[sup]Featuring [@Spoopy Scary][/sup]

[i]Late Afternoon of the 5th Day of Last Seed, 4E205
Solitude, Skyrim
Aboard the Kyne’s Tear - Chaplain’s Cabin[/i]

Shortly after Sagax had left, Tsleeixth bid farewell to Keegan and went in search of Wylendriel. Unfortunately Tsleeixth didn’t knew where the priestess resided or much else about her, in the chaos of the events that had transpired at Dawnstar there had been little time for introductions and, as such, he hadn’t had time to meet her, so he had to make a few inquiries to some of the members of the company about where he could find her. As it turned out, and luckily for himself, he didn’t had to go very far, as the Kynareth priestess was staying in a cabin of her own aboard the [i]Kyne’s Tear[/i]. 

Inside the cabin, there indeed sat a priestess. On her knees, head hanging low, and hands folded before a small shrine within a dimly lit room. Two flickering candles, the faint spark at the tip of a stick of incense, and the orange afternoon llight streaking through the cracks around the door was all that illuminated the interior. The thin wisps of smoke were disturbed from their natural flow by Wylendriel’s breathing, and the faint words being muttered from her lips, [i]"Come to me, Kynareth, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in terror, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures."[/i]

It was a prayer she has spoken many times before, and it usually brought her some measure of peace. So often, in fact, she could probably recite the ritual and perform all of its steps in her sleep; but now, it was bringing her no such peace. She’d retrace her steps - breathe in and relax. Invite her in, let her heal you from the inside, let her be your breath… then exhale. Return her to the wind. It was second nature, but when she breathed in, she could not bring herself to relax. No amount of breathing was releasing the tension from her body. She breathed in once more - this time she held it. She held it for as long as she could. It was sacrilegious, trying to contain Kyne’s breath, but like a child she was reaching and grasping for a mother and would not let go. She was pleading for her comfort and her touch, trying to keep her close for as long as she could.

But the longer she tried to contain her breath, the wind fought harder and harder to get out. Her lungs were straining, her eyes squeezed shut, her teeth clenching - but finally, the wind broke free and the priestess released a sharp exhale. The panting which followed stirred the smoky air in her cabin, as she looked longingly into the icon of her goddess. 

Why couldn’t she find her?

“Miss Wylendriel?” She heard a voice say, followed by a knocking on her door. Outside, Tsleeixth’s tail was twitching slightly as anxiety took a hold of him. He had never talked to the priestess, or any priestess or priest for that matter, and as such he was unsure on how to proceed. Wylendriel did not jump to answer, but instead was in a rush trying to recompose herself - patting down her hair, slowing down her breathing, and straightening away her affairs as she heard his voice once more. “My apologies for bothering you, but I understand that Ashav hired you as a chaplain and, well...truth be told I am in need of some counseling. Is it ok for me to come in?” He said after having knocked for a second time, still unsure of himself. 

That voice. There was something peculiar about that voice, Wy noted. Were they saxhleel? As though she was reminded, she immediately looked around the shrine where she had been praying and locked onto Tzinasha’s feather, placed in front of Kynareth’s icon and parallel with the line of candles and incense she had laid out. She took the quill, and although her hair was currently unbraided, she made sure to slide it through the hair behind her ear. At least that way, it would hopefully stay put. Now, then…

It was a few moments after Tsleeixth knocked on the cabin door for the second time. It seemed as though that nobody was home, until his ears caught the gentle footfalls against the wood inside. The door clicked and creaked open, revealing the short-statured priestess that was nearly a foot shorter than he was, who looked like she was hiding behind the barely opened door as if she was using it as her shield. At the sight of the argonian, she seemed to relax a little bit and leaned against the door frame.

“Oh, of course.” She said. The tenderness and cordiality of her voice sounded a little forced, and as she continued it became more obvious that she was meeker than what she was attempting to present herself as. “It’s about time one of you decided to see me. Ashav’s fighters are a proud lot, I’ve learned. I was getting afraid I wouldn’t be earning my keep.”

