Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20141207202844/@comment-5735114-20150130035137

(I need to get back on the timeline...)

The sun began peeking out from behind the trees on the morning of the Grand Prix in Chorrol nearby. It was actually quite a wonderful time. The sun was rising majestically, dispelling the darkness and cold of the night. Though there was a nip in the air, the temperature was still pleasant, and the clouds didn't seem to harbor any surprises. At that point, it seemed to be a good start for yet another successful racing event.

All of this completely flew over poor Venilius' head. He'd managed to drag the Altmer inside a few hours earlier, despite the latter's much greater size. Placing him on the bed as gently as he could, trying not to slip on the blood trail that he'd left behind, he knelt down next to the unconscious elf and began healing again. Nobody knew of Venilius' aptitude for healing magic, and even the farmer had little idea. He rarely used it, only occassionally to repair the damage done by pests. He'd never had any magical training, and though he wasn't particularly connected with the rest of Cyrodiil, he was at least completely surrounded by the belief that magic is bad. So he kept it to himself. The current predicament seemed like it did need a touch of magic, however, and so he concentrated all through the night.

Venilius had managed to come across a few mana potions from fugitive wanderers and other aquaintances and accidents, and stashed them in numerous places around his shack. He didn't have all too many, but he hoped he at least had enough to get him through the night. The yellow light flowed from the farmer's hands onto the injured Altmer, but it didn't seem to be all that effective. Still, the farmer kept it up until he was utterly exhausted, and not letting himself take a break, sought out his mana potions. Drinking them one after another, he'd managed to keep the yellow light flowing, but he almost fainted a few times and felt pain everywhere when he wasn't numb.

After a few hour's worth of sustained healing, just as the sun began to rise, Venilius' body finally gave into the pressure, and he fainted by the bed. Garnaril was still exceedingly pale due to his blood loss, but his wounds had mostly closed. While he was healing, the farmer thought he saw very slight breaths, though he couldn't be sure. Seemingly miraculously, a few minutes after the Imperial passed out, the massive blood stain on the bed began to shrink. Very slight patches of color returned to the Altmer's face. When Venilius awoke around 20 minutes later, the sight of the Altmer already seeming to be better, and most definately breathing, gave him hope. This fueled him to make another attempt, and disregarding the protest from his body, the yellow light began to shine once more.