Couldn't blame them for it :/ Poor men. All this makes Wrothken's crazy look like a walk in the park!

I love the little humane twists on the Legionaires and guards, it takes a little bit of the curb off the situation, but you always bring back the weight of the situation with the little details. Like the bed in the street, the rooms above the shops. It makes the whole situation a lot more personal and human than it ever felt in the game. It's a superb read!

SubRosa: I’m glad Inian is coming across, too. When I saw that he is a castle guard I decided to give him a little more work to do. Thank you again for pointing out those issues so I could fix them, and for your encouraging words.

haute ecole rider: It’s the last push to the castle, whew! Thank you so much for your support!

mALX: The curb was my favorite detail. Thank you mALX!!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I was hoping that the characters would come across in these action-y sections without slowing things down too much.

Captain Hammer: Yeah, if they avoided all the enemies it might have been a little bit boring. Thank you for the encouragement! I’m glad you enjoyed the legionnaires’ comments.

Jacki Dice: This would be a bad time for Jerric to wander into a felldew situation!

Ahrenil: Thank you for pointing out those details, Ahrenil. I’m glad you’re reading!!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 6

Jerric stood inside the North Guard House looking at the round trapdoor set into the floor. Inian dropped a lit torch down. Its yellow light revealed that thick smoke filled the dark passage. “Looks like the daedra came through from the courtyard and got stopped here at the hatch,” said Inian.

“What could still be burning down there?” Jerric asked. There’s no air, he thought. Terror made his wet skin feel coated with ice. He would rather face a dozen clannfears than go into that tunnel.

“Some crates, maybe. Furnishings that were in storage. There shouldn’t be anything else down there to burn,” Inian replied. He looked up at the five of them. “Here’s what we’ll find. It’s a climb down these metal rungs, then stairs down to a straight passage all the way to the end. You’ll find another set of stairs and rungs there going up with a hatch at the top like this one. No turns, no other way out. Watch out for steps up and down throughout the passage. My concern is that the daedra might have blocked the trap door in the courtyard after they set these fires.”

“Is there any other way?” Jerric asked quietly. He tried to calm himself. The thought of suffocating underground had already made him feel short of breath.

“This is it.”

“Let me see if there’s air in the passage, sir,” Rilian suggested. The young guard looked tense and eager. Jerric caught Livius’s eyes and saw his own fear in them.

“All right,” said Inian. “Be quiet getting the other trapdoor up. It’s not easily visible from the courtyard, but be careful. I don’t want a fight in the passage.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rilian. He dropped his legs through the hatch and disappeared into the smoke. A moment later they heard him coughing. “It’s not so bad near the floor!” he called. “I’m going!” The yellow light disappeared with his fading footsteps.

“Masavo, light another torch,” said Inian. He looked up at Jerric. “I’m sending you next.”

“Funny,” said Jerric. “They’ve set everything on fire except the torches.”

“Stay focused,” Inian told him sharply. Smoke began to drift up out of the hatch. “I think he’s opened it! Damn, that boy is fast! Fetch it, we’re all going.” Inian grinned at Jerric and dropped Masavo’s torch down. “You first, Nord. Then Livius.” Fear stiffened Jerric’s limbs. He didn’t let himself think, he just swung his legs over and climbed down into the darkness. He felt some relief when his muscles didn’t hesitate. Smoke started to burn his eyes before he even picked up the torch. He heard Livius hit the floor behind him as he started down the passage, coughing. Good idea to get the frightened rabbits down the hole first, he thought. Now Inian can kick our dreck-dribbling haunches the rest of the way if he has to.

Jerric loped through the long tunnel with the torch in his hand, stumbling over the stairs that Inian had warned them about. It took all of his concentration not to take off running in a panic. He fell into a rhythm counting steps and keeping his breaths shallow until he reached Rilian at the top of the final staircase. The air at the base of the round tower was clearer. Jerric dropped the torch and got ready for the climb up.

The others joined them in the tower. “There’s no cover in the courtyard,” Inian warned them. “It’s designed that way. We’ll be under fire from the top of the walls. Jerric, straight across between the gates and up the stairs to the gate lever. It’s a wheel, turn it to the left to raise them. See if you can get them up as fast as Rilian got the hatch open. Let’s go!”

Jerric needed no encouragement to climb out of the tunnel back into the rain. He dashed between the gates and up the stairs, coughing the smoke out of his lungs. Even though it was wet, the gate wheel turned easily in his hands. He heard shouts from across the moat and screeches from within the courtyard as the gates went up. By the time he leaped down the steps and swung around the corner into the courtyard, the battle had begun.

Scamps, clannfears, and flame atronachs filled the air with their cries and the light from their fire spells. The three legionnaires had taken a position in the middle of the courtyard. They looked like a solid fortress against a swirl of fire. Jerric heard Matius shouting, and the Kvatch Guards filled in on both sides of them. Jerric stood beside the Altmer archer, throwing his spells over their heads at the dremora on the wall above. First he would send a flare to show him his target, then he would follow quickly with a more powerful shock spell. He saw the first dremora fall and glanced to his right where something had caught his attention.

