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: Thank you, I tried to make the dungeon as much about the character as possible, since many of us could run through that part of the game in their sleep. Whew, I’m glad it’s over! When you notice things in the story, it makes me happy that I put them there. Thank you so much for your support!

Thomas Kaira: Hello, I’m glad you’re enjoying Jerric’s adventures, thank you for your comments! The dungeon chapter has been a grind, and I don’t expect I’ll develop a taste for writing down every step Jerric takes underground. There’s more funny up ahead, but first some more darkness. Please bear with me! Check Chapter 4 when it comes, Jerric takes your advice. Thanks for spotting the nit, I have the keyboarding skills of a bear and a bat’s eye for proofreading, so I appreciate it!

Acadian: Thank you so much for your advice and support. This is a real learning experience for me, and when I’m jumping between high jinks and life threatening events I don’t have a guide other than the character. Your words mean a lot to me, both your gentle suggestions and the reassurance. I have very little game playing Jerric, so I think the Atronach part will be more evident when I have more experience with it. At this point I’m still saying “arrgh, he’s going to die” during all of the fights then later, “wait, did he absorb that?” It’s the element of his character that I think shapes his story the most, at least it’s what puts a sword-wielding prankster Nord in the Mages Guild.

Jacki Dice: I’m glad you find Jerric to be believable as well as entertaining! Thank you so much for your comments! I couldn’t work stripping down into the defense of the Emperor’s life, but Jerric seems to rarely go for a full day without some sort of wardrobe malfunction. When winter comes if you find him in any random hot springs, you’ll know I put them there just for you!




Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City, Part 3

Jerric scrambled through the hole in the wall and landed with an awkward tumble, but at least he didn’t stab or slice himself. Immediately he heard Glenroy’s voice. “We should find a defensible spot and protect the Emperor until help arrives.” Jerric felt a surge of hope. If he had caught up with the Blades he was still in the middle of trouble, but at least he was on the way out of it. He stayed out of sight since he expected that they would be surprised to see him.

“Help? What makes you think help will get here before more of those assassins? We need to get the Emperor out of here.” Stress bled through the Redguard’s voice.

“Here they come again!” shouted Glenroy. Jerric ran forward and saw the assassins conjure their armor and weapons. Glenroy closed with one of them, and two assassins attacked the Redguard, trying to get at the Emperor behind him. Jerric knew he would be useless with his sword against their armor. He dropped everything and tackled the nearest assassin’s legs, taking him to the ground. He saw the Redguard slash through the other assassin’s throat as he went down, then the armor of the assassin on top of him evaporated into yellow mist.

“Dammit, it’s that prisoner again! Kill him! He might be working with the assassins,” Glenroy cried. Jerric kicked and rolled away from the robed body and looked up at the two Blades standing over him with their swords dripping red. He took what he thought might be his last breath.

“No, he is not one of them. He can help us, he must.” The Emperor's voice saved him from panic. “They cannot understand why I trust you. They have not seen what I’ve seen. How can I explain?”

Jerric stood and listened. The Emperor spoke to him of the Nine and signs in the stars that foretold his death. Jerric tried to follow his meaning, but like many learned men he seemed to speak in riddles. “Sire, what is my part in this? Can you see my fate?” he asked. It felt strange to look down into the Emperor’s face.

“My dreams grant me no opinion of success. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face I behold the sun’s companion. The dawn of Akatosh’s bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied.”

Jerric could not doubt the Emperor, but nothing that he knew about himself could give substance to his hopes. “What will happen now?” he asked. He had no idea what he should do. The Blades were in charge, but they couldn’t agree. The Emperor was speaking in a tone that he might have used sitting safely in his chambers by the fire, yet three more assassins lay around him filling the air with the stench of their deaths.

“I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for awhile, then we must part.” The Emperor turned away and nodded to the Blades.

