Jerric's Story, A Nord's Adventures in Cyrodiil Options

[Grits]

Hi folks. This is my first attempt at fiction, and I welcome any criticism from the smallest nit to the most sweeping remarks on writing in general.

My version of Tamriel is a little bigger than the game’s, but I’m trying to fill in some of the blanks rather than re-imagine the place. I have taken liberties with the order of some events, but the main quest will stand. Mostly.

I feel especially weak in the lore and action sequence departments. If you should suggest a resource, I will certainly seek it out in the hope that my next effort will be less cringe-worthy!

So welcome to Jerric’s story, and thank you for joining us.

(Edit: Darnand started as Arnand, so comments may reference his old name.)

July 24, 2014: Hi again. Having learned much in the last couple of years I’m revisiting early chapters and giving them a very light edit. Regrettably there may be some inconsistencies in style as I work my way through. Sorry about that, and thank you very much for reading!

Jerric

The whole story is contained in this thread, but here are some links to the beginning of each chapter within this thread.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Working Vacation
Chapter 2 On the Gold Road
Chapter 3 Welcome to the Imperial City
Chapter 4 All’s Well in Aleswell
Chapter 5 Unloading the Amulet
Chapter 6 Going Home
Chapter 7 Kvatch
Chapter 8 Running
Chapter 9 Anvil
Chapter 10 Septims
Chapter 11 Holidays
Chapter 12 Return to Kvatch
Interlude:Abiene’s Letters
Chapter 13 Skingrad
Chapter 14 The Imperial City
Chapter 15 Chorrol
Interlude: Abiene
Chapter 16 Valley of Hopes
Chapter 17 Bruma


The Darnandex

Appendix One: The People of Jerric’s World
Appendix Two: Jerric’s World Terms
Appendix Three: Map of Game Quests Within Jerric’s Story
Appendix Four: Geography
Appendix Five: Timeline

Chapter 1: Working Vacation

Darnand Penoit had hoped to spend the afternoon studying with the delicious Abiene, but instead he was in the hills above Anvil searching for goldenrod plants with this hulking nitwit. They were working their way through the meadow side by side so as not to miss any. Darnand straightened to ease the kink in his back. He shot a glance at his partner.

Jerric stood thigh deep in the golden grass, eyes closed and face raised to the sun. He had pulled off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his breeches where it hung down like a ridiculous tail. His head looked like a shock of wheat.

Idiot, Darnand thought. Every night he has to heal his own sunburn. Jerric held a wicked looking blade in one hand and a white seed pod in the other.

“I feel just like a loaf of bread,” Jerric said to the sky.

“Felen is waiting for these pods,” Darnand snapped. What is this lump doing in the Mages Guild, anyway? he wondered. He did not grow those arms by turning pages.

Jerric laughed. “No he’s not. He’ll have his nose in a book by now and he won’t look up until long after dark.” The Nord tucked the pod into his bag and looked down for another goldenrod plant.

“You missed one,” Darnand said. He pointed to the plant at Jerric’s feet. “If you are not going to work, why did you bother to walk this far?”

“Because this is my assignment.” Jerric nudged the plant with his boot. “I never take all of the seed pods from any plant. Where do you think the plants come from? If you take all of the pods, no more goldenrod.”

Darnand could identify most of the alchemical plants in Cyrodiil from his books, but he had given little thought to how they grow.

Jerric stepped forward and stooped, cutting pods from another plant.

“What kind of mage would bring a dagger,” said Darnand. He snapped a pod from its dry stem to make his point.

“It’s a knife.” Jerric tossed it into the air and caught the blade between his thumb and finger. “My hand just likes to hold it. Try it,” he offered, extending the hilt toward Darnand.

“A real mage is his own weapon,” Darnand sniffed.

The two worked in silence for some time. Darnand was beginning to feel unpleasantly warm under his robe, and Jerric was positively streaming. The man’s sweat smelled unpleasantly familiar.

