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: Jun 1 2025, 06:21 PM

[Grits]

SubRosa: Thank you, SubRosa! Here’s another bowl.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I think I’ll name Chapter 5: [gives away big secret] Or not!

mALX: I’m glad you like it, mALX! Thank you!

Jacki Dice: I’m glad you like him Jackie Dice, here’s some more! I need to play SI so I can read your story!!





Chapter 4: All’s Well in Aleswell, Part 2


Jerric stopped in the Red Road where a path forked off and down to his left. He believed he had climbed to the place where Fort Caractacus lay below, so Aleswell must be a short distance ahead. “Caractacus,” he said out loud. “Caractacus. Aleswell. The ale is well in Aleswell.” He thought he might really worry if he started answering himself. He could hear birds calling to one another in trees to his right, and the sun was pleasantly warm on his shoulders. Still, something seemed to be awry. He looked around and had the feeling that he was not alone. Bandit ghosts passed fleetingly through his mind, but ghosts don’t sound like sheep. When he heard panting and felt a nudge against the back of his knee he yelped a little, and then he felt around in the air with his hands. He felt but still couldn’t see furry upright ears and a cold nose, and when he bent down he reassured himself that ghosts also don’t have dog breath.

“Hail little fellow,” he said in a friendly tone. “What the fetch is going on here?” The invisible dog declined to answer so Jerric straightened and continued up the road, trailed he imagined by a friendly dog and some imaginary sheep. He thought that the dog might have accidentally swallowed some enchanted item, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that a bunch of sheep had, too.

He entered a hamlet and found it to be an altogether charming and empty place. Flowers bloomed around tidy thatched houses, and the grass was cropped short in the way that is easily accomplished by just the right number of sheep. He looked over at a neatly tended garden, and he blinked at the sight of a hoe working by itself between the rows. An excess of enchanted items suddenly seemed more plausible. He opened the gate and entered the garden to get a closer look.

“Hey, do you mind not trampling my crops?” Jerric jumped at the surly voice, but at least he didn’t make a noise this time. He looked down and moved his feet.

“Hail, friend, I’m Jerric,” he said to the hoe. “Is this Aleswell?”

“Shagol gro-Bumph. I expect you have some questions. Talk to Diram in the inn. I'm tired of this minstrel's freakshow our town has turned into."

“Pleased to meet you.” It was easy to guess that the wooden two story building was the inn. Jerric walked over, but before he went inside he stepped between the trees to take in the view he had been enjoying as he climbed up the road. He could see the whole of the Imperial City with its towers and great bridges all the way across Lake Rumare, and if there had not been a haze he might have seen the thread of the Ring Road beyond. He looked around at the plains and distant mountains, and at that moment he wanted to climb every hill just to see what lay beyond it. A summer day such as this was a thing to be appreciated. His heart lifted and he took a few deep breaths before he turned to enter the inn.

He entered expecting to hear a disembodied voice, and he was not disappointed. “Excuse me. We have a small problem that we hope you can help us with. You may be wondering why you can’t see me. We are all wondering the same thing. Everyone in Aleswell suddenly became invisible several weeks ago. It was sort of fun at first, but the novelty has definitely worn off now. You can imagine how difficult it is to run an inn while invisible. Once you get a reputation as a haunted inn, you can just forget about it. So we’ve all been keeping quiet, hoping the spell will wear off. But we’re running out of patience. We’re sure it was Ancotar’s doing, but we can’t find him. If you can help us, we will be extremely grateful.”

The voice sounded highly animated, and Jerric thought that those who could not rely upon gestures or facial expressions must have to fall back on something. It made him tired just to listen to it. “Are you Diram? I’m Jerric. Who is this Ancotar?”

Jerric could imagine him nodding. “He’s a wizard who took up residence in the ruins of Fort Caractacus a couple of years ago. You passed the path down if you came from the east. He’s caused us no end of trouble with his magical experiments, but nothing as bad as this. If he’s still living at the fort he’s hiding from us, and no wonder. If you could find him and get rid of this cursed invisibility, we’d all be in your debt.”

“Fort Caractacus?” Jerric just liked to say it.

“That’s right!” Diram said brightly. “Fort Caractacus. You have a nimble tongue, sir.”

With a tremendous effort Jerric refrained from comment. He was not used to making a favorable first impression, and Diram sounded so excited and happy to see him that Jerric couldn’t bear to disappoint him. “I’ll be back,” he said, and he waved farewell to the air.

“Watch out for the invisible monsters that infest the ruins!” Diram called out cheerfully as the door closed behind Jerric.

He made his way down to the fort unmolested by monsters invisible or otherwise, and after an annoying chase through the ruins he finally cornered the invisible Ancotar and convinced him that he wasn’t trying to sell him something. He listened to a lengthy explanation of Ancotar’s magical doings and began to think he wasn’t so lonely after all. Eventually Ancotar handed over a scroll with a counter-spell, and he also gave Jerric a ring of protection against the counter-spell with instructions so vague and threatening that he almost convinced himself that he’d be better off not wearing it.

