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 for the strategy, we’re going to take another crack at it today. It is good melee practice for a new character, since he can just get out of the water. I’m going to let him take a nap between fish this time, since he’s taking so much damage and the whole Atronach thing. I’m still looking for that sweet spot! Also I may have been too ambitious bumping up the difficulty slider.

You made me swoon with the Abiene comment. I’m wondering how I could work her story in with Jerric’s without having it be too choppy. Weye was a great little break, Jerric could just be himself without anyone dying at his feet and demanding world-saving. Although he can’t seem to get away from strange men giving him jewelry.

haute ecole rider: Thank you! When I pictured Flash in the clover, I knew what had to happen next. I’m glad Jerric’s character came across before things get hectic for him. It’s been fun to rediscover Cyrodiil with this story, now I like Weye even more than Aleswell.

mALX: Thank you, mALX! You’re making me blush!!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I have a tendency to take a break for the scenery with Jerric, which is not something my girlie game characters have ever done. I think he needs a beach house!!



Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 4

Jerric stopped on the Gold Road and looked at the ancient stone steps ascending off to the side into the forest. “What do you suppose is up there?” he asked Flash. “I didn’t get to look when I passed with the caravan. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance. Even if Rothmund hasn’t fired me, I doubt he’ll approve a side trip when I’m working.”

The steps were wide and shallow. Jerric thought for a moment. “I wonder if you could make it up there. I bet you could.” He checked to make sure the halter rope was secure over the pack saddle in a way that wouldn’t fall loose but still gave Flash his head. “I’m going up. If you want, you can come with me.” He went up about halfway and stopped, looking back at Flash. “I think I’ll have an apple.” He got one out of his day pack and took a bite. Flash’s ears perked forward. “Now that is delicious. First harvest of the year, I bet. Not like those wrinkled ones we got from the Priory.” He bit off a chunk and held it out toward Flash. He didn’t want to lead him up the stairs, he wanted him to come up on his own. “Look at that, see how juicy? Did you ever have a little filly flip her tail at you before they… you know. Well this apple is sweeter.” He felt his face grow hot and shook his head. “Pathetic, I can’t even lie to a horse. Anyway, Flash, I’m going up.”

He walked the rest of the way up the stairs. “This is as far as I can go without you,” he said as he went. “I trust you of course, it’s every other fetcher on the road I’m worried about.” When he got to the top and turned around, Flash gave a snort and came up after him. “Go Flash! That wasn’t even hard. I bet they made these stairs for horses. Here you go, see I wasn’t kidding. That is a good apple.” The two of them proceeded up the path, crunching the apple as they went. “If we see any buildings, I’m going to ask you to wait. A Nord and a horse are not going to sneak up on anything.”

After a few minutes he did see the tall white arches of an Ayleid ruin, so he got Flash turned around on the path and dropped his lead. He walked forward with his shield on his arm, watching his footing. There was a lot of forest debris on the stone path, and he didn’t want to step on a stick. As he approached the ruin he saw that the stones formed a large ring made of wedge shapes. A stone staircase to nowhere still stood in the middle, and he guessed that he would find the entrance to any underground chambers there.

When he approached the entrance his eyes picked out the shape and color of steel-blue entoloma mushrooms growing all around it, and he made a little hiss of delight. As soon as he bent to pick the first cap, he heard the distinctive sound of a targeted fire spell attack. He ducked and rolled, and the flare roasted his mushrooms. “Dammit!” He popped up, looking for his attacker.

A scamp stood at the edge of the stone ring, readying another fireball. Jerric hadn’t heard a conjurer so he focused on the scamp. “All right, let’s go!” He bent his knees and got ready to dodge. As much as he hated fire, he hadn’t sparred in so long it was making him twitchy. The ground was clear around the stones, and he could always wait for the scamp to come to him if he got tired of jumping over them. The scamp threw the fire, and Jerric sidestepped. “Ha ha!” He heard another flare behind him and turned in time to catch it full on his chest. The magicka surged through him as he absorbed the spell, and that helped him keep his good mood. “You sneaky fetcher!” he laughed. As he ran to the outer ring where he could see both scamps he started to wonder what they were doing out here. He decided that only a fool would use them as lookouts, so if anything they must be guards. In that case he could go ahead and have some fun.

