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: I waited to finish this part until I could hear them all talking. It was much more fun than the paragraphs of description I started with. Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Lucky for Jauffre that Jerric is on his way home, otherwise he might have to go for a walk himself. I remember when Buffy told Jauffre off, that was impressive! Thank you, Acadian!

Jacki Dice: If he ever has to talk to a Count or Countess, let’s hope they don’t mention plowing. Thank you, Jacki Dice!


So, I tried something different here with some flashbacks/remembering. I would love advice on how I could handle it more gracefully!


Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 2

Jerric stopped walking and tried to squint through the mist over Lake Rumare. It had rained for days through the Great Forest, finally stopping when he and Flash turned onto the Red Road. His Aleswell cloak had kept him dry from the outside, but his sweat soaked through everything from underneath. There were a number of intersections and roads in this area on his map, and Jerric didn’t know which one to take. An Imperial man appeared out of the fog, leading a donkey and cart. “Is this the way to Weye?” Jerric asked.

The man kept up his pace. “You missed it. Follow me, I’ll put you on the right path.”

“Thanks.” Jerric and Flash turned and fell in step behind the cart. “Is there an inn?”

“The Wawnet Inn, you’ll walk right by it. Fellow across the road has a stable.”

It was full dark when they stopped outside the Wawnet Inn, and they were both ready to sleep. Jerric listened to the tavern noise without enthusiasm. A short Breton man hobbled out from the cottage behind them and offered a non-traditional greeting. “You know, stranger, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to admit that he’s lost the fight. Well I’ve fought, and I’ve lost. Who did I lose to? Who is my great enemy? Well don’t laugh, it’s a bunch of damn fish.”

Jerric could usually find the humor in a situation, but not tonight. “I’m not laughing,” he said. “If you let me and my horse sleep in your stable, I’ll listen to your story. Maybe I can do something for you in return. I’m Jerric.”

The man was Aelwin Merowald, and he needed a dozen Rumare slaughterfish scales. Jerric said he’d get the details in the morning, and he and Flash retired to the empty stable.

___

Jerric stood ankle deep in the water at the edge of Lake Rumare, blood and water streaming down his skin. His hair was in his eyes, and his soaked drawers did not want to stay up. I am fighting a fish with a sword, he thought, and it is winning. The fish thrashed over the lake's surface, trying to get at him again. Its wicked teeth gleamed in the morning sun. 'Slaughter' fish, he thought. That should have been my first clue. I need a new plan. He thought back to his time in the Anvil Mages Guild, remembering one day in particular.

He sprawled across the bed with his arms and legs flung out in every direction, gazing up at the coffered ceiling. Warm light slanted through the deep set window. His eyes were heavy, and his breathing was becoming slow and deep. Abiene had slipped back into her robe, and now she stepped around the room picking up the clothes that she had carelessly pulled off of him. "Wake up!" she said, and she tugged his leg off the edge of the bed. His foot thumped on the floor. He was not inclined to stir. "Jerric! You have to get up. There is no way they are going to believe we spent all afternoon studying restoration." Her dark eyes flashed with annoyance. "I'll have to teach you another spell in a hurry."

Jerric had lifted his head. "The water breathing one.”

Now he hoped he could remember it.

___

Jerric strutted into Weye triumphantly with his sword in his hand and the great fish slung over his shoulder. He gathered an increasing crowd of the village’s old and young trailing behind him as he went. He strode to the work table in Aelwin’s side garden and proudly thumped the fish down. “Aelwin!” he called.

He grinned around at the circle of his new friends. Flash stood behind the thatched cottage knee high in clover, hipshot and chewing. Flash did not seem impressed by Jerric’s achievement. In fact, most of the folk who now leaned against Aelwin’s stone fence were not looking at the fish. He laid his sword on the table and hiked up his sodden drawers, retying them. Now he thought they might pay attention.

Aelwin hobbled around the side of his house. “Look at you,” he crowed, “you got one!” Aelwin stood beside Jerric and viewed the fish.

“I cut him up a bit, but there are way more than a dozen scales left on him.”

Aelwin reached up and thumped Jerric’s back with his gnarled hand. “A dozen fish, lad. The scales from a dozen fish.”

Jerric’s stomach dropped. He had planned to walk all day and not stop until his feet were on the Gold Road. On the other hand, he had a few extra days before he was late for his Ma’s party, and his laundry could use some more time in the sun. He might as well help this man as loll around in some brothel in Skingrad. Maybe he would have time for both. He looked around at the villagers and decided to keep fishing. He had to admit to himself that the inviting smile on one young Breton woman’s face had some influence. He looked over at Aelwin. “Do you have a big hook or something I could borrow?”

Aelwin gave him a gaff hook, and Jerric went back to work.

___

This time Jerric returned with a fish over each shoulder. He had left his sword with his clothes back on the sandy shore in the solemn keeping of two nine year old Weye girls. The boys who were keeping him company would surely have killed each other with it before he was out of sight, but the girls had them intimidated in the mysterious way of all females.

He dropped the fish on the grass next to Aelwin’s table. Aelwin was elbow deep in fish blood, and the smell was impressive. “What are you going to do with the meat?” Jerric asked. He was feeling a little hungry.

Aelwin shrugged. “The boats have already gone to today’s market,” he said. “I guess we could dry it, but with the coin I get from the alchemist, I don’t ever intend to eat another fish!” He cackled with glee.

