[sub]Featuring the immaculate [@Spoopy Scary] skeletons.[/sub]

[i]Two days ago, on the 3rd of Sun’s Height, 4E205 
Solitude, Skyrim
Aboard the Kyne’s Tear[/i]

“Is this going to leave a scar?” Narzul asked, frowning as he looked down at his abdomen in the dim light of the ship’s hold. The cabin was small and cramped, filled with barrels and sacks of goods and provisions that left room for only a small bed upon which the Dunmer sat. Niernen hovered over him, having gingerly unwrapped the bandages she’d applied, and prodded her brother’s wound with her fingers. It was the only blemish on his muscular torso. Niernen had always admired (and been envious of) her brother’s dedication to his physical prowess and he somehow looked even bigger than when she left Morrowind a month ago. Niernen sighed at the thought; she was thinner than she’d ever been. 

Focusing on the here and now, Niernen continued her work. She would have gladly let Do’Karth (the company’s official combat medic) tend to Narzul, were it not for him protesting so venomously to the idea of being touched by ‘that filthy cat’ that it clearly wasn’t an option. She had swallowed her retort. Narzul’s racism continued to infuriate her, but she spared him her anger while he was injured. It was enough humiliation for him that he had to be rescued by Sadri on two separate occasions during their misadventure at Bleakrock Isle and she knew better than to try and teach Narzul anything while he was upset. That had never worked.

“Probably,” Niernen replied, and smiled apologetically at Narzul’s sigh of frustration. It had been a point of pride for twenty years that the Redoran warrior had gone through life almost entirely unscathed, but that streak was coming to an end. Niernen had been able to stop the internal bleeding and prevent the wound from being infected, but properly mending everything back together was beyond her skill. During the ritualistic duels that the captain of the Armiger outpost had them conduct, Narzul had fought and killed two of the enemy in succession but sustained a heavy injury in doing so. The second Armiger’s spear had punched through Narzul’s iron plate armor and made quite a mess. “If a real healer had been there when it happened it would have healed without a scar, but now…” she added.

“If I had some real [i]armor[/i] then this wouldn’t have happened,” Narzul said, and stared darkly at the mismatched suit of iron and steel that rested on the bed next to him, the different pieces stacked on top of each other. He was used to wearing the finest protection the Redoran smiths could offer; the ebony armor he wore in Black Marsh would have easily stopped the Armiger’s spear. Niernen shrugged, straightened up and began to unwrap the bandages around Narzul’s right arm. He winced but she shushed him to be quiet. 

Pleased with her handiwork there, Niernen smiled. This was the wound Narzul had sustained earlier, when he was fighting an Armiger after tumbling down a ravine when the bridge that crossed it had collapsed. “This looks much better, though. I don’t think you’ll see much of a scar on your arm once Wylendriel is done. You can at least go sleeveless without embarrassing yourself,” she teased. She took a look at the scrape on Narzul’s brow (from the aforementioned fall) but that minor wound had healed perfectly, leaving no trace. 

Narzul scowled. “Not funny.” 

There was a light knock rapping at the cabin door, capturing both of the siblings’ attention before the door was opened, revealing the short stature of the Wylendriel who was wrapped up in her typical green and brown robes comprised of wool, furs, and leathers. She slowly stepped forward before the two of them, looking at Narzul with an expression of unfamiliarity and glanced between the siblings, as if trying to find the resemblance between the two.

“Lady Venim.” Wylendriel addressed in a breathy and faintly trembling voice with the slight bow of her head. She then looked to Narzul, “Ah… Sir Venim, I presume?”

The priestess didn’t know of the proper dunmeri honorifics, and based on what little she has heard of this fellow from his sister, she had a feeling she was going to learn what they were [i]very[/i] soon. She stepped closer and leaned in, appraising handiwork of the bandaging without touching. They were suitable and served its purpose she supposed, if a bit sloppy. It wasn’t of the same tidiness like the bandages Niernen was wearing when they first met in Dawnstar. She heard that perhaps they thought it would be best if it was Niernen who kept at his bedside, but in the end, it wasn’t her specialty. Wylendriel only hoped that her brother’s racial pride would at least allow another mer to take care of his injuries.