He worked up a sweat dodging fireballs until the scamps ran out of magicka and ran at him. That was when he saw a third scamp, and suddenly the game became serious. He summoned his skeleton. “Go, Slim!” He pointed at the nearer scamps and jogged toward the third one, ducking its fire attack. Slim didn’t kill his scamp, but he damaged it enough to slow it down. Jerric had time to open the third scamp’s gut before the next one reached him. He took his time with it, testing his reach with Chillrend’s short blade. He was pleased to find that the frost effect caused little noise or recoil in his hand.

It wasn’t long before he was kneeling with the knife from his day pack peeling off their skin for Sigrid to use in her Mages’ Bane poison. The resident alchemist at the Kvatch Mages Guild had been his instructor for several years, and he knew that a bag of dried skin would go farther than a dozen roses to gain her favor. Not that he had a chance with her, but Jerric thought that a person should have some goals in their life.

He checked to see if the entrance underground was passable for the sake of his curiosity. There was no way he was going in there today. The door was clean and solid, and he decided that there must be something down there that the scamps had been guarding. He decided to hurry up and pick his mushrooms in case anyone came up to check on the scamps.

Jerric jogged back to Flash and secured the halter rope around the saddle again. “That was fun, thanks for waiting.” He got out a carrot for them to share as they walked back down to the road. “I’ll carry the scamp skin, you probably won’t like the smell. I guess I smell bad enough already.”

___

Jerric dropped Flash off in Tilmo’s capable hands at the Grateful Pass Stables and took the West Gate into Skingrad. He approached the gate guard for some information. “Greetings, Nord. Something I can help you with?” asked the guard.

“Are you much of a chapel-goer, sir?” Jerric asked.

The guard began a speech about the splendor of the Great Chapel, the wisdom of Julianos, and Jerric didn’t know what else because he thanked the man and went over to the other guard.

“Yes?” the other guard said. There seemed to be a hint of amusement in his tone.

“A brothel,” said Jerric.

“The Painted Posy,” said the guard, “Chapelside, can’t miss it.”

Now Jerric knew where not to go. “Are they Guild?”

“No. That is to say, I don’t know.” said the guard.

“It’s for my boss,” Jerric lied, “he’s an Imperial, very picky. Big coin purse, lots of rules. Has to be a Guild establishment.” He hoped that his flush would be interpreted as embarrassment instead of dissembling.

“Oh, well in that case take him to The Colovian Rose. Of course I don’t know myself being a married man, but I hear that Servilla the Serpent is something else.”

He thanked the man and headed to the Mages Guild to clean up and drop off his gear. The clouds had been rolling in all afternoon, and as he entered the front hall it began to rain. His eyes went immediately to the large yellow tile medallion set into the center hall’s wooden floor. It reminded him how little schooling he had in the arcane arts. Two long benches faced each other on either side of the double staircase, he guessed for the unimportant to use while they waited for their betters. The heavy tapestries hanging on the stone walls contributed to the dour atmosphere.

Jerric walked through the hall and looked into the open rooms on either side. A balding Nord loitered at the long counter to his right. He was richly dressed in a gold trimmed black velvet tunic and velvet leggings. “Hail, Vigge,” Jerric said. “Any room in the common quarters? I’m just passing through.”

“Well met, Associate. It’s been quiet for weeks, you’ll have your choice of beds. The common quarters are on the third floor, around the corner to the right.”

“Great. Who should I talk to about trading alchemy supplies?”

“There’s no alchemist here, you’ll have to go to All Things Alchemical. It’s right around the corner here in Hightown. If you’ll be back for dinner, you should let Cook know.”