“I truly do hope that I’m not being a bother, miss Wylendriel.” Said Tsleeixth with a light frown. The way that the Bosmer had seemed to relax when she noticed him hadn’t gone unnoticed by him, but by that same token the forcedness of the tenderness and cordiality in her voice also hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“Oh, we definitely are a proud lot.” Commented the Saxhleel with a light chuckle before he let out a sigh. “But I think more and more of us will seek your counsel...things haven’t gone well as I’m sure you have noticed.” He said as he entered the cabin. “As for why I’ve personally come…” He started before pausing as hesitation took a hold of him. 

“You….You were with us at Dawnstar, you know what happened there.” Tsleeixth spoke, hesitating at first before his voice took on some confidence. Wy subconsciously touched the feather behind her ear. Tsleeixth continued, “The mob, the destruction of the refugee camp that my people had made.” He listed before pausing for a second “I’m...I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but one of the members of our company was beaten by the mob...me specifically.” He admitted, his tail twitching in anxiety as he recalled the events that had happened in Dawnstar.

“Ever since then, fear has gripped my soul. When I went out into the city I constantly looked over my shoulder in fear, waiting for the Nord citizens around me to turn into that same bloodthirsty mob that beat me to near-death.” He continued, his voice wavering as he spoke of the fear that had overtaken him. “I….I don’t know what to do to overcome this, and so I turn to you.” He finished, voice still wavering, uncertainty and fear plain in his eyes as he waited for Wylendriel’s response.

At first there was no response, there was only the priestess’ thousand-yard stare as Tsleeixth retold his story. Though she tried to put herself in his shoes, to imagine herself in his situation, but each and every word he spoke threw her back into her own memories. It alarmed her to realize that it had nothing to do with her not being able to imagine or sympathize with the saxhleel’s hardships, but with the fact that she has already lived them. The hand that held the door open trembled a bit, but the priestess held her breath and steadied it with her other hand. She looked up at Tsleeixth with a look of sober understanding, then pushed the door open wide enough for him to enter the privacy of her room.

“Come inside.” She softly invited. That was all she could bring herself to say in the open for now, and her eyes moved to scan all of the [i]Tear’s[/i] crew and company fighters behind him. She didn’t want anybody being nosy or prying where they didn’t belong.

The stare that the priestess directed at Tsleeixth surprised the Saxhleel, who was afraid that he had said something that had upset the Bosmer. The silence stretched for a few seconds before he noticed the fact that Wylendriel’s hand was trembling and Tsleeixth was about to speak up when he noticed the look of sober understanding that crossed the Bosmer’s eyes.

It him him in a second that the priestess in front of him had gone through something similar to him, and guilt began gnawing at the Argonian’s mind. He didn’t want to make the priestess relieve an experience as horrible as the one he had lived through, but before he could say anything she fully opened the door and invited him inside. “Thank you.” Was all that the overwhelmed Saxhleel could say as he entered into the cabin . 

“Miss… Miss Wylendriel.” Tsleeixth spoke once he had settled inside of the cabin and the door had been closed. 

“Please, you may just call me Wy.” She interrupted as she moved through her room. She found some more candles and lit their wicks with the candles that were already lit by her alter, and set them around the room for more light.

“Wy it is then.” He said, taking a deep breath before he continued, “I...I don’t mean to be presumptuous, or to pry into your personal issues, but I believe you went through something similar as I did, didn’t you Wy?” He asked her softly, concern plain in his voice.

Tsleeixth’s question caused her to pause for a moment in the middle of her hurried pace, but it was only followed by more silence. She straightened the setup of her altar and replaced the stick of incense before it. When she finally gave him his answer, it wasn’t to the question he asked, but a question of her own.

“Are you still injured?”


The silence of the priestess didn’t surprise him much, after all the question that he had asked her had been one of a personal nature and one that wouldn’t be freely answered to someone she had just met even if they had went through the same sort of experiences as he suspected. “Yes but I’m afraid there isn’t much that can be done to mend those injuries. My left knee seems to have been left permanently crippled you see.” He answered her question, “It causes me to walk with a limp and, occasionally, it causes me pain still.” 

“Have you been treated by an expert restorationist before?” She asked matter-of-factly. While the words she spoke would’ve normally sounded arrogant in any other context, she spoke them with a gingerness and with such humility that it betrayed her vulnerability. “I can’t recreate your tissues, no, but I can help alleviate some of the long-term pain.”


“No, I haven’t been treated by an expert in restoration before. Amidst the chaos in Dawnstar and our voyage to Solitude there wasn’t much time.” Admitted the Argonian. 