Sharing the Mages Guild common quarters with Jerric was a trial. He was noisy, his gigantic boots were always in the way, and he treated every day like Jester’s Day. Just last night while Darnand lay in bed reading Jerric had jumped under the blanket with him. He had let loose some wind then held Darnand’s head beneath the covers. The visiting mages had laughed like a pack of teenagers. One of them had wet herself.

Worst of all, Abiene seemed to like him.

“Feh, you smell like an animal,” Darnand muttered.

Jerric straightened and turned toward Darnand, a grin on his lips. Then he froze, eyes widening. “Boar,” he said.

“Oh really,” Darnand snapped, “Well I think you are the bore, Nord!”

Darnand faced his opponent, ready to deliver his come-uppance. Jerric whipped a ball of frost at him, faster than Darnand could think. It landed behind him with a hollow boom and an enraged squeal.

Comprehension dawned. Boar! Darnand sprinted toward Jerric, readying his fire spell. He whirled some distance behind the Nord in time to see the boar charge.

Jerric switched the knife to his right hand and hit the boar with frost from his left. When he lunged to the side the boar almost missed him with its yellow tusks. Jerric tackled the boar just as Darnand let go with his fire.

The Nord, the boar, and the ball of fire disappeared into the tall grass. Dust, squeals, and a death scream rose from the thrashing mayhem. A moment later all was still.

Darnand stood in horror at what he had done. By the Nine, I have killed him! I shall certainly be expelled from the Guild.

Jerric popped up from the grass, streaked with blood and crowing in triumph. He wiped his blade on his breeches.

Darnand searched him for signs of immolation. He appeared whole, apart from a steady stream pumping out of a wound in his thigh. “Erm ...” Darnand said, pointing.

Jerric held his skin together through the tear in his breeches and sent healing light swirling down his body. He looked at Darnand, grinning. “Did you hit me with a flare, soldier?”

“Please do not tell Carahil,” Darnand blurted. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Why did the spell not burn you?”

“I can thank the stars for that.”

Atronach, thought Darnand. That explains a lot.

“New plan, Breton! Grab my bag, will you? I don’t want to get blood on Felen’s flowers.” Jerric lifted the boar carcass to his shoulders with a grunt, hardly staggering. “Good thing this was a small one.”

Jerric started down the hill toward Anvil. Against his better judgment, Darnand picked up the bag and followed.

___

“But how did you know she would have seed pods to sell us?” Darnand asked. His companion had sold the boar to a butcher, then bought enough white seed pods from a woman on the street to finish filling both their bags. Jerric had taken the first offer from both merchants, like some rube. Now they were entrenched at The Flowing Bowl with just enough coin to get them into trouble.

“She sells anything she can get for free,” Jerric said. “This time of year she has to have white seed pods, and cheap.”

“But she is a beggar. She does not have anything.”

“She has what she needs,” Jerric pointed out. “Don’t you think that if she was really planning to buy shoes, she would have them by now?”

“How do you know these things?” Darnand demanded. “You do not even reside in Anvil.”

“How do you not know them? Don’t you ever talk to people?”

Darnand took sip of beer and winced at the bitter taste. He was not sure how he ended up on the waterfront in the middle of the afternoon drinking with the person he liked least in all of the Mages Guild. The person he had almost incinerated only a few hours ago. He was beginning to worry about payback for that incident.

“Are you sure you are not angry about the ...” Darnand could not bring himself to say it.

“No harm done,” said Jerric. “I’m just glad you didn’t set the grass on fire. Besides, you would have healed me, right? Abiene said you’ve nearly reached Journeyman in Restoration.”

Darnand inhaled some spit. “Abiene talks about me?” he choked.

“Yeah,” Jerric replied with a twist of his lips. “She says, ‘Oh that Darnand, how does he get his hair that way, it looks sooooo pretty.’”

Darnand gritted his teeth and stared into his beer.

Jerric thumped his arm.

“Easy with the ham fist, I am not a snow bear,” Darnand complained.

“I’m a Nord, Darnand. Get over it. Anyway I’m not even that big. You should see my Pa, he has a neck like a minotaur.”

Darnand looked at Jerric for a long moment. “Did you have a point?”

“Look over there.” Jerric gestured at a slim, dark, Imperial woman. “What do you think of her?”

