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]

haute ecole rider: The first time I played this quest I was too upset to even pick up a shield from the fallen Kvatch soldiers! Yikes. Thank you very much for the advice – I’m still re-working the castle part of the battle, figuring out what to include. I’ve written it and then dumped it twice, so it’s a real learning process.

mALX: I have to agree. I think leaving Menien was the lowest point for me. Thanks, mALX!

D. Foxy: That paragraph was the only one I didn’t have to re-work. Thank you, Foxy.

Acadian: Most of the lines you pointed out came went in on the last re-write. If I don’t think it’s ready, then it’s not ready – that’s the lesson that’s given me some confidence. Thank you so much for your guidance, Acadian!!

Jacki Dice: I’m glad you liked it, even though it did get bloodier than expected. Sorry, I should have warned you!! Scalp lacerations are an umbrella seller.

SubRosa: Thank you for your encouragement, SubRosa! That Nordic Frost is a life-saver at this level. I never used those once a day powers until Jerric, he almost dies a lot in the game. The throw was inspired by recent MMA viewing, I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Grits too much! I need to watch some cooking shows to rebalance.

Thomas Kaira: You’re right about the impulsive run into the Deadlands. He just couldn’t wait. Sorry, I should have made it more clear, Jerric did have the stuff that he carries on his person. I appreciaye your comments, TK!
Jim the Slim... he just loves it when you snap into him.... It seems that Slim does not approve of the word “snap”!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 3

Jerric stood on a flat, metal ring at the top of the great tower. The pillar of fire terminated in a seething ball of flame in front of him. Or perhaps this marked its beginning, he thought. The small, round sigil stone hovered between metal spikes. It made a patch of malevolent darkness within the blaze. A part of him marveled that something so small could be the source of such power.

He reached out and clutched the shrieking stone in his arm before he could let himself think any more about it. The orange pillar of fire burst up and instantly engulfed him with a furious roar, and he closed his eyes against the blinding light. To his surprise, there was no pain. The ring tipped under him and then fell away from his feet. He felt nothing around him. No heat, no air, no vibration from the relentless howl that filled his ears. Not even a sense of falling, only noise. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for what would come. Hold on, he told himself. Hold on.

He felt ground under his feet again, and the cacophony faded away. The stone resonated against his chest with awful power. Cool air touched his face, bringing with it the sound of trees in a rising wind. Jerric opened his eyes.

The red clouds cleared over the Kvatch barricade, revealing the low, dark sky of a Gold Coast thunderstorm in the making. The grey light could have been dawn, dusk, or mid-day. Jerric stood in the remains of the Gate frame, swaying on his feet. Unbelievably, he had returned to Cyrodiil. Menien, he thought. I left him. The Kvatch Guards’ rough cheers were answered by the rumble of genuine Kvatch thunder.

He dropped to one knee and let the stone roll away from him. His raised hand released all of his healing magicka, knitting cracked bones and soothing the worst of his burns in seconds. He flexed his shield arm and took a deep breath. The smoke made him cough. I’m alive, he thought, but no joy came with it.

Captain Matius pulled Jerric to his feet and pounded him on the shoulder. "You closed the Gate! I can't believe you really did it! This is the perfect time to launch a counter attack. First we’re going to evacuate the chapel." Matius held Jerric by the arms and looked up at him, hope and determination shining in his face. "We've got to move quickly before they have a chance to barricade the city gate. You were in there for days, but I’ve no time to let you sleep. Are you with us?"

Days, that’s not possible, Jerric thought numbly. He met the captain’s eyes. "I'm with you." He couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

The other guards gathered around them. Ilend Vonius passed him a canteen, and Jerric gratefully emptied it. The question on Vonius’ face sent sorrow though him, and he shook his head. He handed the Kvatch Wolf shield back to Vonius. “I need to get mine off my horse,” he said to Matius.

Matius turned to one of his men. “Go get it from Batul. Bring the others up from the encampment, and everyone left who can heal. Like we planned. Bring back something to clean him up a little.” He turned to Jerric. “Rest here while you can. Never stand when you can sit, lad. I’m afraid there’s nothing for you to eat.”

