The Gift: Chapter One: WayrestThere was little in Tamriel that was more beautiful than spring in High Rock.
The countryside was blanketed with wildflowers that danced and swayed lazily in the gentle wind that would then carry the intoxicating scent of lavender and magnolia into gleaming cities that buzzed with magical energies and hummed with life. Shop owners opened their windows with merry smiles and the delicate wind chimes that hung from nearly every building sang a chorus that could not even be bested by the elven choirs of the Summerset Isles. The people milling through the city streets greeted each other with an infectious joyousness that bordered on unnatural euphoria. Even the sun seemed to grin with a stupid happiness as it watched the people below revel in its warmth.
Not everyone in High Rock was out enjoying the day, however. In the quaint shops the merchants toiled endlessly to meet the demands of their clients. This was especially true in a bustling apothecary’s sh
The Gift: PrologueMake it stop…
He was curled into a shivering ball, gritty ash sanding away at his cheek and temple with every tremor. His body twisted with convulsions that bordered on being true seizures.
Each spasm brought with it a fresh wave of pain that made him whimper. The aching of tight muscles that could not be relaxed, the pounding of steel waves that crashed against the insides of his skull, the searing pain of deep, dirt filled wounds reopening with every ragged breath. But the burning was by far the worse. The over eager flames of fever licked joyfully at his insides; dried him out and threatened to consume him completely.
The gray ash of Vvardenfell’s wastelands had, at one time, coated the linings of his throat, mouth, and nose. Now, however, there was no moisture left to adhere to. The sharp grit was free to tear at him from the inside like thousands of tiny razor blades, despite his efforts to cough up the offending particles.