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Posted by: Grits Dec 9 2010, 04:53 PM

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!

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

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=8
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=22
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=37
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=45
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=52
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=86
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=140
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=178
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=200
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=318
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=429
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=513
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=537
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=602
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=680
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=839
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=848
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=919


http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=40

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=29
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=41
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=85
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=86
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=88

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.

Posted by: treydog Dec 9 2010, 06:19 PM

Will add to my post later, but I wanted to go ahead and answer your questions. For Swords n' Sorcery action scenes, look no further than D.Foxy's excellent treatment:

http://forums.bethsoft.com/index.php?/topic/1037618-of-blades-fights-and-assassins/page__st__180__p__15879378__hl__of+blades+fights__fromsearch__1#entry15879378

As to lore, The Imperial Library is a useful source- I would NOT recommend asking questions though; they tend to be a rather acerbic bunch. Beyond that, we are not terribly "lore-centric" here- as long as you don't absolutely break the ES world (Uriel Septim riding a Tyranosaur, etc.)

And as far as action in general, we tend to prefer character driven stories, many of which can go for some time with nary a battle in sight. Write what you find comfortable and PM writers whose style you like for advice or assistance. Above all, welcome and have fun!

Posted by: mALX Dec 9 2010, 06:30 PM

GAAAH !!!! This is AWESOME !!!! I loved seeing Jerric through Arnand's (disapproving) eyes - both of their personalities came through strongly - interesting storyline - and surprising end to the chapter! I love it !!!

AWESOME WRITE !!! I am so glad to welcome you to the forums and look forward to: MORE, MORE !!!

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 9 2010, 06:32 PM

http://www.imperial-library.info/ is probably your best one-stop shopping for ES lore. I find the Timeline can be a great help, as well as the Pocket Guides. It also has all of the in-game books. http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Main_Page is also a great help. Between the two sites, they have everything there is to know about ES.

"Don't you think that if she was really planning to buy shoes, she would have them by now?"
An excellent observation!

I loved the description of harvesting the aloe. For that matter of the entire peek behind the scenes at the Anvil Mages Guild.

Jerric seems like an interesting fellow. At first glace he seems to be an ignorant Nord. But as you peel back the layers, we see bits and pieces of a very perceptive individual. Why do I get the feeling the country bumpkin act is just that, and act to fool other people, and that he has actually been working undercover in the Mages Guild?


nits:
"Pleasedon'ttellCarahil,"
Looks like the Altmer guild leader ate your spaces.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Dec 9 2010, 06:53 PM

Hi! I loved reading this, especially the parts with the shirtless Nord (Mmmmm....)

You did a really great job showing and not telling. The information we were given about both characters came very naturally

Posted by: Destri Melarg Dec 10 2010, 01:36 AM

Don’t sell yourself short, Grits (great name, btw). I found nothing ‘cringe-worthy’ about this chapter. In fact, I would classify the one action sequence you had with the boar as 'riveting'. I highly recommend that you read Foxy’s manifesto, if for no other reason than to give yourself confidence when it comes to the swordplay.

This story took me in some interesting directions. At first I thought it sounded reminiscent of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, with Jerric playing the part of Lennie to Arnand’s George. But then Lennie Jerric opened his mouth and revealed a character loaded with uncommon wisdom. The introduction of Faustina at the Flowing Bowl gives us a tantalizing hint of events to come for Arnand.

Aside from that, SubRosa has given you the two lore sources that I generally employ. I wouldn’t be too worried about it, though. The lore is there to serve your story, not the other way around. If this first chapter is an indication, you already use it to great effect. The description of harvesting aloe pulp was great, as was the admonition not to take all the white seed pods from a goldenrod plant.

I’m hooked into Jerric’s story now. I’ll be keeping an eye on this one.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 10 2010, 02:51 AM

Welcome to the Arena, Grits! If you had any concerns about talent, you may place those aside. This was excellent!

We seem to have an abundance of leading ladies in our stories, so it is refreshing that your lead character is not a gurl.

As mentioned already, you did a beautiful job of showing us Jerric - a big blond Nord born under the Atronach. A struggling mage with a 'real job'.

I quite enjoyed that you presented Jerric through the eyes of Arnand.

The detail you lavished on both alchemy and healing was wonderful! You also provided an immersive overall feel for the setting of Anvil.

Well done, and a wonderful start!


Since you asked for nits, I believe this might be one?
'Jerric picked up his chair and carried over to Arnand's table. He put it down and took a seat across from Arnand. "I'm running out of time," he said.'
I believe you may have meant to say 'carried it over'?

Posted by: Zalphon Dec 10 2010, 03:31 AM

Much better than me when I started. Definitely well-done.

Posted by: Grits Dec 12 2010, 03:54 AM

treydog: Thank you for the resources. I just read Of Blades, Fights and Assassins, and now I can't wait to write a sword fight and then go back and read it again to see how much I remembered. Research is fun. Thank you for the warm welcome.

I tend to prefer character driven stories too. It helps me to have the game's events to move things along.

mALX: I LOVE your enthusiasm!! Thank you so much for your welcome and support! Arnand was a total surprise, he came out of nowhere when I was writing about something else. I'm glad the end was a surprise. It's hard to name a chapter without giving too much away.

SubRosa: Thank you for the resources. I am reading more than I am writing, which I think is good at this point. Thank you for sharing your impressions - it helps me so much to know whether or not I managed to get what was in my head all the way into the story.

I'm glad you enjoyed the Mages Guild attending to business. In the game I'm always asking myself what these people do all day while they're waiting for me to show up and ask them if they've heard any rumors. I don't think they're just standing around talking about seeing a mudcrab.

With the "Pleasedon'ttellCarahil" I was going for that breathless moment after something has occured and everything on a person is still too clenched for speech, but now I think it's gimmicky. Changed it!

Jacki Dice: I'm glad I didn't start him off in Bruma in the winter time, that would have put the brakes on the sweaty shirtlessness. Thank you for your comments! My first attempt at this chapter read like an employment application. I'm happy to hear I did some showing.

Destri Melarg: Glad you like the name Thank you so much for your comments and your encouragement, it means a lot to me! I am on my second read through Foxy's manifesto, and I am getting even more out of it the second time. There was one forehead-smacking moment in the next chapter that I managed to avoid already.

Thank you for sharing your impression of Jerric. That's just what I was aiming for, although I hadn't quite thought of Lennie and George. The big blond is easy to mis-judge, even in Cyrodiil. The plant details you picked out were so fun to write.

"The lore is there to serve your story, not the other way around." I have written this across the top of my much referenced map of Cyrodiil to help keep me from getting too bogged down worrying about what is correct. Great advice, thank you!

I'm glad you're hooked!

Acadian: Thank you for the warm welcome, your encouragement means a lot to me!

I love the leading ladies on this forum, and I have a leading lady character of my own who is still too precious for me to write much about yet. I'm practicing on poor Jerric.

Everything clicked when Arnand showed up and demanded to be in the story. Before that I was wrestling with a chapter that sounded like a singles ad. Yikes.

Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. I am amazed how my eyes can fill in the blanks with what I know is supposed to be there.

Zalphon: Thank you! Here comes another chapter!

Jerric opened the Anvil Main Gate. It was balanced to swing easily despite its massive weight. “Heinrich Oaken-Hull has a Bosmer for a wife,” one of the guards was saying. The gate swung shut on the other man’s reply. He nodded to the guards who were stationed outside the gate. Two pairs on the gate. He wondered if there had been trouble on the road. Then his mind turned to more pressing matters.

Heinrich Oaken-Hull sounds like a Nord's name, he thought. Jerric imagined the shortest Nord he had ever seen. Then he imagined the tallest Bosmer. How would that even work, he wondered.

His long strides started him toward the Gold Road. Mid-day had passed, but he knew he could easily make the town of Brina’s Crossing by nightfall. Foot traffic congested the area around the gate. Nothing moved on the road where he could see it stretching up into the hills.

An Imperial man stood at the edge of the road opposite the stables, shifting his feet in a restless manner. He wore fine clothing, a travel cloak, and a short sword on his hip. His eyes searched the crowd. When he spotted Jerric his face took on a calculating look.

Jerric slowed as he approached. He was reasonably certain they hadn’t met, but the man appeared to have intentions. He would rather find out what he wanted now than wonder later.

“Pardon me,” the man called out, “are you traveling on foot to the Imperial City?”

Jerric stopped close enough that they wouldn’t share their business with the entire town. “The Imperial City is a long way to walk on your own,” he said. “There’s a caravan leaving on Morndas.”

“I can’t wait that long. I have pressing business, and I need to leave immediately.” His eyes darted back over Jerric’s shoulder to the gate.

Jerric noted the man’s pack sitting on the road. He had a bedroll. “Are you planning to camp out? There are inns along most of the way.”

“Inns, camping, whatever it takes. I want protection. I’ll pay you.” The man’s face was taut with nerves.

Jerric was not surprised to receive such an offer. He knew that armed and armored he looked dangerous, but not the sort who might leave you in a pool of blood for what’s in your pockets. “I’ll walk with you as far as Skingrad, as long as you don’t plan on doing any evil,” he said. “Glad for the company. I’m meeting up with a caravan there and going on to the Imperial City. You should join up. I’ll put in a good word for you.” Jerric smiled at the man, hoping to put him at ease.

“Fine, fine,” said the man, and he named a price.

Jerric agreed. He put out his hand. “I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

The man gripped his forearm. “Velwyn Benirus. Let’s get moving.”

Velwyn and Jerric climbed the gold hills above Anvil in the warm light of afternoon. Puffy white clouds made towers in the sky. Jerric knew they foretold a coming storm. To their left the sea glittered away into a haze. If they turned they would see Anvil’s red rooftops bright in the sun where the land swelled out of the sea.

Benirus halted in the road. “What was that?” He jerked out his sword and stared at the bushes up ahead to the right, eyes wild.

Jerric stopped and scanned the area. “Careful, that’s no fly swatter.” He did not want to receive an errant slash from the twitchy Imperial. The sun felt hot on his neck. A breeze tickled his sweaty forehead. He could hear the lazy buzz of a hundred insects in the tall grass. No bird sounds, though.

The bushes shook. Jerric crouched and dropped his packs on the road. He slipped his shield over his arm and motioned for Velwyn to stay back. Now, what is this? He thought of the dead horse they had passed. It had been torn by a large animal. Anticipation prickled over his skin. He moved up the left side of the road and turned, putting the sun over his shoulder. He watched the bushes. Berry bushes. Could be some youngsters out gathering berries. Maybe there was a berry pie in his near future.

Velwyn drifted up the middle of the road a few paces. He moved softly for a man who appeared to be rigid with fear. Jerric caught his eye, and Velwyn opened his mouth to speak. He froze with his mouth open as a massive wolf stepped calmly out of the bushes.

Jerric hoped the wolf would move along. Most would not attack two armed men in broad daylight, but things were not always what they seemed. An animal may be under a curse or mage’s spell. If it attacked he would block the fangs with his shield and stab into its side behind its shoulder, he decided. He imagined his timing and thought through the block and strike while he slowly drew his sword.

The wolf ambled out onto the road. Its head and tail were relaxed. It halted and swung its great head around at Jerric, then back at Velwyn, sniffing.

Jerric swore silently. There was smoked boar in his pack, and his pack was behind Benirus. He clanged the pommel of his sword against his shield and shouted at the wolf. “Push off, you fetcher! Go on, get out of here!” He spread his arms out and moved back toward Velwyn, hoping the man would get out of the way. The wolf probably weighed more than the Imperial, and those teeth would go right through his clothing.

The wolf focused on Jerric. It laid back its ears and snarled. This one was not just going to wander away. Jerric danced on the balls of his feet, ready to move. All right, then. “Come on!” he shouted at the wolf.

The wolf dashed toward Jerric. He saw the light gleam on its fangs and turn its gray fur to silver. Flecks of saliva flew from its jaws. Jerric drew in a breath.

A strange battle cry split the air. Velwyn Benirus flew screaming at the wolf, sword raised like an axe. His blade came down on the wolf’s neck between the skull and the shoulder hump. It stuck there. The wolf’s momentum carried it forward until it crashed to the ground at Jerric’s feet.

Jerric stared at Velwyn, astounded. Then he threw back his head and let his tension go in a howl of laughter. “Benirus Beast-Slayer!” he cried, saluting with his still bright blade.

Velwyn drew in a gasping breath. His eyes were as round as an owl’s. “I’m alive,” he whispered.

Jerric waited for Velwyn to retrieve his sword, then he dragged the wolf to the side of the road. He looked down at it with regret. It looked like an enormous dog stretched out in the sun to sleep, apart from the wound in its neck.

The breeze picked up. They still had a long way to climb. “Let’s get off this hill,” Jerric said. “You won’t believe the lightning they get around here.”



Jerric stepped into the Brina Cross Inn out of the rain. He was glad he had tucked his armor into its pack before he made his brief sweep through town. He had passed through Brina’s Crossing so many times and always wanted to stop and explore it. Now he wished he had more time, again.

He dropped his packs by the wall and looked for Velwyn. The man sat alone in front of an empty plate, nursing a goblet of wine and looking irritable. Jerric asked the innkeeper what Velwyn was drinking. He purchased a bottle and ordered dinner before he joined Velwyn at the table.

“I got us rooms. You owe me thirty Septims,” said Velwyn.

“Hail, Benirus,” said Jerric, ignoring the brusque greeting. “What a fine evening. Do you think it’s going to rain?” Jerric filled his goblet and topped up Velwyn’s. He raised his wine. “To Brina’s Crossing and the gentle folk who dwell here.” He sipped. Jerric was amazed. All those Bretons aren’t wrong. Wine is delicious!

