Oh noes! I'm lost!

I've been away so long I think I've lost my place. Argh! I really need to get myself back to reading this, I'm missing out on quite a well-written tale here.

SubRosa: There’s a hobbit-inspired bag of salt in the story, but it won’t show up for a while yet. Abiene is definitely conflicted. Poor Vidkun, the old boyfriend left behind in Leyawiin. Unless of course he decides to take her advice and join the Mages Guild.
The thing Jerric’s really upset about losing in Kvatch is his collection of Dunmeri erotica.

haute ecole rider: I think you’re 100% right about Sigrid! Maybe we’ll have to check in on them later. Carahil’s list was inspired by such events. It is a relief to start thinking about Kvatch rebuilding.

ghastly: That was my favorite part!

mALX: Sigrid, I need your help, my ring is on the bottom of that pond. Oh, never mind. The sun’s companion thing is hard for me to figure out. What the heck was Uriel talking about?! And Martin thinking hmm, did he bring along a copy of Nord Girls Gone Wild? Thanks, mALX!!

Acadian: Kvatch is kind of taking on a life of its own, it’s been interesting. I wouldn’t worry about Sigrid, I’d guess she’s an expert in deflecting unwanted attention. I never really thought about the Kvatch to WP road trip from Martin’s perspective before this story. I guess it would be a pretty big transition for him. Thank you for noticing the Accidental Alchemist at work.

D. Foxy: Hi, Foxy!! Always nice to hear from you. I’m so glad you’re reading!

Thomas Kaira: Don’t worry, it will be here whenever you get to it! I’m glad you’re still reading.



Chapter 8: Running, Part 4

Jerric had lost track of the days, but he guessed nearly a week had passed while they walked through the wilderness. He thought it might have been a month since he headed south from the Odiils’ Farm. The trees had changed from shades of green to all the colors of fire. High on the mountainsides he could see the dark shapes of evergreen groves. Snow capped the peaks and reached pale fingers down into the shaded hollows.

The men climbed up through a bright meadow. Exertion kept them warm now, instead of heat from the sun. Jerric believed that he had steered them too far west. His thoughts were confirmed when he saw the tops of Chorrol’s crenellated city walls. “Look, Martin!” he said. “We’re almost at the road. Tonight we’ll sleep at Weynon Priory!”

Martin gave him a tired smile. “The Priory at last. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since that terrible night.” Jerric let the comment skim over the surface of his mind and away. He had learned to keep the days for moving forward and let his grief have the nights.

Foot traffic was light on the Black Road, and they were able to pass slower travelers. When they turned onto the path to Weynon Priory, they found it empty. The massive oaks lining the road wore autumn cloaks of brilliant crimson. Acorns crunched on the stones under their feet. Tree rats filled the air with busy chatter as they raced about gathering them. “Big trees from such little things,” Jerric remarked. “There are a lot. No wonder we didn’t have any trouble from the real bears.” Martin looked at him as if he was speaking Argonian. “Acorns,” Jerric explained. “They’re not hungry. The bears.” Jerric decided that emperors might not spend much time thinking about such matters. He cleared his throat. “Priory’s just ahead,” he said.

Distant shouts and an agonized cry jolted Jerric into action. “Stay back,” he said to Martin. He started down the road at a run.

A Dunmer was dashing toward them, shouting. “Help! You must help! They’re killing everyone at Weynon Priory!”

Jerric’s gut tightened at the sight of the panicked mer. He glanced up at the sky for signs of red clouds as he ran. “What’s happening?” he called to him.

“I don’t know!” Eronor had nearly reached him. “I think they’re right behind me! Prior Maborel is dead!”

Eronor was correct, they were right behind him. Two armored figures pelted up the road, maces in their hands. They wore the same armor that the assassins under the Imperial Prison had conjured. Jerric’s mind filled with cold fury. Redeemer hissed into his hand, and he realized he had left his shield on Flash. Again. His Woad shimmered over him as he closed with the first assassin. Man or mer, he didn’t care what he faced. He wanted to smell their blood.

When the first assassin reached Jerric, his companion still lagged several steps behind. Jerric noted wild eyes and a small frame. Redeemer’s tip pierced the assassin’s face before he could finish his strike. A surge of magicka and black joy sent Jerric toward his next opponent. This one was taller, but the reach advantage still belonged to him. He saw the assassin begin a weak swing from the wrist. Already unbalanced from his strike, the man couldn’t dodge when Redeemer sought his throat.

Jerric looked down the path through the red mist of their dissipating armor. A brown-robed figure danced around another assassin in the Weynon House courtyard, his blade glittering in the sun. Brother Piner. Another enemy approached him from the rear. Frost hurtled past Jerric and boomed against the advancing figure as Jerric ran toward them. Piner’s blade darted faster than Jerric’s eyes could follow. By the time he reached the courtyard, Brother Piner stood alone. “God’s blood!” he gasped. “They came out of nowhere! Have you seen Grandmaster Jauffre?”

“Eronor said he was in the chapel,” Martin said from behind Jerric. Jerric whirled around and stared at him.

“Quick!” cried Brother Piner. “He may need our help!”

They heard shouting as they entered the small chapel. Piner led the way, blocking the path through the pews. “You’re just in time,” Jerric heard Jauffre remark to Piner. By the time Jerric got around his flashing blade, the air was full of red mist. Three bodies lay on the floor. Jauffre stood uninjured with a long katana in his hands. Jerric looked at the small Breton, impressed. Grandmaster, he reminded himself.

“You’re back,” Jauffre said to Jerric. “Thank Talos!” He glanced at Martin, and Jerric saw recognition flare in his eyes. “They attacked without warning. I was praying here in the Chapel when I heard Prior Maborel shout. I had just time to arm myself.”

“Prior Maborel is dead,” Brother Piner said heavily.

Jerric spoke over him. “How did they know…?” He looked over at Martin.

“The Amulet of Kings!” Jauffre started toward the door. “I fear that was the target of this attack. I keep it in a secret room in Weynon House. We need to go see if it is safe.”

Brother Piner dashed after Jauffre, but Jerric held on to Martin’s arm. “It could be a trap,” he said. “I don’t know who to trust. We’ll follow in a moment.”

Martin looked aghast. “The monk was fighting for his life! You don’t think—"

“I don’t know enough to think,” said Jerric. And this anger isn’t helping, he realized. “All right, let’s go. This time, stay behind me.”

They crossed the courtyard, stepping around the dead. Jerric saw Eronor walking toward them, leading Flash. Prior Maborel’s black-robed corpse sprawled beside the Weynon House front door. Jerric almost hoped to meet opposition. His muscles twitched with energy he wanted to spend in blood.

They found Jauffre upstairs pacing in a room that had been concealed by shelving when Jerric had been there before. “They’ve taken it!” he told them. “The Amulet of Kings is gone!”

Jerric pulled Martin into the small room. “Grandmaster Jauffre.” He kept his voice low. “I have brought Martin Septim.”

Jauffre composed himself and turned to them. “Then it has not all gone against us. Thank Talos for that!” He looked Martin over, but his face did not betray his assessment. “Martin cannot stay here. We have driven them off, but they will be back once they learn of Martin’s survival. Which they will.”

“Where will he be safe?” Jerric asked. He realized he still had a grip on Martin’s arm, and he let go.

“We must take him to Cloud Ruler Temple. The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma. We should leave at once.” Jauffre turned his piercing gaze on Jerric. Jerric nodded his answer, and Jauffre turned to Martin. “We must postpone formalities until you are safe,” Jauffre said to him. He indicated the second loft area. “Over there, the trunks. Get yourselves some woolen clothing. Blankets too, we’ll be sleeping rough. There will be snow on the ground where we’re going.” Jerric found some Nord-sized clothing, and Martin had a significantly larger pile to choose from. Jauffre joined them with a leather cuirass for Martin. “Piner is packing the food. Get it from him, Jerric. We’ll meet you at the stable. Watch the road. I don’t know how quickly they will decide to send someone back here.”