“She has a face like a weasel. I think you have a good chance with her.”

“No, for you! She’s been looking over here a lot.”

Darnand was amazed. “Are you procuring women for me, now?”

Jerric shrugged. “You seem tense.”

The door opened and closed with inn traffic.

“Drink up,” Jerric said. “The sun’s going down. We have to hurry and get loaded so we can sober up before dinner.”

___

Darnand carefully ran his knife up the center of the aloe vera leaf. He opened the skin to expose its juicy pulp then slid his knife down the inside at an angle, folding the skin back as he went. After he repeated the cut on the other side, he viewed the flattened leaf with satisfaction.

A groan and thump broke his concentration. Darnand glanced across the room where Jerric sat at another work table. Bloody scraps of cloth and empty potion bottles littered the surface. The Nord’s forehead was on the table. His fingers clenched in his hair.

Darnand wiped his knife, put it down on its cloth, and picked up the wooden spatula. He slowly ran the spatula’s blade down the butterflied leaf, collecting the pulp without picking up any of the fibers that clung to the inside of the skin. He plopped his harvest into a clay storage jar, then carefully repeated the process.

“Darnand,” Jerric said.

Darnand scraped another spatula load of pulp from the leaf. He placed it in the jar.

“Darnand,” Jerric said again.

Darnand wiped the spatula and placed it on its cloth. He folded the empty leaf skin and set it aside. “I am busy.”

“It’s important.”

Darnand picked up another leaf and placed it in the ready position in front of him. He picked up the knife. “So is this.”

The knife slid down the plump leaf in a perfect line. Darnand braced himself for Jerric’s reply. Something about him squeezing his own juice, Darnand guessed.

Jerric picked up his chair and carried over to Darnand’s table. He put it down and took a seat across from Darnand. “I’m running out of time,” he said.

“I need to finish this,” replied Darnand without looking over. He makes more noise than a Billy on a wooden bridge. He scraped the leaf.

“I’ll do it for you later,” said Jerric. “I need your help.”

“You will pull up too many fibers. ‘Quick and dirty’ is not an alchemist’s motto.” He wiped his spatula and placed it on its cloth.

“Darnand,” Jerric said.

A note in his voice made Darnand look at him. Jerric’s raised face wore a solemn expression. Candlelight made his eyes look like honey. No doubt he uses that technique to lure women.

“No more tricks,” said Jerric. “I’m running out of time. I really need help.”

Darnand folded the leaf skin and placed it aside. He hooked a chair leg with his foot and sat down.

“Your healing spell?” he surmised.

“I’m just not getting it. I have the magicka but I can’t get it all into the spell. I know how it’s supposed to work. I just can’t do it.”

Darnand considered. “When you healed where the boar slashed you, you sent your spell over your whole body. Did you mean to do that?”

Jerric looked blank.

Darnand tried to explain it another way. “Do you focus your spell on a specific injury, or do you just cast the spell?”

“I just cast the spell, and then I feel better.”

“You are wasting your magicka,” Darnand said. “You will never get your spell stronger until you learn to focus. You know how to heal a wound on another person, do you not?”

“Yeah, but I’m not very good at it.”

“Think about how it feels when you cast that spell. The pain you feel from the other person that tells you where to send your magicka. It is the same thing.”

Jerric looked blank again, and miserable. His fingers twisted on the edge of the table.

Darnand was surprised. His patience with Jerric was growing, not racing away as it usually did. “Do you feel the pain from the other person, or do you just cast your spell over them?” he asked.

“I feel it, but I don’t know how to use it,” said Jerric. “Please don’t give up on me. I know I can learn this.”

Darnand decided to change his plans for the evening. “I shall render my assistance. First, show me how you heal yourself.”

Jerric picked up Darnand’s knife.

“Gaaaah!” cried Darnand, throwing out his hands. He snatched his knife back, wiped it, and placed it precisely on its cloth. “Over there,” he said, pointing at Jerric’s table. “And go get a hammer so you will bleed less. You were making a mess.”

