he wasn’t appreciating it with a stranger holding him down with their fingers buried two knuckles deep into his shoulder. J’hasi squeezed his eyes shut, teeth bared in a silent hiss. He wasn’t too keen on dying just yet, he still had a cure to find, but by the Hist this fetcher was not gentle in the least.

Not a Free Healer- Alabyn/Jhasi

forgottenchampions:

Alabyn huffed from his nostrils, brows furrowed. These were clean…?

“He’s not uh-… He’s not going to be a happy k-khajiit, but, but- b-… but he’ll pull through.”

He exhaled, the strong copper smell of that much blood was always a tad offensive to his nostrils. “N’chow…” He grumbled, pressing one of the rags firmly onto the puncture until he was ready to delve in for healing. “Alright. Going in on th-three… two…”

The mer shoved two fingers into the puncture wound, feeling for the pressure of flowing blood. <“Easy… Easy…”> The mer uttered in Dunmeris as he anticipated the Khajiit to start jerking around– for the past 200 or so years, it was nothing new for him to deal with patients like that, so it was generally the first thing to anticipate from them.

Always expect the worse and you’ll never be disappointed, yeah?

The Khajiit yowled at the sudden spike in pain, trying to squirm away from it, but unable to make much progress in his weakened state. His tongue, however, wasn’t nearly as hindered, yelping out a few choice curse words before he tried to grab for the offending arm to pull it away. J’hasi whimpered, ears flicking back as his teeth grit tight at the pain, eyes barely opening to see someone, blurry and way closer than expected. He bared his fangs in a hiss at the attempt at reassurance.

“<Hurts!>” he snapped, trying to pull at the mer’s arm again, but not having any more success than the first attempt. The most he managed to do was to make himself pass out from pain again for a moment, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head before the next stabbing sensation brought him back to the surface, hissing out something exceptionally vulgar that the bystander Nords thankfully couldn’t understand.

Dagur looked uncertain, unsure if he should help or…maybe just leave the healer to his work.

Not a Free Healer- Alabyn/Jhasi

forgottenchampions:

He wasn’t entirely sure when the Nords decided to give a skeevers arse about anyone except their own, but the barkeep was right. From the size of that injury the khajiit would’ve probably been alright had he had it looked at immediately, but judging how small the ice shard was compared to the hole in his shoulder and how bloodied his robes were, he’d been fucking around for at least half an hour or so.
The mer exhaled with deep agitation- couldn’t ever get a break the second people figured out he was a mage. In this damned province, it was a 50/50 between getting heckled for being one of those ‘damned mages,’ or people being under the delusion that one would work for them for no charge.
“I’ll see wh- uh– I’ll see what I can d-do. For a price.” Alabyn cracked his knuckles. He propped the unconscious khajiit onto one of the chairs, pressing around the impact; didn’t seem to have severed any arteries slowly prying away at the shard when it wasn’t slipping out of his hands.

“Ah–” The mer startled when blood began to gush the moment he had loosened the shard. Okay, there was definitely artery damage here. He grimaced, any lacerations to the axillary artery were generally difficult to heal. The shard must’ve been lodged in enough where it could keep a decent amount of pressure on the artery, generally something hard to do for the axillary. “Sorry k-khajiit, you’re not g- you’re not going to like me here in uh– in a minute.” He was going to have to dig into his shoulder and directly heal it from there. He looked at the barkeep, mouth stretched, “If you’ve g-got any fresh cloth around, I’m going t- I’m going to need it here in a m-moment.”

Dagur nodded, looking a little concerned at all the blood that was spreading through the Khajiit’s robes, idly wondering how long it would take to drip on the floor as he turned to grab some unused rags from the bar.

J’hasi barely came out of that haze of pain and darkness he was stuck in before he heard someone speaking Cyrodilic, eyes barely cracking open to see more red, blood gushing from his shoulder, burning warm now, the ice…the ice was gone? Where…? He tried to look up, but his head felt so wobbly and light, like he was going to float away… All his nose could tell him was that there was blood everywhere, and there was fire. He could hear it crackling over his ragged panting, shallow and light.

“<Where…?>” he mumbled, his Dunmeris slurred, but it was the best he could manage right now.