“Does Brother Piner know where we’re going?” asked Jerric.

Jauffre gave him a sharp look. “He has not betrayed us.”

“No, that’s not my meaning. If they come back here looking for Martin, won’t they take whoever’s here? For information?”

“You can trust that I have taken such things into consideration,” Jauffre replied crisply.

Jerric knew it was time to shut up and move on. He headed downstairs. Piner gathered the packed food and followed him. Eronor took the blankets from Jerric when they got to the stable. He watched the road while Eronor and Piner readied the horses. Flash was wearing a saddle now, as were the bay and chestnut. “I’m sorry about the Prior,” Jerric said to the men.

Brother Piner didn’t spare him a glance. “We’ll put him to rest as soon as you are gone,” he said. “And the others.” For the first time Jerric realized that some of the forms on the ground could be residents of the Priory. These attackers hadn’t worn red robes. Piner led Flash out onto the road and gestured to Jerric. “Come on.” As Jerric walked after him, he saw Piner glance back at Eronor. “We heard about Kvatch,” Piner said. “Jauffre told us it was your home. I’m sorry, Jerric.”

“Kvatch will rebuild,” Jerric told him quietly. He felt the shadows rising again, and he pushed them back. “Will you be all right here, Brother Piner?”

“I will serve Talos, whatever comes. I hope there will be a day when you may visit us here in peace.” Jerric gripped his arm in farewell.

Jauffre and Martin joined them. While they made their final preparations, Jerric addressed Flash. “This may be the end of our friendship, fellow,”’ he said. “I hope we can agree that I should stay on.”

As they rode away from the Priory, Jerric heard the sounds of grieving. Jauffre set a brisk pace up the Black Road, and the Orange Road proved winding and steep. Gaps in the trees provided breathtaking views down across Lake Rumare. The White Tower showed them the colors of sunset, then faded to grey in the twilight. Jerric concentrated on keeping his seat.

As night fell, Jauffre slowed the horses. The road was empty and wide enough for them to ride abreast. They talked as they rode through the dusk. “Those assassins weren’t trained fighters,” Jerric said. “One of them didn’t even know how to use his mace. Still, I can’t help but worry about the folks back at the Priory.”

“The attack was a distraction while their agents searched for the Amulet,” Jauffre explained. “I believe that retrieving it was their only purpose today. The enemy will learn of Martin’s survival. Our hope lies not in secret, but in speed. We must reach Cloud Ruler Temple before they realize that Martin lives. A few men can hold it against an army. There is no place that Martin will be safer.” They rode for a few moments in silence. The evening air held a chilly bite. Jerric wondered if they had come far enough north for snow. Stars glittered in the darkening sky where he could see it between the trees. He guessed he wouldn't find out tonight. Jauffre spoke again, as if Martin was not riding right between them. “The enemy has defeated us at every turn. We gained Uriel’s heir, but lost the Amulet of Kings. Nowhere is truly safe against the power arrayed against us. But we must play for time, at least.” Jauffre’s voice sounded grim, with a disturbing edge of hopelessness.

Jerric looked over at Martin, then past him at Jauffre. He couldn’t read their expressions in the dusk. “Have you ever played stickball?” he asked them. Neither of them replied. “Well, you’ve seen it played. You know what you do when you drop a pass. Go get the ball. Make the next play.”

To Jerric’s surprise, it was Martin who spoke. His rich voice filled the cool evening. “Once we have reached Cloud Ruler Temple, you must advise me of our resources, Grandmaster Jauffre. Then we shall locate and retrieve the Amulet of Kings.”

This post has been edited by Grits: Mar 4 2011, 06:40 PM

Quite the homecoming. It was hard to lose Prior Maborel in the game, especially after he was so nice to loan you his horse.

And the end of the road turns out to be the start of another, much harder road. Poor Martin. He is still coming to terms with being the Emperor, but I see in your fiction he is already ahead of the game.

This was confusing for me. Didn't they want to go north anyway? Did you mean too far west of their ultimate destination? Or did you mean north instead of northwest in the sense of the direction of their travel? When Chorrol and WP lay on an east-west line like they do, I would think that if you ended up at Chorrol, you steered too far west in relation to your ultimate goal. In either case, both are north-northwest of where you started from. (I'm assuming you left the Gold Road at the same point I typically do when going cross country - at the bridge east of Ra'Sava Camp.)

The 'd' in unbalanced got scared and bolted from the fight.

This triggered another brief moment of confusion for me. To me, wool means the rough fiber you get from the sheep/goats/yaks etc. And blankets are often made of wool as well, especially those in northern climates, so using wool and blankets as two separate things in the same sentence gave me pause. Did you mean woolen clothing perhaps?

Overall, still a great job and an intense read. I quite enjoyed myself here.

Okay, I've finished Chapter 7 now, so I'm going to comment on that. Very powerful stuff you have going there, Grits. You handled the Battle for Kvatch very well, and Jerric's sorrow when he discovered his family was truly lost was quite moving.

Now it's time for the legendary "Escort Martin" quest. I've actually found a mod that adds a small road through the forest north of Skingrad, and I can give it to you if you are interested. I feel that that would defeat the purpose of your foray into the Reserve, though, so I will not comment further on that.

I look forward to what hi jinks the two of them might have together!

You continue to do a wonderful job here! Your descriptions, dialogue and action are a pleasure to read.

'He had learned to keep the days for moving forward and let his grief have the nights.'
This is lovely.

Very powerful moment at the end, seeming to say that Martin is truly beginning to realize the nature and responsibility of the position he has been thrust into.

Tree rats
A great name for squirrels. Plus an excellent observation on Jerric's part about the acorns keeping the bears well-fed.

An exciting battle. Jerric is certainly getting good at this sort of thing.

“You can trust that I have taken such things into consideration,”
This was an excellent conclusion on the part of the author as well. Of course the Mythic Dawn would scoop up whoever was left behind and torture them. It makes me wonder if Piner has been lead to believe that they are going somewhere else, and is being sacrificed to buy time? Cold, but brilliant.

It kills me that Jauffre didn't carry the amulet on his person since he was armed and still alive at the end of the battle ... he puts it in an unlocked cupboard made of wood (smashable if it was locked) - in a room with a door (how secret is that?) - and then leaves it alone to go pray in the chapel ?????

- and then gets haughty when Jerric is thinking of strategic tactics !!!


Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades whose only job is to guard the Emperor and that amulet - he loses one personally, the other is lost by men he trained - Er ... would you buy a used car from this man ???? ROFL !!!!


Great Chapter !!!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 5 2011, 03:24 AM

haute ecole rider: You are correct on all three quotes, I meant what you said, not what I wrote. I fixed them, thanks for pointing them out. In my mind, I always put Chorrol where Sancre Tor is on the map. Oops! I felt so bad when Jerric and Martin were walking toward the Priory. No hot bath and fresh socks for you, guys! Thank you for your support, haughty echo rider!

Thomas Kaira: I’m playing on the PS3, so no mods for me. I appreciate the offer, though. Thank you for the kind words about the Kvatch chapter. It was a pretty important section for me, so I’m glad to hear it worked for you. They do get a little break in the wilderness.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! You are correct about the last line, right there is where Martin decided that he was not going to be a puppet. The line about Jerric really highlights what he is still going through, and probably will be for some time. Thank you for drawing attention to it.