Velwyn stared into his goblet looking morose. He did not seem to enjoy Jerric’s humor.

Jerric got an idea. “We should eat here, then find a brothel. That will cheer you.”

Velwyn took a sip of wine and glared across the table. “Do I look like a man who has to pay for female company?” he demanded.

“Of course not. You’re not paying to get into her bed, you’re paying to get back out of it.” Jerric leaned forward to share his wisdom with the older man, but a preemptory gesture from the publican caught his eye. His meal was ready.

Jerric moved to the counter and took his plate from Christophe Marane. Roast loin of boar in a blackberry sauce with caramelized onions and roast potatoes. The aroma made his knees weak. He smiled his appreciation at Christophe and turned.

A short, attractive Imperial woman stood before him, blocking his way. She wore a dark red velvet gown, an elaborate gold necklace, and a haughty expression. “I am Rutila Harsinia,” she announced. “Daughter of Ontarius Harsinia.” She had hard eyes and, he guessed, high expectations. He had no idea who she was, but she was clearly waiting for recognition.

Jerric stood there holding his plate. The roast meat lay in thick slices swimming in a pool of purple sauce, full of tender, fragrant promise. The onions gleamed in the inn’s light, and the golden potatoes begged for his attention. He dragged his eyes back to the woman. “I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

Rutila raised an eyebrow. She made a small motion with her head, over her shoulder. “Who is your friend?”

Jerric experienced a moment of clarity. He strained to keep the grin off his face as he placed his plate back on the counter in order to address Rutila more properly. “That gentleman is no other than Velwyn Benirus, of the Imperial City Benirus…es. I would be proud to call him friend. He conducts his business there, as well as in Anvil. He has recently settled a large family estate.”

Rutila listened with increasing interest. Jerric struck a pose and continued. “A man with such commanding presence draws attention wherever he goes. I travel with him as his guard. Velwyn Benirus is a man of virtue and property. A man of maturity and means. A man,” Jerric sighed, “without a wife.” He looked down at Rutila. “May I introduce you?”



Jerric soaked up the last of the egg with his final bite of toasted bread, giving silent thanks to the unknown bird that had provided it. He crunched through another rasher of fatback, then pushed his plate away and sighed, for the moment content. Perhaps another cup of kahve. Christophe was in a foul temper this morning. Better let this breakfast settle before I ask for more.

His thoughts were interrupted when Velwyn slid into the chair across from him. The man looked haggard. He wore yesterday’s clothes.

“Sleep well, Benirus?” Jerric leaned back and grinned.

Velwyn groaned and attempted to smooth his hair with his hands. “Kahve,” he whispered, shooting a glance over his shoulder.

Jerric took the opportunity to fill his own cup as well. He returned to the table and awaited Velwyn’s report.

Velwyn took a deep pull from his mug. He looked up and met Jerric’s gaze. “That woman,” he said, “is insatiable.”

“I don’t know what ‘insatiable’ means. How long did it take you to get her to leave?”

Velwyn dropped his face into his hands.

Jerric brows shot upward. “She’s still in your room?”

Velwyn nodded.

Jerric thought for a moment. The possibilities were entertaining, but the road beckoned.

“Here’s the plan,” Jerric said. “Go order breakfast, then head up and put your pack by the door. I’ll bring up the food and grab your pack while you’re serving her. Tell her you have instructions for me. Then come down here and instruct me that we’re leaving. Don’t let her get back into your drawers if you can manage it.”

Velwyn stared.

Jerric snorted. “‘Serving’ her,” he repeated.

Velwyn did not look amused. “That’s the whole plan?”

“Yeah. I’m not a strategist. Say, you should ask Rutila if she has a better idea.”

Velwyn downed his kahve and headed toward Christophe.

“We’ll have to move like a Kahjiit who’s dipped his tail in the fire,” Jerric added. “She knows which way you’re headed.”

Posted by: Acadian Dec 12 2010, 05:03 AM

This was light, varied and full of fun from the beginning to the Khajiit fire-dipped tail ending.

Aww. Everyone picks on Bosmeri girls.

The whole scene with the wolf was very well presented with a great, suspenseful feel.

Loads of great chow and wine! I have quite the soft spot for authors who feed me well, and that savory boar hit the spot. Then a nice breakfast as well!

Quite the clever interactions among those at the inn!

* *

Hmm. . . You change perspective or point of view (pov) a few times here. The breaks you use between segments are ok to employ a change of perspective if you think it is necessary, but I certainly would stay in the viewpoint of only one character during these segments. If you change pov, it should be very clearly delineated, not frequent, and whatever you present by jumping pov should be well worth dragging the reader from one character's head to another.

Now, in your opening scene you are in Velwyn's pov and then make a clean break to Jerric's for the next segment - that worked just fine. However, here are a couple examples where you jumped pov and probably didn't intend to:

1. The scene where Jerric and Velwyn meet is loaded with evidence that it is from Jerric's pov. Yet, near the end you say this: 'The man gripped his forearm. I'm getting off cheap, he thought. "Velwyn Benirus," he said. "Let's get moving." ' Assuming it is Velwyn who thought he was getting off cheap hiring Jerric, you 'hopped' out of Jerric's head and briefly into Velwyn's.

2. In the dinner scene you have a couple pov jumps here:
'Velwyn finished his wine and pushed the goblet at Jerric. The fool's hair is soaked, he noted. Doesn't he know how to use a hood? Fine evening, is that supposed to be funny?' {Velwyn's pov}
'Jerric raised his wine. "To Brina's Crossing, and the gentle folk who dwell here." He sipped. Jerric was amazed. Wine, he thought, is delicious!' {Jerric's pov}

Oh my, Grits. I surely hope you take this in the helpful manner that I intend. Your story is GREAT!!!

Posted by: mALX Dec 12 2010, 06:47 AM

I can't even begin to quote all the lines I loved in this !!! You have a rare gift for creating interesting characters within a few lines - AWESOME Story !!!!!

I was rolling at Jerric's descriptions of Benirus when talking to Rutila - he countered every power with riches, and just kept using different words to say the same thing over and over - hilarious !!!

The description and detail all through the chapter is perfection - the easiest example to point out is Jerric and the food - amazingly done!!! So easy to visualize the way you have written it !!!!

And:






The funniest line (always what I enjoy most) -



SPEW !!!! How many times have we seen tall men with short women and wondered THAT !!!! ROFL !!!!

AWESOME WRITE !!!!! MORE !!!!!


*

Posted by: Grits Dec 12 2010, 02:45 PM

Acadian: Your comments on point of view have helped me tremendously! Those parts seemed choppy to me, but I had no idea why. I went back and tweaked them, thank you so much for explaining what I was doing. Did I get it this time? There is a tussle in the next part of the chapter that would have given everyone a headache, I see now that I wrote it from three points of view. Eeep!

I'm having fun with the light material, and I hope I'm not going too silly. Cyrodiil can be a dark place, and when bad things happen I don't want it to seem like a different story. I'm glad you enjoyed the chow. So far the best times for me to write have been when I should be taking a break for a meal, so I'm always at the keyboard hungry. Thank you so much for your advice and encouragement!

mALX: I'm glad you enjoyed Jerric's chat with Rutila. He is so not a smooth operator!

"Jerric's Story: A Nord's Food Blog." OK, maybe not. Thank you for your encouragement, it means so much. The line you picked out came from the second time I heard Anvil folks talking trash about Heinrich's wife in the game. The first time I heard it I thought the guy said she was an Altmer. So horse, OK, she's tall and has a long nose. Whatever. The second time I got that the guy meant Hasathil, and after the first tenth of a second of how rude, my mind went sideways in several directions. I had to use it.


The next part needs some major re-work. But first another cup of kahve.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 12 2010, 04:12 PM

Grits, I'm so glad you took my 'critique' in the helpful manner in which I intended it. Alas, had I not mentioned it, I'm rather sure dear SubRosa would have swooped in and offered similar observations. Indeed, she was very helpful in teaching me more about pov. While in Jerric's pov, you have to rely on what he can hear and observe to ferret out what Velwyn may be thinking - that is the fun!

I did reread your edits and the concerns are certainly fixed! Keeping that opening scene in Velwyn's pov is effective, and the _____ break that you use prepares the reader for a change in scene or pov.

I certainly hope also you take the comments on your chow descriptions as encouragement. Such detailed descriptions do much to bring our Tamriel to life, and you certainly have a beautiful flair for it!

The Bosmer comments by the Anvilites in the game are fun. They quite knocked poor Buffy the Bosmer into a bout of self-doubt when she heard them. Not what a young elf needs to hear.

Posted by: mALX Dec 12 2010, 04:56 PM

SubRosa and Acadian both helped me stop doing that. Subrosa said it in a very easily rembered way :

Pick one and stick with them - then to show what the other person is feeling, have the first one see it happen. (Example: Benirus's cheeks reddened )

I hope I don't do it anymore, but I was bad for "head hopping" for a long time.

The stories I love best are ones that the reader can feel the characters and be intriqued by them, you have that in abundance in this story - you have a real gift for writing your characters.

Keep up the AWESOME work and MORE, MORE !!!!


PS: Great Avatar !!!


*

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 12 2010, 08:53 PM

So Velwyn Benirus it is then? He seems like a bit of a maniac with the way he attacked the wolf. I wonder if that was homicidal mania, or simply an ordinary man trying to overcome his natural fear by whipping himself up into a frenzy? I suppose only time will tell.

Puffy white clouds made towers in the sky
I love this little description.

You're not paying to get into her bed, you're paying to get back out of it
Now this is priceless! And from the looks of things, Velwyn wishes he had taken the advice the next morning!


nits:
An Imperial man approached him with intention.
This sounds a little odd in the context. Perhaps something like "an intent look upon his face"? would flow more smoothly?


are you traveling on foot to Imperial City?
Usually that is The Imperial City.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Dec 13 2010, 09:01 PM

I liked Jerric’s tactical thinking, especially how he moved so that the sun would be in the wolf’s eyes if he charged, and the way he executed the moves of the battle in his mind.

You might want to add a sentence or a moment just prior to the wolf’s charge in which Jerric notes an impending storm. As it reads now he is sweating and warm with puffy white clouds above, yet a single breeze alerts him to the fact that he wants to get off the hill to avoid the lightning?

Jerric’s playful side emerges in the scene with Rutila. After their harrowing escape from the jaws of the maddened wolf, it is perfectly understandable that Jerric would want to do something to cheer his boon companion. Gotta love a good wingman!

Posted by: Grits Dec 15 2010, 02:02 AM

Acadian: Thank you for checking my edits. I expect the chow line will stay open, thanks for the encouragement!

mALX: Thank you for your kind words, and I'm glad you like the avatar!

SubRosa: Velwyn's personality is inspired by the game, if you can believe it. My archer character took him on some adventures with the Jemain brothers, and he was a maniac! I guess his dialog comes from the Benirus Manor quest when you're already in the spooky house, so when you walk up to him in the middle of a sunny meadow he whips around all wide-eyed and says, "Did you hear a noise?" He comes across as a pretty stressed out guy. Also he's speedy and seems to hold a grudge, he was always the last one to put his sword away after a tussle. In the end of this chapter we get a little more hair-trigger Velwyn and a glance at another side of him.

nits: Thank you, I think I fixed them. The intentions line didn't come across in print the way my head says it. "Doing any evil" is another one I thought about changing, but I want Jerric to have a casual manner of speaking. Your telling me how you hear it helps me so much!

Destri Melarg: Thank you for your insightful comments! I took me forever to figure out how an armored man with a sword was going to kill one wolf, and then I let his buddy do it. I am having a panic attack over one arrow shot in the next section, so I really appreciate your advice. Storm-wise I added a tiny bit, I hope it makes more sense now. They other thing I failed to point out was how much hill was left to climb.




Chapter 2: On the Gold Road, Part 2



The sun had gone down behind the trees by the time Jerric and Velwyn reached the path to Gnoll’s Meeting Camp. They followed it down through tumbled boulders onto a grassy plateau. The camp’s inhabitants had decorated the entrance with a gallows. A desiccated body swung in the breeze, and bones were piled under it.

The men stopped and took in the sight. “By Azura,” said Velwyn.

“This used to be a bandit camp,” Jerric explained. “Some of them decided they wanted to settle down and raise their families. They killed or drove out the ones who wouldn’t quit their old ways. This is what they do if you break their rules. I’ve never been down here, but I’ve heard it’s nice.” He cut his eyes over at Velwyn.

Velwyn looked like he didn’t know whether to fill his pants or flee. Jerric laughed.

“Not really. Well some of that’s true, but I’ve been here lots of times. If we rent a tent they’ll keep us as safe as ma bear keeps her little cubs.” Jerric headed into the camp. A stout woman by the cook fire called to him, and he raised his hand in greeting. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “And put on your party face, these folks know how to have a good time.”

Jerric woke to snoring that was not his own. His right arm was numb, and he felt overheated on one side and chilled on the other. His mouth was dry and his head felt tender. He looked around for a moment. He did not recognize the inside of the tent any more than he recognized the person who was using his arm for a pillow.

A dread feeling grew in his gut as he tried to remember the previous night's events. They had rented the last available tent. It had a packed dirt floor and one large wooden sleeping platform. "Don't worry, I won't try to get under your skirt," he remembered telling Velwyn. Then dinner around the fire, music, ale ... and nothing.

Jerric eased his arm out from under the frizzy head. He hoped that the wrinkled back belonged to a female. His nose told him that she used perfume instead of soap. He stuffed himself into his trousers and carefully gathered up his clothes. While he was searching for his other sock he heard a snorting cough and froze. He kept his eyes averted. There are some things I am better off not knowing, he decided. He picked up his boots and fled.