Jerric looked around. Most of the village was hard at work, but enough folk had the leisure to stand around watching and gabbing. “Let’s have a cookout,” he said to them. His suggestion was well received. Before they all scattered to make their preparations, he had one more request. “Does anyone have a handcart I can borrow?”

___

Jerric rested his feet against the lake bottom with his knees bent and his short sword ready. He could see the massive fish approaching him, drawn by the blood leaking out of his arm. The spell that turned the water in his lungs into air also let him see under water, and timing its re-casting claimed part of his attention. He could not let his spell or his magicka run out and leave him blind with his lungs full of water.

He carefully adjusted his sword as the fish angled for its attack. The strike would be too fast for him to see, and he had learned that gaffing the fish before he got his blade in would cost him a great deal of pain. He was lucky this time, and his sword went into the great jaws and out beside the dorsal fin. He jabbed the hook into the fish’s flailing side and dug his heels into the lake bottom, dragging the fish along with him as he backed out of the blood clouded water. Experience had also taught him to exit the lake before another fish came along to take a bite out of him.

He thrashed onto shore dragging the fish and threw it away from him. His sword arm was chewed again, but this time the blood was just flowing out instead of shooting into the air. He healed it a little and carefully approached the fish to make sure that this one was really dead. With their great lidless eyes it was hard to tell. This one was finished, he decided, so he heaved it into the barrow with the others. The boys were waiting to push it back up the hill to Aelwin for him. “Go ahead lads, I’ll be up in a moment.” His entourage now included several girls who were old enough to be too curious for his comfort. “You too, I’m taking a break,” he said to them. He was not a shy person, but he intended to clean up and get dressed, leaving his drawers drying on the bushes. He was sure that he had already provided the town with enough gossip.

Jerric executed his plan and entered the Wawnet Inn in search of a late lunch. He turned down the short flight of stairs into the dimly lit common room and stared at the innkeeper in frank admiration. He had never felt attracted to an Altmer before, and he was suddenly aware of his disheveled state. Her smooth hair and skin looked gilded in the candlelight. At least I washed off the fish slime before I came in here, he thought.

"Welcome to the Wawnet Inn, traveler," she said. "I am Nerussa. Could I interest you in a room or perhaps a bit of wine?" Her low-pitched voice made him think of firelight on velvet.

Jerric folded his hands in greeting. "I'm Jerric. Pleased to meet you." There was a moment of silence. The inn was empty, as it was the middle of the afternoon. Eventually he remembered why he was standing there. "I'd like a meal, please," he said, "if it's not too much trouble."

Nerussa offered him fish soup in a creamy tomato base with a round, crusty roll. She served him at the counter with languid grace, and then she kept him company while he ate. He caught her scent, subtle and spicy. "I saw you bring in the first slaughterfish. You were injured," she observed.

"I guess it’s easy enough to find trouble but too hard to stay out of it. I learned to heal myself."

"Aelwin mentioned that you are an adventurer. If you know how to heal, how did you come by that scar?" she asked with a smile. Maybe it was the honey in her voice, but for the first time the question didn't rankle.

"Minotaur," he said. Nerussa waited, so he continued. "I was working with an archer. The minotaur caught her in the belly with its horn. Pulled her guts out onto the road." Nerussa's smile faded. "I used up all my magicka trying to heal her, so I got to keep this." Jerric pointed to his brow. "Seems like there are never enough potions, even on a caravan." I'm talking too much, he thought.

Nerussa folded her elegant arms on the counter and changed the subject. "You might have noticed my display as you entered. I am quite fond of collecting all manners of wines from all over Tamriel. But one vintage continues to elude me: Shadowbanish Wine. How I would love to add it to my collection.”

“I’ve never heard of it, but I don’t know much about wine.”

“Shadowbanish Wine is so rare because it was only made in one small batch. It’s the product of a vintner who was also an alchemist. Besides tasting incredible, the magic within the wine allows the imbiber to be gifted with Night Eye! The vintner made it special for the Legion soldiers posted at the forts when they were active long ago. It was perfect for keeping lookouts warm on cold nights and helping them see better in the dark. Isn’t that clever?”

“He must have been skilled. I don’t think I’ve ever made a potion that didn’t taste disgusting. I wonder what Shadowbanish Wine tastes like.”

“Oh, it is far too rare for anyone to actually drink it. Say, that gives me an idea."

With that voice she could ask me to do anything, and I would consider it, Jerric thought. This may be the most dangerous female I have ever met. He gave her his attention while he spooned up his soup.

“It seems you’re not afraid to put yourself at risk. If you can retrieve six bottles of Shadowbanish Wine, I’ll gladly pay you well. I cannot tell you exactly where to find them. All I know is that bottles can sometimes be found in fort ruins all over Cyrodiil.”

Jerric finished his meal and pushed back his soup plate. "I'll keep an eye out for it, if I’m ever in a fort ruin." He would need a better reason than coin to go back under ground, but he thought it was in the realm of the possible.

"Is there anything else you want before you go? Anything you need? I might be able to assist you." Nerussa's eyes were golden in the inn’s light, and her smile made him think of a long life filled with secrets. He had to catch three more fish for Aelwin, and he didn’t want to spend too much more daylight before he got them. There was something that he needed, but he hesitated to ask. He looked across the counter at Nerussa.

"I could really use a haircut," he said.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 14 2011, 05:56 PM