SubRosa: Yep, Jauffre is not a warm and fuzzy type here. I can’t help but think that Brother Piner had an I-am-so-screwed moment when the three of them rode off. Glad you enjoyed the acorns and tree rats. It was fun to do a little Jerric thought before things heated up again.

mALX: Yeah, Jauffre losing the Amulet is a real ‘because it’s a game’ situation. If they found him in a pool of yuck with his guts opened because he had swallowed it (or otherwise), then I might believe he did his best to hide it. Thanks, mALX!!



Chapter 8: Running, Part 5 Cloud Ruler Temple

Jerric reached up to the woolen cloth covering his mouth and nose and cracked off the ice that clung there where his breath had frozen. Flash snorted, and Jerric wondered if he was having similar issues with his whiskers. He could see Martin on the bay riding in front of him, and in the lead rode Jauffre on his chestnut. Snow drifted down around them, turning their world to grey. The powder on the road muffled the horses’ footsteps. When the wind quieted, Jerric could hear the crystalline music of tiny ice particles tumbling over tree branches on their way to the ground. Gusts scoured the road in places, piling the snow in white ridges. They had reached the Silver Road and climbed into the Jeralls under low, heavy clouds. As the path finally leveled out, the grey granite walls of Bruma had come into view ahead of them. At that moment the snow had begun to fall in a fast, dry shower.

The road was rising again, and Jerric paid close attention to Flash’s footing. Swirling clouds of powder obscured the view, but Jerric had the sense of a great open space beside them. He would hate to measure how far up the mountain they had climbed by how long it took him to fall. “Not much farther,” Jauffre called back to them. The cold didn’t bother Jerric, but he wished he could see through the snow. Martin was the one who seemed to suffer the most. On their first night above the frost line, Jerric had quietly transferred some of his own blankets to Martin’s bedroll.

The horses made a sharp turn. Jerric looked up, squinting against the stinging snow. Dark walls loomed above them with a pair of massive doors set in their middle. Jauffre dismounted, and Jerric and Martin followed his lead. A cloaked figure appeared in front of Jauffre. Jerric realized he must be a sentry.

“Grandmaster, is this …?” The Redguard soldier’s eyes were fixed on Martin.

“Yes, Cyrus,” Jauffre replied. “This is the Emperor’s son, Martin Septim.”

“My lord!” Cyrus executed a crisp salute. “Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple! We have not had the honor of an Emperor’s visit in many years!”

“Ah, well, thank you,” Martin replied. “The honor is mine.” If Cyrus noticed the uncertainty in Martin’s voice, he did not show it.

Jauffre nodded to Cyrus, and the Blade tapped sharply on the metal doors. With a groan, they swung slowly open. A broad set of stone stairs lay beyond. Cyrus ran up ahead of them. “Come,” Jauffre addressed Martin. “Your Blades are waiting to greet you.”

They led the horses up into Cloud Ruler Temple. Shouts and running feet were audible above them. Jauffre halted them at a wide landing. Two teenaged Imperials dashed down the stairs and took the horses, nodding respectfully to Jauffre and Martin. Jerric received a matching set of curious glances. After a moment, Jauffre seemed to receive some signal. He nodded to Martin, then led him up the steps. Jerric followed. He gazed up in awe at his surroundings.

The stairs rose between terraces built of massive stone blocks, each one as tall as Jerric and perfectly smooth. Large fire bowls lit the steps and plaza above. The main temple building rose up in three sections, the tallest symmetrically placed in the middle. Each forward-facing gable possessed a concave roof that swooped down to wide, overhanging eaves. Jerric wondered how they did not collapse under the weight of the still falling snow. When a rush of wind completely cleared the courtyard of its accumulated powder, he got his answer. He saw the horses’ rumps disappear into a low building along the left side of the plaza. The snowfall drew its pale curtain over whatever lay behind the main building and to the right.

The Blades had lined up along both sides of the central walkway. Jauffre and Martin passed between them as they proceeded to the final low steps and broad landing in front of the main building. Jerric paused at the top of the long stairs, uncertain. Then he found he was unwilling to walk between the assembled Blades alone.

When Jauffre and Martin reached the final steps, they turned and faced Jerric down the double line of soldiers. Martin had thrown back his hood. Even standing on the low stairs, he looked small and slim between the armored figures. Jerric suddenly felt he should be by Martin’s side. The crackling flames in the nearby fire bowl and the snow hissing against its hot metal sounded overly loud to him.

“Blades!” Jauffre called out. “Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch. The Empire is in chaos. But there is yet hope. Here is Martin Septim, true son of Uriel Septim!”

As one, the Blades drew their katanas and saluted Martin. Their voices rang against the stone. “Hail, Dragon Born!” they cried. “Hail, Martin Septim! Hail!” Jerric felt a chill that had nothing to do with the snow on his neck.

Jauffre’s voice carried down to Jerric as he addressed Martin. “Your Highness, the Blades are at your command. You will be safe here until you can take up your throne.”

Martin answered him immediately, speaking both to Jauffre and to his Blades. There was no trace of the hesitation he had shown talking to Cyrus. “Jauffre. All of you. I know you all expect me to be Emperor, I’ll do my best. But this is all new to me. I’m not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. That’s it. Thank you.” Martin’s voice projected both confidence and humility, but Jerric could hear the fatigue under it.

“Well, then. Thank you, sire,” said Jauffre. “We’d all best get back to our duties, eh, Captain?”

The Blades dispersed without further comment, as if by some signal that Jerric didn’t see. His feet carried him across the open plaza to Martin before he decided what to do, and he realized the extent of his exhaustion. Jauffre stood to the side, speaking with the man he had addressed as Captain. Martin waited on the steps, looking slightly down at Jerric. “Not much of a speech, was it?” Martin asked quietly. “Didn’t seem to bother them, though. The Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you. Thank you. But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do. And I haven’t the faintest idea…”

“I’m sure Jauffre will tell you what they expect,” Jerric told him. “Anyway, if you’re an Emperor, then I guess you get to decide how to behave. As for what to do, you told us what was next when we were on the Orange Road.”

Martin nodded and gave Jerric a tired smile. “Of course, the Amulet of Kings. So we … I … can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires. And stop the Oblivion invasion.”

“And you will be the Emperor,” Jerric stated.

“The Emperor... That’s an idea that will still take some getting used to. In any case, we need the Amulet first. Maybe Jauffre will know where to start.”

The Captain strode away, and Jauffre joined them. “Your chamber is being prepared, sire,” he said to Martin. “We will dine together in our great hall, then you must rest. Jerric, we have no guest quarters here. I invite you to sleep tonight in our barracks in the west wing. Tomorrow I would like to discuss what comes next. For now, let us rest and recover from our journey.”

Jerric followed Martin and Jauffre through the tall wooden doors and into the central hall. Jerric stopped and looked around in amazement. The high ceiling rose to a peak running the length of the room, lit by windows tucked under the eaves. A wide walkway led straight through the space between rows of tables with benches. Thick, plain wooden columns marched along both sides with arches between them. Doorways, cupboards, smaller tables, and shelves filled the lower walls to the right and left. A massive fireplace dominated the far wall. Jerric guessed he could stand in it with Martin on his shoulders, and ten men could stand shoulder to shoulder across the opening. The roaring fire within it both lit and warmed the hall. Fire bowls hanging from dragon-shaped brackets also provided illumination. Jerric’s wandering eyes halted at what he saw glimmering in the fire bowls’ light, and his breath caught in his throat. The high arches along the entire hall were lined with katanas, hanging evenly spaced and pointing down through open space. The wall over the fireplace also gleamed with blades. Awe prickled over his skin, but the empty spaces tightened his gut. He realized the katanas that would someday hang there were now carried by the men and women who had just filled the plaza with their voices.