When Jerric entered their tent Velwyn was already dressed and ready for the day's journey. "Interesting look," he commented. "You smell like a Brumese prostitute."

Jerric pulled his shirt over his head. When he fastened his trousers he discovered that he had left his drawers behind. He decided he could live without them. His shirt was inside out. He swore and tried again.

“No pushups this morning?” inquired Velwyn. He sounded almost cheerful.

Jerric scratched his hands through his hair. He was mortified and bewildered. His belongings were still packed, and his armor was arranged as he had left it, ready for rapid access. What he wanted to do most was boil himself and burn his clothing. "Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Velwyn gathered up his pack and lifted the tent flap.

"Wait!" Jerric said urgently. "First get us some breakfast. I’ll wait here."

“I already had mine,” said Velwyn. “I’ll meet you on the road.”

Jerric kept his head down while he gulped his kahve and shoveled in his sausage and rice. The stout Breton at the cook fire wanted to chat, but Jerric had seen enough nudges and knowing smiles for one morning. He nodded his thanks and jogged out to meet Velwyn.

The two men walked in the clear morning until they had nearly reached Ra’sava Camp. Velwyn was recalling the previous evening. Jerric was trying to pull himself together before they walked into danger. "She didn't have any teeth in the front," Velwyn explained. "She thought you would like that."

Jerric dropped his pack in the road. He staggered a few steps, shedding weapons and equipment. When he reached the verge, Jerric leaned over and spewed his breakfast onto the grass. He looked up at the sky and took a few breaths, and then he leaned over and lost what was left of his dinner.

"Mara's milk!" exclaimed Velwyn.

Jerric ran for the bushes, unbuckling as he went.

"I wonder, do you know how to cure the effects of poison?" ventured Velwyn. His voice sounded nervous.

Jerric did not answer, at least not with words.

Later Jerric returned and knelt by his gear, looking clammy and wrung-out. "What did you give me?" he whispered. He had put some ideas together during his time in the bushes.

"Well you see," began Velwyn, "It's not so much what I gave you as what we should do about it." He paused. "Last night I got a potion from that Argonian. It worked well enough, but now I'm not sure she is a real alchemist."

Jerric considered his words. He looked up at Velwyn with red eyes in an ashen face. "Are you saying you've poisoned me with a rot-gut love potion?" he raged in a voice like a newborn kitten.

"You had it coming to you," said Velwyn. He rummaged through Jerric's day pack. "Now that I think about it, you should also probably take something to cure diseases."



The road had climbed gently but steadily all morning, and they had reached a high spot where there was a light breeze. Jerric was feeling like himself again. He walked off the road over to a flat rock outcrop and began to unload his packs. A great tree had grown out of a crack in the rocks, and its high canopy provided dappled shade without obstructing the view. It roots twisted along the surface until they found the rock’s edge and there sank deep into the soil. “This is a great place for lunch. We’ll walk until dark and have a cold camp tonight, so let’s make the most of it.”

Velwyn joined him. He dropped his pack and unbuckled his sword. “I’m going to the bushes,” he said.

“Watch your step. This is a popular spot, you won’t be the first.”

When Velwyn returned, Jerric had their lunch ready. Slices of smoked boar, crusty bread, three different cheeses, grapes, apple wedges, fresh tomatoes, pickled carrots and onions, strawberry preserves, and a small pot of mustard rested neatly on a polished wooden board. Velwyn looked pleasantly surprised. His eyes grew even wider when he saw the bottle of wine in Jerric’s hand.

“Sorry, I forgot cups,” Jerric said.

He watched Velwyn settle himself on the rocks. They were still warm where the morning sun had slanted under the tree’s braches. They looked down over the sparsely wooded hills falling away below them. For the first time Jerric saw that the Imperial was capable of relaxing. Velwyn took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to Jerric.

“Make yourself a couple of sandwiches for tonight, too. We can eat them as we go,” said Jerric. “This stuff won’t be any good after tomorrow.”

Velwyn dug in. “I may be guilty of misjudging you,” he said.

Jerric chewed and nodded. He picked up an apple slice and laid a piece of cheese on it. “This is Christophe’s doing, I just had to slice it. He’s a grumpy fetcher, but it turns out he packs a good picnic. And after all, lunch is the most important meal of the day.” He tipped up the bottle.

“I thought you said breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Velwyn took the wine back.

“It is. So is dinner.”

After their meal the men walked until sunset. They had passed people on foot and in carts all day, but as evening approached the road was empty. At sunset they turned into the bush to make camp. They did not make a fire. Jerric filled their water skins while Velwyn unpacked the bedrolls. They were in a sheltered spot a good distance from the creek, and Jerric thought it unlikely that any night roaming creature would stumble upon them. He undressed in the dark and was instantly asleep.

Jerric woke in the pink dawn to a hiss in his ear and a shape looming over him. He grabbed the figure's head and pulled it down by the hair while his other hand found his dagger. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and discovered he was looking into the purple, bug-eyed face of Velwyn. Jerric removed his forearm from Velwyn’s throat and rolled away.

"What is it, Benirus?" Jerric lay flat and rubbed his eyes.

Velwyn crab-crawled backward and rose, brushing off his clothes. "I said did you hear a noise!" he spluttered.

Jerric stood and kicked his way free of his bedroll. He reached to the fading stars in a bone popping stretch. Tonight, Skingrad, he thought. "Well whatever it was has probably died laughing." He looked over at Velwyn. "Give a fellow some warning next time," he said by way of apology.

Velwyn had produced a comb and was smoothing his hair. He eyed Jerric with distaste. "I know it’s Last Seed, but would you mind putting on some clothes? That horse carcass smelled better than you do."

Jerric let go of some wind and treated himself to a leisurely scratch. Clearly Benirus was touchy this morning. As he turned toward him to speak there was a twang, and hot pain streaked across his chest. He looked down and saw that a bloody furrow had opened there. He followed Velwyn’s shocked gaze to an arrow that stuck out of the grass, still quivering.

Velwyn gave a shout and ran for his sword. Jerric squawked in surprise and dove for his shield. He rolled into a crouch, looking for the archer. There was only one place in that direction that they could be using for cover. His sword was too far behind him to reach without turning.

There was a burgundy shape at the side of Jerric's vision. Velwyn had his sword out and was stalking forward. "Down!" Jerric called, and Velwyn dropped flat. Jerric scrambled to the low rocks he had picked out the night before and tried to fold himself behind them. Velwyn was protected, the contours of the ground were in their favor. Jerric shook out his right arm and prepared to throw some frost. The skin between his shoulders was crawling. He doubted that any archer would attack them on their own.

Another twang and a thump against Jerric's shield. Both men saw the archer and started toward her. She stepped through her cover and prepared her next shot. Jerric filled his hand with freezing fog.

"Your presence here will not be tolerated!" announced a male voice in nasal tones. A robed figure had appeared from the hedge at Jerric's right with a ball of fire in his hand. As Jerric threw his frost at the archer he felt the rush of magika from the mage’s spell against his side. The archer’s shot went wide when the frost hit her in the shoulder.

Jerric turned to meet the mage’s attack. He imagined the icy cold of the sea in winter and whipped a frozen ball at him as he lunged forward. The mage was already gathering more fire.

Frost boomed against the mage, and he shrieked as he threw more fire at Jerric. This time Jerric lost his nerve and ducked under the attack. He felt heat blaze down his back, but it wasn't close enough to burn him. He bounced back up and closed with the mage.

Jerric bashed the mage with his shield, bowling him over onto his back. He dropped onto his midsection, hooking his bare feet back over the man's thighs and pinning him to the ground. The mage's face was a mask of panic. His hand clawed at Jerric's slippery chest, sending agony and a wave of sickness through him. Jerric howled and slammed the shield edge down across the mage's face. The hand dropped away, and Jerric pounded the edge into the man's neck. The mage grabbed his throat and thrashed, his heels working against the grass.

Jerric stood retching and turned. He saw the archer go down in a gout of blood as Velwyn yanked his sword out of her throat. A Redguard in fur armor was closing with Velwyn. He took a swing at Velwyn with his heavy axe.

Velwyn lunged back and scrambled away, and he and Jerric both ran for Jerric’s sword. Velwyn got there first and tossed it the rest of the way to Jerric. The bandit stopped and made his choice. Without a word he turned and ran.

Jerric drew his sword and looked down into the mage’s ruined face. The man's hands were still at his neck, so Jerric bent and pressed the tip of his sword down into his belly. A strangled scream, and the hands were out of the way. He drew his sword point through the mage's throat until he saw the blood spray out. He could feel the sinews through his blade. He leaned over and spit, still feeling sick from the spell.

The archer had stopped gurgling and was still. The mage lay curled around his belly moaning as he bled out onto the grass. The Redguard had vanished. Velwyn was untouched. He didn't even appear to have much blood on him, although it might not show on the burgundy fabric.

Burning pain reminded Jerric to heal his chest. Blood had run down and soaked the front of his drawers. He decided to discard them instead of trying to explain the stains to their housekeeper. This trip was costing him in linens. He looked over at Velwyn. "You are a stone cold killer," Jerric said in wonder. "Who is guarding who?"

"Whom," said Velwyn. "Who is guarding whom." He bent to clean his sword on Jerric's bedroll.

Jerric took a closer look at Velwyn. "Have you shaved already, Benirus?" he exclaimed.

Velwyn fixed his nervous eye on Jerric. "Rough conditions are no excuse for poor grooming," he said. "Why did the Redguard run? I don't have armor, and you're not even wearing pants."

"Didn't like the odds, I guess," said Jerric. "You could have put a hole in his neck while he was busy killing me, for instance." He found a dry spot on the mage’s robe and cleaned his sword. "He's in it for the coin, and we were fighting for our lives. Now he lives to loot another day." Jerric brightened. "Maybe he'll spread the word about Blood-mad Benirus, and we'll have an easy time from here," he teased.

Velwyn was not in the mood. "Let's get going," he said. "I can already hear flies."



Jerric stood with his brother’s caravan on Bypass Road north of Skingrad. They would follow it around the city and pick up the Gold Road again to the Imperial City. His day pack was filled with snacks and potions. The morning mist was a welcome change from Anvil’s heat, and his heart felt light.

He looked behind him down the line of wagons stretching along the city wall. He noted the positions of the other guards and the archers ready on the wagons. His eyes passed over rocky meadows and orderly vineyards. He looked ahead and saw the scouts waiting where the road curved around the city’s clustered spires and out of his sight. A new road to walk and a whole new crew to work with.

He watched Rothmund for the signal to move out. Pity for Benirus that he went on ahead, Jerric thought. I would hate to miss any of this.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 15 2010, 03:16 AM

What an interesting trip to Skingrad!

Brilliantly written!

I like your understated style here.

Beautifully rich descriptions like this really bring the world around Jerric alive.

Oh, YUM! I love Jerric's philosophy on the most important meal of the day!

Your fight scene with the bandits was clearly written, well-paced and riveting. I love how it seems that our Nord appropriately prefers frost spells!

Argh! Don't you hate it when your characters try to edit you?

Your final scene of the 'wagon train' preparing to leave Skingrad was pure cinematic. It felt like the beginning of a beautifully epic movie - well done!

Posted by: mALX Dec 15 2010, 03:35 AM

I don't know when I've laughed so hard !!! This chapter was AWESOME !!! I can't not quote some of these:


Great history on Gnoll’s Meeting Camp!

Velwyn looked like he didn’t know whether to fill his pants or flee. - ROFL !!!

SPEW !!! ROFL !!!!! OMG, Jerric waking up with ... "REEEE ... " -
hoped that the wrinkled back belonged to a female. - BWAAAHAAA!!!! SPEW !!!!

There are some things I am better off not knowing, he decided. He picked up his boots and fled.

- SPEW !!!!! ROFL !!!! SPEW !!! (KA, KA...GAAAAH!) [mALX choked to death laughing]


She didn't have any teeth in the front," Velwyn explained. "She thought you would like that." - BWAAAHAAA !!! Sword polishing for the toothless ...

And she gave him the runs... SPEW !!!


Jerric woke in the pink dawn to a hiss in his ear and a shape looming over him. He grabbed the figure's head and pulled it down by the hair while his other hand found his dagger. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and discovered he was looking into the purple, bug-eyed face of Velwyn.

My stomach is hurting .... Oooooh .... OW .... SPEW!!! ROFL !!!


I laughed myself sick on this !!!


Then the fight scene - WHEW !!!!! Benirus was some kind of cool character - I love what you did with him !!!


I am loving this story !!!!


- WAIT !! Did I forget to mention your genius with descriptions? You bring everything to life, your descriptions of everything make the reader experience these things, not just read about them - AWESOME WRITE !!! MORE !!!! MORE !!!!

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 15 2010, 04:31 AM

Jerric is certainly having quite a journey to Skingrad! From a rather amusing start at the camp, to a very gritty and ugly battle. I applaud your having the third bandit run for this life.

Many fan fic writers portray all their antagonists the same way the game does, which is to say as homicidal maniacs without a shred of self-preservation. When faced with defeat, real people and animals only fight to the death in extreme circumstances. Most of the time they will run away and live to fight another day instead. So nice to see that here!

Posted by: Destri Melarg Dec 15 2010, 10:39 AM

So Velwyn gets his revenge for Jerric's matchmaking!

I absolutely loved this sentence! Such an understated way of showing us the friendship developing between these two.

Another great character defining moment!

Your 'one arrow shot', coming when it does, is wonderfully effective! Strictly as a matter of style, you may want to think about describing the furrow opened on Jerric's chest, and then the arrow that left it. If I may:
As he turned toward him to speak there was a twang, and a bloody furrow formed across Jerric's chest. There was a sound beyond them, and they both turned to see an arrow quivering in the grass. The shaft looked to be made of iron, and fresh blood dripped from the fletching.