The priestess reached over her bed and grabbed a feather pillow, tossing it onto the floor next to Tsleeixth. She ordered, “Sit down and roll up your pant leg.”

He nodded in response to Wy’s orders and sat on the feather pillow that was on the ground. He stretched his left leg and rolled up his pant until the knee was visible. “Thank you for this, I know it won’t fully heal the damage but I appreciate you helping alleviate the pain.” He said quietly, biting his lip slightly as he pondered whether to speak again.

Wylendriel sat down next to him and carefully inspected his knee, poking and prodding in spots to see what exactly was wrong with it. She felt around for possible broken bones, torn muscles, tendons, or ligaments. She remained wordless.

“I’m...I’m sorry if my previous question was tactless.” Tsleeixth said in the end, deciding to speak. “It was just that, well, by the look you gave me it seemed that you understood what I’ve been through.” He finished, deciding to omit the “[i]as if you had lived through something similar[/i]” that was going through his mind. 

She looked up at her patient and sighed, shaking her head. Finally, she said, “You misunderstand me. I…”

But the words couldn’t come out. The truth was that she didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know if there was anything she [i]could[/i] say, but she knew that there was something she could do. She just had to confront her fears in order to do it. She hesitated at first, but eventually she raised her fingers around where her neck was and undid the top bone-crafted button of her robe, revealing a small portion of her neck. She undid these buttons until she was halfway down her robe and the upper half was falling off of her shoulders.

She was wearing a black wool top underneath it and it was sleeveless and exposed a portion of her midriff, but that wasn’t what was supposed to catch his eye. It was the exorbitant number of scars that were littering her body. From long scratches, to gouges, punctures and lashings, but most noticeable was the long scar that went across her throat. Wy found herself still feeling subdued and haunted by her body - this would’ve been the first time that anybody else has seen anything other than her face and hands since then. 

“I was on a pilgrimage to the Eldergleam Sanctuary when I was betrayed by my own escorts.” She muttered. She uttered a silent prayer to Y’ffre under her breath with closed eyes before her hands were suddenly aglow with bright yellow restorative energy and were applied to Tsleeixth’s knee.

Tsleeixth was, at first, confused, not to mention embarrassed and flustered, by Wy’s act of unbuttoning her robe, but those feelings soon gave way to shock as he caught a glimpse of the first scars when her bare shoulders were revealed once the upper part of her robe was unbuttoned. His shock only increased as more of the gruesome scars became readily apparent on the length of her arms and on her midriff. Any and all words that he might have had died in his throat as he beheld the scars that the Bosmer priestess carried. It wasn’t the scars so much that left him speechless, he had plenty of scars himself, but the realisation that whatever it was that Wy had lived through, it was much worse than what he had lived through by magnitudes. 

Even so, part of him wanted to help the priestess. To give her a sign that he understood her pain and to comfort her in some way, fully understanding that she was exposing herself to him and the vulnerability of the moment. Yet no words came to his mind and his body remained in place as Wy worked her magic on his knee.  

“You came to me for my council,” Wy said somberly, keeping focused on his leg, “but I’m afraid to tell you that I have none to give. I don’t mean to scare you or dash your hopes by saying that I still haven't found the answer myself. From what I can tell you, it doesn’t just go away. It’s nothing that words or actions can fix. You just… learn to live with it. It takes time.”

The glow coming from her hands slowly faded away and she retrieved them. Her hands immediately went to hugging her own arms close to her body, subconsciously covering a few of the scars.

She continued, “But, if it’s any small comfort, I [i]can[/i] give you the knowledge that you aren’t alone. That there’s someone close by who understands how you feel.”

Wylendriel’s eyes fell on the altar to Kynareth exhaled a sigh, feeling a minor sense of relief of her own. She thought, [i]‘Lady knows that it is to me, at least.’[/i]

“It’s a great deal of comfort for me.” Admitted Tsleeixth, his voice wavering, as he gingerly placed his hand on Wy’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze “Maybe… maybe it’s preposterous of my part to say this but, if you need to talk, know that I’m here.” He offered to the priestess. He couldn’t imagine what the Bosmer priestess had went through, but he knew that she was suffering just like him, if not even more, but he was willing to help her however she could if she’d seek his help. 