Vonius lay on his side cursing in a rapidly widening pool of blood. His hands pressed around a dremora arrow that had pierced the mail over his upper thigh. A scamp had almost reached him. Jerric jumped over Vonius and slashed through the scamp’s belly, heedless of the claws raking down his arm. He lowered his shield and aimed a second slash through its throat. The scamp slumped forward, and Jerric threw his shoulder into its slippery chest to shove the body away from Vonius as it fell. He dropped to the ground beside Vonius, kneeling in the blood and water. No cover, Jerric thought. He pressed against the injured leg with one hand and got the other ready to pull out the arrow.

Rilian crashed to the stones near them with an arrow protruding from his throat. He lay thrashing on the wet cobbles. “The kid!” Vonius gritted out. “Rilian!”

Jerric scrambled over to Rilian, and for a moment he was blinded by fire as a flare hit his back. When the flames dissipated he saw that Rilian’s eyes were open, locked on his. His legs had stilled, and red bubbles frothed through Rilian’s fingers. No time, Jerric thought. He ripped out the arrow and clapped his hand over Rilian’s on the torn throat. White light swirled around them as Jerric sent his healing spell into the wound over and over, as fast as he could. Rilian began kicking again and coughed out blood. Jerric pulled him upright by his surcoat. Rilian stared back at him with wild eyes, clutching his healed throat. “Stendarr’s balls,” Jerric breathed in amazement. Rilian bent over onto his knees, spitting up blood. Jerric lunged back over to Vonius. He lay flat on his back now with another arrow in his chest. The rain made puddles in his open eyes.

A sick feeling churned inside Jerric’s guts, and he felt the grief and horror flooding back in. Thoughts swarmed around his head like bees, but he pushed them away. He let go of Vonius and rose to stand beside Rilian. The fight in the courtyard was over. We’re almost there, he told himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain on the courtyard stones, and in a moment his mind was clear again. He picked up his shield and joined Matius at the castle door.

Blood soaked the Captain’s headband and surcoat. Jerric saw the Altmer archer standing grim-faced beside Matius, holding a dremora mace in his hand. Jerric guessed he must have eliminated the rest of the dremora archers. “This area’s clear,” said Matius. “You legionnaires are a welcome sight. We’ve got to get inside and find the Count before it’s too late. Inian, we’re under your command. No one knows the castle better than you.”

Inian stepped forward. He spoke to the Altmer first. “Merandil, take Jerric with you and go straight through to the Count’s quarters, you know the way.” He nodded to the legionnaires. “You three go with them to rescue the Count. Get through the living quarters main hall to the corridor at the end. It leads to the Count’s private quarters. Find the Count and defend him until we meet you. There’s a corner in the final hallway you can use to your advantage. I’ll clear the Great Hall with Captain Matius and the rest of the guard. We’ll come for you and the Count when the castle is secure.” He spoke to the rest of the Kvatch Guard. “You on the left, you on the right. You two straight down the middle, let Merandil’s group through. Move out!”

Jerric followed Merandil into the Great Hall. The interior was a shocking wreck of piled, smoldering furniture. Books and silver tableware littered the floor. Smoke obscured the high ceiling. Jerric looked for the familiar entrance to the castle dungeons, but rubble filled the opening. He saw the guards closing with flame atronachs and scamps. This is it, he thought. He reached inside himself for his Nordic Woad and felt it settle like a second skin around him. “The Count!” cried Merandil.

There was plenty of room to dodge daedra as they ran through the Great Hall. One clannfear’s charge caught Jerric’s side, but its bony head frill glanced off his hip with a white flash of magicka. He stumbled into a shattered column, then he pushed himself up and continued without injury. They followed Merandil up the curved set of stairs behind the throne. They had reached a part of the castle that Jerric had never seen before.

The doorway to the castle living quarters was open, its doors shattered. Ruined furnishings cluttered the floor, leaving little room to move. Twisted bodies lay strewn across the carpet here. The smell of smoke thickened the air, and under it Jerric could smell something much worse.

Scamps and flame atronachs emerged from the doorways along the sides of the hall and began throwing their flares. Jerric stayed between Masavo and Merandil as they worked their way through the room. The uncertain footing made it difficult to dodge the fireballs. The legionnaires easily caught them on their shields. Jerric absorbed most of them, but the increasing pain from his burns made a constant howl in his mind. Merandil began to stagger. He carried no shield, only the dremora mace.

A clannfear stepped out of a side passageway and turned into the room. Jerric heard Livius and Paetus on his left swearing at a flame atronach. On his right Merandil struggled grimly with a scamp, and Masavo was somewhere behind him. The clannfear lowered its head and trumpeted. It charged straight at Jerric. Dammit, he thought, there’s no room. He was able to move a half step to the side, but the clannfear caught him full on his shield. He heard the splintering crack of impact as it tossed him into a burning table. Hot agony seared his hands as he scrambled and rolled sideways out of the fire. He heard Masavo shouting, but he couldn’t listen. The sight of his hands blackened and red where the skin split open filled him with horror. Panic sent his healing spell carelessly over all of himself. He stared down at his healed arms, shaking. Jerric looked up to see Masavo pulling his sword out of the clannfear. Masavo looked over at Merandil and Jerric. “We’ve got this!” he cried. “Go to the Count!”

Merandil caught Jerric’s eye and jerked his head toward the back of the hall. Jerric could see two broad steps leading up to an open, arched doorway there. He pulled his ruined shield from his arm and dropped it as he picked his way through the debris. The floor at the back of the hall was thick with bodies dressed in the castle guards’ white surcoats. Jerric realized that this was where they had made their stand. The hopelessness and despair they must have felt also filled him, and this time he was powerless to stop it.