Like SubRosa said, the discretion of the last bandit was refreshing.

Oh no! I was really starting to like those two together. I hope this isn't the last we see of Velwyn.

Posted by: treydog Dec 15 2010, 04:17 PM

Well, I have had time to read now, and all I can say is- “Please don’t stop now!”

If I quoted everything I liked, that would be- well… everything. So let’s just select a few outstanding moments. First, using Arnand to describe Jerric was absolutely brilliant- and brilliantly done. Throughout you provide a wonderful lesson on “show, don’t tell.”

The brief introduction of Faustina provides a nice plot hook, especially after we find out what Arnand thinks of her (“face like a weasel.”)



A wonderful Oblivion-specific metaphor.

Adding Velwyn’s flight is also inspired- I wonder who bought his house?

The scene with the wolf tells us a lot about Jerric.



The description of Jerric’s reaction to Rutila- and to the food- is hilarious. Even more so is his “solution.”

Velwyn's revenge was brilliantly understated- well, actually the description of his revenge. Jerric would disagree the the vengeance itself was anything of the sort.



The fight scene was wonderfully choreographed and had plenty of tension. And the banter between Jerric and Velwyn was first-rate again.


Not caught up yet, but enjoying every minute of it.

Oh- and to save D. Foxy from asking when he wanders by (which I have a feeling he will)- does it happen that your hair might be or once have been at any time the color known as "red"?

The reason for the question is buried in the mists of the other forum, but a number of our writers here can explain it to you if explanation is needed.

Posted by: Grits Dec 25 2010, 05:41 PM

I’ve been on a road trip, but now I’m back.

Acadian: Thank you for your kind words, and for drawing attention to those sections. I certainly share Jerric’s view of which meal is the most important; it’s the one that’s coming up next! Frost first seems like a natural for Jerric, I’ve tucked an explanation away somewhere and we’ll eventually get to it.

mALX: I’m glad you enjoyed the Gnoll’s Meeting antics, this chapter was fun to write. I did a lot of snorting at inopportune moments, as most of it came to my wandering mind while I was pretending to listen to other people *blush.* It could have been worse, though: “Hold on a minute, officer, I just have to write this down.” There is a sad lack of hilarity in the next chapter, I hope you’ll bear with me!!

SubRosa: Thank you for your comments, I am trying make some things from the game make more sense but still keep my characters alive, which is tricky. Thank you for your support, it means a lot!

Destri Melarg: I changed the arrow shot, thank you so much for the suggestion. I like it much better now! We’ll see Velwyn again, after all there is the Manor mystery to sort out eventually. I like Velwyn and Jerric together, too, I wish I could have come up with a way to drag him through the next chapter without it being silly. Thank you so much for your advice!

treydog: Thank you so much for your kind words! We’ll find out about Velwyn’s house, but not for awhile. Your comments are very encouraging to me, and I have needed the encouragement to get through the next chapter! Oh, and I’m not a redhead, I’m afraid. My hair is and always has been the color known as “yellow.” If anyone would care to explain, I’m curious!!

So, it’s Last Seed 3E433. Let's see what happens next.


Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City Part 1

Jerric stepped out of the Gilded Lily feeling refreshed and considerably lighter in the coin purse. For a man who is not in love there is no substitute for true professionalism, he reflected. He spied his brother waiting across the street and headed toward him with a smile. The long shadows were a surprise, it must already be time for dinner.

Rothmund watched his approach with crossed arms and a face full of disapproval. Jerric knew that his brother resented his promotion to the Imperial City crew, but he had earned it through years of working the Anvil route. Rothmund was old enough to be Jerric’s father, and he had campaigned heavily to give his own son the position. Rothmund scowled as Jerric reached him. “We’re late,” he fumed. “No one needs to take that long in a brothel.”

The two men headed down the busy waterfront toward The Bloated Float. Nothing he could say would appease Rothmund, so Jerric stayed silent and made his plan to enjoy what was left of the day. He was excited to see an inn that was actually a ship, and he had already made friends with the rest of the team who awaited them there. He anticipated an eventful evening.

Jerric woke to the Dunmer's voice from the cell across the hall again. His headache was improving, but the voice still grated. Sleeping one off in the drunk tank was not a new experience for him, but he had been in this cell long enough to be sick, feel better, then start feeling hungry. "My, my, you're a big one. A Nord, so strong. But you can't bend steel, can you boy? You can't do anything to get out of here. And those big muscles? They're going to waste away. When the end comes, you won't even have the strength to cry for your mother." Jerric had heard this speech from the Dunmer already, more than once. He suspected that serving a long sentence in the Imperial Prison did not have a positive effect on the mind.

He sat up and reviewed the situation. His wrists were still shackled together, and the blood on his knuckles reminded him that he had earned it. Why hadn't Rothmund paid his fine, he wondered. The caravan must be back on the Gold Road by now, along with all of his gear. The Imperial Watch had taken everything that he had on him at the Float. I’ll catch up with them on the road, Jerric thought. I have a lot to say to you, brother.

"Fah, you stink more than the last one!" the Dunmer was saying. "He soiled himself even before they started the torture. That's right, I'm sure you'll be getting some special attention before long." Jerric couldn't argue about the smell. There was some mildew on the walls and filth on the floor where others had missed the sewer drain, but the reek was mostly Nord. He regarded his rough prison garb and pitied the next fellow who would have to wear it. "That's right. You're going to die in here. You hear me, boy? You're going to die in here!"

I doubt it, thought Jerric. No one gets a death sentence for brawling, even in the Imperial City. He rose and stretched experimentally. The scrapes and bruises didn’t bother him, but he was stiff from sleeping on the stone couch set into his cell wall. His nose was definitely broken, and his tongue was thick with dried blood. He had a crusty knot on the side of his head that his fingertips couldn't resist exploring. He couldn't use his healing spell, and he suspected that the wrist irons were enchanted to silence him. He wondered how the guards had known he was a mage, since he hadn’t cast any spells. The fight outside the Bloated Float had been a fairly friendly scrap until the Watch got involved. Next he checked the water jug and found it still empty. He stepped to the bars of his cell for some entertainment.

The Dunmer was waiting for him. "I'm getting out soon," he confided."Maybe I should visit your wife. She must be so lonely. Don't you worry, eh? I'll take care of her long after you're dead." The Dunmer’s smile did not match the look in his wide red eyes.

Excellent topic, Jerric thought, I don't have a wife. He lounged against the bars. "You should visit her, Dunmer," he said amiably. "My wife will open her legs and eat you for breakfast." He received no reply, so he tried again. "What's that perfume you're wearing?" He sniffed and leered across the passage. "Maybe the guards will put us in a cell together." Scaly jewels of Akatosh, he thought, my nose hurts.

There was a commotion at the top of the corridor. “Hey, you hear that?” said the Dunmer. “The guards are coming for you!” His unhinged laughter made the guards’ talk unintelligible. Jerric stuck his sore face between the bars and looked toward the noise. Three armored soldier types surrounding a white-haired man in a rich robe were approaching. Those are not guards, he thought.

“My sons… they’re dead, aren’t they, Captain?” the old man said as they drew near. His voice was far more deep and resonant than his aged frame should allow.

“We don’t know that, sire. The messenger only said that they were attacked.” Jerric could hear that the Captain was a woman.

“No, they’re dead. I know it.” The old man’s voice sounded resigned and heavy with grief.

“My job right now is to get you to safety,” the Captain said briskly. The group stopped outside Jerric’s cell. He recognized their armor from his childhood picture books. They were Blades, the personal bodyguards of the Emperor. Part of him wanted to believe that this was some elaborate prank, but dread crept through the rest of him. “What’s this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!” the Captain demanded.

“Must have been some mix-up with the Watch,” answered one of the Blades.

“Never mind, Glenroy. Get that gate open. Stand back, prisoner. We won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in our way.” Jerric believed her, and he backed up to the wall under his high window. He began to think that the Dunmer had been right, and he was going to die here shackled in a cell over some careless oversight.

Glenroy opened the cell door and moved aggressively to stand in front of him. “Stay put, prisoner.” His voice betrayed his tension, and Jerric did not want to add stress to the situation. He stood still and did not meet Glenroy’s eyes.

“No sign of pursuit, sir,” the other man called from the corridor.

“Good. Let’s go. We’re not out of this yet.” The Captain entered the cell and walked over to the stone couch, followed by the old man. His robe was royal purple trimmed with ermine, and the jewel at his neck could only be the Amulet of Kings. Awe and fear crawled over Jerric’s skin. Emperor Uriel Septim was standing in his prison cell. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. The Emperor’s heirs were dead? His mind raced, and no single thought rose to direct him.

“You … I’ve seen you. Let me see your face.” Jerric looked up when he realized that his Emperor was speaking to him. “You are the one from my dreams. Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength.”

Jerric was too stunned to reply. The Emperor spoke again. “Assassins attacked my sons, and I’m next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance the entrance lies here in your cell. Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done, it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for.”

“Please, sire, we must keep moving,” said the Blades Captain. She opened a doorway in the blank stone wall, and the stone couch raised a cloud of dust as it slid into the floor. “Better not close this one. There’s no way to open it from the other side.” She led the Emperor through into darkness.

“This doesn’t concern you, prisoner!” Glenroy warned, and then he followed the Emperor.

Jerric still knelt on the stone floor. The Blade from the hall shot him a look as he passed. A Redguard, Jerric noted. “Looks like this is your lucky day. Just stay out of our way.”

He followed the others, and Jerric was alone again. He looked down the passageway where a faint blue light shone from below. They had locked his cell door behind them, and there was no way he was going to wait around for the Watch to collect him now. He rose and followed the Blades into the secret passage, down a set of dark stairs, and into an open corridor of dressed stone. A dim blue light shone over the columns and arches that held up the ceiling, but Jerric could not find its source. He concentrated on not tripping over his rope sandals as he followed, staying back far enough to avoid Glenroy’s attention but not so far that he would get lost. Part of his mind turned over the Emperor’s words and tried to make sense of them.

Jerric usually relied on landmarks and the sky to tell direction, and he was easily confused indoors. All of the passageways looked the same to him. Once he stumbled too quickly down a set of stairs only to find the group paused at the bottom, listening. He earned a glare and a snarl from Glenroy. “Don’t try anything. I’m watching you.” Jerric waited as they went far ahead down the darker corridor.

As they moved into the lighted room beyond, Jerric heard the unmistakable song of swords being drawn. “Protect the Emperor!” called the Captain. Shouts and the clash of metal rang back to Jerric, and without thinking he ran toward the fight. It was over before he got there. Three red-robed figures lay dead on the ground, and he was standing over the Captain’s body. Her katana lay beside her and she wore a short sword at her side, but he didn’t see the assassins’ weapons. “The Captain is down,” he heard Glenroy say. “How could they be waiting for us here?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late to go back now,” said the Redguard.

“I’ll take point. Let’s move,” said Glenroy. The Emperor followed him through a metal gate.

“You stay here, prisoner. Don’t try to follow us.” The Redguard took up the rear and secured the gate behind him. Jerric watched the Emperor disappear into darkness guarded by only two of his Blades, and he felt sick with worry.

He went to the gate and tried it, but of course it was locked. He took a moment to think and search the robed figures. He came up with two potions marked with the symbol for healing and a handful of coins. He pulled the hoods from the dead assassins and used them to make a bundle that he could carry.

Jerric resisted looting the Captain’s body, but the situation required it. He unbuckled her short sword, and holding the scabbard between his knees he drew the steel blade. He felt much better with it in his hand. He itched to try the katana, but there was no way he could use it. He held the scabbard in one hand with the belt rolled around it and the sword in the other. He felt ridiculous, but at least he was armed. He fiddled with the hoods to find the best way to carry everything, and ended up rolling the scabbard into a bundle with the hoods. He practiced putting down his bundle and using the short sword two-handed. His mind did not want to address the problem of getting out of the Imperial Prison in irons carrying a dead Blade Captain’s sword, and he tried not to think about what might be happening to the Emperor.

Two rats gave him his solution when they ran at him, scrabbling on the stones and squeaking. It was easy to dispatch them even with his wrists shackled together, just like playing Legion and Bandits with his nephews when they were all children. There was no way the rats came through the locked gate, so he looked around for the rat hole. When he discovered it and poked his head inside, he saw that it opened into a broad dirt-floored substructure. The dim light came from pale greenish spots on the walls. He really did not want to go in there, but explaining the secret passage in his cell to the Watch sounded even less appealing.

He tossed his bundle into the hole and then squeezed his shoulders through. His graceless entry cost him some skin, but at least now he had somewhere to go other than his cell.

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 25 2010, 06:21 PM

Jerric was on a road trip, so it makes sense you would be on one too!

So Jerric was thrown in the klink for brawling. I like it. I think it was a very good decision to start that scene in the prison, and have him reflect upon how he got there, rather than walk us through the entire thing in a linear fashion.

And now we are getting to the meat of things I see. You added some nice little bits to Jerric's meeting with Valen Dreth, which lend some freshness to the story. Jerric also kneels, which I thought was good. The guy is the Emperor after all!

Posted by: Acadian Dec 25 2010, 08:57 PM

Thank the Nine. Buffy is dancing around like a, well, elf over this news that she is not alone here. Another blonde!

Opening scene: Fresh from a brothel and thinking of dinner. That sounds like our Jerric!

This is a very clever and reasonable touch!

Very setting specific and so in keeping with what we know of Jerric.