Narzul narrowed his eyes at the sight of Wylendriel, then glanced at his sister. She had neglected to inform him that the priestess was a Bosmer; a race that Narzul had very little dealings with, and plenty of prejudices about. “Serjo Venim,” he corrected her, his voice sharp. 

Immediately exasperated, Niernen slapped Narzul’s shoulder and hissed at him to behave, then smiled at Wylendriel. “Thank you for coming, and don’t mind him,” she said and waved a hand at Narzul. “He gets cranky when he’s injured.” 

Her brother tensed up and his irritation was clearly written all over his face, but his desire to be healed was stronger than his frustration and he exhaled slowly. “Indeed,” he muttered, “so be careful.” 

Niernen almost slapped him again, but thought better of it. “Go ahead,” she said softly to Wylendriel and made room for the bosmer priestess to tend to Narzul, shuffling closer to the door. The priestess nodded and closed her eyes as she focused her magicka into her hands. They were soon aglow with a soft white light with a disease curing spell so that her hands were disinfected, before a harsher, brilliant yellow light consumed them. Wylendriel took a few steps closer and sat on the chair beside his bed, looking intensely at her latest patient’s injury.

“Take a deep breath and try tensing where it hurts.” She said, trying to give him a toothy smile. “It helps the muscles stitch themselves back together.”

Upon seeing Wylendriel’s sharp teeth -- [i]all of them[/i] -- Narzul winced, despite himself, and pulled back from her touch. “Ayem’s mercy,” he hissed, eyes flitting between Wylendriel and Niernen. “You people eat each other!” Narzul shook his head and threw up his hands. “I can’t go along with this, Niernen. Find me another healer. This one… who are you a priestess of, anyway?” he asked, his tone venomous. 

Wylendriel’s head swiveled around, her eyes shooting daggers at Niernen and paired with a sardonic smile. Quite obviously unamused and annoyed with her new patient’s attitude, she took in a deep breath and slowly sighed as she tried to maintain her temper and control her urges. The audacity! This mer was on the brink of being bedridden for the rest of his damned life, and he’s getting fussy with what kind of healer he gets? She looked back at Narzul and feigned as understanding a look as best as she muster, but ultimately it came off as condescending.

“I worship my lady, Kynareth, and the Storyteller, Y’ffre.” She affirmed. “And I do follow the Green Pact, but cannibalism has fallen out of common practice for as long as since the Second Era. I’m not going to eat you, roth vendan.”

Niernen mustered her best apologetic look. Now that she had made room for Wylendriel to tend to Narzul she was out of range to slap him again -- not that it would matter, she realised. He was [i]so[/i] stuck in his ways. It must have been the difference in their education and the proximity to their father that had caused their beliefs to diverge so strongly, Niernen thought, and wondered if she would have turned out like her brother if their positions had been reversed. 

“Very well,” Narzul muttered after a few seconds and moved back into position, sitting up straight so that Wylendriel could properly heal his abdomen. He tried to remember which one Kynareth was (Y’ffre he had never even heard of) and settled on the deity of life and death. It seemed most appropriate for a healer. In Morrowind the Temple priests were responsible for both physical and spiritual healing and the cremation of the dead, so Narzul assumed that was the case with the western gods too. 

He still had to resist the urge to flinch when her glowing fingers touched his side. It felt wrong, unclean, that he was being touched in such a vulnerable place by what he thought to be a race of woodland savages. “So which one of your parents is the Imga, your mother or your father?” he asked and sneered at the thought.  

A burning, seething rage was welling up in her chest, that kind the almost makes you sick to your stomach. In the middle of this procedure, there was no way for Wylendriel to cope with it using her usual methods - usually taking her hands back and clenching them into fists for as long and tight as she could - so she felt her fingers began to twitch. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt that it would serve this mer right if she set him in his place right here and now while he was vulnerable. At the same time, part of her felt bad for even thinking of it.

“Both of my parents are Spinners of Valenwood and they deserve respect.” She grumbled, her voice slightly trembling.

Narzul could see that he was getting a rise out of Wylendriel; carried away by the momentum of his supremely sour mood and his distaste for the whole situation, he ignored the furious gaze of his sister warning him to shut up and said: “That may be, but you still haven’t told me which one is the Imga.” 

