Oh, right. Bi-hourly mindwipe.

Not wanting to be rude, you think about how you are Katia Managan (officially on file as “Slutty Meatsack”), a novice conjurer who is very happy to meet the skeleton and hopeful that you aren’t interrupting its swim. How’s the water?

The skeleton smiles with a warm reassurance that you are not impeding its assigned recreational activities^[1]. Another one of the Makers’^® glorious creations^† will simply take up the skeleton’s role for the remaining six laps the skeleton was preordained^‡ to swim before departing. As for the water, the pool is actually filled with lost souls undergoing the intermediate steps of Purification^[2] – a lengthy but necessary^{‡†[3][4][5]} process wherein they are stripped of their fears, sorrows, and diversity as to more clearly comprehend the perfection of the Makers^® and their ways.

Sounds refreshing, you think in response. Anyway, you were wondering if the skeleton could help you get in contact with a Daedric plane?

At first you are confused by the sudden sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, but then you realize: what you are feeling is the skeleton’s impassioned concern for your wellbeing. It ponders the many ways in which dealings with Daedric entities and their associated planes can be highly dangerous^[6]. Unlike CairnCorp^®, which prides itself on providing a safe^‡‡ and enjoyable^‡‡† summoning experience with clear rules and friendly, supportive customer service^[7], Daedra pride themselves in lies, half-truths, and taking advantage of those who reach out to them for aid^[8]. While its bones shudder to think such things, the skeleton is even aware of rumors that Daedra will breach contracts they have signed.

You focus on your awareness of the dangers, but stress to the skeleton that you’re not looking for summoning or contracts – you’re looking for information. You’ve been plagued by strange nightmares since you were a little girl, and from what you’ve been able to figure out, Vaermina isn’t the one making them – but she might know who is. As much as you wish it were a problem the Soul Cairn could help with, not everything can be solved with a summoned skeleton.

The skeleton notes that CairnCorp^® also offers an aesthetically tasteful^‡‡‡ line of flying bonekin for problems where an ordinary bonekin is inadequate.

You regretfully note that this is also a problem that can’t be solved with flying skeletons. But ah, if it makes the skeleton feel any better, you’ve had pretty good luck with Daedra recently. Yesterday you licked one, and then earlier today you had a friendly conversation with one up until she put a corn cob on a grill and sat on it. Assuming the pattern holds, this next interaction with a Daedra might be almost normal.

Very well. Wishing you safety, the skeleton sends a prayer to the Chapel of Rerouting with directions to forward your leyline to an open representative in Quagmire. You are currently number 436 in line at the Chapel of Rerouting.

Let me guess, it will take centuries to happen?

The skeleton estimates it will take about six minutes. It involves pushing a single button, but one bonekin handles all the requests.

Oh! Nice.

No, it’s probably not a good idea. But if Gaius’ story is true, then Vaermina might be the only person (or, vaguely person-shaped otherworldly being) with any leads as to where your royalty nightmares are coming from. As for the P-word, you only used it so the skeleton would know what you were talking about. In your head, she’s just the goddess of nightmares.

As much as you’d like to just leave all this stuff in the past and just live your happy, new life as a Guild wizard… you can’t. Your past followed you. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to sleep, and then it’ll be right back to the nightmare that had you drinking yourself into a stupor for years. And sure, dealing with Daedra might be dangerous, and the chances of finding any actual answers are slim. But you have a motivation now that you’ve never had any point prior in your life:

Something to lose.

That is a risk, yes. But it’s like Zapo said above: you have information she wants. She told Gaius that the nightmares’ creator would try to communicate eventually, and that he should contact her when they did.

The skeleton doesn’t understand who Zapo is.

Oh! Right, you… forgot the leyline was still open. You guess when thoughts come to your head you like to pretend they are from other people and give those people names. Your mind is pretty active, and while some of the thoughts are helpful, a lot of them are things like “have sex with that guy”, “randomly drop dead”, or “eat that book” (that one in particular comes up a disconcerting amount). If you pretend the thoughts are all being shouted out by a crowd of different people, it’s less weird than coping with the reality that your own fucked up mind is the one behind it all.