___

Darnand entered the common living quarters and halted in surprise. A man stood at the end of the room in a steel breastplate and mail with a long sword on one hip and a short blade on the other. He was lifting a steel shield out of the open cabinet. A full pack rested at his feet. Jerric.

Darnand approached. He felt oddly distressed. “What is this?”

“My uniform,” Jerric replied with a smile. “Did you think I was a professional student? I’m a caravan guard. See?” He pointed at his chest where a shape was embossed onto the metal. “Running Wolf Postal and Freight. That’s my family’s business.” Jerric pulled on his gauntlets. “My break is over. I have to get back to work.”

“An armored guard. But what kind of a...” Darnand began. He looked at Jerric, and for the first time his own expression matched the Nord’s.

“Battlemage,” they finished with a grin.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 24 2014, 07:35 PM

[Grits]

SubRosa:The tutorial dungeon has been a grind, and I’ve really tried to make it worth reading. There might be some people in Cyrodiil who would sass the Emperor, but Jerric is not one of them.

Acadian:I’m glad to hear that Jerric’s character is coming through in the tutorial chapter. The next section with no dialog at all made me want to give him a pet rat to talk to.

mALX:Jerric would fit right in with a work hard/play hard crowd. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him tailgating at hockey games. This chapter is a big change of pace, especially from the romp through the West Weald. Since this is a story about a life that gets interrupted, I wanted to show a little of the “before” picture, but I didn’t want it to seem like two different stories. Fair warning, more glasses of cold water ahead. So, you know, towel.

treydog: Yes, we are main-questing, mostly. I’m not sure yet how I am going to deal with some issues. This whole plot thing is new to me. Thank you so much for your kind words, they are very encouraging!!


Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City, Part 2

Jerric picked up his gear and moved over to the wall. The light was coming from some sort of slime on the stones. He would have to duck in some spots, but there was enough head room for him to walk. He couldn’t think of a way to leave a trail, so he would move forward and try to scratch a mark in the dirt if he came to a crossroad. He moved as quickly as he could through the substructure.

When he turned down one dim corridor he smelled something large and rotten even through the wreck that used to be his nose. A soggy groan told him it was a zombie. As his eyes adjusted he saw it shamble toward him picking up speed, so he dropped his bundle and braced himself for disgusting. He ducked the zombie’s swing and hacked at its knee with the sword. He didn’t need to kill it, just keep it from catching him. He ducked another blow and chopped again. Then he took a step and brought his heel down hard at an angle against the damaged knee.

The zombie’s knee caved in with a wet crack, and it toppled toward him. Jerric dodged and scrambled away. His stomach convulsed, and he vomited bile into his mouth. His sinuses started bleeding again, and the blood trickled over his lips and down his throat. He bent over to spit and look for his bundle, and he saw it behind the groping zombie. He retrieved it with a jump that jarred his nose and brought tears to his eyes, then he moved on, careful not to touch his dripping sword. The conjured zombies he had fought never left such scum on his blade.

Jerric made his way through the substructure until he came to an area with a higher ceiling and light coming down from a high grate. He got some of his questions answered when he found a fresh goblin carcass and some skeletal remains. Some who left their loot in the crates and boxes here never came back for it, he reasoned. One body had rotted away inside its leather armor, and the other lay tangled in rusted plate. He considered his sackcloth with regret. There was no way he could use the armor, or the axe and bow that he also found there.

He did find a key on the goblin, and a potion with the symbol for restoring magicka. He also found two scrolls, which he tucked with the potion into one of the red hoods. He used the key to open the door he found behind the body. Maybe the goblin had retreated behind this door and then died of its wounds. He wondered if he was about to meet whatever had killed the goblin, or if the assassins had possibly come this way.

Jerric stepped through the door and saw that the stone piers were replaced by wooden braces in this part of the substructure. He shuffled along in a crouch to avoid hitting his head. Roots had broken through the ceiling in some places, and he wondered if he was reaching the surface. He thought of the high grate, that light had to come from somewhere. He felt like he had been descending further underground. He took a moment to think. The Imperial Prison sat high above Lake Rumare. He could be going deeper underground and toward the outside at the same time. That would explain the wooden supports instead of stone. He began to feel hopeful.

