Nisil shook his hand vigorously as he cursed and flung yet another palm-sized mudcrab into the shallows of Lake Geir.
The morning was overcast: reflective of his struggles acquiring Elgrim's spent ingredients. With his pants rolled up mid-calf, Nisil waded across smooth stones slick with algae. He tread carefully, intent on not ending up fully submerged himself.
He had been uncovering tiny mudcrabs for the better part of an hour, as he tried desperately to find molts of their shells.
As delicious as they were, and necessary for his homework, he did not particularly like the thought of killing scores of the helpless creatures for a few potions.
Escanor stood fat and happy on the dry bank and chewed lazily as she watched Nisil perch atop yet another boulder.
He crouched haphazardly on its slimy gray surface and reached his thin arm underneath, feeling around blindly for another tiny crab emitting the steady stream of bubbles.
The bubbles gradually stopped.
Nisil paused.
Slowly, the entire boulder rose from the water, clicking in anger, and bared its claws.
Helplessly perched atop its enormous shell, Nisil let loose a resigned sigh as Escanor continued to chew her cud.
The setting sun behind the Throat of the world cast orange and pink streaks over Lake Geir.
Nisil pulled free another fistful of white mudcrab meat from the gourd-sized claw and dipped it in the small pot of butter currently melting beside the fire. He leaned back and admired the view in his wooden chair: his newly-gifted imperial crossbow at his side.
From his overlook, he smiled at the twinkling torchlights of Ivarstead and fondly remembered the look on their faces when he wheeled his wheelbarrow into town with a massive mudcrab slumped upon it.
They had always enjoyed the spectacle of Nisil dragging his wooden cart into the town with an unburdened donkey lazily trotting beside him for company, but this had surpassed their amusement by far.
He savored another mouthful of the tender meat, and was pleased the kind Nords were all sitting down to such a delicious dinner as he. Despite his distance, he had never before felt so welcome.
The Blue Dartwing Powder swirled down his copper funnel into the vial and plunged into the essence of Namira's Rot. A smile lit upon Nisil's face as the concoction took hold and became one homogenous mixture.
The past several days following his mudcrab discovery were spent in in a similar manner. Very much in his element, Nisil cherished the tranquil moments his hut afforded him for potion making.
Klimmek had been kind enough to gather all the chitin for Nisil, which left him with a stockpile for many potions to come.
The only issue, he had come to realize, was striking back north to the crags overlooking the Eastmarch volcanic tundra for Skeevers.
He was hesitant to pursue this last missing ingredient, however.
Rather than as a result of his laziness, Nisil's mind was preoccupied with the cuttings in his garden. He loathed the idea of leaving them unattended just yet, lest something happen to further delay his cunning plan.
Thus, Nisil stoppered his newest successful potion and carefully stored it in his tattered apothecary's satchel for easy access. Should Nisil happen across another dangerous beast, he knew this would give him at least a chance to make a hasty retreat.
He had also spent the time discovering what when wrong with his beehive debacle. His father had shown him how to slowly burn an Ash Yam so the smoke would make the bees tranquil. After some time pondering his welts, he initially thought the local gourds did not produce the same effect. After analyzing one of the dead bees, however, he found the Nordic bee is much hardier than the Morrowind varieties: hence the bee's usefulness in potions for altering one's stamina.
He quickly surmised these breakthroughs would not have been possible without the clarity he received from working in the heart of nature.
After hollowing a gourd and stuffing it with birch bark and shaved Canis Root, he had much more success and now held a jar filled with honey and honeycomb. He had saved any bees he found on himself, but refrained from harvesting too many bees without an immediate use for them.
After this success, he distilled down extra birch bark and mixed them with boiled pig bones from the farm to turn it into a highly flammable, viscous substance.
These several days had been quite productive, he mused, but a feeling of dread had gripped his heart nevertheless. He had yet to return to Elgrim's with his potion, and knew better than to keep him waiting.
He had been more concerned with returning to Riften empty-handed in another regard. While his Nightshade and Deathbell cuttings were flourishing, he was entirely unable to keep any Nirnroot cuttings alive.
Fortunately, whilst inquiring about any local work, Wilhelm told Nisil of a farm on the northern shore of the lake. On this farm, by some stroke of Divine luck, there were 'rows and rows' of the plant.