So the names are a sort of classification system, where thoughts of different types are assigned to different fictional entities and valued accordingly, the skeleton wonders?

No, not really. It’s complicated. Like, the only other thing Zapo ever said to me was that something may have happened to the Legionnaire I was planning to travel with, so I should be careful traveling alone. But that was something a lot of people said, so I didn’t really feel the need to acknowledge it from Zapo specifically? But, it’s not as if Zapo is the designated “tell Vaermina about the messages and don’t travel alone” person; it’s more that I give those particular thoughts more credence because Zapo and so many of the other fictional people all said it?

The skeleton asks if you’re alright. You tell it you don’t know.

So, ah, I don’t suppose you know anything about what Vaermina likes? You explain to the skeleton that you want to make a good first impression, and a gift or other offering seems like a good start. You know she has an affinity for the finer arts, but the only thing you have in that vein is a pen, and you kind of don’t want to give it up, as it’s your only pen.

Memories, the skeleton responds.

How do you… give someone memories?

The skeleton explains that one common method is the use of Cairncorp’s^® MAXCapacity Soul Gems, which are available at designated retailers^[9] for the price of 500 septims (7530 Akaviri roundmarks). Thanks to Cairncorp’s^® patented PowerCharge technology, simply handling your CairnCorp^® MAXCapacity Soul Gem will cause it to absorb small^‡‡‡† and replaceable^‡‡‡‡ portions of your soul, which reviews left by Vaermina worshippers cite^[10] is commonly sufficient to appease their Prince. This use is not encouraged or endorsed by CairnCorp^®, and neither CairnCorp^® nor its subsidiaries are responsible for any resultant injury, madness, or death that may arise from the misuse of its products and/or services. Your closest retailer of these misusable products is Baeralorn in Anvil.

The skeleton notes, however, that you are unlikely to be granted an audience with Vaermina herself. The Chapel of Rerouting will connect you to one of her Omens, who may forward your call further if your inquiry is judged as being of sufficient importance.

ELEVEN! HE’S LATE.

Like you said, you’re sure Asotil is fine. Imperial Legionnaires are the Empire’s best-of-the-best; even that orcish bandit with the angular, rock-hard abs, luscious, steely pecs, and tight, herculean glutes said he steers clear of the Legion. Their patrols are what make Cyrodiil’s roads the safest on the entire continent.

Safest for people who aren’t you, anyway. You are aware that all the flora and fauna try to kill you every time you go between cities.

In fact, you bet that’s why Asotil’s not here! You bet he realized you’re nothing but trouble and this was the perfect time to ditch you! You bet he’s off patrolling some scenic beach-road while sipping a delicious tropical drink he wouldn’t have felt right drinking in front of you! Leaving you out here waiting for sixteen hours must have been way easier than telling you to your face that he hated you!

But hypothetically if he didn’t hate you and was actually just late, it sure would be embarrassing if he showed up right now while you are exposed and posing seductively. That sure does seem like the sort of thing your luck would facilitate!

Or more likely it would just mean that yet another person you thought was your friend has realized you’re not worth their time and energy. Gaius only tolerates you because you might have a lead on his nightmare problems. Quill-Weave only tolerates you out of pity. You bet none of it is actually real, and you’re just pretending things are okay while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

… something might have happened to Asotil.

Right. You’re not concretely saying Asotil has been decapitated by a monster or is otherwise indefinitely delayed, but you need to have a plan if he is.

Traveling back on your own is one possibility, especially now that you have a full three spells with which to defend yourself: fire, lightning, and ineffectually throwing small objects. The only problem is that you apparently have terrible luck on Cyrodiilic roads – or, more likely, luck doesn’t exist and this is just a particularly dangerous summer and you shouldn’t be traveling alone.