In a way, she agreed that it was sort of preposterous - it almost brought a smile to her face. Tsleeixth was here because he was seeking [i]her[/i] help, and when she tried to in the only way she knew how, he’s trying to go out of his way to turn this therapy session on its head. It was perturbing to her that about every saxhleel she has met so far had such big, good hearts, and yet Dawnstar was somehow able to find a way to tear them all down. She was about to turn Tsleeixth down before her memories reminded her of Tzinasha and his wisdom.

[i]“There's no shame in accepting help. Accept it when you can. The rivers we swim in have jagged rocks, there is no telling when we may find it again.”[/i]

Now Wylendriel was smiling in earnest at the memory of her late friend. She looked back up at Tsleeixth and sat up straight. She said, “I appreciate it. Back to Dawnstar, though…”

Her eyes flicked over to the side as she withdrew the saxhleel feather from behind her ear. She layed it flat across her hands in front of Tsleeixth for him to see.

“I lost a dear friend while we were there.” She said, the fondness of Tzinasha’s memory quelling the rising anger at being reminded of the assassin. “His name was Tzinasha, are you familiar with him? He was the pakseech among the refugees. He said something very wise, once. He said: it doesn’t feel good to open the wound, but it would do us ill to linger on it. Focus on the scar too much, and we forget it to be a sign of healing."

Tsleeixth’s eyes widened when he saw the saxhleel feather in Wy’s hands. “Yes, I heard about him, he was the Pakseech amongst the Dawnstar refugees.” He said with a smile once he recovered from the shock. “To my great shame I didn’t have time to meet him. Shortly after we returned from Winterhold we were sent to explore a Dwemer ruin and, well, you know what happened afterwards.” Tsleeixth said, falling silent as Wy continued.

“He was a wise man.” Answered the spellsword when the Bosmer repeated what the late Pakseech had told her. He fell silent for a bit as he thought on the meaning behind the words of the late Tzinasha, his tail flickering slightly as he tried to link what Wy had told him and their present situation. “Are you suggesting that, maybe, the fact that we are still here, able to talk about this, is a sign that we… we are starting to heal from what we went through?” He offered tentatively.

“We’re still here.” Wy repeated with a nod. “It hurts now, but you mustn’t linger on it. [i]We[/i] mustn’t linger on it. Let the wounds heal.”

Tsleeixth fell silent for a few seconds, pondering Wy’s words in his head, before he gave the Bosmer priestess a nod, “Yes, you are right.” He said, a smile forming on his face for what seemed like the first time after the whole fiasco in Dawnstar. “I can’t express how much help you’ve been Wy, nor the depths of my gratitude for your counsel.” Spoke the Argonian, “I also reiterate what I said before, if you need someone to talk with, know that I’m here.” 
 
“I only get paid to do one job on this boat, don’t you try stealing it from me.” The priestess teased, probably marking the first sign of a sense of humor since Ashav invited her into his company. She pulled her robes back over her shoulders and stood up, also giving Tsleeixth her hands so that she could help him to his feet. Once he got up, she smiled and said, “The Hist still watches you, Ts… slee… uh... Tslee.”

Tsleeixth laughed as Wy teased him, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it a secret. Wouldn’t dream to steal your job.” The Argonian retorted back, smiling a little. He accepted the hands that the Bosmer priestess offered to him and he stood up with her help. 

He smiled once more as she told him that the Hist still watched over him, a chuckle escaping his lips at her troubles in pronouncing his full name. “Don’t worry, you are not the first person who has troubles with my name.” He said, still smiling. “First time someone has given me a nickname though.” The spellsword teased. 

She only smiled and lifted her hand to place it against his chest, as it glowed with a brilliant light for only a brief moment, but that was all it took for a surge of strength and energy to swell within the argonian’s body. She took back her hand and bowed her head, saying, “A blessing in the name of my lady; Kynareth watches you, too. Rains at your back, Tslee.”

Tsleeixth was a bit surprised when he felt Wy’s hand on his chest, but smiled when he took notice of the light that emanated from there for a brief seconds. “My thanks Wy.” He said in response to her blessing, his smile widening when she bid him farewell with an Argonian expression. “And may friendly branches shade your path, Wy.” Replied the Saxhleel in return, bowing slightly to the Bosmer priestess before he left her cabin.