“Here, this is what we have that’s clean.” The Nord handed over a small pile of worn-out bar rags, clean and dry at least, looking down at the Khajiit, whose head slumped forward, unconscious again.

“Is…is he going t’be all right?”

Not a Free Healer- Alabyn/Jhasi

forgottenchampions:

… I’m sorry, could you describe the smell?“
“Like some horrible monster was turned inside out, and then exploded. What did you do?”
“It was a minor miscalculation. I’ve already corrected it for future experiments.”
“This– This is why people have a problem with your college, Nelacar.”

Alabyn peeked from behind his copy of “Response to Bero’s Speech” to take a look at the old Altmer wizard. Now that this Nelacar has a face and a name, he had better hope he doesn’t find out which room he resides in.

The Battlemage crumpled his nose; that aroma smelled so good he was convinced he hadn’t a single nose hair left un-singed in the wee hours of the morning. He technically was not to join the college until tomorrow, but with all this bullshit going about, he was considering just packing and heading straight over.

He sighed when the door to the inn was opened, flurries of snow blew into the warmth of the small building.
‘Ah yes, lets um, lets let in all the c-cold air why don’t we? I was st- starting to think it was get- getting a little hot in here.’

His eyes didn’t leave Bero’s Speech until he was startled by a loud thud at his feet. The mer glanced down, observing a black khajiit crumpled on the floor with a icebolt lodged into one of his shoulders. College Robes, but then again its not like one would be seeing Khajiit out in this area for the breathtaking scenes.

He inhaled deeply from his nose, its as if the Archmage knew he was coming and decided to send some of the students over right away. He shook his head, returning back to his book.

“You should- ah– you should probably consider g-getting that removed. Not uh- Not g-good for your health.”

J’hasi’s ear twitched at the sound of someone talking, but…it was getting hard to focus… His head was all jumbled up and slow to process what was said, and trying to push himself back up was met with only a wobbly attempt before he slid back down to the stone with a hiss of pain. The Khajiit squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember words as he heard someone approach, catching the scent and that was the barkeep, wasn’t it? Alcedonia? No, wait…

“By the gods… Nelacar, can you-?”

“I’m afraid my talents lie elsewhere. Perhaps someone at the College could help.” And with that, the Altmer slipped back into his room, leaving the Nord to sigh with annoyance and drag the Khajiit to his feet. J’hasi groaned, disliking how the movement was making the entire room spin, as well as making his stomach lurch ominously. The Nord looked at the other mer in the room.

“Please, sir. D’you know any healing arts?” J’hasi shivered, he was fucking freezing and he was done with this touching thing, hissing out a curse in Jel before trying to pull away from the barkeep with little success.

“<M…m’fine… Fine…>” he mumbled, trying to get away from the firm grip on his arms. By the Hist, was all that red from him? The Khajiit took a step away from the barkeep, only to black out again and fall flat onto the floor once more, writhing silently at the stab of pain of his shoulder being aggravated by the remnants of the ice from that fucking…draugr…

Dagur tried to gather up the Khajiit again, this time with more success due to his apparent unconsciousness.

“Please, sir. This…this looks bad, and I don’t think I could get him across to the College in time, I don’t know where their healers are, if any. I’m sure he’d pay you once he wakes up, he’s paid his tab in full before.”

kagrenacs:

I like to think the detect life spell is often used by healers to see how fast a person is fading or if there’s any life still left in them. If a person is healthy their glow is intense, if they’re hanging on by a thread the glow is dim.

It’s also used for checking areas where a large mass of people died in order to see if anyone’s unconscious but still alive, or areas that aren’t easily accessible/dangerous so nobody else has to die.

chamerionwrites:

jottingprosaist:

chamerionwrites:

bigwinged:

chamerionwrites:

Does anyone else occasionally find magical healing a really, deeply irritating detail to account for, when writing in settings that have it?

I mean, don’t get me wrong. At the end of the day trying to make sure that physical injuries have stakes usually leads to fun worldbuilding about what magic is and isn’t capable of doing, and how many people possess the specialized knowledge and/or expertise to fix really serious injuries, and what non-magical medicine looks like in a world where it’s developed alongside other forms of medicine, and the psychological effects of magical healing, and the like. But sometimes I’m feeling lazy and I just want to be able to hurt my characters without immediately having to explain to the reader why they should care, damn it.