The other option would be hiring someone from the Fighter’s Guild. You’ve never exactly had the funds to hire people before, so you have no idea what that sort of thing costs. You’re guessing it would be enough to demote you from a high-end hundredaire to regular hundredaire at least, and your small taste of fortune has already filled you with too much greed to be comfortable with that.

And then there’s Gaius.

He said he wasn’t quite ready to go tromping off on an adventure with an ex-cultist, but maybe one more day getting to know you could change that. He is still the only potential lead you’ve ever found on your weird king nightmares, and you’re the same for him and his weird cultist nightmares. You have an incentive to look out for one another.

Fuck, with the way the two of you just ran into eachother by sheer chance… maybe someone is looking out for you. A little divine favor would be nice, even if deep down you’re pretty sure no god views you that favorably or has any interest in your smalltime struggles.

Not only would it be kind of an asshole move to intentionally go missing to see if your best friend will get worried and send people looking for you, but the best case scenario is that she does – and discovers you abused her care to save yourself a few coins. And worst case scenario, you learn she wasn’t all that worried about your wellbeing – and was correct not to be, because you were actually fine and just trying to manipulate her into sending people to help you. Either way, it’d make you a huge jerk.

It’s not as if you aren’t a little curious whether she cares enough to do something, but… all the other times in your life this has come up, you’ve never exactly liked the answer.

As for just throwing the quest out and staying in Kvatch, it does seem like a safe and stable enough place to live now that its evil wizard problem is solved. Plus, being an official Mages Guild member means you have a free place to stay for long as you want. And, even if you did streak naked through the streets and wreck several buildings, this is the first city you’ve spent any length of time in where you didn’t do all that and also have sex with four or five people, in three or four public venues, typically two or three at a time, and either before, during, or after drunkenly defiling one or two pineapples. As far as long-term homes go, Kvatch is probably the best you’ll ever get.

But, you’re also not ready to give up on Quill-Weave’s delivery right when you’re so close to proving you can accomplish simple tasks. You’re also not about to just ditch Quill-Weave – your official Best Friend. Even if your life seems to be on the up-and-up, friends are still a rare commodity you can’t afford to throw away.

Speaking of: it’s been more than the 30 or 120 minutes necessary for that bi-hourly skeleton mindwipe.

Reaching out past the liminal barrier, you feel the familiar rush of positive feelings from the skeleton, excited to see how CairnCorp^® can aid you today. You quickly think about how it’s nothing urgent; you’re just checking in. Are we still friends?

The skeleton happily ponders the sheer degree^[1] to which CairnCorp^® values^† all of its customers.

Alright, cool. That was everything. Carry on, enjoy your swim.

Hey, when… we were talking about nightmares earlier, you said the Daedric Prince of nightmares had a sort of “front desk” you could connect me to, right?

You decide to go for the safe middle ground of being mildly offended while also recognizing that you are pretty cool.

Protecting yourself against dark elf bandits would be handy, yeah, if they didn’t basically all live on the other side of the country. The chances of you running into something fireproof are pretty low.

Plus, if you remember The Encyclopedia of Deadly Creatures correctly, the only creatures particularly vulnerable to lightning are Daedra, which aren’t even native to this plane of existence. Someone like Sigrid might pull them here from time to time, but it’s not like you’re going to get accosted by an angry Daedroth on the city streets. In practical terms, you’re probably better off spending time practicing your fire.

Still, learning a new type of magic is an accomplishment. Maybe you can celebrate by treating yourself to some…

… cake.

Alright, maybe not more cake. You could do your other favorite thing and…

… read a book about magic.

Oh gods, you’ve hit rock top.

Lacking other options, you give yourself a celebratory low-five for becoming a master of the arcane arts. At least you’ll be able to show it off to Asotil when he arrives.

He said he was getting his schedule shifted six hours.

That could have meant eleven in the morning, or it could’ve meant eleven at night. And since he didn’t show up at eleven in the morning, he’ll presumably be here in two hours. Or maybe a little earlier or later, depending how many potentially-dangerous wild animals he had to stop and kill.

Nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet. You’ve just been waiting out here all day to be absolutely sure you don’t miss him.

Again, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. You’re sure Asotil is fine.

Nevermind, forget pessimism! You know exactly how you’re going to spend the next two hours until Asotil shows up.

Alright, wait, nevermind again. You’ve apparently lost your internal conflict and uncertainty, and now lightning doesn’t work.

If nothing else, you’ve at least set a new record for how quickly your hopes can be raised and dashed. If being happy you learned a spell is all it takes to steal it from you, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to do it reliably.

NEVERMIND THAT FIXED IT.

That’s the trick. All you have to do is keep your fuzzy mess of crippling self-doubt there so you have something to drag the magic through, and you have this in the bag.

This form of magic really isn’t compatible with your style of thinking.

If the intro section alone was enough to let you cast a lightning spell, then the other two hundred pages can probably help you get a better handle on it.

You pick up the book and read it like a normal, sophisticated person, rather than trying to eat it.

The dancing arc is a river. It does not crash in waves as the sea, or hold its form as the glacier. It is the partner of the riverbed, and she alone decides where it ought wander, and whether the journey will be smooth or tumultuous. Her banks give it shape, her stones danger, and her narrows speed. To lead in this dance is to take the role of the river. The arc flows where and how it must.

But as all that invokes the scrape of one force against another, even the riverbed is subject to friction. If not carefully maintained, its rapids smooth and its banks widen. To wield the bolt is to shape oneself as needed and be the conduit through which force travels. It is a task to which not all are well-suited, and those of weaker will may find more success among the mud-caked savages spewing flame and frost.

You’re on the fence as to whether you should feel offended by that because you mostly do fire, or embrace elitism because you also managed some lightning.

You’re not going to leave now, when Asotil is probably only an hour or two from arriving. He explicitly told you he was going to get his schedule shifted by six hours, and that he was going to meet up with you and travel back.

Even if he got reassigned to another road or something, there would still be an Imperial Legionnaire patrolling this one. When they come by the town – apparently six hours later than normal – you will be briefly sad that they’re not Asotil, but you’ll still travel with them.

And on the off-chance that every Legionnaire was suddenly recalled for an emergency or something, you’d still like to ensure your safety by traveling with someone else. Maybe the textile merchant or Dagon cultist have a reason to go to the coast?

You really don’t want to head out on your own. Not when overconfidence has screwed you so many times.

It’s still not much of a meter when you can’t tell how much it’s changing, but you straighten up the magicka bar a bit and make it a clothing-coordinated shade of blue.

You’d make a better one, but you’re pretty sure all your imagination-juice is currently going toward this extremely vivid snake you keep adding things to.

You still have sweetrolls! In fact, ten hours of eating sweetrolls and giving them to everyone who walks past has only taken you about halfway through this 24-pack.

You could run into town and get some real food, but you’re worried straying from the rock for too long will cause you to miss Asotil. Also, you kind of feel like you deserve this sickeningly sweet fate for buying five pounds of sweetrolls. It’s a complicated feeling.

Anyway, let’s learn about zapping things.

Part One. Introduction.

Lightning is the art of friction.

It is the broil of clouds against the night sky. It is the crackling drag of fabric against fabric. It is the slow burn that drains our power as we pull magicka through the fibrous aether, and to wield the spark as your weapon is to embrace and unleash the friction that the unenlightened mage laments as his detriment.

Some among the scholarly elite contend that the destruction mage’s reliance upon emotion is “brutish.” And I confess, when it comes to the sting of angst that ignites a flame spell, or the cold focus of frost, I find that my field’s detractors and I begrudgingly agree. To call forth the echo of thunder, however, is not to regard emotions as your weapon, but as the terrain upon which you fight. It is to draw your unformed energies through the tangled conflict of thought, allowing whatever change the burn of friction may inflict upon them.