I like all your decisions here, ranging from using flashbacking to describe how he got in prison, to how much detail of the tutorial to provide. I like how you are using the tutorial more to show Jerric's reactions to things than merely relay the details. Well done!

In fact, all your descriptions and the tone throughout was great. Jerric's character is distinct and his delightful attitudes and manner permeate this wonderful episode.

Posted by: mALX Dec 26 2010, 12:49 AM

I think Jerric is from East Tennessee, he [censored]'s all day and brawls all night outside the clubs ...

Great Write !! Gaaah, though - A shocking change of pace!! It was like getting a glass of ice cold water thrown in the face to go from the scene on the wharf to the jail cell - and drinking and brawling - it probably felt that way to Jerric as well.

I think that shock enhanced the feeling of what Jerric was going through, at least to me it did.

I absolutely loved how you handled the scene between Jerric and Valen Dreth - the dialogue between them was perfect !!!

Posted by: treydog Dec 26 2010, 03:36 PM

And BAM- we are into the main quest- perhaps.


That is the sort of dry, understated humor I love.

Wonderful descriptions, including some expansion of the opening scenes. You provide the characters with lots of personality to make them 3-D.


Like right there. That is a great bit of characterization.


Still very impressive- I look forward to more.

As to the question in re hair color… D.Foxy discovered some time ago, on the other forum, that a high percentage of the excellent female writers were redheads. So, when we get a new, excellent, female writer- it almost becomes a required question.

Posted by: Grits Dec 27 2010, 06:09 PM

SubRosa:The tutorial dungeon has been a grind, and I’ve really tried to make it worth reading. There might be some people in Cyrodiil who would sass the Emperor, but Jerric is not one of them.

Acadian:I’m glad to hear that Jerric’s character is coming through in the tutorial chapter. The next section with no dialog at all made me want to give him a pet rat to talk to.

mALX:Jerric would fit right in with a work hard/play hard crowd. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him tailgating at hockey games. This chapter is a big change of pace, especially from the romp through the West Weald. Since this is a story about a life that gets interrupted, I wanted to show a little of the “before” picture, but I didn’t want it to seem like two different stories. Fair warning, more glasses of cold water ahead. So, you know, towel.

treydog: Yes, we are main-questing, mostly. I’m not sure yet how I am going to deal with some issues. This whole plot thing is new to me. Thank you so much for your kind words, they are very encouraging!!


Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City, Part 2

Jerric picked up his gear and moved over to the wall. The light was coming from some sort of slime on the stones. He would have to duck in some spots, but there was enough head room for him to walk. He couldn’t think of a way to leave a trail, so he would move forward and try to scratch a mark in the dirt if he came to a crossroad. He moved as quickly as he could through the substructure.

When he turned down one dim corridor he smelled something large and rotten even through the wreck that used to be his nose. A soggy groan told him it was a zombie. As his eyes adjusted he saw it shamble toward him picking up speed, so he dropped his bundle and braced himself for disgusting. He ducked the zombie’s swing and hacked at its knee with the sword. He didn’t need to kill it, just keep it from catching him. He ducked another blow and chopped again. Then he took a step and brought his heel down hard at an angle against the damaged knee.

The zombie’s knee caved in with a wet crack, and it toppled toward him. Jerric dodged and scrambled away. His stomach convulsed, and he vomited bile into his mouth. His sinuses started bleeding again, and the blood trickled over his lips and down his throat. He bent over to spit and look for his bundle, and he saw it behind the groping zombie. He retrieved it with a jump that jarred his nose and brought tears to his eyes, then he moved on, careful not to touch his dripping sword. The conjured zombies he had fought never left such scum on his blade.

Jerric made his way through the substructure until he came to an area with a higher ceiling and light coming down from a high grate. He got some of his questions answered when he found a fresh goblin carcass and some skeletal remains. Some who left their loot in the crates and boxes here never came back for it, he reasoned. One body had rotted away inside its leather armor, and the other lay tangled in rusted plate. He considered his sackcloth with regret. There was no way he could use the armor, or the axe and bow that he also found there.

He did find a key on the goblin, and a potion with the symbol for restoring magicka. He also found two scrolls, which he tucked with the potion into one of the red hoods. He used the key to open the door he found behind the body. Maybe the goblin had retreated behind this door and then died of its wounds. He wondered if he was about to meet whatever had killed the goblin, or if the assassins had possibly come this way.

Jerric stepped through the door and saw that the stone piers were replaced by wooden braces in this part of the substructure. He shuffled along in a crouch to avoid hitting his head. Roots had broken through the ceiling in some places, and he wondered if he was reaching the surface. He thought of the high grate, that light had to come from somewhere. He felt like he had been descending further underground. He took a moment to think. The Imperial Prison sat high above Lake Rumare. He could be going deeper underground and toward the outside at the same time. That would explain the wooden supports instead of stone. He began to feel hopeful.

Then he passed into hewn tunnels linking a natural cave system. Jerric moved cautiously through the near darkness, following the firelight he saw reflected on the stone walls. When he turned a corner he found a small unattended fire in front of a closed door decorated with hanging skulls. Maybe goblins, he thought. Someone was close by, the fire was burning too briskly to have been left for long. He had gotten some practice fighting goblins by the entrance to Derelict Mine only days ago outside Skingrad. Those goblins had also featured skulls in their decorations.

Jerric knew that when he went through the door the fire behind him would make him an easy target. He listened at the door, and then he opened it onto total darkness. He jumped quickly through and pressed himself against the wall. The fire light shone past him enough to show natural rock walls and floor. Nothing attacked him, but his skin wanted to jump off his body just the same. He left the door open for light and moved as carefully as he could down the stone tunnel. He did not consider himself to be an excitable sort of person, but the silence and darkness had worn his nerves thin.

As he reached the point where the floor leveled out, he saw more firelight ahead. The cave opened up a little, and he tasted more than smelled roasting meat in the smoky air. His dry mouth began to water. Jerric crept through the cave as quietly as he could, hoping that his scuffling feet made less noise than the fire. He could see a shadow ahead, and when he turned the corner he saw the goblin that cast it. The creature was unarmed.

His bundle went softly to the ground, and he made his plan. He ran at the goblin holding his sword low, then when it leaped to claw at him, he plunged it up into the goblin’s midsection and pulled it out with a twist. The goblin fell clawing and screeching. He placed his sandaled, zombie-slimed foot on the goblin’s neck and pushed the sword down through its chest. The scrabbling arms fell away from his leg, and the creature’s harsh cries ended.

Jerric took a moment to let his pulse slow. He wiped off the sword and his wet hands as best as he could on the goblin. His scratches began to sting as he investigated the fireside, where he was surprised to find a mortar and pestle on a rough table along with plant material and vials. He could tell by the stinkhorn and wisp stalk caps that it had been making poison. A goblin alchemist? He always thought that they stole everything they used. Jerric began to question some of his assumptions about goblins. He packed the mortar and pestle in his bundle, but he left the poison. Then he dropped everything beside the fire and got to work on the main prize.

There was a large rat sizzling on a spit over the fire. The smell made his stomach rumble. He looked around in the goblin’s things and came up with some coins and a small knife. Thank Akatosh, he thought, I don’t have to carve up my dinner with my zombie sword.

He had to use his teeth as another hand and he nearly stood in the fire, but Jerric managed to feast on some of the rat roast. He thought it was the best thing he had ever tasted, even with the tang of goblin blood still clinging to his fingers. Now if only he could find some ale. Jerric decided to press on instead of searching. He felt an urgent need to get out under the sun.

More tunnels, some so dark he had to feel his way along the wall with his elbow. His fresh scratches were burning and his already sore head was beginning to pound, but he didn’t want to use up a potion on discomfort. Burning torches stuck into the ground lit some of the way and informed him that the tunnels were in use. He began to think about traps and proceeded more carefully.

He killed more goblins and picked up some deeper cuts. None of them was armed, yet every one attacked him furiously. He was feeling lucky, as he had managed to kill the only two goblins that had weapons with their own log trap. He had watched the dust settle on them as he devoured two apples he found amongst their supplies. The apples were withered but sweet, and they helped his raging thirst not at all. If they were guards, he wondered what they were guarding.

Then he reached the open entrance to a large cavern with a high domed ceiling, and he began to understand. Small fires burned at intervals around the walls. He could hear rats and see two goblins very close to his tunnel. He had reached some sort of dwelling place, and he realized that to them he must be the foul marauding creature. They were doing the same thing his own sister would do if she found a stranger with a sword wandering through her house. There were areas of the cave that he couldn’t see, so he assumed that there would be more goblins. He knelt down and dropped his hood-pack while he considered his options.

He had to get through that cavern or turn back. The middle appeared to have a large pit right in the center. He could see light from a fire in the pit, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was. He had to assume the bottom was accessible and could be concealing more of them. If they attacked he would engage the nearest goblin then draw the other one back into the tunnel so that the rest couldn’t surround him. He hoped that they would be slow enough getting around the pit so that he wouldn’t have to fight them all at once. If he was lucky he might be able to run through without them chasing him. He decided that if he had to run for it, he would try for the tunnel that he saw across the cavern and hope for the best rather than back into darkness the way he came, since he could not remember any places behind him that would conceal a Nord from cave-dwelling goblins. He earnestly hoped that he would not have to kill any of their young.

Jerric put his bundle against the wall with his potions ready on top. If he could get through without a fight he wouldn’t mind leaving them behind. He crept into the cave. A loud prolonged clatter echoed through the cavern as the rock he accidentally kicked skittered across the stone floor and fell into the pit, bouncing off the rocks all the way down. The two goblins looked around at him, and one let out a squawk and reached for an axe. Another goblin stepped out from behind a pile of rocks on the far side of the cavern and Jerric could see that it was wearing a sword. A goblin’s head popped up and looked at him from within the pit. Jerric realized that the stealth part of his plan was over.

He let out a howl and lunged for the goblin closest to him, gutting it before it could finish its swing. Lightning cracked around him, knocking him back and stunning him for a moment. He saw that the second goblin had picked up a staff, and she was backing away from him. More lightning crackled through the air, but this time it rushed into Jerric as he absorbed the magicka. He ran forward and drove his shoulder into the goblin witch’s midsection, sending her flying back and down into the pit. He threw himself to the ground to avoid falling in after her, and he landed on the staff.

The third goblin was still making its way around the pit. Jerric turned his attention to the one climbing out right beside him, slowed by the axe in its hand. The goblin looked surprised to see Jerric’s new position, if Jerric could judge such a foreign expression. He rolled onto his back and kicked it in the face with both feet. He kicked it again, and the goblin let out a series of harsh cries but did not fall. He felt the staff under his back. Jerric dropped his wet sword and levered himself up with the staff, then he fired lightning at the goblin as it swung its leg over the edge, knocking it back into the pit. He turned and shot more lightning at the last goblin as it ran toward him. He hit it with lightning from the staff until it fell.

There was a lot of noise coming from the pit, and Jerric looked in. One side appeared to be a rat corral, and the goblin witch had fallen among the captive rats. She was unable to rise, and the rats were taking their revenge. The other goblin lay with its leg twisted under it. Jerric considered the staff. He couldn’t think of a way to carry it, and he didn’t want another goblin to pick it up and chase him with it. He used it to finish the goblins in the pit, and then he tossed it in with the rats. He was not inclined to let the rats go, but at least he had given them a meal.

The goblin by the tunnel was kneeling quietly in its own guts, breathing rapidly through its open mouth. Its deep set eyes were fixed on him. Jerric picked up his sword and approached it. Somehow the thing had pulled more of its own insides out, probably trying to rise. Jerric thrust his sword through its open jaws and up into its brain. He had trouble getting the blade back out. He had always wanted to try that.

When he bent to pick up his bundle Jerric noticed that some of his gashes were bleeding quite freely. He drank one potion and the bleeding stopped. As he made his way through the cavern he cast his eyes around for goods that he could use. Something to get the shackles off was a top priority, followed by liquid of any kind. He stopped at an oval leather shield. He had found bows and quivers filled with arrows, but he had yet to encounter an archer. If he did, the shield would be better than nothing. He picked it up along with two more healing potions and an iron dagger. It never hurts to have a second blade, no matter how humble, he thought.

Jerric went to one of the goblin’s tables to get his gear situated. He carried the shield upside down on his outstretched arms like a basket with the bundle and the dagger resting in it. He held the short sword in his hand. He thought he must look like a battered, filthy washerwoman. He headed down a tunnel out of the cavern, and when the firelight faded behind him he saw a dim blue light ahead. With a sinking feeling he realized that he was back at the same kind of stone chambers that he had left under the prison. Had he gone in a circle? He went to the opening and looked down.

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 27 2010, 09:28 PM

We see Jerric thinking to leave marks at intersections so he does not get lost, musing on the light source, and best of all, using real tactics to fight the zombie. Your descriptions of his broken nose jarring him, the bile in his mouth, etc... Also bring his plight to life in a way saying "At 80% health" just cannot do.

You gave us a most harrowing journey through the tunnels and caves. I could feel Jerric's raw nerves at every jumping shadow. Not to mention the brutality of his battles with the goblins. Very exciting stuff!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Dec 27 2010, 11:27 PM

Oh, my. If Mr. Foxy wanders in here, he's going to have a ball.

Jerric! Tasteful! Dear!

Your Journey of the Dynamic Duo had me in stitches.

Then we get to IC, and BOOM! Nice touch on getting him into prison there.

Then we get into the Prison dungeon and shift from uncouth humor to gritty action, and a very well written dungeon crawl. Just don't forget that humor. That was the best part, I don't want to see it evaporate into a pure dungeon-crawl atmosphere, that joking around gave your story (and Jerric) an incredible personality.

Oh, and if you are needing someone to talk to when no one's around, just do what I do and talk to yourself!