I never assumed that magic healing could do everything perfectly, so I write accordingly (and read accordingly; I leave it to the writer to illustrate what magic can or can’t do in their setting, if it’s important). For example, it could close a wound if you don’t have sutures, but you’ll still need a potion to keep infection from growing. Magic probably won’t make the healing painless. A couple of casual lines of dialogue could even set up something like that. “Where did you get all those scars on your arms?” “Well, my Granny’s cat was a mean one. And Granny was a half-decent healer but she never bothered making it pretty.”

When it’s video game fic I just have to separate gaming mechanics from what a fight and injuries and healing would really be like. I’m not going to write about someone downing a potion (or a cheese wheel?) to heal a wound in the middle of battle, any more than I’m going to write about how much HP someone has left.

And definitely, not everyone knows how to use healing magic. There are probably lots of magic-gifted people with little formal training, who can soothe a sunburn or heal blistered feet so you can go back out and work in the field again tomorrow. Slightly rarer would be the experienced hedgewitch who can set a broken bone and start it healing so that it won’t have to be immobilized as long, or who can stop bleeding and fix up torn flesh after childbirth. Then you’ve got your really super focused, formally-trained types who can pull off medical miracles on the battlefield, but they’re already few and far between because of the amount of training that takes, and, well, they often die on the battlefield themselves.

Like any field of study, if you’ve really dedicated yourself to it, you’ll be good at it but maybe at the expense of other fields. My Dragonborn is a mage but he’s the equivalent of a physicist in a really narrow specialized field. His specialty is destruction magic, specifically fire. His healing skills are on a basic first aid level. The peril in his story comes from the fact that none of his traveling companions are healers. If someone gets hurt in the field they have to take care of it the hard way until they can find one.

Absolutely – I never assume magic can do everything perfectly either. It’s no fun that way. Occasionally I just gripe about the process of determining what precisely it CAN do.

My standby is that healing magical accelerates the body’s own cell growth/repair processes, and that’s it. So, as you say: it can close a wound, but it doesn’t prevent infection, and if you lose enough blood beforehand that you’d need a transfusion you’re probably shit out o’luck. It can heal (or at least start to heal) a broken bone – but if you don’t want to do more harm than good you’d better make damn sure the bone is set right first. (Assuming it’s a pretty basic fracture, most people with a little first aid knowledge can probably reduce it, though. That part takes a strong stomach, and potentially brute strength depending on what bone we’re talking, more than specialized medical expertise.) I also tend to assume that it takes formal training to learn…magical triage, for lack of a better word, and that this is what makes serious injuries more difficult to heal: if somebody tumbles down a flight of stone steps and ends up with a split lip, a bunch of bruises, and a broken arm, it takes an experienced healer to direct their magic to the broken bone rather than burning it all out on the less pressing injuries.

The interesting questions are always about whether there’s a time limit and what it is (is magical healing less effective/more difficult if it doesn’t take place immediately, or can you get to a healer two days after the injury?), if some types of tissue are harder to repair than others (maybe nerve growth is really tricky, as in real life), all the ways magical healing can go wrong, and how exactly you quantify the upper limit for damage that can be fixed in one sitting/by one person (who presumably doesn’t have an unlimited well of magic upon which to draw). Like I said, it all leads to fun worldbuilding eventually, but sometimes it feels I get drawn down a rabbit hole anytime I write about injuries in a magical setting, and there are moments when I’d rather just keep the flow of words going than sit down and think through all those details.

Like I said: griping. :)

Oh man, all of this is catnip to my brain. I find it enjoyable rather than irritating. I’ve had a lot of these thoughts myself re: Skyrim fic, to the point where I’ve been tempted to write an outline for the curriculum of Restoration at the College.

I also subscribe to the “healing accelerates natural processes” model. And that triage, learning how to prioritize where one’s magic goes– yesss.