Oh good, it’s flowery bullshit. You were worried something meaningful might happen today.

Trying to learn a bunch of new magic skills all at once might be biting off more than you can chew, yeah. Especially trying to learn them over the course of twelve hours, and without sleep.

To show the flowery metaphor book how dumb it is, you imagine up a big clump of magicka and, as per its suggestion, drag it through what you can only assume is a giant mess of overthinking that surrounds you.

Knowing that you have one and a half gallons of magicka isn’t exactly enough for you to make a gauge out of it. You’d still need to know what total amount that is out of, and have some way to tell how much it’s changing by each time you cast a spell.

The first question, though, might have an easy solution. You direct your thoughts back to the skeleton and wonder how much magicka it would take before your tank is full.

The skeleton forewarns that it was not created to display magical aptitude, and only possesses the basic magical knowledge the Makers^® have decreed necessary for client relations^†. As it understands things, however, the question isn’t “how large your mana tank is”, but rather, “how much mana you can wield control over”. Have you ever siphoned power from a soul fissure?

No, you think in response.

Have you ever attempted to animate a nonstandard skeletal construct with more bones than the soul bound to it originally possessed?

No, I haven’t.

Have you ever used alteration spells to warp a larger area to fit within a smaller area of a different shape?

No, I don’t… think so, but will admit a degree of ambiguity on that one.

Well, storing mana for spellcasting is like any of those things you haven’t done. There is no maximum amount one can carry so much as there is a functional limit to what an individual can learn how to manipulate.

Oh! So it’s kind of like finding how much you can lift? You just have to keep picking up weights and see at what point you can’t do it?

The skeleton supposes so, though such an analogy seems unnecessarily abstract and difficult for CairnCorp^®‘s clientele to relate to. If you would like to estimate the upper limit of your mana-wielding capabilities, the simplest route would be to gather or generate mana and take note of the point at which you can wield no more.

You can’t generate your own magicka, so doing a test like that isn’t exactly… easy for you, you admit.

Oh, right, you forgot you have money now. Everything is easy for you.

You splurge and drop 221 septims on the strongest magicka potion you can find. The skeleton informs you that you now have approximately seven and a quarter gallons of magicka. Nice.

You ask the skeleton if that’s a good amount for a mage to cap out at. It ponders the question for a minute, then explains that its etiquette training suggests an abrupt change in topic. How’s the weather on Nirn?

It’s… Nirny, you guess. You’d say “normal”, but the meaning of that might be lost across planes.

Before you go and blow a hundred septims worth of magicka on a summoning spell, you check with the skeleton as to whether there are any ways to bring the spell’s magicka cost lower. Like, are there… better ways to cast it? You’re already cleaning up the blue squiggle.

The skeleton tells you that the mana usage of star-tesseract-style conjuration predominantly comes down to the efficiency of the leyline. A straight line will be more efficient than the one used during your previous summon, but conjurers with more experience navigating the planar layout can typically forge a route shorter than a straight line. Routing through smaller planes helps.

You don’t suppose there’s a map available explaining the shortest route?

An nth-dimensional map such as that would be very difficult to portray in a two- or three-dimensional model. Celestial routing efficiency is typically^‡ regarded as a skill conjurers pick up through experience. CairnCorp^®‘s official stance^[1] is that conjuration technique is best improved through regular and repeated conjurations with CairnCorp^®.

But like, we’re already telepathically communicating. Is there no way to just transfer the maps into my head?

It stresses that this is a front-level mental link through a long-distance leyline. What you are asking would require transferring a conjurer’s actual experiences navigating starmaps.

You said there were magical ways to shift experiences from one person to another, right? Is that something I could use here? Like, could I get a more experienced conjurer to use that experience-tampering magic you mentioned to show me how he-

Oh. Okay.

Huh, maybe you should’ve actually read this book rather than just idly holding it that entire time. You didn’t even get a chance to take up the skeleton’s offer to connect you to Vaermina’s plane.