Wait did I just say that? Err... Scratch that! No talking!

I'm really enjoying the lighthearted humor oozing from every orifice of your writing, you've had a great start, so don't stop now!

nit:

Chapter 2 Part 2:



Duplicate sentence here.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 28 2010, 02:11 AM

It is wonderfully entertaining to see this dungeon from the perspective of a big ol' Nord that is tall enough to scrape his head and have to duck!

'Jerric began to question some of his assumptions about goblins.'
Yes! We are quite convinced they are some form of cave mer.

'More lightning crackled through the air, but this time it rushed into Jerric as he absorbed the magicka.'
Forgive me if I may have missed it earlier, but I was quite delighted to realize that Jerric is born under the sign of the Atronach. It suits him so perfectly.

You're doing well here. I think your pacing is right. You covered some good ground and action, but you are wisely focusing on Jerric's reactions and observations. His unique charm is coming through clearly, despite the tense and dangerous dungeon crawl. It is quite refreshing seeing a character that is not too wimpy to eat rat meat.

You have a fine talent for humor, rich character development and effective action scenes. If I were you, I would feel free to use those talents as Jerric's circumstances require. One scene may require backslapping and good natured teasing, another scene may require carving up a (ugh) zombie, and yet another scene may tug on our heartstrings. Life has variety, and so does your story.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Dec 28 2010, 04:31 AM

What I love about Jerric (other than him being a constantly near-nude Nord, of course) is that he's very believable. He doesn't rush into killing people willy-nilly and wakes up next to strangers after blacking out after too much drink...he throws up at zombies... Speaking of, good job with their description of the zombie. It was appropriately nasty

Posted by: Grits Dec 29 2010, 03:07 PM

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

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

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

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




Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City, Part 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jerric tucked the Amulet away and entered the sewers.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted by: Acadian Dec 30 2010, 02:28 AM

Very nicely done! A pleasure to read, and much to like. Jerric gives his own style to the tutorial dungeon.

“Hold out your hands,” he said, and he opened the clasp on Jerric’s shackles. He could reach the magicka within him again, like remembering a name that had been just on the tip of his tongue.'
Wonderfully put! Yay, no shackles!

'The Emperor caught Jerric with his pale blue eyes, and he seemed to stand outside of time as the assassin struck him down with his short, narrow blade'
To stand outside time - magnificently said!

'Fury raced over Jerric, burning his thoughts away. He attacked the man with mindless ferocity, and it was only when he stood panting over the bodies that he fully realized that there had been two of them. He had slashed their faces until they were unrecognizable, then shredded their bodies once the armor misted away. He braced his sword arm against the stone wall and vomited. Blood dripped off his sword down onto his shoulder and shield. His hands shook and tears blinded him. '
The gritty real deal here. I'm not surprised that only later did he discover he had been wounded here:
'His right hand found the small hole in the left side of his chest.'

'Glass against his teeth and a sour taste jerked him awake again.'
This is one example where you 'show' us something - and we think we know you are describing a potion. Then, within a sentence or two, you confirm it for us and make us feel very clever. I think this is brilliant!

'and every green tree seemed like its own miracle.'
Aww. Lovely.

'A few complete arches rose gracefully above the ruin, but he guessed that his curiosity would earn him trouble if he headed in that direction.'
Yes, but even here I suspected Jerric would ignore his own advice. Within a couple paragraphs, you proved me right!

'He looked up at the late afternoon sun and blew on his scorched fingers. Close enough, he would call it lunch.'
That's our Jerric. The most important meal of the day is the next one.

Questions on this passage:
'They had skirmished with assassins along the way, and Jerric had earned grudging respect even from Glenroy. The Imperial let loose with his stentorian battle cry every time they were attacked, so Jerric stopped worrying that his frost was making too much noise.'
1. I'm thinking the Imperial here is the Emperor?
2. I'm thinking 'his frost' refers to Jerric using frost spells (as would make good sense for a Nordic mage).
If I am right on both counts, then ignore me. If I am wrong, can you set me straight?

Nit:
'Baurus had been right, had little trouble getting through. Jerric stood at the open grate and looked . . . .'
There seems to be something missing after your first comma. Perhaps: 'Baurus had been right; Jerric had little trouble getting through the sewers. He stood at the open grate and looked. . . .'

Posted by: Grits Dec 30 2010, 02:15 PM

Acadian: Thank you so much for your detailed and encouraging comments. I am so happy to be out of the dungeon! Whew.

The Imperial is Glenroy, and that phrasing is a relic left over from when I was writing as if Jerric didn’t know their names. Eventually I just had Captain Renault address Glenroy as they come into the cell, but I wanted to have Baurus introduce himself. Glenroy looks like a Redguard but sounds like an Imperial, so it was too confusing. Thank you so much for pointing it out! I changed the passage to this:

”They had skirmished with assassins along the way, and Jerric had earned grudging respect from the Blades. Glenroy had let loose with his stentorian battle cry every time they were attacked, so Jerric stopped worrying that his frost spell was making too much noise.”

Even though the Emperor carries a sword, my vision of this scene has him accepting his imminent death, reflecting a little on his life now that he knows it’s over, and pondering when to hand over the Amulet. Shouting out battle cries and attacking the assassins is not in the picture, so I really appreciate the chance to clear that up!

Thank you for the nit, and for helping me overcome my fear of the semicolon. I see Newton’s Third Law of Proofreading at work: every edit produces an equal and opposite edit.

Posted by: mALX Dec 30 2010, 05:46 PM

Chapter 3: Part 2


I don't know how long it had been since Jerric had eaten, but there is a touch of realism to this:

My son was among the Bradleys that led the charge into Bagdad. They outran the supply trucks and were without rations for three days when they came across a nomads tent with a small tended garden outside of it. The only thing they were growing in it was onions.

My son would never eat an onion - ever. But he pulled one from the ground and bit into it like it was an apple - and said it tasted better than a steak. When you are starving, it is surprising what you will eat, and how good it will taste to you.



Being an (obviously) outdoor type - this is such a perfect detail you have added that really shows what he is thinking and feeling as he goes through the darkened tunnels - your story is filled with these little details that are HUGE in their simplicity, but make the story come alive to the reader.

Here is another example of detail that make it all feel so real:





*


Chapter 3: Part 3


WHEW !!! What a change -





You are doing an AWESOME job of showing that!!! I held my breath through this whole last chapter, and I know the story !!!

There were too many great places to quote, but I have to do this one:




AWESOME WRITE !!!!!!

Posted by: SubRosa Dec 30 2010, 07:14 PM

If he had caught up with the Blades he was still in the middle of trouble, but at least he was on the way out of it.
I think someone's in for a surprise!

Stress bled through the Redguard’s voice.
An excellent phrase.

yet three more assassins lay around him filling the air with the stench of their deaths.
As was this.

I liked your bit of world-building, where because Jerric had not straightened out his nose before his healing spell, it healed bent. So it would be that way forever. Or at least until it gets broken again...

It looked clean, but he knew better than to drink lake water this close to a city.
This is a good touch of reality too. It would be have sewage from the city.

All in all, another good episode of the Jerric Show. I bet you feel a great sense of relief now that you are out of the prison sewers! The game's storyline there is extremely rigid, like riding on a rail. Now you will have more opportunity to stretch and add variety once more.

Posted by: Grits Jan 2 2011, 02:24 AM

mALX: Thank you for sharing your son’s story about the onion – I was thinking along those lines. I don’t think a starving person would look at a rat and say yuck. Thank you so much for your comments!!

SubRosa: It is a relief to get out of the sewers. I hadn’t been able to really plan much ahead until I wrote about Jerric looking at the trees, and then I knew what I wanted to do next. I have a pretty good idea how I want healing magic to work, definitely not as simple as it is in the game! Thank you so much for your comments.

In Chapter 3 Jerric escaped from prison and swam across Lake Rumare with the Amulet of Kings and little else in his possession.



Chapter 4: All’s Well in Aleswell, Part 1


Jerric crouched behind the white stone wall and watched the two people move about their camp above the ruin. The swim across the lake had been easy, as the water was calm and nothing had risen from the green depths to chew on him. Now the sun was behind him, so he was careful not to cast a long shadow. He needed water he could drink, and he suspected he would find it convenient to this camp. He did not want to receive an arrow in his back, so he had decided to learn if these were friends or bandits before he started to crash around in the bushes. The leather-clad Dunmer female was practicing her archery by shooting at heads of lettuce along the top of a crate, and her accuracy encouraged Jerric to wait until she put down her bow before he announced himself. The Khajiit wore a leather cuirass, and he was fussing with a pot that hung over their cook fire. Jerric waited as the sun dropped lower until the Dunmer finally placed her bow with her quivers on the crate and walked over to the fire.

Charging up to a stranger with his sword drawn would certainly make him the villain. He cast his Woad spell to give him some protection in case things became unfriendly, then he stood up and stepped around the wall with his shield over his arm and his sword still in its scabbard. “Hail the camp,” he called, and he held his empty hand open and out to the side.

The Dunmer went straight for her bow, and the Khajiit picked up a mace and started toward him. Jerric ran to cut off the Dunmer, and as he went he summoned a scamp between himself and the Khajiit. He hoped that the scamp would go for the right target, he did not want to get crisped by its fire spell when he closed with the archer.

The Dunmer was fast, and she reached her bow well before Jerric reached her. He had not drawn his sword yet to give himself a little extra speed, and he cast a handful of frost at her to keep her busy while he closed the distance. He could hear the scamp and the Khajiit, but his attention was on the archer. He missed with his frost attack, but her dodge had cost her the time it would have taken to bring an arrow to nock. She held her bow out in front of her and jabbed with her arrow, but his momentum behind the leather shield pushed her to the ground. He had kept his weight low and stayed on his feet, and as she flipped nimbly onto her stomach and jabbed at him again it flashed through his mind that the arrow might be poisoned. He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back as he slammed his heel down into her neck. He dropped her and turned toward the Khajiit.

The scamp had vanished, and the Khajiit stalked toward him with smoke rising from his scorched cuirass. His ears were flattened back, and his tail lashed the air with fury. They circled for a moment, and when the Khajiit struck with his mace, Jerric dodged and pushed it aside with his shield while he slashed at the unarmored leg. Jerric suddenly remembered that his own armor was on a wagon instead of on his person, so he quickly adjusted his thinking.

They circled some more, and Jerric aimed a clumsy thrust that missed the Khajiit’s middle. He deliberately lowered his shield as he regained his balance. A moment later he repeated the strike, and as the Khajiit raised his mace for a fatal blow, Jerric angled his blade up and thrust it in under the furry chin. The mace clipped his shield again on the way back down, but it was only falling under its weight with no strike behind it.

Jerric shook his sore arm and looked through the bandits’ camp. They seemed to have two of everything, including separate tents. They were well established in their camp, and he thought it would be unlikely for anyone else to come up there that night. He decided he could stay without worrying too much about his sleeping skull meeting a heavy object.

He went to the cook pot and lifted the lid. It looked like he would be having some kind of meat stew for dinner, and he identified carrots, onions, and potatoes in the mixture. He tasted it with the nearby spoon and corrected the seasoning with the salt he also found there ready to his hand. He picked up their water pitcher and drained it in one long, rapturous guzzle. They were not boiling any water, so he was confident that he would find a stream or well nearby.

He selected one of the bedrolls by the process of smell and covered it with a gentle cloud of frost to kill any vermin that might have found refuge there. He scooped up a plate of stew and dug through their crates and barrels while he waited for it to cool. The contents were sobering. The bolts of cloth probably came from a merchant, and the assortment of garments had clearly once belonged to a number of different people. He hoped that the former owners had simply given up their goods and gotten away with their lives. He found no armor or weapons other than a few daggers and knives that anyone might carry, and he thought that these two fetchers must have specialized in the weak and unarmed.

He found their chests locked and simply walked away from them, then he realized that the bandits probably had the keys on their bodies. They did, and he took the opportunity to drag them away from the camp to prevent scavengers, ghosts, or a dreadful creeping feeling from finding him. He stripped off their leather armor for future trade. The Khajiit’s would need some cleaning first.

When he returned to camp and looked in the chests he discovered a number of silver household items, a few books, some jewelry, and the bandits’ coin purses. He picked up the first book and found that it was titled The Battle of Sancre Tor. That sounded promising, so he tucked it under his arm. The second book was enticingly titled Mace Etiquette, and he thought it might provide him with some good advice for using his new mace. He tucked it between his knees and reached for the last well worn book, a play titled The Lusty Argonian Maid. Jerric stood reading it until the orange light reminded him that the day was ending. He helped himself to the coins and books and left the rest. Looting the bandits’ bodies didn’t bother him, but when he held the jewelry all he could think about was the pain and fear someone must have felt when they gave it up.

He headed back to the clothing with the idea that he might find something of use, but the only trousers that would fit him were made for a shorter, portly man. He found a tunic that probably came from the same unfortunate person, but instead of riding out on the other man’s belly it flapped around Jerric’s middle. At least it was clean, and it covered the Amulet where he still wore it wrapped now in a linen shirt and tied around his waist. He could have carried a bedroll in the extra space in the crotch of the trousers and they were ridiculously short, but they fit over his thighs and gave him room to move. He found no replacement for his rope prison sandals, and he cursed them as he healed the sores on his feet yet again.

When he returned to his meal he found that it had cooled too much, so he added another scoop and wolfed it down appreciatively. It didn’t even touch the sides, his Ma would say. He decided that the meat was mutton, and he silently thanked whatever shepherd was scratching his head over his loss. The bandits’ tableware and cookware were heavy iron and clay, and not very portable. After his meal he wiped the plate and silverware, then laughed at himself for keeping the dead bandits’ camp tidy. He packed up the silverware and the knife and cutting board they used for cooking into one of their packs, then he picked up the pitcher and headed down a narrow path in the grass looking for the well.

