The taste of salt still lingered on his tongue. After being dropped into the ocean by such a simple spell, he was still reeling from the cold water. Surely simple experimentation with teleportation and temporal magic shouldn’t have cast him too far from home. Yet he had not crawled from the warm seas of Summerset or Hammerfell. No, the tide had been cruel, almost drowning him despite being a strong swimmer. The shoreline hadn’t been much better; hard rocks and pebbles greeted him instead of sand.
Fortunately his journey inland was more pleasant. No snow nor any harsh elements to impede him. However, his aching body, still damp from the ocean, protested every movement towards what seemed to be a farm. Or so he thought. Although Janus had been away from Tamriel for many, many long years, the crops and equipment scattered around seemed... primitive even for modern Skyrim.
He had taken only a few steps before screams echoed across the fields. Three figures, probably a woman and two children, dashed across their home away from him. The words, ‘burnt’ and ‘monster’, were the only ones he pick out of their ramblings as they looked behind them in sheer terror. Of course, Janus innocently believed that there something else out there besides the four of them yet all was calm besides the nearby crashing waves. No werewolf nor sea monster came tumbling out from the forest nearby despite the wizard waiting for one to appear. Even as the screams of the widow and her children faded, he simply stood, soaked and confused, at his situation until it hit him...
They had been frightened by his appearance to the point of fleeing. Surely they had seen elves and Redguards before?The questions were endless yet none of them helped his current situation. Drenched in cold seawater, he shivered as he examined the small farm. For now, it was truly abandoned, only the animals remained. Guilt gnawed at him as he shucked off his wet robes and hung them on what looks to be a laundry line.
For several days, he resided at the farm. Since the current owners were gone, he cared for the animals as best as he could despite his lack of knowledge. The tiny barn soon became his home while he dined mostly fish caught by the nets he found just outside the main house. It was lonely mostly and a bit tiring. His conscience, however, demanded that he stay if only to explain himself to the people who had fled.
The fourth day of his residence had been mostly quiet. Horace, he had called the old gelding pony, grazed peacefully on his oats, rye, and wheat as the elf dug rocks out of his hooves. In the middle of removing a particularly stubborn pebble, the sound of boots against the earth broke his concentration. Towards the entrance of the farm, a man, armored and armed, made his way towards the farm house. Was he looking for something... or someone?
“Hello?” he called out, slowly making his way out of the stables with his hands up in surrender. Inwardly he cursed himself for not borrowing clothing from the farm house. His Psijic robes clashed with everything in this land, practically screaming ‘foreigner’. “Please... don’t be afraid. I am just a man, not a monster. I won’t hurt you or anyone else. I’m... just lost.”