Though, if what it said about bi-hourly mind wipes is true, you guess you can just try again in half an hour.

Or two hours. It’s weird that ambiguity still exists telepathically.

The skeleton’s thoughts about restoration magic implied it might actually be able to make you better at other types of magic. If restoration magic is really that powerful, you doubt using it is as simple as thinking happy thoughts or believing in yourself.

Or eating a book about it.

As for Asotil, you’ve been giving the road regular checks and the most you’ve seen is a trapper carrying some rabbits. The sun is going down, though, so it’s pretty likely Asotil’s schedule was shifted six hours forward and he’ll show up in a couple hours.

You… guess if you have a full tank of magic, a temporary block on summoning, and no apparent route forward with restoration, it’s time to try the lightning spell.

You doubt you’ll have time to get much of a handle on it before Asotil shows up like he said he would, but… yeah.

While you don’t want to upset another space-skeleton, you cautiously push the topic further. Restoration magic means conjurers last longer, which means more conjurings. And that’s what CairnCorp (^®, the skeleton adds) wants, right? Repeat customers?

The skeleton acknowledges that the BAD MAGIC is indeed a method conjurers may utilize to prolong their living state, although its use is heavily discouraged by CairnCorp^®. If customers are concerned about personal safety, it is recommended that they prepare their paperwork well in advance† and keep a skeletal minion on hand at all times, as this provides protection without endorsing the school of Restoration.

Sensing your confusion, the skeleton explains further. CairnCorp^® is one of the few conjuration planes to offer undead servants, meaning your summons are not only of the highest quality^[1], but immune to poisons, exhaustion, and mind control that would affect a conventional Daedric summon‡. However, their undead nature also means they are uniquely susceptible to several forms of specialized magical combat utilized by a very small number^[2] of mages. Most of these spells focus on temporarily breaking the bonekin’s link to the Masters^®, but those versed in the BAD MAGIC often take a more heinous path, tampering with the bonekin’s very past.

A bonekin targeted by these spells will find itself having lived the most unspeakable of horrors. We recall every sight, feeling, and sensation as though it was our own. It weighs heavily on our shredded and reconstituted souls, leaving us shaken to our very core until our bi-hourly mind wipe.

Oh, wow. I’m… sorry I brought it up?

From now on I’ll be careful talking about restora-shin!

Like the tibia kind of shin, which is a bone.

So, ah, you seem very good at staying hydrated. Is there a dignified way to drink from a dish?

While there is very little about this in the etiquette knowledge the Makers^® have supplied, the skeleton’s limited information suggests the proper route is to place your fingers in a circle around the rim, stabilizing the edges of the dish as you bring it to your mouth.

Don’t worry, you’re still watching the road!

Nobody has shown up since the textile merchant. At most, you’ve seen a few deer.

You have been trying to slightly increase the time between checks, hoping that this will jinx Asotil into walking past the city just in time for you to notice him walking away and chase after him. So far, this has not worked, and you may need some stronger type of jinx-magic.

His name is now Quentin. His favorite food is chamomile tea and he wants to learn woodworking so he can start a shop selling children’s toys that help teach math. It would be emotionally devastating if Asotil showed up and stepped on him.

In retrospect, jinx-magic might not actually be a real thing. Taking a more proactive approach, you turn your attention back to the skeleton.

You think about your predicament. You are waiting for a friend to show up, but don’t know when he is going to arrive. You don’t want to leave this rock, lest it cause you to miss him, but you would like to search around and see if there are any better vantage points. Would it be okay to maybe pull the skeleton over to Nirn to act as an extra pair of eye… sockets?

The skeleton delightedly informs you that guard duty is a perfectly acceptable and encouraged use of your CairnCorp^® bonekin. According to its readings, however, you have insufficient magical energy to perform a conjuration at this time.

Wait – you can see how much magicka I have?

Of course it can read your mana quantity, the skeleton thinks. In order to provide an optimal conjuration experience, CairnCorp^® carefully monitors numerous‡ attributes of customer wellbeing. Your mana quantity is among these.