Jauffre must have noticed his gaze. “It’s how we honor our fallen brothers and sisters,” he said reverently. “This is the Hall of Blades.” He gestured to Martin, and when he spoke again his voice held a note of cheer. “Come, sire, I see a table has been laid for us. The others will dine together at the usual hour, but by then you should be resting.” They seated themselves at the table closest to the fire. Jerric had been too tired and saddle sore on their journey to notice his empty belly, but now every meal that he had missed made his stomach rumble. Crusty bread, a clay pitcher of beer, and bowls of thick stew awaited them. Jerric identified carrots, onions, and chunks of beef in the dark gravy. He picked up his spoon and glanced at Martin. The former priest appeared to have already concluded his blessing, and Jerric sent up his own silent thanks for Martin’s brevity. The three of them demonstrated that they were equals at least in their appreciation of the meal.

Jerric looked around as he ate. The floor was mostly constructed of wide boards, but there were sections of stone blocks or pavers in between. As he studied it, he realized that the stones actually ran in continuous lines with wooden sections between. “What’s below this hall, Jauffre?” he asked. “Are there rooms underneath?”

Jauffre took a swallow of beer to clear his mouth. “Indeed. Living quarters for our staff and families, work areas and storage, even the baths lie below us. Winter brings bitter cold to these mountains, but this fortress does not require fires for heat. Hot springs can be found all over this area. Our lower levels are quite warm. The water in our baths comes out of the rocks already heated. We must mix in water from the cold springs, or it would be too hot to bathe in.”

Jerric took another slice of bread and passed the basket to Martin. “I wouldn’t say no to a hot bath,” he said. He guessed he might be the pungent reason that Jauffre had mentioned it.

“You are a most welcome guest, while you are here with us. Please enjoy what hospitality we may offer. Clean garments will be provided until your own can be laundered and returned to you. I would suggest that you send your weapons and armor to our smithy.”

Jerric nodded and swallowed his bread. “I appreciate the help. Jauffre, I trust you that we’re safe now. But I have to ask. How is this place a secret? We followed a cobbled road to get here, and you found it in a snowstorm.”

“This fortress was built by Reman Cyrodiil’s Akavari Dragonguard at the founding of the Second Empire. The enchantments that conceal this place were laid down with the very stones. When you leave, you will not be able to find your way back unless you are one of us. Even those few who are born within these walls cannot find their way home unassisted, unless they are inducted into the Blades.”

Jauffre’s answer brought more questions, but Jerric decided that they could wait. He pushed back his plate. “I’m almost too tired, but it’s either hit the baths or sleep in my armor. Thanks for dinner.”

A look from Jauffre brought another young teenager over to the table. “Delain, bring Jerric’s bags. Show him to the baths, then take care of his gear for him. He’ll need clean clothing. When I see you again, I expect you will report that he is resting.”

Jerric quickly sorted his gear with Delain’s help, stripping off his armor and adding it to the pile destined for the smithy. He followed the lad through wood paneled hallways and down into the bowels of the fortress. The walls below were made of the same massive blocks of smooth stone. Metal sconces lined the passageways, and Jerric couldn’t identify the source of the cool, white light that glowed from them.

The baths were a wonder to Jerric. A long, warm room was filled almost entirely by a pool carved out of the rock. Benches lined the wall along the right, and shelving filled the back wall. Jerric felt cool air pass over his face as he followed Delain to the shelving. “Here are your soaps and towels, sir, help yourself. I’ll take your clothes to the laundry and bring you back some clean ones. Don’t drop your ring in there, it might go down the drain. If you get too hot, stand under these vents here. Don’t fall asleep in the pool. I’ll be back shortly. Would you like to shave, sir?”

“Uh, no thanks,” said Jerric. “I think I’ll be back out in the cold soon enough. And you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’” The water had a heavy, mineral odor. Jerric thought it was only a slight improvement over his own unwashed traveler smell.

“With respect, sir, I do.” Delain flashed him a grin.

Jerric bundled up his clothes and handed them to Delain. “Some of those might be best put on the fire.”

“Cordus runs the laundry, sir. He says there are no tasks too small to do well, only men who are too small to do them. He won’t quit until your things are better than new.”

“Then I suggest you drop that lot and flee before he gets you to help him.” Jerric picked up a block of soap and eased into the steaming pool. The water was hot enough to make him hiss, but then he had to stifle a noise of appreciation lest he alarm his attendant. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall asleep in here. Though a little drowning might be worth it.” Delain took off up the passage at a run in the way of the energetic and eager to please. Jerric got busy with the soap.

He discovered that the water on the far end was waist deep, but the pool sloped up to shallow steps along the side closest to the door. He found the place where the fresh water entered and the drain where it left at the same rate. He marveled at the planning that kept it from flooding or draining completely. When he remembered that he was wearing the Jewel of the Rumare, he sank to the bottom and spent a blissful period just lying there, completely submerged in hot water. Eventually he realized what that would look like to Delain when he returned, so he got out to towel off and stand under the air vents. Fresh air flowed gently in, making clear ribbons in the steam. The heat made his limbs unbearably heavy, so he wrapped the towel around his waist and sat on the bench. His head went back against the stone, and before he could completely apologize to Delain in his mind, he was asleep.

This post has been edited by Grits: Mar 8 2011, 04:06 AM

I like the idea of thermal springs under Cloud Ruler Temple. I hope there's enough fresh water available, too, as you've just eliminated snow as a source by blowing it all away! Just don't over-reach and have the beer bubbling out of a third well


Now that's a better reason than you get in the game! And the enchantment makes Cloud Ruler Temple a much better place for Martin than you'd normally think. It never made sense before that the Oblivion Gates that open are near the other gate of Bruma, and nowhere near the Temple. Especially with spies operating in town!

This post has been edited by ghastley: Mar 7 2011, 09:32 PM

He would hate to measure how far up the mountain they had climbed by how long it took him to fall.
Indeed!

Jerric suddenly felt he should be by Martin’s side.
Perhaps Jerric's mission is not yet finished then?

He guessed he might be the pungent reason that Jauffre had mentioned it.


Do I sense a hypocaust rearing its terrifying head? Seriously, I also thought it was brilliant of you to incorporate a thermal spring into the foundations of Cloud Ruler Temple. Even more brilliant was the "lost" spell associated with the temple. Now that was a work of pure genius on your part. It reminds me of how the Psijiic Order makes their island invisible to all but those they want to find it.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 8 2011, 01:52 AM

Lots to like here!

Your opening scene description was chillingly immersive. I was reaching for my furs!

'The cold didn’t bother Jerric, but he wished he could see through the snow.'
So much better than having that thin Valenwood blood!

Your Hall of Blades was magnificent!

Let me join the echo of praise for the 'cloaking' enchantment! I think I may someday steal the idea for Frostcrag Spire!

Especially after that snowy arrival, the hot bath was incredible! And how clever to remember the Jewel of Rumare! Jerric is so practical.

Nit:
'As one the Blades drew their katanas and saluted Martin.'
A singular/plural mismatch here. Not sure if you meant one (singular) of the Blades drew his katana, or perhaps the Blades (plural) drew their katanas.

EW !!! The first way ... it would have to come out eventually!!! The second way ... EW !!!! GAAAAAH !!!!

Mankar Camoran: "I have it! The Amulet of Kings is mine at last! ... Er...what's that smell?"




GAAAAAH !!!! This is AWESOME !!! And the bathing pool !!! I love what you have done with Cloud Ruler Temple !!! Awesome Write !!!!


*

ghastley: A beer well, the Akaviri keg-o-rator!! That’s brilliant. Then the Blades wouldn’t have to stick their beer kegs in the snow banks, Bruma-style. Or on the back porch like in Grits World. I did think that Jerric should have brought the pitcher of beer to the baths. It always bugs me that they say Martin is safe, then they leave the front door open. I appreciate your comments, ghastley!