His family had never been here, now he knew it in his bones. The last thought that he might find anyone left alive slipped away. He tried to bring them into the front of his mind. They stood together in his imagination, and he found he couldn’t see their faces. They seemed so far away from him. The knowledge that he could never bring them any closer sank through him like a black fog. He felt cold inside, alone and empty.

His legs still carried him forward. Jerric knew the hollow look of folk who had gone on living long after their hearts had left them. Now he knew the feeling. He rounded the corner in the hallway, following Merandil. They stepped over at least a dozen torn bodies. Jerric realized that after the guards were killed, the daedra had simply slaughtered these people where they stood.

When Jerric and Merandil entered Count Goldwine’s quarters, a scamp looked up from where it rummaged through the wreckage. These doors had also been splintered open. The smell told Jerric that the Count had been dead for some time. Jerric's eyes found him on the floor in a dark, sticky pool. Merandil pounded the scamp with his mace until it fell, and then for awhile after. A ragged sob pulled Jerric’s attention to the door. Inian stepped into the room, his face utterly defeated. Tears stood in his eyes.

Jerric pulled the woven coverlet from the bed and spread it out next to the Count’s body. Inian turned him until the black wolf on the coverlet centered over his chest. They wrapped the Count’s body and carefully lifted him onto the bed. When Captain Matius found them standing there, Inian silently handed him the Count's signet ring.

The victors made their way back out of the city, but there was no rejoicing. Jerric understood that they had all held onto the hope of finding loved ones alive at the castle. The only folk who weren’t grieving were the ones who lay dead. Even the three legionnaires were somber. He noticed that Masavo and Paetus supported Livius between them. As they walked across the bridge over the castle moat, the rain faded into a drizzle. Smoke and steam still rose from the ruins, but the air was already clearing. By the time they reached the city gate, Masser and Secunda were visible in the sky. Jerric stood on the plateau and looked up at the familiar stars. The smells were horribly wrong, but the damp wind that washed over him felt the same as it had for all of his life. He heard Sigrid speaking to the guards, but their words made no sense in his ears.

Jerric turned and walked back into the city. His feet found a path through the wreckage, and his eyes followed the line of the city wall until he stood where his home had been. Small fires still burned under the rubble. They showed him that there was nothing left but tumbled stones and ash. Savlian had pointed to where the great siege crawler had come over the wall. His family would have been beneath it. He knew they had died here, crushed and burning. Still he had to look for them.

He started searching the dead faces in the street, moving stones and people as he went. His hands turned every broken body until Inian found him at dawn. He took Jerric’s arm and led him away to the encampment like a child.

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 17 2011, 01:26 PM

This. Is. Heartbreaking.

You've captured the harrowing experience of Kvatch as told from the view point of a Kvatch resident. Entwined with that is the crazy chaos that is combat, with comrades dropping left and right too fast to count. Friends are standing next to you one second, and in the next they're gone. And the aftermath is just astounding.

WHEW!!! This battle scene was breathtaking in detail - choking on the smoke in that tunnel was a huge descriptive way of showing what that tunnel was like. Jerric's emotions could be felt through this whole set of chapters - AWESOME WRITE !!!!!

GAAAAAH!!!! Poor Jerric, that last paragraph brings tears!!!

Well done, Grits!

This was very moving and powerful.

I loved the fear and vulnerability you let the situation bring out in Jerric. Yet he did not falter when it counted.

You captured the aftermath very very effectively. In fact, you have really done full justice to the majesty and tragedy of Kvatch.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Feb 15 2011, 03:13 AM

Wow. I was definitely not expecting this. The fight for Castle Kvatch was one thing entirely, but what you've done with Jerric and the unimaginable loss he's suffered is unbelievable in the quality of your writing. Well done.

Jerric's claustrophobia at going into the tunnel was a good touch, as it makes him a down-to-nirn person with vulnerabilities.

Jerric looked for the familiar entrance to the castle dungeons
This brought a faint smile to my lips!

A very exciting, fast-paced battle in the courtyard. Jerric's being able to save one soldier at the cost of another's life was outstanding writing! You continued the pace through the castle, to its tragic conclusion. Very hot and desperate!

The was of course perfect. Jerric's soul being crushed under the weight of knowing that it was all for nothing, searching through the bodies and ashes for the remains of his family. Powerful stuff.



nits:
I was a little confused about where Rilian was shot. Eventually I figured out it was in the throat, but that was only a few sentences later. Perhaps you might add something into one of the first two sentences in that paragraph telling us the arrow was in his throat?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 15 2011, 05:54 PM

haute ecole rider: You can imagine it was upsetting to write. What you described is what I was hoping very much to convey. It means a lot that it came through for you. I appreciate your support through this chapter so much, thank you h.e.r.!!

mALX: The tunnel is such a nothing event in the game, but when I thought about it I realized how scary it would be. Thanks, mALX!! I’m glad Jerric’s emotional state came through, it seemed important.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Jerric was definitely walking a fine line throughout. This chapter has me seriously considering switching from the PS3, if only to make Kvatch pretty again.

Captain Hammer: Thank you, I really appreciate your comments. I knew it was going to be tough when I made Kvatch his hometown, but whew!