Bleeding out is a serious problem for less skilled healers, and even for educated ones who don’t specialize in trauma. Learning how to push the body’s bones into producing more blood very quickly is a skill that only specialized battlefield medics learn, and even then it’s necessary to get litres of water into the patient quickly so they don’t die of dehydration, plus the patient will be weak and hungry.

Actually, patients will be weak and hungry after any healing that involves tissue regeneration. Growing new cells takes energy, yo.

Speed is a factor in how well a wound gets closed. A quickly closed wound on the battlefield is still almost guaranteed to scar, unless the healer is bonkers experienced and has magicka to spare, because they’re just letting the patient’s body throw out collagen like nuts. Atrophic scars are particularly common from war wounds, because not all the underlying tissue is fully regrown. But if the healer works slowly and patiently, they can encourage the collagen to grow properly and close a wound without a trace.

Gut wounds are still hell to heal, and usually lethal. Infection is almost definite with a punctured bowel. Even if the healer assumes the the infection will be survivable, they’ve still got to get in there with their hands and reconnect all the severed intestines in the right order to prevent everything from healing in a mass willy nilly. If you’re being triaged with a gut wound, you’re probably shit out of luck.

Also, healing magic doesn’t undo natural healing that has already taken place. If a wound is half healed or a bone has had time to begin setting, a spell won’t remove the messy scab or badly-set new bone. Any scar tissue already formed is there for good (unless you remove it manually via chirurgery, a technique virtually unknown outside of universities in the Summerset Isles and Morrowind-that-was).

Oh, and also? Healing one’s own body is easier and more intuitive than healing someone else’s. When healing yourself, the magicka comes from within your own body and takes the… natural “flow” of your body’s energies, so it’s easier to direct magicka to the worst wound, and to heal cleanly. (Hence how “Healing” is so basic that every player character in Skyrim starts off already knowing it.) But if you’re trying to heal somebody else, your magicka won’t naturally flow through their body in the right paths; the healer has to know enough anatomy to know which severed muscles/tendons should be reconnected where, how to spot an artery in torn flesh and seal that first, and where to slow down and carefully heal a vein so it’s not occluded by scar tissue. Nerves are especially tricky to memorize, so yeah, they sometimes don’t get healed properly. Unless the healer has specialized training in eye injuries, they’ll probably leave scar tissue in the lens– hence that milky-eyed blindness. And bones are an exception: they always need to be set, even if they’re your own.

Shit that goes wrong for untrained healers:

– Patient passes out if they’re not given water/food

– Nerves not properly regrown; patient has areas of sensation loss

– Trying to heal an already healed wound (i.e. a scar) causes the body to form hypertrophic scars or even keloids

– Scar tissue forms in horrible places (prevents skin stretching, grows muscles together or causes adhesion in general, occludes veins/arteries)

–“I used to be an adventurer like you, but then I took an arrow in the knee”– and the healer who fixed it didn’t do a good enough job keeping all the delicate and complicated parts of the joint separate, failed to reconnect all the tendons, or put too much scar tissue in there for me to be able to bend the joint

– Attempting to repeatedly (over years) heal someone using very low-level, undirected spells can cause cancer. Because if you’re constantly telling every cell in the body “grow, just grow”… well, it does.

– And guess what– cancer is a growth, so it can’t be removed with magic. When an experienced healer spots cancer in an adventurer’s body, they get told it’s time to retire. No more chugging healing potions for you.

…All this and I haven’t even talked about how various people perceive healing in-world?!

#I’m sorry this ran away with me #I just have feelings #I should stop

NO, NO YOU SHOULD NOT

((€, because why would I ask for happy thoughts when I can watch the little bastard get tormented?))

€ for a bad memory that still haunts them

J’hasi waited anxiously, swallowing when the scent of the Dunmer started making his mouth itch and drool. Her brow cocked, regarding him coolly.

“<…My lord Molag Bal may be able to cure you of your affliction, but I am not privy to my lord’s whims. Speak with the great Molag Bal yourself, blood fiend.>” The Khajiit grimaced, reminded again just how dry his throat felt, and the tempting smell of blood on his spearhead, similar to the scent coming off of the Dunmer who continued to give him a level stare. J’hasi frowned, looking up at the massive statue behind them, an almost-reptilian form with hands gesturing at the dim and warmth of the cavern it was housed in. His ears flicked back a little.