SubRosa: I couldn’t think of an ES friendly way to say ‘geothermal’! And once the hot springs appeared, the baths were a must. I mean, they have to find some way to keep all those Bretons and Imperials from transferring to the Heartlands. Thank you for your kind words, SubRosa!

Acadian: I made myself cold writing about the snowstorm! I’m glad you liked the renovations to Cloud Ruler Temple. I think any place with “Frost” in the name should come with hot springs and a cloaking enchantment. I missed a comma when I was trying to say the Blades did everything in unison. Thanks for finding it! I appreciate your support so much, Acadian!

mALX: I was having a Calgon-take-me-away kind of week, but Jerric got the hot bath. I really enjoyed CRT, once I figured out why everyone in the world can’t just look up and see it sitting there. Thank you, mALX, your comments made me smile!


Chapter 8: Running, Part 6

Jerric woke, gasping for breath. His hands clawed at the phantom pain in his chest. Dreaming again, he realized. The fire he had thought was consuming him had disappeared, replaced by the dim interior of the Blades sleeping quarters. A glance down the double row of pallets on the floor showed him that he had not disturbed his fellow sleepers. He rose and quietly straightened the blankets. Delain had brought him here last night, asleep on his feet. He supposed his gear was still scattered throughout the temple in the hands of various laborers. His borrowed woolen tunic and trousers should be warm enough for now, he decided. He stepped into his boots and headed out, in search of fresh air.

The wooden door swung quietly on its hinges. Jerric stepped through into the silent dawn, nodding his greeting to the Blade standing watch. He flapped his tunic to fan the crisp air over his skin, still sweaty from the nightmare. No snow today, he noticed. As he walked out from under the front portico, the sun’s edge appeared over the eastern mountains. He drifted to the low wall along the edge of the plaza, his mind suddenly empty of everything but amazement.

White peaks rose up behind Cloud Ruler Temple, but not much higher. Jerric felt that he must be standing near the top of the world. Grey granite ridges poked out of the drifted snow in the hollows far below him. The sun rose through a pink haze without warmth, but he realized that he didn’t need its heat. He wandered along the battlements, looking down the road they had climbed in the snowfall. Dark fir and spruce trees dotted the high mountainside and filled the lower slopes with their groves. Wide, open meadows looked like pale blankets, brightening to coral where the dawn light touched them. Bruma’s dark mass was visible to the south in the distance, but beyond that the land dropped away into a blue mist. His heart lifted in a way that felt like home.

“It’s something else, isn’t it,” remarked a voice at his side. Jerric glanced over. The Blade’s stature and thick features marked him as a Nord. “Roliand,” the man introduced himself.

“I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

Roliand nodded, looking him over. “You were at Kvatch,” he stated. Jerric waited, but Roliand didn’t continue.

“Did you have people there?” Jerric asked.

“No. Went there as a lad once, saw the Arena. What a view from the plateau. There’s something about standing up high with the world at your feet. It wasn’t quiet like here, though.”

“Well, it’s quiet there now. I guess the view’s the same as when you saw it.” Jerric wondered what the man wanted. “Not many Nords here?” he guessed.

“I’m the only one.”

Jerric hooked his thumb under his tunic. “Thanks for the loan, then.”

“Keep it.” Roliand was giving him another assessing look. “They say you went into the Gate to Oblivion and closed it.”

“Yeah.” Jerric decided to get the explanation over with. “Kvatch was my home. I thought I could save my family. I’m sure you would have done the same thing.” Roliand still did not appear to be satisfied. Jerric looked him straight in the eye. “Do you want to spar with me or something?”

Roliand nodded. “I’ll be off duty this afternoon. Pelagius and Fortis should be out soon, they spend most of the day training. Over there.” He pointed to a square of brown turf. “They’ll want to talk to you. Grandmaster Jauffre said we should expect more Gates to open.”

“I’ve told him everything, and Martin, too. He was there. They’ll get you ready for whatever comes.” Jerric felt uncomfortable reassuring the older man, like a child instructing his tutor. He decided to change the subject. He had noticed the white columns and arches of an Ayleid ruin above the trees far to the west. He pointed at them. “What’s that over there?”

“Rielle. There are no complete structures left standing. Full of undead, but they stay underground. Captain Steffan sends out a patrol periodically. It’s not a threat.” Booted feet and voices sounded in the plaza behind them. Steel rang against steel. Jerric turned with Roliand still beside him. Two Blades had begun sparring on the practice ground, and others spilled out of the doors into the open square. “There they go, already started. The watch is changing, and the grub’s on in the dining hall. Grandmaster Jauffre may want you with him, you should stop in the great hall first. I saw him there with our Lord Martin.”

“Thanks, Roliand.” Jerric resolved to remember Martin’s new title.

“I’ll see you later.”

Jerric walked through the crowd of Blades, trying not to gawk. The morning sun gleamed on their armor. He pulled his hands through his hair, suddenly feeling young and scruffy. The Blade at the front door greeted him. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning. I’m Jerric.”

“Yes, sir. Caroline.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jerric gave her a closer look. “Is Delain your boy?”

“He is.”

“He’s a good lad, you must be proud.” He turned and looked back over the plaza. “I guess there are worse places to grow up.”

“There's no place more secure in all of Cyrodiil. I just wish... I wish we could have gotten our Lord Uriel here....”

Jerric continued into the great hall. His second look was no less awe-inspiring than the first. He spotted Jauffre and Martin back at the table by the fire. Kahve’s rich aroma reached him along with the smell of wood smoke. As he walked to join them, his stomach growled its hope for a meal.

“Ah, there you are,” remarked Jauffre in greeting.

Martin poured a mug of kahve and slid it to Jerric. “Good morning,” Martin said with a slight smile. Jerric wondered how long he and Jauffre had been at the table. Delain burst into the hall bearing a loaded tray. A young Imperial woman followed him, similarly burdened. They quickly filled the table with steaming bowls and platters. “We didn’t know how long you’d sleep,” explained Martin. “But now we don’t have to start without you.”

Jerric stared at the food in surprise. “And I thought I was the early riser. Where’s the rest of the army?”

Jauffre snorted. “They’re cooking for a Nord and an emperor. Their Grandmaster alone doesn’t get this kind of breakfast. We’ll see if there’s anything left to eat by winter.” He glared over at Delain. The young Breton returned his look with an unrepentant grin. Jerric noticed that Jauffre was one who could smile with his eyes while the rest of his face was scowling. The smell of sage and fennel teased his nose while he waited for Martin and Jauffre to fill their plates. Jauffre gestured with a serving fork. “Go ahead, Jerric. Help yourself.”

Fried potatoes with peppers and onions made the first mountain on his plate. Crisply browned sausage patties proved to be the source of the fennel and sage. He passed on the plate of sweet rolls to leave room for a pile of the orangest scrambled eggs he had ever seen. Then he found something new. He caught the Imperial girl’s eye. “What’s this?”

“Porridge made from ground corn. There’s sausage gravy in that pitcher to go with it.”

“You put gravy on your porridge?” he asked, incredulous.

“What do you put on yours, sugar?” she shot back impudently.

Jerric smiled and filled his bowl. If he was getting sassed in front of the next emperor, he guessed the mood at Cloud Ruler Temple must be improving. He imagined it must have been grim since the news of the last emperor’s death had reached them, as well as the deaths of all of his guard save Baurus. He tasted the porridge. “It’s kind of gritty,” he remarked.

The Imperial opened her mouth to answer, but Delain’s elbow in her ribs seemed to shut it for her. “Dismissed, you two,” said Jauffre. They disappeared through a door, and Jauffre got abruptly down to business. “Have you ever considered military service, Jerric?”