SubRosa: I couldn’t bring Jerric back to the castle without having him remember his many walks of shame. Thank you so much for your support. This chapter has been quite a journey! Is the Rilian arrow any clearer? I moved a sentence around a little.




Chapter 7: Kvatch Part 7


Abiene opened the door to the guild hall, fanning herself. She stepped out of the Anvil sun and into the welcome cool. A grumble from her stomach made her wonder if she had missed lunch. Marc Gulitte and Darnand stood in front of Carahil’s counter in conversation with Baeralorn, the mage from the castle. Carahil was absent from her usual position. Abiene realized it was later in the day than she had thought if Baeralorn was already here for his customary afternoon visit. She took in the sight of Marc’s chubby cheeks and Baeralorn’s outlandish stripes of hair next to Darnand’s lean elegance. He looks like a stag standing between a skunk and a tree rat, she thought with amusement. Then his words struck the whimsy out of her head.

“They’re talking of a blonde Nord who ran through the Oblivion Gate and closed it,” Darnand was saying to them. “He went into Kvatch with the City Guard when they took back the city. He fought against the fire atronachs and dremora mages, and their spells couldn’t touch him. They’re calling him the Kvatch Lion.”

Abiene’s heart leaped in her chest, and her stomach filled with butterflies. She hurried down the steps and stood next to Marc to listen, holding her breath. Baeralorn spoke next. “What is his name? Do you suppose it could be Jerric?”

“No one knows his name. They say he fought with a blue sword and frost spells,” replied Darnand. “I think it was him.” Darnand’s eyes met Abiene’s. “Good afternoon,” he said to her politely.

“Most Nords are blonde, it could have been anyone,” said Marc. Abiene wanted to put her hands around his throat. She gave Darnand a nervous smile.

Darnand’s voice sounded calm, but Abiene had spent enough time watching him to see the tension in his posture. “A Nord battlemage from Kvatch with amber eyes and those scars on his face? Jerric was born under the Atronach, that would explain how he absorbed the spells. He would jump into Oblivion to save his family, don’t you remember how he talked about them? It’s enough to give me hope.”

Marc nodded. “That’s true. He couldn’t open his mouth without saying something about his Ma. What a pity.”

Darnand ignored him and looked back at Abiene. “As soon as Felen is ready, we’re leaving with supplies. Glafeviel is coming with us, she plans to stay with anyone who is left from the guild. The Mages Guild will still have a Kvatch chapter. The people there will need us.”

Marc spoke in a querulous tone. “Why lion? The Kvatch Guard wears the black wolf.”

Darnand shot him an irritated look, and his voice further betrayed his annoyance. “Because he fought alone, perhaps. He’s not one of the City Guard. Maybe the yellow eyes, Jerric does have a leonine appearance. He’s certainly larger than the average city guardsman. Why do you think, Gulitte?”

Baeralorn glanced between the two Bretons, looking mildly entertained. “I didn’t know you and Jerric were such good friends, Darnand,” he observed. “I might have named him the Kvatch Jester. I seem to recall he got the best of you on more than one occasion.”

Darnand turned on Baeralorn just as Marc opened his mouth to speak again. Abiene found her voice and interrupted them. “Does Jerric have a blue sword?” she asked.

She watched Darnand compose himself. The firm resolve in his face gave her something to hold on to. “I have no idea, but when I see him I’m going to ask,” he said. “He survived the battle. The Kvatch Lion is still alive.” Darnand took her arm and led her a few steps into the small receiving room. She heard Marc and Baeralorn continue talking in the hall. “I know you share my optimism, Abiene. Do you have a message for Jerric? I could take it for you.” His eyes seemed to search her face.

Abiene’s emotions swirled her thoughts into a confused mess. The breathless hope that Jerric might still live mixed with the thrill that Darnand was showing an interest in her. She warmed to Darnand’s hand on her sleeve, but then the memory of Jerric’s heat raced over her skin. She took a shaky breath, and then another so that she was sure her voice would sound firm. Darnand stood waiting. “I’m sure he has a great deal on his mind other than his restoration trainer,” she said primly. “If you think of it, just tell him I hope he returns to Anvil soon.” Please bring him back to me, she thought. I need to see him again.


Sigrid smoothed her hair and stepped out of her new tent. Legion Riders had brought them yesterday along with bedrolls, cots, and cooking supplies. For the first time in nearly a week she felt refreshed. She shook out the folds of her blue gown, now clean. I suppose I should be thankful I was up late that night, she thought. At least I’m not still wearing a nightdress.

She walked the few paces to Oleta’s tent and peeked in. Oleta looked up from where she knelt folding bandages. “He’s up,” Oleta said. “He checked on his horse, then I sent him to the creek to wash. Try Tavia’s cookfire.”

Sigrid nodded briskly. “How is he?”

“Healed. Rested. Still not talking.” Oleta sighed and looked down at her hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kept him asleep for so long.”

“He wasn’t himself. You did the right thing, Oleta. We need to give him some time to adjust,” Sigrid replied. “Remember, for him this all just happened.”

“At least now we have canvas over our heads and something to feed him. See if you can get him to eat. It’s been days.”

Sigrid walked through the camp until she spotted Jerric on a log bench beside Tavia's cookfire. He sat with his forearms braced against his thighs, back hunched and head down. He wore the clothes that she had washed for him. His wet hair looked clean. It's a start, she thought.