Wylenriel’s eye twitched for a second, then glared at Narzul dead in the eyes, not sparing a single glance at Niernen this time. Venomous words at the tip of her tongue, but she held them. There was a split second where she thought about all the things she could do to him at this moment, and part of her really wanted to make this as painful a process as possible for Narzul… but she decided against it. Not while Niernen was here.

The priestess lost her temper all the same however, and suddenly stood up from where she was sitting and planted the open palm of her left hand against Narzul’s chest. She was forcing him down with all of her weight as the yellow glow that was surrounding her hand slowly began shifting into green. While her right hand continued healing his wounds, the other felt like it was slowly sapping away his energy and stamina.

While her brother’s eyes widened in anger and, though he’d never admit it, a twinge of fear, Niernen recognised the magic Wylendriel was using and barked out a laugh. 

“Niernen!” Narzul hissed as his limbs lost their strength faster than he could resist. “Stop this!” 

She shook her head. “Oh no, brother-mine, you deserve this. Now shut up and stop being such an [i]n’wah.[/i] Wylendriel is a friend and you will treat her with respect.”  

Her brother fell silent, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was as if by sapping his energy Wylendriel had also drained him of his anger. He clenched his jaw and tried to ball his fists, but his fingers failed him. “I’m…” he began, but stopped. While he still didn’t much like the idea of the wood elves, he realized how childish and stupid it was to insult one to her face. “I should not have said that,” he managed.  

“I think you’re right.” Wylendriel said sardonically, still not relieving him of her hand. “What was that you said before? You’re what?”

Niernen crossed her arms, frowned and smiled at the same time. It was both amusing (and gratifying) to see her brother in such a state of helplessness for a change, but there was also something discomforting about it. He had always seemed invincible to her when they were younger. It was sobering to realize that even Narzul was just another mortal. 

“That’s all you’ll get from me, witch,” Narzul replied, his voice flat and strained. His eyes moved to meet Wylendriel’s again and he held her gaze this time. They stared off at one another for a brief moment before the priestess sighed.

“Well, in that case…” she began as she pulled her hands back, the magical auras that once surrounded them now dissipating, “that’s all you’re getting from [i]me[/i]. Your injuries are mostly healed now, you’ll just have to settle with the aches and pains for a little while longer.”

She turned around with her mind apparently set on the matter and started walking toward the end of the room where Niernen, giving her an apologetic expression that was somewhat tarnished by her temper, characterized by her lack of eye contact. Only after a moment of hesitation did she say, “I apologize, there’s nothing more I can do for him.”

“Don’t apologize,” Niernen said, her voice low so that Narzul couldn’t hear. “You’ve done more than he deserves right now. I’ll talk with him and make sure this never happens again.”  She put a hand on Wylendriel’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” 

For his part, Narzul kept his tongue and remained where he was while his strength slowly came back to him. If his wounds were healed, that was good enough. The aches and pains would serve as a reminder of the failure of his sword-arm and the failure of his temper, and perhaps that’s what he needed right now. 

Wylendriel recoiled a little bit at Niernen’s touch at first, but after a brief moment of hesitation, she closed her eyes and took in every second of the moment. It was as if she wasn’t just squeezing her shoulder, but also wringing out the stress and the tension that’s been building up inside her. She hasn’t felt the same ever since they left Dawnstar, so she had to try every moment she could to find some semblance of peace. The priestess took in a deep breath and sharply exhaled, finally opening her eyes and looking up with a slight smile on her face at the taller dunmer woman. 

Placing a hand of her own on top of hers, she said with an awkward chuckle, “Can’t say it was my pleasure, but you are more than welcome to come to me for anything. Thank you for your kindness.”

As she brushed past Niernen and opened the cabin door to the deck of the ship, she bemoaned, “Well... another hour, another wound. Let me know if you’d like me to teach you that trick I just did. Maybe it could come in handy for you.”

Niernen couldn’t help but smile widely at the offer. The joy she felt at the simple, honest reprieve of interacting with a kind soul was writ upon her face. “That would be great! I’ll let you know when I’m ready, we’ll carve out some time and sit down for it.” She waved at Wylendriel as the Bosmer made her way topside, then turned around to face her brother. 

“[i]You![/i] Narzul Venim, I swear to Azura, you are unbelievable.” 

Narzul rolled his eyes. “Here we go…”