He returned to camp as the fire died and the sun slipped down. He had swallowed enough well water to almost gurgle when he walked, and he had a full pitcher for the morning. He quickly went back to the chests and took out the jewelry. On his walk he had decided that he did not have the luxury of squeamishness. It was a good distance to Weynon Priory and then home, and he was not going to get the whole way on the coins he could get for a bow and two well-used leather cuirasses. As he rolled himself into what he guessed was the Dunmer’s bed he scratched his face and regretted that a woman and a Khajiit had no use for a shaving kit. He checked the Amulet with his hand and dropped immediately into sleep.

The pitchers of water that he had enjoyed the night before woke Jerric well before dawn. He had found no kahve, so he made a quick breakfast of cold stew directly from the pot and prepared to get on his way in the dark. These people had no kahve, no ale, nothing much to read, and separate bedrolls. He wondered what secret joys motivated them to rise every morning, and he doubted it was the love of Khajiit mutton stew.

After a stop at the Ayleid Well he had passed the day before, Jerric made his way along the lake shore in the pre-dawn, swinging the Khajiit’s mace in his hand for fun. The moons had set, but there was enough starlight to walk by. The sound that the small waves made rolling up onto the beach kept him from straying into the water. He could hear mudcrabs in time to avoid them, so he walked along waiting for the sunrise in peace. His feet found the firm place where the grass overtook the sand, and he followed it along the shoreline. The sun rose behind him and touched his bare head like a friend. It made him think of the Emperor’s words, and then of the Emperor lying on cold stone somewhere in the Imperial City. News of his death must be racing through Tamriel on fast horses, and he imagined the grief and confusion that it would bring.

Walking in silence between the city and the road he felt very alone. It had been days since he had spoken to someone he knew, or even looked at something that was familiar. He relished the adventure, but his heart tugged him toward home. He saw the sun gleam on white stone ahead to the north, and he thought he must have almost reached the place where the Silver Road split off to Bruma and the Red Ring Road rose sharply up into the hills. He couldn’t remember the name of the ruin from his map at home, but something that big had to be it. He had to decide if he would continue along the shore or head up to the road. He stood in indecision for a moment, and the Amulet felt heavy against his waist. He decided to stick to the shoreline to avoid the ruin and the Silver Road junction, then walk up over the dunes through the lower hills and pick up the Red Road before it really started climbing.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 2 2011, 03:26 AM

I'll have another bowl of grits thank you. Ahhh, that hits the spot!

Jerric shows excellent situational awareness, as he considers the position of the sun, and how it will cast his shadow. Another gritty battle follows, with nice touches of description, with the Khajiit's ears being pinned back.

Using a frost spell to kill lice and bedbugs on the bedroll was an especially thoughtful touch.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 2 2011, 03:34 AM

I must agree with SubRosa about another bowl of Grits. This was a delight to read! Some excitement, camp life and path choosing.

Alas, target identification - always a problem. Fortunately, Jerric has the stones to deal with an unhappy result, as he had to here. Speaking of fights, this one was well done. The pacing was effective, and you had a good balance of action vs what Jerric was thinking. His tactics (right down to considering his scamp's position vs field of fire) were logical and the fight was easy to follow.

You really do have a gift for interesting, clever and simply wonderful turns of phrase or descriptions that are either very Jerric, humorous or simply delightful to read. Some examples:

'His ears were flattened back, and his tail lashed the air with fury.'

'He decided he could stay without worrying too much about his sleeping skull meeting a heavy object.'

'He selected one of the bedrolls by the process of smell and covered it with a gentle cloud of frost to kill any vermin that might have found refuge there.'

'As he rolled himself into what he guessed was the Dunmer’s bed he scratched his face and regretted that a woman and a Khajiit had no use for a shaving kit.'

'His feet found the firm place where the grass overtook the sand, and he followed it along the shoreline.'

'News of his death must be racing through Tamriel on fast horses, and he imagined the grief and confusion that it would bring.'


I'm guessing from the title, where Jerric will be next.

Posted by: mALX Jan 2 2011, 04:13 AM

Acadian already quoted my favorite line, this shows the detail you add that I've never seen in any other story:

I am loving this story !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 2 2011, 04:37 AM

I love this story and I love Jerric!

He's got such a big heart!

Posted by: Grits Jan 3 2011, 07:00 PM

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.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 4 2011, 02:31 AM

Jerric's take on this familiar quest was great fun to read!

This was replete with Jerric's common sense/homespun observations. You once again show his love for the outdoors and some very clever ways of stating and understating things. Just one example of many:
'He suspected that the sun had risen that day with few on two legs awake to greet it.'

So, he is now a hero to this small settlement. About the free bed for life . . . it seems like he is going to have to earn it every times he goes upstairs to sleep? That's what he gets for wagging his nimble tongue around a pair or Dunmeri lasses.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 4 2011, 03:40 AM

Excellent descriptions of the hamlet (and how nice to see it is an actual settlement, rather than just three houses!). Also of the invisible sheep, and especially Jerric's meandering thoughts. All are woven together extremely well.

He was not used to making a favorable first impression
This brought more than a faint smile!

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.
If only the Emperor could have foreseen this, I think he might have picked someone else!

Posted by: Grits Jan 5 2011, 06:06 PM

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I love Aleswell, it was fun to give them a party. I’ve always thought that the end of that quest should result in more celebrating. I wonder how the Serethi women will treat Jerric when they haven’t been suffering from lack of attention!

SubRosa: Thank you, SubRosa! Jerric’s wandering mind is an important part of his character to me, but I’m never sure if I’ve put too much in or made it break up things too much. I can hear the Emperor’s thinking: Hmm, big and strong, but led by his Johnson. Nope, I’ll give it to the stringy Bosmer.

I’m wondering how I’m doing with post length / chapters. How long is too long, and what makes a chapter? For Chapter 4 the bandit camp in Part1 really has nothing to do with Aleswell in Part 2, I don’t have a reason why I put them together. I appreciate any advice!!



Chapter 5: Unloading the Amulet, Part 1

Jerric stood on the Black and Orange Road junction and watched his new friends walk away east. He had met the group of Bretons days ago and introduced himself when it became evident that they were all travelling north toward Chorrol. When darkness fell the three families invited him to camp with them and walk together for the rest of their journey for safety. They moved at the pace of the group’s smallest members, so it had taken them four days in beautiful weather to make the peaceful climb through the Great Forest. He had shown the children how to help him gather ingredients for his alchemy as they walked, and they taught him various handclapping games and how to whistle through his thumbs with a blade of grass. Now the little ones walked backward waving and calling to him as they went to make new homes in a settlement he had never heard of in the Colovian Highlands. He raised his arm in farewell and hoped that some day he would get to see them again. He had told them on the first day that he was going to Chorrol, and now he didn’t want them to see him turn back to the Priory and make it a lie.

He considered his options. He was anxious to get the Amulet to Brother Jauffre and head home. Everyone would be gathering to celebrate his Ma's birthday, and he didn't want to miss it. He needed to pick up her gift first at the Mages Guild, he was sure it would be ready by now. It had cost him a fortune to have it enchanted, but since he spent most of his earnings on training, fines, and women, he thought he wouldn’t miss the coin. Besides, he would give up anything to see his Ma feeling better again. Also he wanted a conversation with Rothmund.

On the other hand he had a pack full of salvage to sell, and he needed provisions. Plus the Amulet was likely to bring up all kinds of questions about Jerric's role in events, and he had found that military types like law enforcement were naturally suspicious. Baurus had heard the Emperor speak to Jerric, but Jauffre might not be so quick to share the Emperor’s trust. The interview might end with Jerric actively avoiding imprisonment, and he would be faster if his pack held coins and sandwiches instead of bandit armor.

It was too much to think about on an empty stomach, so Jerric continued up the road toward Chorrol. The road was busy with all kinds of folk, and he walked with the crowd through the open South Gate where he stopped and caught his breath. Wide stone streets, large attractive buildings, and plenty of greenery met his eyes, but he looked up over all of them in wonder at the snow-covered mountains that rose beyond the city. Even the lofty spire of the Chapel seemed humbled by their presence.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the gate guards, and Jerric realized that he was blocking traffic. He stepped over to the side and asked for directions. Two of the city’s inns were within sight, and he walked over to the more modest looking of them. The sign informed him that he had reached The Grey Mare, and its unassuming wooden exterior told him that a travel worn Nord might be welcome there. The delicious smell of something baking seized him by the stomach, so he entered and found an empty table. He leaned his shield against the wall and began to unencumber himself.

A dark haired male Bosmer heckled him from across the room. "Oh great, another big blonde with a blade. Just what Cyrodiil needs. You're not from around here, are you, square-head?" Jerric slung his loot bag over the back of a chair and thunked his camp pack onto the seat. His day pack went over the back of the chair on the other side. The Bosmer hopped down from his seat and moved toward Jerric's table. "Hey, I'm talking to you, knuckle-dragger." Jerric slid his bed roll off onto the floor. He looked the mer over and didn’t see a blade. He was in the mood for a scuffle, but a knife fight could spoil a whole day. "What brings you to Chorrol, flat-face? Do all of the sheep in Skyrim recognize you?" The Bosmer didn't let up.

Jerric's movements had become slower and more deliberate the longer the wood elf badgered him. He laid his sword, mace, and dagger across the table with exquisite care and stepped away from them, and then he stared down at the Bosmer. "Do you have a death wish, little mer?"

The Bosmer answered by leaping onto Jerric with a shriek. He clambered around to Jerric's back and hooked his heels together around his waist. His arm went around Jerric's throat, quick as a snake. Jerric staggered and grabbed the Bosmer's arm. He turned his head to get a breath, but the Bosmer used the motion to sink his hold even deeper.

Roaring filled Jerric's ears, and his vision began to fade. He tried to flip him forward over his head, but the Bosmer's legs wouldn't let him bend. Jerric couldn't think of a plan. He simply tucked his chin into the Bosmer's elbow and crashed over backward onto him, glancing off of a table on the way to the floor.

When his vision cleared Jerric scrambled to his knees and clutched the little Bosmer, deciding whether to throttle or heal him. The wood elf was pale and still, but when Jerric licked the inside of his wrist and held it over the Bosmer's lips he felt the tickle of breath. Jerric realized that the inn had fallen silent but for the dripping of spilled ale, and he looked up.

A Chorrol Guardsman had entered, and he stood viewing the scene with his fingertips resting on his sword hilt. "Is there a problem, citizen?" he asked Jerric in a neutral tone.

Jerric shifted his grip on the Bosmer to appear more solicitous. "I uh, toppled over, and my friend here was good enough to break my fall," Jerric explained. Now that he thought about it, this was not a good time to get arrested. He smiled at the guard nervously. "Heh, clumsy," he added.

"Drunk and disorderly is no way to spend your time in this fair city, lad," the guard stated. "If you don't believe me, we can see if a visit to the prison changes your mind."

"There's no need, sir," Jerric said hastily. "Besides, I haven't had time to get to that first part yet."

The guard gave him a humorless glare, and Jerric mentally cursed his fool tongue. The other patrons had abandoned their attempts to look busy and seemed to be enjoying the entertainment. "This isn't Bruma," the guard told him. "I won't repeat myself." With a level glare all around, the guard left the inn.

What does he think I did in Bruma, Jerric wondered. I’ve never even been there. The Bosmer opened his eyes, and his expression was blank. Jerric stood and placed the elf on his feet in one smooth motion and took a step back. "I'm Jerric," he said to the Bosmer.

"Maglir," the Bosmer said warily.

"Pleased to meet you." Jerric smiled. "Now show me that thing you did."

Jerric and Maglir righted the mess they had made, and then they went behind the inn and spent some time rolling on the grass. Jerric went back inside with an improved understanding of leverage and a considerable number of grass stains on his clothing. He glanced over to see that his gear was still in place, and then he approached Emfrid, the Nord publican. He had introduced himself when he apologized earlier and asked for a mop, but now he felt he could spare the attention to appreciate her.

Emfrid possessed a cool, ethereal beauty that was somehow not at odds with her plain dress and capable appearance. She had the strong forearms of a baker, and she wore her blonde hair smoothed back and secured with a narrow braid in a style that he admired. Jerric enjoyed a thick-figured woman, but Emfrid was tall and trim in the way he liked best. He saw no spark of interest in her expression when he approached her, so he attempted to match her reserve. Despite his effort, even he could hear the warmth in his tone when he ordered his meal and a drink. At least he was able to keep from openly ogling her. He supposed that he need not wonder why he was such a dismal card player.

Maglir retrieved his mug and hopped up next to Jerric. “You should join the Fighters Guild,” he said, continuing the conversation he had started outside. “They’ll put a roof over your head and coin in your pocket, and you’ll never lack for someone to drink with.”

Jerric hadn’t noticed anyone drinking with Maglir. “I have a job that keeps me busy, plus a Guild membership that eats up a lot of my free time. Thanks, though.”

Maglir nodded at Jerric’s thick, scarred hands. “Let me guess, Weavers Guild?” and they both had a laugh about that. “If you change your mind, talk to Vilena Donton here in Chorrol. I’m assigned to Skingrad, but you can’t join there.”

“I’ve trained some at the Guild in Anvil, but they keep their advanced trainers for Guild members only. I’d love to train with Rhano, do you know him? I learned more watching him spar than I did all morning in training.”