She moved to the fire and sat down near him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. “I’m pleased to see you, Jerric,” she said softly. He didn’t respond, so she decided just to talk to him. "It looks like Tavia found something for her pot. And I smell kahve.” Sigrid searched his bleak face. His wide eyes stared at nothing, utterly empty. "The fires have burned out in the city. There's already talk of rebuilding." She wondered if he even knew she was speaking. “Supplies are starting to come in.” She reached out and touched his arm. "We have lost all we had, but we’re starting again. I could use another mage. You have a future here, Jerric."

He held an empty cup in his hands. Sigrid gently took it from him and filled it with kahve from the pot hanging over the edge of the coals. She gave it back to him, pressing his fingers around the cup until he gripped it. Steam rose. Sigrid sat and waited.

Finally he met her eyes, and she saw that he was back behind them. His face wore all of the guilt and sorrow she was feeling. “I should have been here, Sigrid. I slept not half a day’s walk from here while they burned.”

Sigrid steeled herself for what she knew she had to say. This was no time for gentle words, only the truth. She hoped he was ready to face it. “You would have died with them, Jerric. I used my spells to get through the fire, but you would have fought until your last breath and then died along with the rest. Do you see any other Nords out here, or any children? No one escaped who was slowed by little ones. The only difference you would have made is more blood on the ground and your ashes in the wind. Don’t tell yourself you could have saved them.” Sigrid realized that her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her knees to still them.

His expression didn’t change at her words. “I couldn’t find them. They have to be somewhere, but I couldn’t find them.”

“They’re not here, Jerric, they’ve gone on together to the great halls of Sovngarde. Even your smallest cousin had a dragon’s heart. Can you at least take some comfort knowing that?”

“I don’t know what to believe. My Fa’s shadow has already found me in my dreams. How can I avenge him? I don’t even know who to kill.”

“There’s nothing you can do for them. You have to let them go.” Sigrid realized that her words weren’t just for him. “You’re still alive, Jerric. Don’t waste it.”

They sat in silence for awhile, and then he spoke again. “I can’t stay in Kvatch. I wish I was strong enough, but I don’t know how to be here without them." Jerric rose and drank the kahve. "I have a promise to keep," he said, and he handed her his empty cup. "Where is Brother Martin?"

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 17 2011, 06:10 PM

It's good to have a quiet chapter after the last couple heart-pounding ones. It's time to sit, think about what happened, grieve. It's not yet time to start thinking about the future. Your writing reflects many of the same things most trauma victims go through. The progression of emotional events are well represented here, with Jerric just coming to terms with events, and Sigrid already a bit further along and starting to think about tomorrow and the day after.

And Abiene is torn between lust for Darnand and her fondness for Jerric? I can relate to that!

That is a little better with Rilian's arrow. But it you still have to read several sentences in before you find where the arrow is. I think the most confusing part is the bit about his legs having stilled, which makes one think of the arrow is lower. It is basically a matter of what you think the reader should know first. You might consider something like this:
Jerric scrambled over to Rilian, and for a moment he was blinded by fire as a flare hit his back. When the flames dissipated he saw that the fletchings of an arrow rose from Rilian's throat. The soldier clutched at the missile with both hands, and red bubbles frothed through his fingers. Rilian's eyes were open, locked on his own. No time, Jerric thought. He ripped out the arrow and clapped his hand over Rilian’s.


Now on to the new episode. First off, it is nice to see Darnand again, after so long. I love Abiene's observation about the skunk, tree rat, and stag. Since he is the latter, I am guessing that she might be housing him now? From what I see later on, I guess not. Yet at least. The Kvatch Lion is also a good nickname, given Jerric's blond hair and of course a lion's mane.

“Does Jerric have a blue sword?”
I would think Abiene is more familiar with the color of Jerric's sword than any of the guys. Unless Servilla the Serpent was not an isolated incident...

At least I’m not still wearing a nightdress.
Damn! If only she had went to bed early!

Finally, even fully-dressed as she is, Sigrid gives excellent advice. Both pointing out that Jerric's coulda', woulda' shoulda' been there would just leave him as dead as everyone else, as well as the fact that it is time to take what you have and get down to the work of living.


nits:
Sigrid stepped out of her new tent, smoothing her hair. Legion Riders had brought them yesterday
This makes it sound like the legion riders brought hair, rather than tents. You might consider reversing the smoothing and stepping?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 17 2011, 06:05 PM

Delightful seeing Abiene again, albeit under poor circumstances. It is wonderful that the Anvil guild is responding to their guild mates in Kvatch.

The last part of this story, where Sigrid is trying to comfort Jerric (and herself) is quite touching. Sigrid's plight at Kvatch has always tugged at my heart, and Jerric's plight is now poignantly fresh in our minds after the several wonderful chapters that preceeded this one.

She should remove her top, the headlights would blink his attention to her.



This sentence is as powerful as it gets - huge emotions in Jerric here that leaves the reader with the same numbness and feeling of being stunned beyond what the human mind can comprehend. Your ability as a writer has always been obvious to the reader, but never so much as in these Kvatch chapters - Totally Awesome, there could be no other word more deserving of your story !!!

But a few lines later:

That would have been delayed indefinitely if she'd done as you suggest.