Initially, Nisil was disappointed and concerned the well-intentioned barkeep had mistaken precious Nirnroot for just another vegetable. As he had drawn nearer, the soft ringing that greeted his ears caused his spirits to rise quickly.
Sarethi Farm was a small one, mostly dedicated to vegetables and grain. Thankfully Avrusa was an alchemist at heart and continued to cultivate the plant for distribution to apothecaries throughout the holds.
Furthermore, she was truly stretched thin or at least took pity on the fledgling alchemist and fellow dark elf.
Not long after establishing a rapport over their shared interests and heritage, Nisil was toiling with her by hauling boulders, repairing fences, and fetching water. The work was long and difficult, but labor at the price of knowledge was as cheap as it gets in Avrusa's eyes.
At the end of a long day, after a dinner of bread and potato-gourd soup, the two walked the rows of glowing, ringing plants.
Nisil's interest remained high, but his heart sunk low as she explained the intricate and tedious process of growing the plants.
'No wonder they haven't survived with me,' Nisil thought, as he remarked on the difficulty of her work.
As they drew near her home and the sun began its descent, she smiled knowingly.
"Disheartening, no?"
Nisil feigned confusion.
"I'm sure you did not sweat all day for a quick tour. Nirnroot is a difficult plant to cultivate, if not the most difficult. So the answer to your question is to simply harvest it wherever you find it and use it quickly or dry it."
Nisil nodded, frowning.
"Fear not, you helped me a great deal. We accomplished more today than I would in a week with my…" She sighed, kneading her brow, "beloved sister."
Nisil smirked sheepishly, and Avrusa continued, "I'll send you with some samples for your next experiment. Whenever you'd like more, come to me and I may be able to help. I'd certainly love to have your aid again in the future."
The alchemist was taken aback and nodded wholeheartedly as he thanked her profusely.
They continued to idly chat as darkness descended on the Rift, before Nisil began his trek home. He beamed in the dark and resolved to quit putting off his homework.
Nisil had spent the better part of the next day in the sun, poring over the boulders and cliffsides north of the Rift for Skeevers. He certainly could not complain, he reminded himself as he peered down onto the Eastmarch swamp below; times could be much worse.
At long last, Nisil spied a dark crevice with several skeever tracks leading into it, but not out.
Leading with his torch, he lowered himself into the narrow rift. Descending, it flattened to a muddy embankment and opened to a shallow cavern.
Nisil slipped on the wet earth and brushed off his hard landing before inching his way into the cavern: torch and crossbow awkwardly held in each hand. Scanning the room, it was empty.
Crestfallen, Nisil prepared to retrace his steps as his eyes lit upon a pit at the far end of the cavern. As wide as a wagon, it plunged nearly vertically. Its banks were slick with mud with large boulders and scree coated in black algae.
It descended into the blackness of the mountain beyond the light of his torch. Without a thought, he cast it down. It sent sparks tumbling as it bounced and rolled to the bottom of a pit.
For a moment, it flickered before coming back to life. Dark shadows scampered on the fringes before they were illuminated.
Three skeevers surrounded the corpse of an elk calf as they hissed and withdrew from the radiance of the torchlight.
Disgusted, Nisil immediately winced from the grisly sight. He took pause, however, and crouched at the edge. He peered down at the pitiful beasts as they snapped at one another and attempted to crawl up towards him.
Their vicious, scarred faces and black, soulless eyes bored into him.
He stared into the unnatural and was revolted by it.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his crossbow and fired.
The bolt streaked down and plunged mid-shaft into the first skeever's neck. It fell sideways atop the elk calf with its legs twitching pitifully.
Nisil was impressed with his shot. He wished the old imperial soldier who had given him the hasty lesson could see him now as he loaded another bolt.
It clattered off a stone and kicked up dust as Nisil muttered under his breath. The skeevers hissed and climbed before tumbling back down.
Nisil missed again and cursed his misfortune. He was now happy the veteran was not watching, he thought, and shifted his feet.
His eyes widened as he realized his mistake.
The ground shifted and gave way beneath him.
Immediately, Nisil dove back but not before the loose rockwork crumbled beneath him to suck him down into the blackness of the pit.