“<Um… How do I know if…? …do I just…?>” he looked at the Dunmer, gesturing vaguely to the carved rock. Their brows furrowed.

“<Speak. If he deems you worth his time, he will answer.>” The Khajiit nodded, swallowing again and grimacing at the dry pull in his throat.

“<Uh…Molag Bal?>” Only silence for a few moments, then…

“<Hello?>” His tail tip twitched, then suddenly the sensation of something slick coiled in his throat, his mouth, making him feel like he was choking. He coughed, then gagged, eyes wide with shock as he stepped back and fell down on a knee, clutching his throat. His eyes widened even more when he felt his mouth and lips move of their own accord, and an unearthly voice growled its way out of his throat.

“<So, you do not enjoy the blood hunger, little leech?>” The Khajiit only had time to suck in a short breath before he gagged again, a quiet whimper coming out of his throat as his ears flicked back, feeling like he was on the brink of suffocating. The sensation of an overbearing presence loomed over him, cowing him to the ground, very much afraid. The next words felt as if they were hissed into his ear.

“<Do you miss the warmth of the sun?>” J’hasi shivered, cringing at what felt like a hand grasping his shoulder, something that could’ve felt comforting in every situation other than this one. He whimpered again, squeezing his eyes shut as they started to tear up at more foreign and unwanted touches over his body.

“<I can obtain the cure for you…but you will help me first.>” J’hasi’s ears pricked a little, still trembling, still barely able to breathe through the mass in his mouth and throat.

“<You will find my daughter, Molag Grunda, in the dungeon Dubdilla below Mt. Assarnibibi. There she hides with her consort, the lowly atronach Nomeg Gwai. She believes hiding in a sorcerer’s cave will shield her from my eyes.>” A dark chuckle reverberated in his ear, his bones, the Khajiit shivering in response.

“<Foolish girl…>” The voice shifted in tone, but not for the better.

“<I ordered her not to associate with these animals. I told her what the penalty would be for her defiance! Yet she continues to defy me! Willful beast!>” The anger made J’hasi’s head hurt, whimpering again as he feared a blow from the Daedric Prince that held him captive, pinning him in place. The anger was still there, but calmed for the moment, dark satisfaction overshadowing it.

“<I cannot have this. Find her, mortal. Kill her and the atronach, so I may deal with them in the Outer Realms. When this is done, return to me, and I will rid you of your unlife. Take care, mortal, for she is powerful. She is still a daughter of Molag Bal.>”

Then, just like that, he was gone. J’hasi sucked in a deep breath, finally able to breathe, still feeling sick and shaky from what had just happened. An awful taste lingered in his mouth, and he felt like he was going to throw up. His hand pressed on the ground, looking up at the Dunmer watching him and the statue looming behind them.

“<You know what you must do. Now go.>” J’hasi shivered, nodding slowly, shakily getting up and grabbing his spear from the floor, uneasy on the thin strip of rock that lead up to the shrine. It was when he reached the stretch of floor at the bottom that he threw up, dropping to his knees and heaving onto the stone, thin acid and spit the only thing coming up from his empty stomach.

It was for a while longer the Khajiit lingered there, shivering and coughing and panting with eyes squeezed shut. When he finally gathered enough strength in his legs to stand, he swiped the back of his hand over his eyes and left, his breath hitching in a sob as he made his way down the fire and magma-lit hallway.

[Alabyn and Giovanni for @waywardbattlemage / @thatimperialbastard!]

€

€ for a bad memory that still haunts them

He knew even before he opened his eyes that it was a dream.

That background buzz, like the droning lights in Dwemer ruins, or the static prickle left behind from a shock spell acted as a filter, containing him within the dream rather than allowing him to simply wake up. The whispers were quieter here, though he knew it was only because he was the center of Dagoth Ur’s attention. This dream was for him alone, not the collective.