“Uh, not really. I mean, I don’t have any problem following orders, as long as I agree with them. But I like to think I could tell my boss to hump himself and go my own way.”

“Many Blades serve the Empire independently, as agents. Only a few reside here, and at smaller fortresses throughout Tamriel.” Jauffre was giving him a significant look.

Jerric put down his fork. “Grandmaster Jauffre, what are you trying to say?”

“You have proven yourself a loyal servant of the Empire, as worthy as any of the Blades to stand by Martin’s side during this crisis. As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honored to accept you into our order as a Knight Brother. Will you join us?”

Jerric was stunned. “Jauffre, I’m no knight. I’ve spent most of my time looking for something cold to pour down my throat and someplace warm to put my stick. I don’t live by a code. I’ll kill someone when they’re down, or when I’ve kicked their weapon away. Whatever it takes to get the job done. I’m not going to apologize for my talk, either. I think you should know what you’re dealing with.”

“I’m dealing with the man who went through a Gate to Oblivion and closed it on his own, then picked himself up and took Kvatch back from the daedra with the Guard.”

“Not on my own.”

“I’ll give you that. But you took the Sigil Stone. No one handed it to you.”

“I was working on anger and desperation. I kept making the same mistakes. It’s a miracle I survived.”

“Yet here you are. Your tactics are not under scrutiny. You have earned this invitation with your loyalty.”

Jerric scratched his hands through his hair. To stand by Martin’s side. The sun’s companion. His heart knew the answer before his head could accept it. “I need to get my mind cleared up, and train. I don’t have much experience against heavy armor, and it seems like that’s what our enemy is going to throw at us. Zealots in heavy armor. They’re not afraid to die, they’re just attacking. Even untrained, they have enough of them to take me down. I need stronger shock spells, and better summons spells to fight the daedra. I’m not ready.”

“I’m not going to negotiate, so I’ll tell you how it is and you decide. You’ll be an agent for the Blades, if you accept. Go train, prepare yourself. Come back when you’re ready for orders. Here, or you can find Baurus at Luther Broad’s Boarding House in the Imperial City. He’s gathering intelligence; we hope that soon we will be able to identify the enemy. You’ll follow your orders and complete the missions you are given. When you decide you’re through, then you’re through. I’m not going to chase you down, but I expect that you’ll tell me and report on your current mission. You should know that once you’re a Blade, you’ll always be one.” He nodded over his head at the Hall of Blades above them. “In time they all come back here. Are you with us?”

“I’m with you.”

Jauffre rose and stepped away from the table. When Jerric saw the Akaviri katana in his hands, he guessed that Jauffre had anticipated his answer. “It is my honor to welcome you into our ranks as a Knight Brother of the Blades.” Jauffre extended the sword balanced across his open palms. The simple gesture spoke louder than pomp or ceremony. Jerric took it from him with the sense of a door closing behind him. Jauffre sat back down and addressed his plate again. “Get measured for your armor before you go. Your allegiance is a secret now, but there will come a time when we’ll all stand together.” He gestured impatiently. “Sit down, finish your breakfast.”

Jerric did as he was told. He cleared his plate, then filled it again with a stack of griddle cakes. “I guess we should work out a code, so you can get me back if you find out something.”

Jauffre nodded and speared a griddle cake. “That’s good thinking. A signal telling you to return here, and one to find Baurus in the Imperial City.”

Jerric thought for a moment. “Send me a letter. I don’t have any relatives left alive, so it could be from Auntie or Uncle Someone. Auntie for Baurus, Uncle for here.”

“Where should we send it?”

“Anvil Mages Guild. Wherever I go, I’ll make sure they know it.”

“You should take Flash.”

Jerric shook his head. “I can’t afford to keep him. I don’t even know if I have a coin purse anymore.”

“He can carry enough grain to get himself through the snow. You might need to return quickly, faster than your feet can bring you. We can’t rely on caravans, the daedra are likely to cause disruption.”

Martin spoke, and Jerric stopped eating to listen. “We know that Mehrunes Dagon is the source of the attacks. It seems that his worshippers are working on his behalf here in Cyrodiil. When we find them, we must move quickly to retrieve the Amulet, before they remove it forever from our reach.”

“All right, I’ll take Flash,” Jerric decided. “I think you should go ahead with your plans when you make them, though. A lot can happen between here and Anvil.”

Jauffre and Martin exchanged a look. “There is another thing you must know, Jerric. Your concern for Brother Piner was well founded. All who serve the emperor are at risk. If he is captured by the enemy, he will not be able to lead them here. You, however, number among those who must not be taken alive.”

Jerric had already come to this conclusion. “Right. Then I guess I’d better not be too conspicuous.”

“On the contrary, wear your Wolf with pride. The more places you’re seen, the harder it will be to track you. Rumors spread quickly, and might only contain a crumb of truth. The people need a hero, and you will need favors. Others carry Akaviri blades, though they are rare. In fact I believe there is one presently for sale in the Imperial City. And when the enemy does connect you to Martin, it may tell us even more about them.” Jerric stared at Jauffre. He hoped that his casual tone reflected confidence in Jerric’s skills instead of disregard for his life. The Grandmaster continued, gesturing with his bite of griddle cake for emphasis. “I doubt they will come for you soon, but it would be unwise for you to let your guard down.”

Captain Steffan entered the hall and stood to the side, waiting. Jauffre rose and went to speak with him. Martin looked over at Jerric. “You are going back into danger. But don’t worry about me, my friend. I know I’m in good hands here.”

Jerric spent the better part of a week at Cloud Ruler Temple, training with the Blades. “A storm’s coming,” Roliand told him one day on the battlements. “This old shoulder always knows.”

“And my knees,” added Jena. “You’d better get going.”

Jerric and Flash followed the Silver Road down out of the mountains, then headed west along the busy Red Ring Road. Folk all along the way told him rumors of daedra. He told them of Kvatch and the heroes there who were rebuilding it. They got all the way to the Gold Coast before they saw one. A dead clannfear in the road with pools of blood around it. Two Legion horses stood placidly nearby, attended by a young legionnaire.

Jerric left Flash in her care. He checked his canteen and made sure he remembered his shield this time. His eyes scanned the landscape as he descended through the meadow. An oval of fire glinted far below, brighter than the sun. He walked toward it, pulled along as if in a dream. Thunder rolled and the sky blackened. Red clouds began to swirl above him, laced with lightning. He had found a Gate to Oblivion.

This post has been edited by Grits: Mar 10 2011, 07:21 PM

I love this line !!!!



Another perfect example of how your writing can be visualized totally by the reader - I could see this scene in front of me as if I was watching a movie !! AWESOME WRITE !!!!

The whole section from the point Jauffre begins talking about Jerric joining the Blades - all the way to the paragraph before Captain Steffan walks in was outstanding !!!





WHEW !!! Powerful, POWERFUL ending !!!!!!

A lovely description of the sights from the battlements of Cloud Ruler.

Jerric noticed that Jauffre was one who could smile with his eyes while the rest of his face was scowling.
I love this!

And a big meal. Everyone eats so good here at Chorrol. But gravy on polenta? Well, it is better than popcorn and beer on rat stew!

But I like to think I could tell my boss to hump himself and go my own way.
Exactly my own attitude. Teresa's as well.

I’ve spent most of my time looking for something cold to pour down my throat and someplace warm to put my stick.
Okay, here is where Teresa and I part company from Jerric!

Jerric took it from him with the sense of a door closing behind him.
And indeed it has!


nits:
as worthy as any of the Blades to stand by Martin’s side during this crises
I think you meant crisis, crises is the plural form of the word.