Then he passed into hewn tunnels linking a natural cave system. Jerric moved cautiously through the near darkness, following the firelight he saw reflected on the stone walls. When he turned a corner he found a small unattended fire in front of a closed door decorated with hanging skulls. Maybe goblins, he thought. Someone was close by, the fire was burning too briskly to have been left for long. He had gotten some practice fighting goblins by the entrance to Derelict Mine only days ago outside Skingrad. Those goblins had also featured skulls in their decorations.

Jerric knew that when he went through the door the fire behind him would make him an easy target. He listened at the door, and then he opened it onto total darkness. He jumped quickly through and pressed himself against the wall. The fire light shone past him enough to show natural rock walls and floor. Nothing attacked him, but his skin wanted to jump off his body just the same. He left the door open for light and moved as carefully as he could down the stone tunnel. He did not consider himself to be an excitable sort of person, but the silence and darkness had worn his nerves thin.

As he reached the point where the floor leveled out, he saw more firelight ahead. The cave opened up a little, and he tasted more than smelled roasting meat in the smoky air. His dry mouth began to water. Jerric crept through the cave as quietly as he could, hoping that his scuffling feet made less noise than the fire. He could see a shadow ahead, and when he turned the corner he saw the goblin that cast it. The creature was unarmed.

His bundle went softly to the ground, and he made his plan. He ran at the goblin holding his sword low, then when it leaped to claw at him, he plunged it up into the goblin’s midsection and pulled it out with a twist. The goblin fell clawing and screeching. He placed his sandaled, zombie-slimed foot on the goblin’s neck and pushed the sword down through its chest. The scrabbling arms fell away from his leg, and the creature’s harsh cries ended.

Jerric took a moment to let his pulse slow. He wiped off the sword and his wet hands as best as he could on the goblin. His scratches began to sting as he investigated the fireside, where he was surprised to find a mortar and pestle on a rough table along with plant material and vials. He could tell by the stinkhorn and wisp stalk caps that it had been making poison. A goblin alchemist? He always thought that they stole everything they used. Jerric began to question some of his assumptions about goblins. He packed the mortar and pestle in his bundle, but he left the poison. Then he dropped everything beside the fire and got to work on the main prize.

There was a large rat sizzling on a spit over the fire. The smell made his stomach rumble. He looked around in the goblin’s things and came up with some coins and a small knife. Thank Akatosh, he thought, I don’t have to carve up my dinner with my zombie sword.

He had to use his teeth as another hand and he nearly stood in the fire, but Jerric managed to feast on some of the rat roast. He thought it was the best thing he had ever tasted, even with the tang of goblin blood still clinging to his fingers. Now if only he could find some ale. Jerric decided to press on instead of searching. He felt an urgent need to get out under the sun.

More tunnels, some so dark he had to feel his way along the wall with his elbow. His fresh scratches were burning and his already sore head was beginning to pound, but he didn’t want to use up a potion on discomfort. Burning torches stuck into the ground lit some of the way and informed him that the tunnels were in use. He began to think about traps and proceeded more carefully.

He killed more goblins and picked up some deeper cuts. None of them was armed, yet every one attacked him furiously. He was feeling lucky, as he had managed to kill the only two goblins that had weapons with their own log trap. He had watched the dust settle on them as he devoured two apples he found amongst their supplies. The apples were withered but sweet, and they helped his raging thirst not at all. If they were guards, he wondered what they were guarding.

Then he reached the open entrance to a large cavern with a high domed ceiling, and he began to understand. Small fires burned at intervals around the walls. He could hear rats and see two goblins very close to his tunnel. He had reached some sort of dwelling place, and he realized that to them he must be the foul marauding creature. They were doing the same thing his own sister would do if she found a stranger with a sword wandering through her house. There were areas of the cave that he couldn’t see, so he assumed that there would be more goblins. He knelt down and dropped his hood-pack while he considered his options.