“I’m glad to hear it, if an orc has my horse.”

The crackling sound of the fire pulled at Jerric. He tried to listen to the wind instead. One thing at a time, just like in the Deadlands, he told himself. Do not run into the city by yourself. He stepped away from the broken Gate and sank gratefully onto the unspoiled ground. He lay back on the dirt with his knees up and closed his eyes against the flames still visible over the city wall. He decided to leave the long sword and carry Chillrend. He was not used to fighting in close quarters, and he thought he might be a dangerous ally for the guards.

It seemed like a single heartbeat later and Matius was shaking him awake. He sat up and saw the entire remaining Kvatch Guard squatting or kneeling in a circle that included him. Matius knelt at his side. He handed Jerric a damp cloth, and Jerric scrubbed his face with it. From the amount of filth that came off, he imagined he must have presented quite a sight. Matius spoke before he finished. “Jerric, you have more combat experience with this enemy than anyone here. I’d like you to tell us what you know,” he said.

Jerric was astonished. He looked around at the tense, attentive faces, too embarrassed to speak. Many of these men had hauled him off to the drunk tank more than once. Public intoxication and brawling weren’t serious crimes, but he knew his arrest record took up a significant amount of parchment at the prison. To be recognized on sight by most of the law enforcement in Cyrodiil’s second largest city was something of an accomplishment. In his long stint of self-indulgent behavior, he had never considered a scene like this. He scratched his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. “You’ve fought scamps and clannfears out here, I can’t tell you anything more about those. I didn’t see the daedric army when I was in the Deadlands, do you think they’re still in the city?”

“No,” said Matius. “We saw many return through the smaller gates before they closed.” From the looks on their faces Jerric guessed that the tactics that had kept them alive were still not popular with most of the guards.

“The ones that look like men are dremora,” Jerric said. “All the ones I’ve fought carried maces. They’re huge and very strong. If you can, get behind the armored ones and cut through the backs of their knees. There’s a weak point there with no plating. Under the arm and the head are good targets if you can reach them, better yet try to get them down and finish them on the ground. I didn’t see any wearing helmets. Don’t try to block, dodge their strikes or they’ll break your bones. Watch out for those spikes on the armor, they can catch a blade and pull it right out of your hand. I guess the best thing against dremora armor might be a dremora mace, but I’m not skilled enough to pick one up and try it. What else?” Jerric thought for a moment. “The mages like to summon things, I saw mostly scamps. Get around them if you can and go for the spell slinger. They’re robed but they use shield magic, so don’t let the recoil surprise you. They can all cast destruction spells. Keep your shields up. Oh, shields. One fetcher I fought had a shield, but he was even slower than I am. I managed to get behind him. Back of the knees, down he went. Their necks aren’t much harder to cut through than ours are. Don’t get hit, that’s the main thing. But I guess you didn’t need me to tell you that.” Just talking had made Jerric tired, and he began to doubt how effective he’d be in the upcoming fight.

The guards nodded and exchanged comments. “What about the archers?” asked an Altmer.

Jerric shook his head. “I don’t know anything about their archers. Oh, use your shock spells if you’ve got them. If I summon anything it’ll be a skeleton, so let him do his work.”

“What about the flame atronachs? There were a lot of those in the attack.”

“Uh, I didn’t see any in the Deadlands. Let me think.” Jerric searched his memory. “Well, they don’t carry weapons but they can burn you with fireballs and with their touch. Don’t bother using fire against them. Use your frost or lightening spells, I think frost is best.” Jerric looked around and guessed that none of them had been trained in destruction magic. He addressed Captain Matius. “I don’t know how to fight with a unit. If we come up against flame atronachs or dremora mages, maybe I could go after them. If that’s all right.”

“I’ll send you out when I see an appropriate target. Remember, we have archers too. Don’t get in their line of fire. Is there anything else?"

“No, sir.”