Jerric and Flash followed the Silver Road down out of the mountains, then headed west along the busy Red Ring Road. Folk all along the way told him rumors of daedra. He told them of Kvatch and the heroes there who were rebuilding it. They got all the way to the Gold Coast before they saw one. A dead clannfear in the road with pools of blood around it. Two Legion horses stood placidly nearby, attended by a young legionnaire.


Jerric left Flash in her care. He checked his canteen and made sure he remembered his shield this time. His eyes scanned the landscape as he descended through the meadow. An oval of fire glinted far below, brighter than the sun. He walked toward it, pulled along as if in a dream. Thunder rolled and the sky blackened. Red clouds began to swirl above him, laced with lightning. He had found a Gate to Oblivion.
The forum threw in an extra space between your last two paragraphs.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 10 2011, 06:30 PM

I have been away from Cloud Ruler Temple for so long that this chapter nearly made me homesick! It's a beautiful place, good for meditation and for regrouping. And the Blades are warmer than that fire in the Hall!

I quite enjoyed this chapter, even though your vision is a bit different from mine. Your CRT is a wonderful place to be, with the baths and the kids.

And the line about Jauffre's eyes smiling above a scowl is exactly how I think of him! I just write it differently!

Well done!

'Porridge made from ground corn. There’s sausage gravy in that pitcher to go with it.”
Gritty indeed!
Yummy breakfast overall!

I liked the understated dialogue between Jerric and Roliand. It really worked.

The details of how you presented Jauffre's invitation to join the Blades and Jerric's decision were wonderfully done!

Oh. . . crap. Mehrunes Dagon can open more than one of those things!?!

OK, all caught up again! A very nice breakfast you served today!

I hope Jerric is ready for the coming darkness. He's going to need every ounce of his Nordic strength quite soon, it would seem.

And poor Cliff has been hung again! You would think he would eventually learn to stay away from them there gallows!

mALX: Thank you, mALX! I’m glad you liked Jauffre’s sales pitch to Jerric, he had to be pretty persuasive. The ending was Jerric’s doing, he won’t quit going in the damn Gates. He’s not cooperating!

SubRosa: Thank you, SubRosa! I like all of the places with a view. Jauffre’s warm side comes across to me in little touches, since he’s the one who has to make the cold-hearted decisions. I’m glad you liked it.

haute ecole rider: The civilian support staff at CRT is such a departure from the game, I was wondering how it would be received. I’m glad you enjoyed it. It all started when I asked who got to dust all of those swords. Thank you, h.e.rider!

Acadian: I’m so glad the Jerric and Roliand part worked for you. I’ve only witnessed those kinds of exchanges, and I really have to guess what’s behind them. Thank you so much for the reassurance! And we are indeed having Gate issues. I keep saying don’t go in there, but he doesn’t listen!

Thomas Kaira: I’m glad you enjoyed breakfast. It’s getting dark in a hurry, we’ll see what happens next!



Chapter 9: Anvil, Part 1

Darnand Penoit walked east along the Gold Road in the morning light. The Brina Cross Inn lay behind him, and he hoped that two Imperial Battlemages were following out of sight. Carahil had tasked him with helping them solve a series of murders between Gottshaw and Brina’s Crossing. They suspected a rogue mage was robbing merchants. His reward would be her recommendation. His eyes searched the road’s edge, watching for danger. Carahil’s words echoed in his mind.

“We are still getting reports of daedra on the Gold Road,” she had told him. “The Legion has discovered a Gate to Oblivion south of Garlas Agea, and they are monitoring it. Some would stay inside the safety of city walls until this danger passes. However, we have work to do, work that matters. Take care, and do not let your guard down.”

Darnand believed that his own work was important, but his private research did not earn him an income. Pursuing his goals would require coin, and that meant seeking more responsibility. He had to interrupt his work in order to continue it.

A tall figure in a bright blue gown stepped out into the road in front of him. It’s that Altmer from the inn, he noticed. I wonder what she’s doing all the way out here?

Red magicka swirled around Darnand, and he halted in surprise. He realized she had cast a spell on him. Weakness to something, he guessed. This must be the rogue mage. He quickly reached for the scroll Carahil had given him.

The Altmer sneered as she filled her hands with frost. “I’m afraid your journey ends here, traveler!” His fingertips found the scroll, and he readied a fire spell. The scroll’s protective shell bloomed around him as her frost attack impacted his chest. The air left his lungs, and he staggered back in pain. Fire roared out of his hand at the Altmer, but he knew the flare wouldn’t kill her. She shrieked with fury when it hit. “I’ll be taking whatever you’re carrying!” she howled. Darnand looked around for the battlemages. Frost boomed against him again, driving him to his knees with shock and pain. “After you’re dead, of course!” He cast more fire, cursing his stars. The Apprentice gave him a vast well of magicka, but it weakened him to magical attacks. He didn’t realize how much until today. I should summon something, he thought dully. The Altmer raised her hand, and the white glow of healing magicka flowed down over her. “I do hope it’s more than the last few had,” she crowed. “They were most disappointing!”

Darnand heard a shout and turned his head toward the source. A large man ran down the road toward them, out of the sun. Darnand got the impression of a round shield and stained surcoat, then he found himself on his back looking up at the sky. Agony gripped his chest like an icy fist, consuming his attention. He used his healing spell three times before his ears stopped ringing. Shrieks and fire attacks split the air. It isn’t over, he realized. He thrashed over to his side in a panic, bent double with a spasm through his middle. Another healing spell, then he sat up to see what was happening.

The Altmer lay sprawled on the road, a puddle of sapphire velvet. Her pale golden hair gleamed against the dusty stones, incongruously pretty. The man turned away from her and stalked toward Darnand. He held his long sword pointed at the ground. Blood ran off the blade in a bright thread, shining in the sun. Darnand sat frozen. I’d better get a spell ready in case he attacks me, he thought. Fire spell, that has to be a Nord. More shouts came from up the road, this time from the direction of Brina’s Crossing.

The man removed his battered helmet as he approached Darnand. His shoulders seemed to block out the sky. Shaggy blonde hair and a thick beard obscured his features. “You all right?” he asked with concern. The deep voice sounded rough, but familiar. It’s Jerric, Darnand realized with a shock.

The two Imperial Battlemages dashed up, shouting. They both wore blue hoods and armor. Arielle and Hanus, thought Darnand. Finally. Jerric turned toward them and dropped his helmet. He took a step back, raising his sword and shield. Darnand suddenly realized how the scene must appear, and he scrambled to his feet. “Drop it!” Arielle shouted at Jerric, raising her mace. Hanus planted his feet, and a ball of fire coalesced in his hand.

This was not in the plan, Darnand thought frantically. He leaped in front of Jerric, arms outstretched. “Wait! He’s a friend! He’s with the guild, too!” Arielle lowered her mace, and Hanus let the fire blaze out against the road. Darnand turned around and saw Jerric standing in a way that must have meant something to the other two. He still looked extremely menacing to Darnand. Jerric moved to the side of the road without speaking to them.

Hanus walked over to the Altmer’s body. Arielle addressed Darnand. “We saw him attack that woman. Is she the rogue mage?” Darnand nodded. She gestured at Jerric with her mace. “Did he just happen to be walking down the road at this moment?” she demanded.

Darnand looked over at Jerric for confirmation. He knelt beside Hanus, cleaning his sword on the Altmer’s gown. He seemed to be ignoring them. “His name is Jerric,” Darnand replied crisply. “He’s from Kvatch, and I haven’t seen him since before the attack there. Do you suppose I could have arranged this meeting? That’s what you need to decide. Then we can discuss where you were while the rogue mage was attacking me.” I’m an Associate dressing down an Imperial Battlemage, Darnand realized with horror. Better just brazen it out.