He had to get through that cavern or turn back. The middle appeared to have a large pit right in the center. He could see light from a fire in the pit, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was. He had to assume the bottom was accessible and could be concealing more of them. If they attacked he would engage the nearest goblin then draw the other one back into the tunnel so that the rest couldn’t surround him. He hoped that they would be slow enough getting around the pit so that he wouldn’t have to fight them all at once. If he was lucky he might be able to run through without them chasing him. He decided that if he had to run for it, he would try for the tunnel that he saw across the cavern and hope for the best rather than back into darkness the way he came, since he could not remember any places behind him that would conceal a Nord from cave-dwelling goblins. He earnestly hoped that he would not have to kill any of their young.

Jerric put his bundle against the wall with his potions ready on top. If he could get through without a fight he wouldn’t mind leaving them behind. He crept into the cave. A loud prolonged clatter echoed through the cavern as the rock he accidentally kicked skittered across the stone floor and fell into the pit, bouncing off the rocks all the way down. The two goblins looked around at him, and one let out a squawk and reached for an axe. Another goblin stepped out from behind a pile of rocks on the far side of the cavern and Jerric could see that it was wearing a sword. A goblin’s head popped up and looked at him from within the pit. Jerric realized that the stealth part of his plan was over.

He let out a howl and lunged for the goblin closest to him, gutting it before it could finish its swing. Lightning cracked around him, knocking him back and stunning him for a moment. He saw that the second goblin had picked up a staff, and she was backing away from him. More lightning crackled through the air, but this time it rushed into Jerric as he absorbed the magicka. He ran forward and drove his shoulder into the goblin witch’s midsection, sending her flying back and down into the pit. He threw himself to the ground to avoid falling in after her, and he landed on the staff.

The third goblin was still making its way around the pit. Jerric turned his attention to the one climbing out right beside him, slowed by the axe in its hand. The goblin looked surprised to see Jerric’s new position, if Jerric could judge such a foreign expression. He rolled onto his back and kicked it in the face with both feet. He kicked it again, and the goblin let out a series of harsh cries but did not fall. He felt the staff under his back. Jerric dropped his wet sword and levered himself up with the staff, then he fired lightning at the goblin as it swung its leg over the edge, knocking it back into the pit. He turned and shot more lightning at the last goblin as it ran toward him. He hit it with lightning from the staff until it fell.

There was a lot of noise coming from the pit, and Jerric looked in. One side appeared to be a rat corral, and the goblin witch had fallen among the captive rats. She was unable to rise, and the rats were taking their revenge. The other goblin lay with its leg twisted under it. Jerric considered the staff. He couldn’t think of a way to carry it, and he didn’t want another goblin to pick it up and chase him with it. He used it to finish the goblins in the pit, and then he tossed it in with the rats. He was not inclined to let the rats go, but at least he had given them a meal.

The goblin by the tunnel was kneeling quietly in its own guts, breathing rapidly through its open mouth. Its deep set eyes were fixed on him. Jerric picked up his sword and approached it. Somehow the thing had pulled more of its own insides out, probably trying to rise. Jerric thrust his sword through its open jaws and up into its brain. He had trouble getting the blade back out. He had always wanted to try that.

When he bent to pick up his bundle Jerric noticed that some of his gashes were bleeding quite freely. He drank one potion and the bleeding stopped. As he made his way through the cavern he cast his eyes around for goods that he could use. Something to get the shackles off was a top priority, followed by liquid of any kind. He stopped at an oval leather shield. He had found bows and quivers filled with arrows, but he had yet to encounter an archer. If he did, the shield would be better than nothing. He picked it up along with two more healing potions and an iron dagger. It never hurts to have a second blade, no matter how humble, he thought.

Jerric went to one of the goblin’s tables to get his gear situated. He carried the shield upside down on his outstretched arms like a basket with the bundle and the dagger resting in it. He held the short sword in his hand. He thought he must look like a battered, filthy washerwoman. He headed down a tunnel out of the cavern, and when the firelight faded behind him he saw a dim blue light ahead. With a sinking feeling he realized that he was back at the same kind of stone chambers that he had left under the prison. Had he gone in a circle? He went to the opening and looked down.