You are right about that, here is what he would have seen (covered up, of course) :


http://images.uesp.net//thumb/4/44/OB-npc-...-npc-Sigrid.jpg


*

The Lion of Kvatch.

Sorry, just had to draw attention to that. The use of the animal motif is only enhanced by Jerric, not only for his physical resemblance (a blond man with a decent beard is nothing if not leonine) but for his heart as well.

Of course, you realize that I'm never going to think of him as anything other than "Jerric the Lionheart" now.

The chapter itself was a great exercise in the emotions that occur after a battle. The way the residents of Anvil's Mages' Guild respond to the reports about the closing of the gate, how Abiene reacts to learning that Jerric may still be alive, and their plans for the Kvatch guildhall are all excellent ingredients that make this story work.

haute ecole rider: I put a lot of thought into what Sigrid would say to him. I’m really glad it made sense. Yep, Abiene is definitely conflicted. She’s had that slow burn for Darnand since before last Saturalia, but then along came Jerric. She is definitely fun to write, I’m so glad she is relatable. Thank you, haute ecole rider!!

SubRosa: Thanks for welcoming Darnand back. He’s certainly giving Abiene some mixed emotions. Glad you liked the animal comparisons, especially the lion. It seems to fit Jerric much better than Hero of Kvatch. I had to laugh about the blue sword. It says a lot about my mental state that I missed it!! Also thanks for pointing out Sigrid’s advice. I wanted to give her more than just a legendary rack. I fixed the sentence that implied the Legion brought Sigrid a wig. D’oh!

Acadian: Thanks for welcoming Abiene back. I’ve missed her! We’ll see more sides of her soon, good as well as stuff she could improve upon. I feel the same way about Sigrid, I’m pleased that she touched your heart. Your kind words are so encouraging, Acadian.

mALX: Sigrid is going to have to flash her headlights in another story! Poor Jerric brought her a bag of scamp skin, then got distracted by events and failed to make a pass at her. Thank you for your kind words, mALX. That you can feel what he’s going through means so much to me!

ghastley: Not sure how many people manage to look Sigrid in the eye. If she took her top off, poor Martin would have a long, lonely walk to the Priory.

Captain Hammer: Just what I was hoping for, but I didn’t want to spell it out. Thank you so much, Captain Hammer!! I’m pleased to hear the different sections worked together. I wanted to bring some characters back into the story, but I was concerned that the way I did it might be too choppy.


A note: Although I play around with events from the game, Vonius really died during the game battle, and the sigil stone in this section is the actual one that Jerric got. You should have heard me shout. Thank you for reading!



Chapter 7: Kvatch Part 8

Jerric walked toward Brother Martin where he sat idly by the fire. Martin saw him and rose as he approached. Jerric had missed the resemblance to Emperor Septim before, but now it was clear in Martin’s pale eyes and solemn face. “I heard about how you helped the Guard drive the daedra back,” Martin said. “Well done.” Jerric recognized the same resonance in Martin’s voice.

“Brother Martin, I need to speak with you privately.” Martin didn’t reply, but he followed Jerric away from the fire. “Do you know who I am?” Jerric asked him.

“Of course. You’re Kjelling and Sonstra’s youngest. We met when you were just a lad, but it’s been years since I’ve seen you in the chapel. I’m well acquainted with your mother. She spoke of you often.” Martin stopped and turned toward Jerric. “Do you need a priest? I don’t think I’ll be much help to you. I’m having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want anything to do with it.”

“There is a plan, Brother Martin. It gives me no comfort to tell you, but we’re part of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin’s voice took on a bitter edge. “I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”

Jerric didn’t know how to speak any way but plainly. “Brother Martin, you are Uriel Septim’s son.”

“Emperor Uriel Septim? You think the emperor is my father? No, you must have the wrong man. My father was a farmer.” Jerric saw anger and denial in Martin’s face. A part of him already believes me, he realized.

“You know the man who raised you isn’t your father. I was there when the emperor was murdered. He told me I must find his last son and close shut the jaws of Oblivion. His last words were of you, Martin. The daedra came here for you.”

“An entire city destroyed to get at me?” Martin demanded, aghast. “Why? Because I’m the emperor’s son?” Horror flooded into Martin’s face.

“I don’t understand what they want,” Jerric said quickly. “There’s something about the Dragonfires being out and Oblivion. I only know that they’ve killed the emperor and all of his heirs, and now they’ve come for you. They destroyed Kvatch, and then they left. Why would they leave if they wanted the city? If you really knew my Ma, then you know it’s not in me to lie. Do you want to wait here and find out that I’m right? You’ll know it when they come back for you.” Jerric had tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he could hear it himself. He willed Martin to believe him.

Martin looked away toward the trees, and conflicting emotions battled in his face. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s strange, I think you might actually be telling the truth.” Martin’s expression changed to wariness, and he looked back at Jerric sternly. “What does this mean? What do you want from me?”

“Come with me to Weynon Priory,” Jerric urged. “Brother Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades, I’ll take you to him. He’ll tell you what you must do for the Empire.”

Now Martin appeared calm and resigned. “You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped them drive the daedra back. Yes. I’ll come with you to Weynon Priory and see what Jauffre has to say. Lead on, when you’re ready.”