Arielle gave him a piercing look. “We were briefing a Legion Rider. I’m sure you saw him when he passed you. They have increased their patrols since the last Gate opened. He informed us that the Garlas Agea Gate has closed.” She stared past him at Jerric. “I don’t believe you planned this,” she told Darnand. “We will stay and clean this up. Report our success to Carahil.” Hanus returned to his position at Arielle’s side.

Darnand nodded. “Thank you, Arielle. Hanus,” he said respectfully, and with a great deal of relief. He walked over to where Jerric stood near the body, watching them impassively. His eyes appeared have sunk into their sockets, and there were new lines and scars on his face. His nose was a crooked ruin. “Jerric,” Darnand said cautiously. “It’s good to see you.”

Jerric put out his mailed arm, and Darnand grasped it. “Darnand,” he replied. “I almost didn’t recognize you without a book in your hand. And wearing a dagger now, I see.” Darnand thought he could see teeth under the beard. Jerric indicated Darnand’s trousers. “Where’s your gown?”

Darnand sighed inwardly. Here was the Jerric he knew, and it gave him some comfort. “Carahil sent me out here. I’m posing as a merchant, so I couldn’t wear a mage’s robe. The knife is Felen’s, it’s part of my disguise. I’m starting my recommendations. Do you have any yet?”

“Just one,” Jerric said. “Kvatch. Heading back to Anvil, then? I’ll walk with you.” He turned and gave a piercing whistle. A moment later a paint horse laden with packs ambled over the hill.

“I’m happy to have the company,” Darnand said. Something of an understatement, he thought wryly. When he brushed the ice crystals from his borrowed shirt, he realized that his hands were shaking. So were his knees.

Jerric rubbed the horse’s neck when it reached them. “Flash,” he said to Darnand, indicating the horse. Then he looked at the horse and tipped his head toward Darnand. “Darnand,” he told the horse. Darnand began to wonder about Jerric’s mental state.

They started walking. The sun cast their shadows in front of them, and the early winter light seemed to glow on the rocks and trees. Darnand always forgot how nice it was to be outside. When the weather was agreeable, of course. The morning was unusually warm, and he couldn’t understand his sudden shivering. The cold from the attacks had faded with the ache when he healed himself. When his teeth started to chatter, he glanced over at Jerric. “D-don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Darnand stammered.

Jerric nodded. “It takes some that way. Afterward. The shakes.” They walked a few more paces. “I throw up a lot,” he added.

Eventually Darnand’s body came back under his control. “I looked for you in Kvatch,” he said. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Wandering. I had a few things I needed to do, then I headed back this way. I saw a Gate, and I closed it. It was bad, Darnand. I don’t even have the words for what I’ve seen. Then I found another one. I just got lost for a while.” They walked for a few more steps. “What’s the date?”

“Evening Star the fourth.” Darnand saw the shock in Jerric’s face.

“I had no idea,” Jerric said. He started looking frantic, then he visibly calmed himself. I really need to watch him, Darnand realized.

“We heard there was a Gate near Gottshaw, but it closed about a month ago. Was that you?”

“Yeah.” Jerric’s flat tone did not invite further questions.

Darnand wanted to be respectful, but he wanted information more. He decided to start with an easy subject. Swords or women, he would let Jerric choose. “By the time I got to Kvatch, you had left,” he remarked. “Sigrid didn’t know where you had gone. We heard about it in Anvil, but we weren’t sure it was you. Do you have a blue sword?”

“I had one. Chillrend. It was enchanted with frost damage and weakness to frost. Dropped it in the Deadlands.”

“What happened?”

“I was outside on a bridge. I saw a spider daedra, so I attacked it. They like to cast shock spells out of their mouths, it’s pretty unnerving at first when they’re aimed at you. Did you know the real ones summon little spiderlings? Well, the big ones are hard to hit, I have to get in close. I was trying not to trip over its legs, and the spiderling paralyzed me. I went down hanging partway off the bridge. They have lava in the rivers there. I dropped my sword into the lava trying not to fall. That was Chillrend.”

“Why did you attack it?” Darnand asked, astonished.

Jerric looked at him as if the question didn’t make sense. “Why else would I go in there? Besides, spider daedra are even better than fire atronachs for me. I absorb a lot of magicka fighting them, and my frost spells do a lot of damage. The Gate near Skingrad led to some kind of nest, I wouldn’t have made it through without them. Those big dremora are hard for me to kill, and I can’t sneak past them in the towers. That’s why I’m coming back, to train. And I have some sigil stones, I need to figure out the best way to use them.”

Darnand halted in surprise. “You have sigil stones? Where?”

“In my pack, Flash doesn’t like them. Look.” Jerric reached under his mail and started rummaging in the front of his trousers. Darnand stepped back, alarmed. “Stendarr’s beard, I’m going for my pocket. And I sure don’t have a sigil stone in my pants. I guess you’re still jumpy after the head-humping incident. Can’t say I blame you.” He held a ring out to Darnand. “Here, look at this.”

Darnand took it. “What does it do?”

“You can’t tell?” Jerric’s glance was a challenge.

Darnand examined the ring warily. “I can tell it’s magical. Not everyone can read enchantments so quickly, Jerric.”

“Really? Well, it lets you see life energy. Try it, I made it myself.”

“How did you… you enchanted this with a sigil stone?” He looked at it more closely. “A brass and pearl dinner ring?”

“All right, give it back then. I had to use what I could find. I got this ring off some fool who wanted to kill me. Don’t remember which one. You’d think with daedra around, folk would quit attacking each other. Anyway, it fits whatever hand you put it on. Even your lady fingers.”

Darnand handed the ring back. “You said you have sigil stones?”

“I’ll show you when we get to Anvil. They’re packed pretty well, and if I dig them out now, Flash will cause a fuss. Understandably,” he said, directing his last comment at the horse.

Darnand looked over and saw that Jerric looked uncharacteristically reflective. “Glafeviel is with the guild in Kvatch now,” he said quickly, “and Vigge from Skingrad.”

Jerric nodded. “Glafeviel and Sigrid, sparks are going to fly between those two until they work things out. Shouldn’t be boring, that’s for sure. And Vigge in the mix, I didn’t know he planned to stay. I guess he’ll be in charge, he’s a Conjurer.” Jerric shot a glance over at Darnand. “What did you think of Sigrid? Is that the first time you met her?”

Darnand understood Jerric’s meaning. “She is an impressive woman,” he replied coolly. “I have never seen her equal.” He caught Jerric’s grin. “Back to the guild hall when we get to town? What’s the plan?”

“I don’t have one. The guild hall is a good place to start.” His grin faded, and Darnand could see that he was getting agitated again. “Listen, let me just walk a little with you. I haven’t used so many words since Heartfire. Tell me about your studies. I swear I’ll stay awake.”

“All right, Jerric. I think we can make it to Anvil by late afternoon. That should give me enough time to tell you. Even a Breton mage can make good time going downhill.” Jerric smiled at that remark, and Darnand felt a little relieved. He launched into the tale of his research, hoping he could somehow make it sound interesting to the man they called Lionheart.

This post has been edited by Grits: Mar 13 2011, 08:26 PM

The Altmer sneered as she filled her hands with frost.
Wonderfully put!

Here you had me about to comment on Darnand (or Darnit? ) being a Breton and having a 50% resistance to magic. Then you throw in that he was born under the Apprentice. So instead he has a 50% weakness! Clever girl.

Then we can discuss where you were while the rogue mage was attacking me
No kidding. Great help those two were.

He informed us that the Garlas Agea Gate has closed.”
And I can guess who closed it...

I love seeing Jerric from Darnand's point of view. Like a wild animal come in from the cold. You can see that the time he has spent fighting has changed him. Worn on him. He has forgotten what it is like to be part of the civilized world.