“I’ll be out, I have some other business. I’ve had some adventures on the road.”

Vigge didn’t seem to care about adventures. “Well, you could sure use a wash. Bathing chamber is down by the kitchen. Let me know if you need someone to heat the water.”

“All right Vigge, thanks.” Jerric made his way to the second floor, where he almost bumped into an Argonian standing beside the tall bookshelves. She was wearing an easily identifiable blue robe. “Excuse me, Apprentice,” he said politely.

“What? Who are you? Oh... who cares. I'm Druja. You want something? Or you just practicing your Cyrodilic?"

“I’m Jerric. I’m an Associate. I’ll be in the common quarters, just for tonight.”

“Good for you.” Druja’s scaly cheeks were pulled downward in displeasure.

Jerric didn’t know how to reply to that, so he proceeded through the library. He found Adrienne Berene reading at a table next to the stairs, gowned formally in blue velvet. She looked up irritably as he passed. “I trust you have good reason for interrupting me?" Jerric simply shook his head and walked by. This did not seem to be the time to remind her that they had met on his last visit to Skingrad.

He ran up the stairs to the common quarters and found it as empty as Vigge had promised. The diamond shaped panes of glass in the tall windows and thick rugs covering the floor reminded him of home. He liked the way the doors were made to rise up to a point at the top like an onion. The wooden ceilings soared all the way to the peaked roof line, and he expected that the room would be chilly in the winter. He chose a bed with a large cupboard and a table nearby so he could take care of some chores. Then he picked out his best shirt and headed down to the bathing chamber, trying to walk more softly this time.

He found himself in a medium sized stone room with a drain in the floor. A shaving stand stood along the wall next to an empty table with a low stool in front of it. The shelves on the wall were loaded with clean towels, soaps, and unlabeled glass bottles. He opened one and sniffed it experimentally. It smelled like flowers, so he left it alone. He found no tub, but one wall housed a mysterious apparatus. Jerric dropped his things on the table and stuck his head into the kitchen. “Hail the Cook! Are you in here?”

Cook turned out to be a short, irascible Imperial man of middle age. “Don’t tell me, your mother never taught you how to bathe.”

“Well…” Jerric was tempted to put him through a wall for the comment, but in this case it was somewhat true. “I can’t figure out the contraption.”

“Follow me. Look, here is the handle. Open it, and water comes out. See that, it’s metal. Put your fire spell on it, and the water will be hot. If it’s too hot, open this handle and cold will mix in. This is soap. You use it to get the stink off your body. Those are towels. You get the idea. If you blow anything up, Adrienne will kill you. Ask Vigge if you want help. I’m sure he’ll wash your back for you.” Cook stomped off, and Jerric eyed the mechanism with mistrust.

He followed Cook’s instructions and found that being showered with a steady stream of hot water was far superior to the Odiil’s bucket method. He made quick but thorough use of the soap, and when he shook the water out of his eyes he found he had company. “Vigge! Something I can help you with?” Vigge seemed overdressed for a bathing chamber, and Jerric hoped he would stay that way.

“You figured it out! Not everyone can. Just seeing how you were doing.”

“Thanks, I got it.” He stood there dripping. “Uh, hand me a towel, will you?” After an uneasy shave, Jerric left Vigge’s company and headed back to the kitchen.

Cook looked up irritably. “What now, do I need to teach you how to use the pot?”

“No thanks. What’s your name? I’m Jerric.”

“My name is Cook. I’m the cook, get it? Adrienne keeps firing us, so they just call us Cook now. Did I ask for your name? No. You’re a pain in my sack, so I’ll just call you Pain. Have a nice day, Pain.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call me Sack?” The Imperial gave a short bark of laughter, and Jerric took his leave. He thought of the warm welcome he had received when he studied in Anvil, and of all the hardworking, friendly mages in Kvatch. He decided he was lucky he had been able to study Destruction so far at his home chapter instead of coming to Skingrad.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 19 2011, 06:11 PM