Jerric felt relief, followed by the pressing need to get away from Kvatch immediately. “Brother Martin, please gather what you’ll need for a week’s journey through the wilderness. We can stop to pick up more food, but you’ll need blankets. Also I suggest you put aside your priest’s robes as soon as we are out of sight. The assassins who killed the emperor were mer and men. We should assume they will be looking for you.” Jerric rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to think. Beyond convincing Martin to go with him, he didn’t have much of a plan. “I’ll meet you at the foot of the Kvatch Road as soon as I can. You shouldn’t tell anyone where you’re going. I need to speak to Captain Matius before I go.”

“Berich Inian is the Captain of the Guard now. We made Savlian the Steward of Kvatch until the Council decides what to do.”

“I need to speak with Steward Matius, then.”

Martin gave him a brisk nod and headed toward the city gate. The city must be secure, Jerric thought. Get yourself moving. He walked to the tent where he had seen Matius earlier. The former Guard Captain seemed smaller in his civilian clothes. He stood outside at a desk made from a door placed over standing logs. Sheets of parchment were spread across the surface, held down with stones against the breeze. Matius looked up and began to speak as soon as Jerric reached him.

“Good, you’re on your feet,” he said. “Here’s what you missed. We’ve started salvaging from the city. Some supplies have arrived from Anvil, and more are on the way. Count Hassildor has promised aid. Legion Riders have brought more every day. I’ve made Berich Inian the Captain of the Kvatch Guard again. You and I have had our differences in the past, Jerric, but the Guard could use you. Kvatch was rebuilt from ruins before, and she’ll do it again.” Matius’ voice rang with pride and determination. In his mind Jerric put up another statue next to the one of Antus Pinder.

“I’m leaving, Steward Matius. I don’t know if I’ll return.” He returned Matius’ gaze without shame. “I have always respected you, however foolish my actions. I believe that Kvatch will rise. But not for me.”

Matius nodded. He turned and retrieved some things from the tent, and he held them out to Jerric. “I hoped you would stay, but I want you to take this, regardless of your decision. I’m through with fighting. It may serve you well in the days to come. Batul made the adjustments while you were recovering.” Jerric looked at the Kvatch Wolf embroidered on the surcoat in his hands, speechless. Matius’ cuirass, he realized with awe. “I thank you for risking your life to help us,” Matius was saying. “I can ask nothing more of you, Jerric. Go your own way, and may Akatosh guide you.”

Jerric didn’t trust his voice. Steward Matius gripped his arm, and then Jerric just walked away. A few steps took him to the City Guards’ tent. Inian stood outside with Merandil. The Altmer nodded at something Inian told him and left as Jerric approached. “Captain Inian,” Jerric said. Then he couldn’t find the words.

Inian gave him a long look. “I guessed you might be going,” he said. “I had hoped you would stay with us.” Jerric was relieved to find no judgment in Inian’s expression.

“How could I?” Jerric managed a small smile. “You don’t have a prison cell for me.”

“Any of these tents would hold you.” Inian smiled back at him. “No dungeon has ever seen a more pleasant inmate. You know, old Brocchus never bothered to check for mail unless he came to work and heard you in the drunk tank singing. He told me you were just as reliable as the flags that they hung outside the caravan office, and much easier for him to see.”

Jerric looked at his feet and nodded. “Old Brocchus. He could sure spin a tale. And he never minded starting over when I passed out in the middle.” He looked back at Inian. “I’ve got to go,” he said simply.

“Hold on another moment, Jerric. I have something for you.” Inian ducked into his tent.

“I can’t take anything from you, Captain. I should be giving you what I have, but I can’t.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Your fines probably outfitted half of the City Guard.” Inian emerged from the tent with a Kvatch Wolf shield in his hands. “They told me you carried this in the Deadlands. Vonich would want you to have it. He went through the Gate to try to save his bride. Vonich was a good man, one of the best. You’ve earned it, Jerric.”

“He saved us all, Captain Inian. He and Menien. They told me what I needed to do in the Deadlands.”

“We’ll keep his name alive along with all of those who were left there. Kvatch has a new generation of heroes, and some of them are living.”

Jerric knew what Inian meant, and it made him uncomfortable. “As soon as I can, I plan to tell the tale of Savlian Matius, Hero of Kvatch. You’ll be in it too, Captain Inian. It won’t do any good to talk about me after I’ve left. The real heroes are the ones who stay and pick up the pieces.”

“I’m too old to stand here and try to convince a post that it’s made of wood.” Inian got his arm around Jerric, cuirass, shield, and all. He thumped him on the back. “Akatosh guide you, Jerric. Whether you know it or not.”

Jerric walked to Batul’s tent, following the sound of her hammer. She saw him approaching and got his greaves ready. “Here,” she said. “Get that cuirass on too, I want to check the fit. You were kicking like a wild thing the last time I saw you.”

“I guess I was dreaming.” Now there’s an understatement, thought Jerric. He shrugged into his gear and stood for inspection. He felt magicka strengthening him even as it glinted across his vision. This cuirass is enchanted, he realized with amazement.

She checked him over and appeared to be satisfied. “I’m good,” she observed. Jerric thought that was another understatement. Batul picked up a long sword in its scabbard and handed it to him. “Do you recognize this? You brought it back from the Deadlands. It belonged to a good friend of mine. I made it for him.”