The Redguard had been listening while Glenroy kept a lookout, and now he stepped over and scrutinized him in a way that made Jerric feel acutely uncomfortable. He seemed to come to a decision. “Hold out your hands,” he said, and he opened the clasp on Jerric’s shackles. He could reach the magicka within him again, like remembering a name that had been just on the tip of his tongue. He raised his hand and sent a wave of healing light down his body. Belatedly he remembered Arnand's teaching, and he reached up and gingerly felt his healed but still misshapen nose. Dung heaps, he thought, now I'm stuck with it. “I’m Jerric,” he said to the Redguard.

“Baurus,” he said. “Stick close and let us do our job, and you’ll be all right.” Jerric picked up his gear and followed Baurus.

___

The men had made their way through the Sanctum and reached the entrance to the sewers. They had skirmished with assassins along the way, and Jerric had earned grudging respect from the Blades. Glenroy had let loose with his stentorian battle cry every time they were attacked, so Jerric stopped worrying that his frost spell was making too much noise.

Glenroy and Baurus had continued to argue, and Jerric had taken the time to fashion a pack he could sling over his shoulder from the robes of the dead assassins. He had fastened the sword’s scabbard and the iron dagger around his waist, and now that he had his hands free again he regretted leaving Captain Renault’s katana. Thankfully Captain Renault had been a solidly built woman and her belt was cut to fit over her armor, so it just made it around his waist. The Emperor had retreated into his own thoughts, and Jerric was not so impertinent as to try to engage him in conversation.

“Dammit! The gate is barred from the other side. It’s a trap!” Glenroy drew his sword and looked around wildly.

“What about that side passage back there?” said Baurus.

“Worth a try. Let’s go!” They moved quickly to the side passage, and Jerric took up the rear.

“It’s a dead end. What’s your call, sire?” Baurus was still calm.

Jerric heard noise back in the main corridor. “They’re behind us,” he interrupted. Fear coiled through him. They had been herded here like animals, and now they were trapped.

Baurus gave Jerric a level look. “Wait here with the Emperor. Guard him with your life.” Jerric heard their battle cries, and the two Blades were gone. He looked around the small room and made his plan. He backed the Emperor into the corner and turned toward the door to make his stand.

“I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!” The Emperor’s voice was low and urgent, and Jerric turned back around to face him. “Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion.” Jerric reached out with his shield arm and took the Amulet, unable to argue with the Emperor. He looked down at the great stone sparkling red over the leather grip in his filthy hand, and his heart knew that they had reached the end.

Stones tumbled down in the corner behind the Emperor, and Jerric looked up to see an assassin step from concealment. The Emperor caught Jerric with his pale blue eyes, and he seemed to stand outside of time as the assassin struck him down with his short, narrow blade. “Stranger, you picked a bad day to take up the cause of the Septims," the murderer said as he stepped over the body, and his voice was just a man’s.

Fury raced over Jerric, burning his thoughts away. He attacked the man with mindless ferocity, and it was only when he stood panting over the bodies that he fully realized that there had been two of them. He had slashed their faces until they were unrecognizable, then shredded their bodies once the armor misted away. He braced his sword arm against the stone wall and vomited. Blood dripped off his sword down onto his shoulder and shield. His hands shook and tears blinded him.

“We’ve failed. I’ve failed … the Emperor and all of his heirs are dead.” Baurus had returned, and he stood over the Emperor. His voice was soft and empty. Jerric dropped his sword and shield and walked to Baurus. He waited until the Blade looked up, then wordlessly he held out the Amulet of Kings. “He gave it to you? Strange. He saw something in you, trusted you. They say it’s the Dragon’s Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see more than lesser men.”

Jerric’s head felt odd, almost light. He dropped to his knees and then slowly down to sit on the floor. His right hand found the small hole in the left side of his chest. He looked up and saw Baurus speaking, but he didn’t hear him. His gaze went to the low ceiling, and his jangled emotions quietly slipped away. His eyes began to close.

Glass against his teeth and a sour taste jerked him awake again. He was still sitting on his knees, and Baurus held a fistful of his hair while he poured a potion down his throat. He dropped the empty vial with a clatter and let go of Jerric. He stood with his hands out slightly, as if ready to catch him. Jerric blinked. “I think I almost fell asleep,” he said.