In the dream-place, he wasn’t in his bed for the night at the Ghostgate, nor was Shadows curled protectively around him, sometimes twitching in his sleep. He was standing in the scarlet ashstorms of Red Mountain Region, breathing easily in the suffocating breath of Red Mountain, eyes unstung by the hiss of biting sand. The howling winds were quieter, without losing the storm’s fury, still raging on, that constant stream of ash and Blight spewing from the mountain’s maw. Quiet enough that, when Ur showed his face, materializing from the storm, he was easily heard without raising his voice.

“<Welcome, Moon-And-Star.>” It was a tone meant to soothe, though it had quite the opposite effect. J’hasi’s fur prickled at the attempt to touch him, drawing away from the reaching hand, that terror rising up inside of him from the last time, every time he tried to touch him. Dagoth Ur lowered his hand.

“<You still act much like I mean to harm you.>” The Khajiit glared at the Sharmat.

“<You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me otherwise.>” Dagoth smiled, though it didn’t show past the mask. J’hasi could feel it in the dream, a comforting feeling that only incited a rise of ‘get away’ inside of his chest.

“<We are at war, Nerevar. Until I know your motivations, I cannot trust you until you submit to me. It is you, here, that needs to earn trust back.>” Dagoth Ur turned to look up the slopes of the Red Mountain, seeming at ease.

“<You’ve been hard at work, proving yourself by slaying my kinsmen. Are you hoping to show how strong you are to me, that I won’t betray you? You cringe away from my touch as if I harmed the trust between us, when it was you who struck that shattering blow so long ago.>” The Khajiit’s ears flicked back, knowing the plan, but wanting to react as any sane person would. It took more effort than he cared to admit to back down.

“<I am told many different stories, ones where I am betrayed, and others where I am the sole betrayer. And still others where I betrayed, then was betrayed in turn. Whose story do I trust? Those who seem maddened by the power of the Heart? Or those who stood beside me back then, who never tasted of it?>” The chuckle from the god made him shiver a little.

“<Maddened? The only mad ones are those who betrayed you, who took the Heart for themselves in their greed. They were mad before they bathed in the Heart’s power, and even the Heart cannot cure them of that. Azura cursed us all due to their broken oath. They are the ones not to be trusted.>”

“<Vivec was the one who gave me Wraithguard, told me everything.>”

“<Vivec fabricated lies to get you to fight his battle for him because he and the others were merely postponing the inevitable loss. He wanted you to fight me, to take me down so the Tribunal could take the Heart back for their own selfish needs. But you’re not fool enough to fall for that, are you, my sweet Nerevar?>” When the god turned to look back at J’hasi, he flinched a little at the movement. He sighed.

“<You test me. But I understand. You’re afraid of us gods. Afraid to see old friends with unfamiliar faces. I can relate.>” This time, when he turned fully, his visage rippled, morphing into a Chimer man in scarlet robes, a gentle smile on his face.

“<Is this better for you? You never took much stock in appearances, but…maybe the times have changed you as they have me.>” The Khajiit swallowed. It was the young mer from those flickers of…memory? Knowing who that mer was made his stomach turn. Dagoth Ur smiled, coming closer.

“<Of course, I was but Voryn Dagoth then… We were friends, brothers-in-arms… We trusted one another more than anything else.>” When he reached out to touch him, there was only a bare flinch, Dagoth Ur’s… Voryn’s…expression softening.

“<If only the same could be done for you… But you’re not a god. I’m not sure you even remember your own face.>” He drew away.

“<If you bring me the Tools, and you submit to me… I can free you. We can stand together again, like old times, and take revenge on those who betrayed you and cursed our people, then free them from the greedy clutches of the Empire. I’ll be waiting for you, my old friend.>” Voryn walked into the ashstorm, almost looking like his form was ripped into shreds of cloth and carried into the wind, vanishing into the blighted skies.

J’hasi sat upright in his bed, trembling and still feeling the phantom touch of Vor…Dagoth Ur’s touch on his skin. Shadows was snoring quietly, tail curled over his legs and keeping him in place. The Khajiit carefully touched the side of his jaw, almost expecting to feel the rising lumps of bubbled flesh, corprus overtaking his body once more, but it was smooth, the fur rumpled a little from his fitful sleep. He drew his legs up as well as he was able, hugging them and resting his forehead against his knees, curled tail twitching by his ankles.