Voryn has a lesson in healing with his mother.
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The room was dark – the only light shined down from the windows. They offered little illumination in the late afternoon, and the dark stone walls only made the place feel dimmer. Candles were plentiful, but none were lit.
Voryn sighed, as he wrapped gauze around the limb of a feather-stuffed guar. His mother sat across from him, legs crossed and keen eyes watching her son’s hands as he bandaged the toy. A low table separated them – covered in bandages and squares of gauze, as well as the stuffed guar.
His mother leaned forward, her hand locking around Voryn’s wrist. “You’re not doing it tight enough. Start again.”
Hastily, Voryn ripped off the gauze, scowling all the while. That was the third time he’d failed. He wondered how long his mother was planning on keeping him here.
“Be gentle,” his mother barked, “You won’t be able to bandage someone if your gauze is shredded.”
Voryn bit his lip, trying to be more gentle with the light fabric, but unable to keep the scowl from his face. He gave a sigh when he finally removed all the gauze, and glanced up at his mother. Her face was stern and hard. Her eyes met Voryn’s, and she raised a brow at him.
“You said you wanted to be a healer,” she said, “This is part of the learning. A very important part, actually. What you are learning to do can save someone from bleeding to death.”
Voryn dropped the gauze. “I don’t get it!” he growled. It came out louder than he expected. “Why would I need to wrap their injuries when I can just heal it?! Just teach me magic, already!”
“You won’t always have magic,” she said calmly, seeming to take no care that her son had questioned and yelled at her. “There will be many times when you cannot rely on it. Our magicka, the magic that runs through a veins, is not an endless resource. Our energy will wear out eventually. And if not, our concentration can falter. Healing magic can be dangerous, too. If you don’t know what you are doing, then you may do more harm than good.”
She pulled the stuffed guar across the table in front of her, and took a roll of gauze. She began to bandage one of the backlegs. Her hands moved quickly, with expertise and experience. “Let us say that you are on a battlefield. There are many injured, but you only have so much magicka. There are limited potions you can use – you only have a handful of them on you.
You find three wounded warriors. One has an injured leg. It’s bleeding a lot, and the warrior is complaining about the pain.
The second one is bruised and scratched. He is tired but otherwise mobile, although he has a nasty gash on his head and shoulder. But the battlefield is a dirty place, and with all the chaos, it might be awhile before the warrior can get to an infirmary to clean and stitch up his wounds.
The last has a wound to the abdomen. She is unconscious, and bleeding out.” She finished bandaging the guar, and looked to her son.
“You only have enough magicka to heal one,” she continued, “You cannot see any other healers – they are busy elsewhere. You must decide how to deal with all three, otherwise they might die of bloodloss or infection.”
Voryn leaned an elbow on the table and rested his head atop his hand, deep in thought.
“The first warrior, the one with the injured leg. How do you help him?” his mother said after a moment.
“Um,” Voryn mumbled. He glanced to his mother. He has already failed thrice. He doesn’t want to disappoint her again. “Give him a potion?”
His mother shook her head no. “Remember, what was it that you should always do first?”
“Uh… Oh! Look closely at the injury and clean it if I can.”
His mother gave a nod of approval. “You inspect the wound and clean it. The wound is not that deep. The warrior can still feel and move his foot, and you conclude that the injury is one that can be easily dealt with. But you don’t want to let him bleed out any further, or risk the wound becoming infected. So, what do you do?”
Voryn opened his mouth, planning to say ‘potion’, but then he looked to the stuffed guar on the table, and saw it’s leg wrapped in gauze. “Um… do I bandage it?”
His mother gave a small smile and nodded. “Yes, you wrap the wound tightly to prevent more bleeding or infection. If you have enough potions or magicka left after all the wounded have been found, you can always return to him and heal the wound.
Now, the second. His most notable injuries are on his head and shoulder. They aren’t bleeding heavily, but you can see that dirt has gotten onto the wounds.”