Jerric jogged back up to Aleswell just as the invisible residents were being called in for the evening meal. He stood in Shagol’s garden in the center of town wearing the copper ring, and he read Ancotar's scroll in the rosy light as the sun slipped behind the mountains. This must be one of the most pleasant spots in Cyrodiil, he thought. Shouts of joy announced his success, so he headed to the inn past the now visible sheep to join the celebration.

There was a general call to break for long neglected grooming, then the good folk of Aleswell joined together for a party that threatened to send the inn down the side of the mountain. The news of the Emperor’s death had just reached them that morning, but their deliverance from invisibility took precedence over their grief. After all the White Gold Tower was still clearly visible from behind the inn, so it seemed that the Empire hadn’t fallen. Everyone agreed that they were safe in the hands of the Elder Council, and many were prepared to drink to their wisdom.

Jerric was also ready to relax a little, and there wasn’t a man or mer in town who didn’t want to buy him something. He dined, drank, and danced with a complete disregard for safety or personal dignity. Diram offered him a free room for the rest of his life at the inn, and many offered him gear or new clothing, since he had obviously been robbed by bandits on the road and been forced to wear castoffs. An old Breton lady brought him a pair of her dead Nord husband’s well-kept leather boots, and when it was discovered that they were a decent fit, Jerric kissed her full on the mouth amid much cheering. He delightedly and ceremoniously threw his rope sandals into the fire.

When he took a break at the bar, he found himself confronted by two sour-faced Dunmeri women. If he looked beyond their obvious displeasure at everything, he found them both extremely attractive. “Whoa,” he said. He congratulated himself on his nimble tongue.

“You really enjoy this whole hero thing, don’t you? Everybody fawning all over you? Well we’re not like that.”

“I’m Jerric,” said Jerric. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Urnsi, and this is my sister Adosi.” They frowned at him. They were an island of ill feelings amid a sea of jubilation. He began to get an idea.

“Pleased to meet you. It must have been especially hard for you to be invisible for so long.” He looked from one to the other and back again. “Since you’re,” he made a sweeping up and down gesture, “You know.”

“I don’t know,” Urnsi or Adosi said crossly. “Is that some kind of hero talk, because we don’t get it.”

“I mean you’re very attractive,” he said. He leaned against the bar and his elbow slipped off. He caught himself and thought they might not have noticed, and then he realized that a fair amount of his ale had gone onto his trousers. “You must be used to getting a lot of attention. From travelers. Men,” he explained. “I mean you’re better looking than anyone else in town.” Urnsi and Adosi exchanged a look, and Jerric thought he might be on the right path. “You know,” he began, but they had him up the stairs before he could finish his thought.

In the end he retreated behind the locked door of the room Diram had given him. Urnsi and Adosi had been very demanding. He thought they were going to take turns and then pass out, but their thinking seemed to be take turns until the Nord is dead. Jerric had a new respect for all Dunmeri males.

He lay across his forever free bed and looked at the Amulet of Kings in his hand. There had been a bad moment with Urnsi and Adosi when he realized that it was still tied around his waist, but they didn’t seem to mind that he kept his flapping shirt on. He gazed into the great red stone and guessed that the Amulet had seen plenty of action, and he needn’t worry about what it had witnessed that night. He recognized that his thoughts betrayed his advanced inebriation, and he decided that if the Serethi sisters hadn’t tried to drain the life out of him, the rest of the town downstairs probably would have drowned him in alcohol. On that thought he tucked the Amulet away and went to sleep.

By mid-morning an enticing aroma coaxed Jerric from the bed. He suspected that the sun had risen that day with few on two legs awake to greet it. He gathered his things and descended to the common room where he found a number of Aleswellians nursing sore heads and sipping their kahve. He found a pile of supplies that folk had dropped off for him, and among them to his great but quietly expressed joy he found a shaving kit and small stack of very serviceable clothing left behind by some long-forgotten Nord. There was even a worn but still excellent hooded cloak that looked like it had been treated against the rain, he suspected from the old lady who said he reminded her of her late husband. He retired back upstairs to use the washbasin and outfit himself in a manner less like a jester.

He returned to his kahve and sorted through the supplies. With the extra packs he found there he was able to make a camp pack with his food, clothing, and cooking supplies; a day pack for his day’s rations, water, and potions; a shoulder bag with his alchemy supplies and plenty of room for the ingredients that he picked up as a matter of habit; and a large pack with the goods he had looted from the bandits. As he packed the items away he decided to think of it less as loot and more as salvage. He took a light metal pot and a slightly heavier skillet so that he could do some cooking, plus a metal drinking cup and every canteen and water skin that he could find. He tucked the scrolls in with his potions for ready access, and his books went into the camp pack. The bedroll got tied with the cloak and slung across his shoulders. He went outside and practiced shedding his burdens and sliding his shield on to the amusement of the local sheep. He could draw his sword in an emergency even while completely laden, though he was sure his technique would not earn him any compliments.

He left his gear in the inn and made some sprints up the hill to work the kinks out of his muscles. He could feel the difference that a few days without real exercise made, his legs wanted to run. After a breakfast of toasted bread for his sour stomach and a tall mug of Diram’s excellent ale to get his head right again, Jerric was ready to put his feet back on the road.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 3 2011, 07:03 PM