Matius still spoke directly to Jerric, and he realized that the soldiers already had their orders. “We’ve determined that Chapel Plaza is completely cut off at Guild Square and Market Street. The steeple has fallen, cutting off access to Pinder Court and the castle. The south and west chapel doors look accessible. We’ll clear the south side of the plaza and regroup on the chapel steps. On my order we’ll enter the chapel and finalize the evacuation plan once inside. Today we take back our city! Archers on Merandil. Jerric, you’re with me. Take your positions inside the gate. We’ll move on my signal.” Jerric compared his own rambling discourse to Captain Matius’ crisp delivery, and he recognized that much more than age separated the two of them. The guards began to move, and Matius held Jerric with his eyes. “It’s far worse in there than you’re thinking, lad. We’ll look for them in the chapel first. I can’t have you running out into the city. Your best option is to stick with us.”

“I understand,” Jerric said. It was the same thing he had been telling himself.

Jerric followed the soldiers through the city gate and got into place beside Captain Matius. The houses along the city wall lay in ruins. The guild halls were split in half but still standing with the interiors exposed. Wind-whipped fire raged all around them. He should be able to look west through Guild Court straight down his street, but flames and wreckage obscured his view. The great trees were burned to blackened stalks. He could see the steeple where it had fallen straight ahead across the chapel plaza. Jerric forced himself to look away from the torn figures that lay scattered on the ground, and focus on the enemy. Scamps, mostly. The men of the Kvatch Guard were energized by the chance to finally strike back, but Jerric felt the magnitude of the devastation overwhelming him.

Captain Matius gave the signal, and Chillrend sang into Jerric's hand. "For Kvatch!" Matius cried, and Jerric’s voice sounded among the guards’ furious reply. They swept into the plaza, spreading out in a line. The guards in front engaged the scamps, and when Jerric heard the twang of bowstrings he knew the archers had started their work. His eyes searched the ruins for dark robed figures.

The light from a summons spell shone behind a shattered wall, and a scamp darted out. Jerric’s eyes picked out the shape of a dremora mage in the shadows. “There!” he called to Matius, and pointed with his sword.

“Go!” Matius shouted, and Jerric’s legs forgot their exhaustion. He added his voice to the frost he hurled at the mage, and he lost himself for a moment in the surge of anger it brought him. The dremora’s shock spell sank into Jerric’s body, and he shouted defiance as he felt the magicka join his own. Jerric’s frost spells thundered over the sound of the fire until he got close enough to use his sword.

Jerric kept his weight low and balanced as he closed with the dremora. “Break and fall!” it screamed at him, and Jerric dodged its strike. The mace barely skimmed over his shield. He stepped back into place and thrust Chillrend up through the dremora’s abdomen, trying to puncture a lung. The impact jolted his shoulder. He twisted his wrist and howled as he pulled the sword back out. The mage staggered and reached its hand out toward Jerric as he stepped back. He bashed the hand aside with his shield and drove Chillrend back into the mage’s chest. His hand slipped on the wet grip, and he used his shield to help shove the dremora to the ground. He voiced his fury again as he slammed his heel down into the dremora’s throat. It didn’t move. Jerric felt his arms start to shake, and he knew he had to pull himself together. This is only the beginning, he told himself. He quickly dried his hand and the sword hilt on the black robe before he pulled Chillrend out of the dremora’s chest. Dammit, he thought. I was supposed to use shock spells.

Shouts reached his ears, and he looked over toward the sound. Captain Matius stood in front of the chapel waving him in. Jerric glanced around and saw that he was among the last to rejoin the group. As he jogged over, his thighs started trembling with fatigue.

Jerric climbed the chapel steps until he stood below the guards. He looked up and saw Ilend Vonius, sweaty and blood-spattered. Righteous anger blazed in his face like a terrible light. Jerric stopped and turned beside him. He felt the weight of the Imperial’s hand on his shoulder as they looked back over the ruined courtyard. Smoke and flames were the only things moving. There was nothing left alive.

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 5 2011, 03:32 AM