Voryn imagines it. A tall warrior, covered on bruises and cuts, with a large gash that cuts above one of his eyes, and one in his shoulder that broke through armour. “Do I… bandage them?”
“No. What should you do first?"
“Clean it!”
“Correct. Now, you have cleaned the wound. What next?”
“Uh...” Voryn stared hard at the stuffed guard, as if it would somehow give him answers. “Is it still bleeding?”
“The wound on his head seems to have clotted, but the one on the shoulder still has some bleeding.”
“Bandage that, then...”
Voryn looked up to his mother, hoping for approval.
“And? What else do you do?” she asked.
Voryn slumped in defeat. “I don’t know...”
“We talked about head injuries the other day...” his mother said, trying to give hints.
“Oh yeah… I… Oh! I remember! I just talk to him and see if he’s making sense and if he can see right… oh, and I ask him what he remembers, and if he blacked out!”
His mother smiled wider this time. “Yes! Very good. His speech is perfectly coherent, and he remembers the events of the battle well.
Now you go to the last one. Remember that she has an injury to her abdomen and isn’t conscious.”
“Clean the wound,” Voryn said, trying to think of the answers as quickly as he could, “And uh… I haven’t used any of the potions, right?”
“This is a dangerous injury, Voryn. You should inspect the wound closely. If it is just flesh that has been damaged, you may use a potion. But if the wound is too deep, magic may be required.”
Voryn screwed up his face. It was all so complicated. “What’s wrong with using a potion?”
“They are only good at mending flesh. If you were to use it on internal organs, there would be a great risk that it would cause unwanted growths to form. These growths cause great harm.
That risk remains when you use magic. Healing a wound incorrectly can do permanent damage. You must be sure of what kind of injury you’re dealing with, and how to heal it. Your magicka must be fully in your control.”
Voryn looked down to his hands, frowning. His magicka had grown out of control before, especially with strong emotions, whether it be excitement or anger. He looked back to his mother, ears drooping. “What if I can’t control it?”
His mother smiled encouragingly. “Of course you will, in time. It’s not uncommon for children and adolescents to struggle controlling their magicka. As your mind matures, you’ll find it grows much easier.”
“Are you sure?” Voryn wasn’t convinced; his magicka felt almost separate from him, like something that had to be tamed.
“Of course I am. In a few decades, I think you’ll be the greatest healer House Dagoth has ever had.”
Voryn smiled, thinking of all the lives he would save once he finished his training, and finally having mastery over his magicka.
"You've done well so far, Voryn." said his mother "Go outside and have a break. We'll go back to practicing bandaging once you come back."
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I actually wrote this in either 2022 or 2021, but I never finished it. I rediscovered it and wrote the last 400 words and edited what was already there. I'd honestly completely forgotten about how much I'd written for Voryn/House Dagoth!
Anyway, hopefully this wasn't too boring. I know it ends a bit suddenly buuuut i didn't know what else to do with it if i'm honest.
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In the King’s eyes there were thousands of stars, a tiny speck of creation, a hint of untold knowledge.
Everything had been born and ended eight times over with just a look, and the counselor had been born anew so many times he no longer knew who he was. He was simply a man, looking up at a brilliant, all encompassing star. But how sweet was destruction from his lord, LOVE so pure it was violence.
The words that slipped off the King’s tongue and snaked past his ear into his very heart and mind were only for him to hear.
An ancient sea who burned him from the inside out. LOVE lapped at his heart like a sandy shore until nothing else remained, until something new was planted: a letter of uncertainty. A secret syllable of royalty.
He too, then, became a star.
Hear all who witness this sermon:
Reach heaven by violence.
The ending of the words is HORTATOR.
hiiiiii i wanted to draw my favorite tragic elves. it was going to just be a simple sketch with longing in their eyes but then i had to color it and then i started really liking it. and i have also been reading the 36 sermons of vivec and wanted to write something that captures the Vibe of the 36 sermons. it was my first attempt though so idk how well it came out.
it sort of sounds like i made nerevar a god. maybe i did lmaoooo
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