“I recognized your work, Batul. It got me through a bad time in the Deadlands, I can tell you. It’s a lot like the sword my Fa had you make for me.”

“I know it is. You should have it.”

“Batul, thank you.” He thought how inadequate the words seemed. “You made a new scabbard. How did you have time for all this?”

“I haven’t slept much. None of us have. What am I going to do at night, go sit in a burned out tavern? Work keeps my mind from dwelling on what I’ve lost. Take a look at the blade, Jerric.”

He drew the steel blade and whistled at the white magicka that shimmered over it. “You enchanted it! How?”

“Sigrid did, with the stone you brought back from inside that Gate. Look at the scabbard and figure it out.” She turned it in his hands.

“Atronach’s Redeemer. What, does this sword absorb magicka?” he asked, astonished.

The smith clapped him on the shoulder, and he staggered half a step. “You’re not as dumb as you look. She told me what to write.”

“Batul, I could kiss you. I can’t pay you for all of this.”

She barked a short laugh, probably the first heard in the encampment. “Go kiss Sigrid, you know you want to. Lion of Kvatch.” He gave her a quizzical look. “That’s what they’re calling you. On account of your crazy heroics. Or because you don’t know how to use a comb, one or the other.” She stepped back and looked him over again. Appraising her work, he decided. “You closed the Gate, and I got my tools back. Let’s call this one even. I’ll charge you next time, though, you can count on it.”

“Thank you, Batul.” This time the smile came more easily. “I mean for not eating my horse.” Jerric headed down the road toward Flash.

“Ha!” she called after him. “You’re just lucky we didn’t have any onions.”

When Jerric reached Flash, he found Sigrid there waiting for him. He dropped his burdens next to the pile of packs and tack and ran his hands down Flash’s neck. “Remember me, fellow? I’m afraid I’ve been pretty rude lately.” Flash turned his head and snorted some breath against Jerric’s chest.

“I’ve packed you some food,” Sigrid said. “Oleta won’t give me any peace if you don’t take it.”

“I’ll take it,” Jerric replied. He rummaged through his packs on the ground. “Here, it’s scamp skin. I was bringing it to give you.”

They traded packages. “For my Mage’s Bane poison. Thank you, Jerric.” Sigrid stood in the shade of a twisted pine tree. For the first time Jerric noticed how young she looked, and how lost.

“I wish I could give you more, but I’m afraid I’ll need it,” he told her. He started balancing the packs and preparing to leave. “Batul told me you enchanted my sword. How did you do it, Evoker?”

Sigrid straightened her posture, and her characteristic strength and pride sounded in her voice again. “The stone you retrieved is a Sigil Stone. It carried both the enchantment itself and the power to imbue an object with it. The process is very similar to alchemy. You already have the ability to read the enchantment, you just need to hold the stone and an object and use your will to combine them. The way you read the potential in ingredients and then will their fusion in your mortar. I doubt you even realize what you’re doing; alchemy seems to come naturally to you. You were one of my easiest students. Your skills developed quickly despite your casual technique and obvious distraction. I’ve read about sigil stones, but I was still surprised that I could actually use it. I hope you’re pleased with your sword, I should have asked you first.”

Jerric decided there was just no polite way to explain his distraction during their alchemy lessons. “I’m more than pleased. I just dropped the cursed thing on the ground and walked away from it. I’ll thank you every time I use this sword.” He secured the last buckle and stood beside Flash. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to stay, he thought. Calm purpose rose up inside him, and he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted. Surprisingly, the thought was a comfort.

Sigrid stepped forward and put out her hand. “I’ll have more to trade than sandwiches the next time we meet, Associate.”

Jerric took her hand and squeezed it for a moment. “Until then.” He clucked his tongue to Flash, and the two of them started down the road to meet Martin.

What, you're not waiting until dear Savlian Matius is dead first? May he live a long and useful life!

Ya think?

I rather enjoyed this chapter, from Jerric telling Martin about his ancestry to speaking with Steward Matius and Captain Inian to saying farewell to Batul and Sigrid.

So I see Jerric is taking the Bosmer path, through the wilderness. A good idea, since it is likely that more assassins might by lying in wait on the obvious routes to Weynon. Likewise, his idea that Martin should get out of his robes and wear something normal is again, good thinking.

So Matius is now the Steward? That makes good sense, as well as promoting Inian to his old job. His decision to give Jerric his cuirass makes much more sense now, as he is now formally giving up the military life and becoming a civilian leader.

I loved the little bit about Bocchus and Jerric in the drunk tank! Little things like that really make a character and setting come alive.

Atronach’s Redeemer is a wonderful name for a sword, and with a perfect enchantment behind it!

Or because you don’t know how to use a comb


I loved Sigrd's explanation of how alchemy and sigil stone enchanting work. It seems Teresa is not the only natural alchemist around.

A great prelude to leaving Kvatch.

“I’m too old to stand here and try to convince a post that it’s made of wood.”
I loved this!

You consistently and effectively wove just the right touches throughout this story that displayed that Jerric and these people all knew each other and were all residents of Kvatch.

In the scene with Batul, you really struck that magical blend of truth, poignancy and humor. Well done!

'Calm purpose rose up inside him, and he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted. Surprisingly, the thought was a comfort.'
This is a brilliant passage. Despite what could almost seem contradictory, it makes absolute perfect sense.