The Healer's Tale
For over twenty years, I have been a healer at the Temple of Stendarr.
As the reader is doubtless aware, we are the only temple in the Iliac
Bay that offers wound healing and illness curing for both the faithful
and the heathen alike, for Stendarr is the God of Mercy. I have faced
people at their most miserable and their most terrified. I have seen
brave knights weep and strong peasants scream. I like to think that
I've watched the masks drop from faces, and seen people as they truly
are.
A healer's job, after all, is more than simply binding wounds and
stopping the flows of poison and disease. We are counselors and comforters
for those who have given up all hope. Sometimes, it seems like our
kind words and sympathy do more for our patients than our spells.
I am reminded of a very sick young man who came to the temple, suffering
from a variety of maladies. Once I had given him an examination,
I told him the results, careful not to alarm him. I let him decide
how he wanted to be told the news.
"I have some good news and some bad news, my child," I said.
"I better hear the bad news first," he said.
"Well," I said, gripping his shoulder in case he should faint. "The
bad news is that, unless I am wrong, you will sicken even more over
the next day or two. And unless Stendarr choses to be merciful to
you, you will pass from this existance. I am sorry, my child."
As soft as the blow was, it stung nonetheless. The boy was, after
all, very young. He thought he had his whole life ahead of him. Tears
streaming down his face, he asked, "And what is the good news?"
I smiled: "When you came in, did you notice our proselytizer? She
was the enchanting, voluptuous blonde in the antechamber by the foyer?"
Color returned to the young man's face. He had noticed her indeed.
"Yes?"
"I'm sleeping with her," I said.
If more of the healers of Tamriel would consider their patients'
feelings, not just the quickest way to heal them up and get them
out, we would have a far, far healthier society. I truly believe
that.
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