Baurus uncorked another potion and handed it to him. “These are pretty strong. Take this one, too. I got two in you while you were, ah, sleepy.” Jerric drank the potion and decided to stay on the floor for now. Baurus waited until Jerric looked up. “He must have given the Amulet to you for a reason. Did he say?”

“He said I must take it to Jauffre. He said I must find his last son, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion. Does that make any sense to you?” Jerric’s head felt clear again.

“The Amulet has power,” Baurus explained. “Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. I’ve never heard of another heir, but Jauffre would know. He’s the Grandmaster of my order, though you would not think so to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, near Chorrol.”

Jerric nodded. He could picture the map of Cyrodiil that he had pored over since he was a child, whispering aloud the names of all the places he wanted to see. “I can find my way to Chorrol,” he said.

“First you need to get out of here. Through that door is the entrance to the sewers, past the locked gate. Take this key, and keep Captain Renault’s sword, you’ve earned it. Watch out for rats and goblins. You handle yourself well, you shouldn’t have much trouble.”

Jerric began to realize the responsibility he had taken on, and he rose to his feet. He felt fine now, strong and steady. “Baurus, I’m no soldier. Maybe there’s someone else who should do this.”

“The Emperor charged you with this himself. He trusted you, and I have to believe that his trust was well placed. I don’t know who betrayed us; it could have been one of our own. You must get the Amulet to Jauffre. I’ll stay here and make sure no one follows you. You’d better get moving.” Baurus gripped Jerric’s shoulder in farewell. “Talos guide you.”

Jerric tucked the Amulet away and entered the sewers.

___

Baurus had been right; Jerric had little trouble getting through the sewers. He stood at the open grate and looked along the long, straight drain at daylight, and then he sloshed his way through the stinking ankle-deep ooze to the end.

It was over, he was free. He blinked in the warm light, taking in gulps of fresh air and coughing out the filth and grief that lay behind him. The sun felt better on his skin than water would have felt on his cracked tongue, and every green tree seemed like its own miracle. He walked along the shore away from the sewage plume, then he dropped his gear and slipped into the clear green water of Lake Rumare. He submerged himself and created a cloudy ribbon of his own rubbing the blood and grime away. It looked clean, but he knew better than to drink lake water this close to a city.

Jerric walked back up onto the shore and looked around while the water ran off of him. Being wet had not improved the fit of his sandals. Belatedly he remembered the Amulet, but his frantic grab found it still there tied around his waist under his shirt. He saw a dock with an old boat pulled up beside it right in front of him, and across the lake were tumbled structures of white stone. A few complete arches rose gracefully above the ruin, but he guessed that his curiosity would earn him trouble if he headed in that direction.

Lightly forested hills rose up beyond the ruin, and he could see terraced fields and mountains in the distance beyond. He walked around the shoulder of the hill behind him and looked back up at the city. He looked west where he knew the Black Road would climb up to Chorrol and Weynon Priory. He could tell that he had come out of the sewer north of the city, but he wasn’t sure how far east he was. He had to decide whether to cross the lake here and take the longer path along the Red Ring Road or to follow the island’s shoreline and cross just north of Fort Nikel and Weye. In addition to the usual bandits and predators, he also had the Imperial Watch to evade for awhile. His heart lifted despite the obvious difficulties of his situation.

Motion along the shore at his feet caught his eye, and he spotted a good-sized mudcrab. He nailed it with a ball of fire and cracked it open while the steam was still hissing out. He felt starved, the rat hadn’t stayed down long enough to stick. He looked up at the late afternoon sun and blew on his scorched fingers. Close enough, he would call it lunch.

Filling his stomach made Jerric even thirstier. He looked over at the ruin. Sometimes old wells still held water, and there might even be an Ayleid Well. He scratched at the stubble on his face. His prison clothes were still torn and stained, although not so obviously now by blood. He might not attract bandits since he looked as if he’d already been beaten and left for dead. He would cross to the ruin and look for water, then follow the opposite shoreline to avoid the Legion riders as far as he could until he had to take the road where it rose up into the hills.

He didn’t want to steal someone’s boat. He gathered his gear and started swimming.

This post has been edited by Grits: Dec 30 2010, 02:20 PM