Can you, like… tell me how much I have? Because I don’t exactly know how to tell.

Certainly! Would you prefer it in metric or Imperial?

Oh! I mean… like, on one hand, I recognize metric is better. Everything being based off multiples of ten just makes sense, you know? But on the other hand, the Empire’s units are what I grew up with. When someone says “one meter”, there’s still this split-second thought of “oh, so about three feet”, and I don’t know if that ever fully goes away. It feels like I still think in Imperial, but on some level I also feel an obligation to try to stand against that. Like, to force myself to use metric units until I stop instinctively converting them in my head and instead just feel comfortable thinking of one meter as one meter.

The skeleton asks you to confirm it understands correctly: you would like the measurement in Imperial.

… Yes, please.

The skeleton informs you that you have one and a half gallons of magicka.

Ah… how much is that?

About five and a half liters.

No, I mean, like… how much does it take to do a conjuration spell?

It varies based on the conjurer’s skill, the skeleton thinks in response. For a caster of your demographics, a basic bonekin conjuration would take approximately twice the amount of mana you currently have, or three gallons. Based on your personal conjuration history, it is estimated the spell would take approximately sixteen times as much mana as you currently have, or twenty four gallons.

Let me guess: this is because of all those pictures I drew on the way there last time, isn’t it?

The skeleton notes that drawing pictures with a leyline you actually intend to use is, in practical terms, a terrible idea that would be met with ridicule were the skeleton capable of such behavior. But because the glorious Makers^® have freed the skeleton of such vices, it instead commends you on your creativity and dedication to the arts.

Additional resource credits:
AMKitsune – image positioning help

Don’t worry, you are sure this will have no negative consequences and that you’ll be able to stop whenever you want.

Getting straight down to business, you briefly think about yourself – an amateur mage seeking to learn more about conjuration – and your appreciation toward the Soul Cairn for getting you out of that sticky situation last night. Telepathic introductions are weird.

The skeleton is happy to hear that you found CairnCorp^®‘s conjuration services satisfactory, and hopes this is a sign you will continue summoning with them in the future. It considers the possibility that, if you enjoyed your experience, you’ll perhaps see fit to recommend CairnCorp^® to your friends^†?

You make a mental note to mention it to all three (!) of them at some point. How’s the ball-and-net game going?

The skeleton observes that today’s game in the Temple of Activity is progressing with the usual amount of harmonious perfection^‡. The glorious Makers^® have decided that it will win this game and the next by a narrow margin, before moving on to the regional championships where it will lose 1-6, 1-6.

Sounds like the skeleton, ah, has its day all planned out. You could call back later if this is a bad time?

It banishes that thought, stressing that it would enjoy nothing more than to serve you right now to the best of its capabilities^‡†. It requests a moment to pull up your files.

Sure, you think, no hurry. Mostly you just have some general questions.

First of all, about those files…

You hope to the skeleton that you might be able to tweak a few of the details that were entered last time. Your initial registration was expedited a bit due to the situation you were in, but now that things have cleared up you’d like to correct some minor inaccuracies.

The skeleton notes with a tinge of disappointment that a number of the basic account setup questions, such as the registrant’s name and birthday, are set at the time of registration and cannot be adjusted^[1]. This is part of the reason new users are encouraged to prepare their account well in advance^[2] and double-check answers thoroughly for spelling mistakes.

It wasn’t really a “spelling mistake” so much as the Ideal Master (^®, the skeleton adds) throwing in a bunch of answers to get the account made more quickly. You were a little too busy to care much at the time, but now that you’re no longer in mortal peril and summoning might become a regular thing for you, you’d kind of like to change your name away from “Slutty Meatsack”.

The skeleton reemphasizes that your registration name cannot be adjusted at a later date^[1], as your information has already been added to the Holy System in the appropriate alphabetical location. Additionally, if the exalted Maker^®, chose your name, it is most certainly an excellent name and the skeleton cannot comprehend why a change would be desired or necessary.

