--- She’s never seen someone like him before.

     No doubt a subset of MER, judging by his pointed ears. But he’s not any breed of elf that she’s ever seen before. Perhaps he’s a Snow Elf who managed to escape the terrible fate of his brethren. Or maybe he’s one of the ancient Dwemer (gods knew that any race of mer lived for an incredibly long time).

“I’m not stupid, I can clearly see it’s blood.” He inspected the blood coming from a claw-like gash on their back.

“Was this from a chaurus? Falmer? Wolf, bear, whatever creatures roam Skyrim’s wilderness? I could treat it.”

NICE DOES HE HAVE A NAME

There's a funny thing about Daedric realms which most people quite often overlook upon first entering one plane or another - usually because they're busy dodging Imps or Saints or other monsters of unspeakable horror and beauty... but one thing, one funny little thing about these realms? 

The temperature. 

Despite being surrounded with fire in The Deadlands, or a frigid-looking nothingness in Coldharbor, it is a little-realized fact that you don't particularly feel anything.

Unless it's part of the persuasion process, mind you.

You may feel pain when you touch the fires, but you will not exactly feel heat. You may feel a numbing sort of pain when reaching into the waters of Evergloam, but you may not exactly feel cold. While the sensations of each realm is real, and anything inflicted upon you can be very real, temperature realism seems to be a more or less overlooked facet of Prince Planes.

The same could certainly be said for Aprocrypha.

Being of Knowledge, Hermaeus Mora, would likely be the most certain candidate to keep on top of something like that, to provide a realistic setting for the poor unfortunate souls caught in his web... or tentacles, but Apocrypha was not any certain setting. Evergloam looked like it should be cold, The Deadlands looked like they should be hot, but Apocrypha? The sky was not blue, the air was not red. It was difficult to tell from the sulfur-pepper setting what temperature it should actually be and, perhaps, that was part of the illusion. Perhaps that was every bit intentional so as to confuse the individual trying to seek out his knowledge, and... for Szz'yrr, for one, it was an instant give-away that something was wrong.

Rather, not necessarily wrong, but that he was not where he had been last - because last he could recall, he'd found an old fox burrow and dug it out large enough so he could curl up and escape the frigid landscape, though he remembered still being the coldest he'd ever been (though he said that every time it snowed) and this was not even close to that.

What Szz'yrr felt now, as he began to come forth into consciousness while resting curled in a tight ball on the ground, was... nothing really. Not hot, not cold, just like if his own body temperature was applied to the air and that felt simply very strange to the Falmer Scholar. He'd never not been cold after all, except for the rare times when he was boiling from a fever, and certainly he'd never felt... nothing.

He opened his eyes slowly, large owlish Bosmerian eyes shifting this way and that as he tried to gain bearings on where he was. At first all he saw was a sulfur-yellow sky, though, with no clouds, no stars, no sun, no nothing... and then he brought his gaze further downward and saw the great twisting black architecture that looked like scales or charred skin, and finally his eyes adjusted and he could see what looked like they COULD be clouds, but they were so stringy and mammatus-like that he couldn't peg them as any sort of clouds he'd ever seen.

Szz'yrr felt the coldness of fear creeping up into his belly, he felt the tightness in his throat and the shortness of breath of fear, fear that was all too familiar, and so he slowly uncurled himself and started to crawl backward, lowering his eyes to the ground, hoping to find some sort of escape before he was seen by who--or what--ever had brought him to this unknown place.

But then, just before him, seemingly out of nowhere, a great black smudgy spot formed and blooming forth from the center came the fan of tentacles like some grotesque Lovecraftian flora and, safe to say, Szz'yrr's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, a strangled-sounding gasp escaping him as he quickly stood, stumbled back, and proceeded to trip over someone ELSE in his haste to get away from the mass of tentacles before they grabbed him!

But by the time he recovered and shot to his knees again, a trembling hand pressed firmly against the back of whoever had been deposited here with him--a poor, unfortunate Vek in this case--the mass had suddenly vanished back into its self with a great but gentle 'whoosh' and much to Szz'yrr's horror, when he glanced up... the sky was full of them. They were farther away than that one had been, but they were there. Watching.