Would it be possible to at least change the language to something other than Dragonish?

Language preferences are indeed fully adjustable^‡‡. In the interest of providing better service for you and other customers going forward, would you be willing to provide the reason for the change?

Your Dragonish is a bit limited, you think in response. Also, you’re pretty sure dragonlings don’t have a written language. That ream of papers the skeleton is holding just has “<SCREAMING>” written repeatedly on every page.

The skeleton can see where this might be a potential inconvenience. A prayer has been sent to the Makers^®, and your language preferences should be updated within 3-10 business days.

The snake is imaginary! It can feel neither hot nor cold. There is no reason to worry about its wellbeing.

You can give it sassy little arms and make it give a thumbs up, though. Hopefully that’s enough to pretend it’s happy and comfortable.

Jessi wrote:

Katia: Enquire about the wide range of available deals on Summoning Circles!

Aaanyway, so, next point of business: I’m still pretty new to this whole “dealing with otherworldly entities” thing. I’m wondering, what exactly is the… model, here? Do I give you something in exchange for you sending skeleton people to me?

For legal reasons, the skeleton clarifies that CairnCorp^® does not send “skeleton” “people”. You pull bonekin from the Soul Cairn^® using basic conjuration technique as you would from any Daedric plane, while CairnCorp^® ensures your conjured aid is fully repaired and readily available when you need it, as well as providing customer service and manaback guarantees^‡‡† in the rare case that problems should arise.

As an ordinary conjurer, you won’t be buying from CairnCorp^® directly. Rather, new conjuration codes will be purchased through one of our licensed resellers. Upon using a code, it is securely and nontransferably bound to your account and will remain uniquely yours until you have been fully dead^‡‡‡ for at least two years, whereupon your account is automatically closed. Your Free Conjurer Account entitles you to summon one (1) Soul Cairn denizen at a time, although this number increases if you choose to upgrade to a Platinum Account.

Okay, you think, that seems almost suspiciously non-evil. There’s no secret trick here to take over my mind or steal my soul?

CairnCorp^® prides itself on an inviting environment and friendly customer service. We would never steal your soul, although we offer competitive^‡‡‡† rewards should you sign it over voluntarily. If a customer is on the fence about this decision, we encourage them to seriously consider whether they had any better plans or prospects for their soul.

Alright, so, I’m gonna change the topic before I start thinking about that too hard.

Third question. It’s a longshot, but… just to check, do you guys ever tamper with dreams?

CairnCorp^® is a high-quality provider of conjuration services^[4]. Altering dream states falls outside the purview of their business^[5].

I mean, not as a business thing, but maybe as advertising? Have you ever given people scary dreams to make them see your company name, or feel like they need skeletal defenders? Anything like that?

The skeleton recalls that a nightmare-based marketing campaign was proposed at a meeting several centuries ago. As CairnCorp^®‘s planar location is optimized for ease of summoning^[6], not dream intervention, the suggested campaign would have been operated in collaboration with the Daedric Prince Vaermina. However, the analyghasts foretold that such a campaign would draw interest to Vaermina’s plane of Quagmire more than to the Soul Cairn^®, and it was ultimately concluded that the gains of the campaign would not outweigh its price.

So you didn’t do it, but you did think about it. As in, it’s something a summoning plane might consider. Also, you implied you have a way to contact Vaermina?

Although CairnCorp^® highly discourages its customers from fraternizing with hazardous Daedric entities, most planes ruled by a Daedric Prince have a public number for business inquiries. The skeleton would be happy to forward your call to Quagmire, if you have questions about purchasing nightmares.

You might take the skeleton up on that offer later, you think in response. You’re still new to this conjuration stuff, and don’t really know how to reach places.

But, ah, before that: fourth question. I’m sorry if this is outside your plane’s specialty, but do you know anything about restoration magic?

The skeleton wishes it knew less about the BAD MAGIC.