“Never been to Anvil. Join the Guild, Jerric. We’re always looking for new members. You don’t have to take contracts, just when you want to. Sleep and eat for free, then get a contract walking some mage to the library and, ha ha, payday!” Maglir chortled and clunked his mug against Jerric’s. “I have to go look busy. It’ll be back to Skingrad for me soon, I finished my contract and now I’m just riding it out until they notice.” He downed the rest of his drink and trotted toward the door. “Maybe I’ll see you at the Guild some day!”

“Maglir!” Jerric called after him. “Why did you jump on me?”

Maglir’s slanty eyes squinted away to nothing when he grinned. “I didn’t like the way you look. Still don’t, ha ha!” and he was out the door.

Emfrid brought Jerric a plate of ham and baked apples with a hot slice of crusty bread and a small pot of honey. He stayed at the bar for his meal in the hope that she would talk to him, and he was not disappointed. “In Chorrol, we don't think much about what goes on in the Imperial Palace. But these murders... the emperor and all his sons dead... what's next?” she said. Jerric wanted to keep a positive tone, so he asked her what he should know about Chorrol. “The Captain of the castle guard is a Nord,” she told him. “Bittneld the Curse-Bringer. He seems like such a nice fellow. Too bad I don't see him in here very much.”

A grey-haired Imperial man pulled up a stool and set his ale next to Jerric. He was neatly dressed and average in his appearance. The most notable thing about him was the beautifully worked hilt of the sword he was carrying. Jerric thought he would like very much to see the blade. "Hello, my name is Valus Odiil,” the Imperial said. “You haven't seen my sons, have you? They went off to our farm to fight those monsters, and I'm worried about them. You may have passed them on the road, Rallus and Antus.”

Jerric had passed a lot of Imperials on the road. “I’m Jerric, pleased to meet you. I’m sorry, I don’t know if I passed them.”

“They're going to fight off the creatures at our farm down the road from Weynon Priory. The creatures have been attacking us every evening for several days from someplace in the Great Forest. So far they haven’t been able to break into our house, but my boys are resolved to fight these beasts, even if the guards won't. Doesn't matter if it's outside the town walls - it still affects us all. I fear for their safety.”

Jerric didn’t need to look at Emfrid to know that her eyes were on him. “What kind of creatures? Are they animals, or something on two legs? Do they carry weapons?”

Valus described them, and Jerric decided that they sounded like goblins. Valus kept talking. “They expect me to fight with them, but I fear in my old age, I'm not the warrior I once was. Would you... would you go in my place?"

Jerric sighed. He knew he might as well agree now instead of heading down the road and then coming back, but he needed to complete his errand for Baurus first. “I’ll meet you at your farm tomorrow afternoon, if I can. I have business here in Chorrol to finish.” He wondered fleetingly if the Imperial had used his Voice of the Emperor to charm him.

“Somehow I knew you'd do the right thing. I'm supposed to meet them at the farm, and I think I can hold them off until tomorrow. I do hope you can get there in time. I... I need a drink to calm my nerves. Please, excuse me.” When Valus paid for his next ale he also picked up the tab for Jerric’s meal, and Jerric hoped that he wouldn’t end up paying him back with his own blood. He looked across his empty plate at Emfrid and thought how grateful he was for brothels. He had never been tempted to risk his life to impress a prostitute, mostly because he was convinced that it wasn’t possible. “Thank you, Emfrid, the meal was delicious.” She nodded coolly and took his plate, and he sighed again.

As he was gathering his gear, she approached him with a small package. “Pumpkin bread fresh out of the oven, to help you keep your strength up on the road. I’ll be waiting to hear the news from Valus, Jerric.” He tucked the warm loaf into his day pack with a smile at her and headed out to trade some weight for coin.

He wandered through Chorrol completing his errands and enjoying the cool mountain air. He found Chorrol to be a clean, peaceful, and beautiful city. Rasheda at Fire and Steel had been so pleased with their trade that she offered him some free advice on repairing his gear. Upon reflection he decided that he should probably get some training in the art of negotiation. He met Dar-Ma the prettiest Argonian he had ever seen when he was gawking at the Great Oak, and she turned out to be as charming and sweet as her appearance suggested. He took her advice and swapped the rest of his salvage for provisions at her mother’s store. Even the Watch with their oak-embellished surcoats sounded pleasant when they offered the greetings that also served as a reminder that they were watching him. He decided that Chorrol was a place to which he would someday gladly return.

He noted the fading light and checked his coin purse. While his habit might be to seek out a bath and a brothel, his means suggested a bath and a book. He found the bookstore, then the bathhouse, and then he entered the Chorrol Mages Guild.

His nose told him that there would be venison on the table, and he found it accompanied by roasted potatoes and carrots, a great vat of gravy, dressing made of cubed bread mixed with herbs and chopped onions, a bowl of corn kernels that looked like they had been cooked in butter, mashed pumpkin, and enough bread that each diner could have his own loaf. He wondered if he had stumbled upon some local feast day, but when he looked around the table and noticed that his companions were all men of more than average girth, he understood.

Jerric sat next to Teekeeus the chapter head, and he found his conversation comfortable and interesting. He had never had an Argonian friend, and he hoped that Teekeeus thought well of him. When Teekeeus asked if he would like to earn a recommendation to the Arcane University, Jerric genuinely regretted that he didn’t have the time to spend. He and Teekeeus went through Jerric’s alchemy supplies after dinner, and they came up with a trade that provided Jerric with essential potions to restore his magicka and supplied Teekeeus with enough monkshood root pulp to keep him out of the Great Forest for a long time. The Chorrol chapter did not seem to have the number of students and junior members that the Anvil chapter had to do its drudge work and errands.

He did some laundry and hung his linens to dry by the fire, happy that he was alone in the common quarters and didn’t need to apologize for the disarray. The feather bed cradled him in comfort, and he fell asleep thinking that while his nights indoors were sweet, the ones out under a clear sky were even sweeter.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 5 2011, 06:38 PM

My chapters are usually from 10k-15k words long. When I write, I do an entire chapter at a time. When I am finished I break it up into separate posts of about 1,000 - 2,000 words each, as that seems to be an easily digestible amount for a forum. Usually one entire scene. If I have a scene going longer than that I look for a place in the middle where I can break it into separate posts. Sometimes it can be hard to find a place to break however, and they go longer.

As far as what goes in a chapter, I generally try to keep it a self-contained, miniature story. So it should have an introduction of what is going on, a middle where there is conflict, and finally an ending with a resolution. Oftentimes however I find myself working things in that are unrelated to the overall plot of the chapter, simply because those events are happening at that time.

For example, most of the Last King of the Ayleids was about Teresa finding a tutor in Ayleid history, and the knowledge she obtained. However, I tacked on a few extra scenes at the beginning. One showing Teresa making a deposit at the temple, and the other talking to Simplicia about her love life. Those two scenes were unrelated to the rest of the chapter, but I felt were necessary for the story overall. So I had to put them somewhere. Making each their own chapter felt like underkill, as they were only about 1.5k words each.

Do all of the sheep in Skyrim recognize you?
Zing! That was a good one!

and then they went behind the inn and spent some time rolling on the grass.
Hubba hubba! I did not realize Jerric rolled that way. hawt!

A fun encounter with Maglir, showing both what a slacker he is, and that he is at least a bit unhinged as well. I expect this means we will be seeing him in the future?

I see Jerric is also going to go goblin-fighting in the near future. Poor man has not even been to Weynon yet, and already people are haranguing him to fight their battles!


nits:
Plus the Amulet was likely to bring up all kinds of questions about Jerric's roll in events
I think Jerric slipped a Kaiser roll in for dinner there instead of a role to play.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 6 2011, 03:25 AM

I completely echo SubRosa's comments, both on post length and her observations on Jerric's visit to Chorrol.

Jerric's trip to get there was uniquely interesting, and his interaction with Maglir was fun.

'The guard gave him a humorless glare, and Jerric mentally cursed his fool tongue.'
Last time it was Jerric's nimble tongue that got him into trouble. I hope it is not a sharp tongue that he falls victim to next.

'Jerric hadn’t noticed anyone drinking with Maglir.'
Great example of Jerric's command of common sense observation.

'He tucked the warm loaf into his day pack with a smile at her and headed out to trade some weight for coin.'
A delightfully phrased sentence. Almost whimsical in its pleasing clarity and cleverness.

Plenty of hints here for possible entries on Jerric's dance card, including Chillrend, Boots of the Crusader, Dar-Ma, his mother's birthday and of course, Jauffre. Whew! It seems he is at least ruling out the Fighters Guild and admission to the University for now.

A delightful meal at The Gray Mare, some yummy pumpkin bread and a veritable feast at the local mages guildhall. Yum!

Nits? Well maybe. It seems that you may still sometimes get captured by long multi-clause run-on sentences. Take a deep breath, read these and see if you might agree that breaking things into shorter, crisper sentences might be better?

He had talked to the older men and stayed far away from the young women, and when darkness fell the three families invited him to camp with them and walk together for the rest of their journey for safety.

He had absorbed the magicka when he sought out a blessing at the Chapel of Stendarr, and he had viewed the Gauntlets of the Crusader there on the floor and heard their story from an Altmer whose expression hinted that he could smell something foul.

Posted by: Winter Wolf Jan 7 2011, 01:44 AM

Wow, this is a fantastic volume of writing that you have produced in a month. Please keep it going.

The forums are very quiet with this being the year end, but your writing does deserve a strong audience- it is very good. I havent had the chance to plunge into the depth of the characters, so please excuse me while I head back to chapter 1.

I shall be back.

Posted by: mALX Jan 8 2011, 02:18 AM

Maglir in his cups was hilarious, especially since he is such a wimp outside the bar - loved that! A detail I loved was the part about Odill using the "Voice of the Emperor" - The dialogue for that quest should include being able to tell Odill off for his cowardice in sending his boys alone because he is afraid - the reason Jerric didn't would have been the spell effect - huge detail I have never seen given on that quest in other fanfics - you ROCKED that !!!

Posted by: Grits Jan 8 2011, 05:06 PM

SubRosa: Thank you so much for explaining the way you write chapters. I have been doing the opposite, and I think it shows the most in this last section. Instead of trying to cram a bunch of things in I should write the whole thing and then break it up. Like making a pie instead of cookies. Also I need to follow the advice that you already gave me, and slow down!

We’ll see more Maglir. I don’t think I can keep Jerric out of the FG forever, and I thought it would be more fun if there was history before Jerric had to decide what to do with him. Maglir cracks me up in the game with the whole “Let’s roll, payday” dialog.

Alas Jerric is like a tall person in a grocery store, everyone wants him to reach that jar / kill someone for them.

Acadian: Thank you so much for your comments. I went back and removed a few things from those bloated sentences that I think didn’t really need to be there. I should have taken more time with the Chorrol trip instead of telling a bunch of stuff that happened and cramming it all in one post. I’m instituting a one day minimum cooling off period. When I think something is ready, I should wait at least a day and look again! I do not want to rush, and that is exactly what I have been doing. You advised me to slow down before, I’m really going to this time!

I’m sure Jerric’s tongue will get him in trouble again, it’s becoming a character all on its own!

Winter Wolf: Thank you so much for your very kind words and encouragement. I am a beginner at this whole thing, and I find myself thinking I hope this doesn’t stink a lot. Your support means so much to me!!

mALX: Maglir makes me think of every random tough guy who wants to fight the biggest guy in the bar as long as there are people around to pull them apart. Then when something bad happens, he scuttles off like a cockroach leaving his girlfriend wetting herself and handing over her purse. I have a tall friend that we nicknamed “The Squirrel Magnet,” because we could be out in the middle of the afternoon on a lovely day and some jackass would always crawl out of the woodwork and start with the “are you looking at my girlfriend” business. Sheesh. Maglir, maybe I’ll think up an ugly death for him. Thanks, mALX!!


Chapter 5: Unloading the Amulet, Part 2

The next morning Jerric rose early to get ahead of the crowd on the Black Road. When he saw the sign pointing the way to Weynon Priory, his feet took him there while his mind was elsewhere. He was remembering the hours under the prison and the Emperor’s words to him. Great trees stood along the road, and as he walked he passed through pools of their shade. It was obvious when he reached the Priory grounds. Of the three structures Jerric guessed he would find the Brothers in the Priory house, not the chapel or the small cottage. He knocked on the door, and a monk in a black robe opened it. “Yes? Can I help you?” he said.

“I’m Jerric. I’m here to see Brother Jauffre.”

The monk looked him over, and his face showed no judgment. “Come in, he’s upstairs. Leave your burdens here if you like.”

Jerric dumped his gear inside the door and climbed the stairs. They split at a landing and led to two long lofts, all open to the room downstairs. One side was arranged with beds as a living area, and there was a robed Breton man reading at a very tidy work table on the other side. The man looked up when Jerric approached him, and his expression was composed and alert. “I’m Brother Jauffre. What do you want?” His tone did not invite foolishness.

Jerric decided to get to the point and hope for the best. He planned to take the stairs in two leaps and use surprise to get past the black-robed monk if he had to run for it. He had left the day pack with his potions on top of his gear so he could grab it and get out the door quickly. If he had to run he would leave the rest. “The Emperor sent me to find you,” he said. He glanced around for anything that Brother Jauffre might throw at him. Grandmaster Jauffre, he reminded himself.

Jauffre’s eyes narrowed, and Jerric’s stomach tightened. “Do you know something about his death?” Jauffre barked.

“I was there when he died,” Jerric said, and then he took a step back when Jauffre rose and walked to the railing.

“Prior Maborel, will you excuse us please.” The man downstairs left the house, and Jauffre pinned Jerric with a glare. “You’d better explain yourself. Now.” His voice made Jerric think of a bowstring right before the arrow flew.

“He gave me the Amulet of Kings.” Jerric started to reach for it, then stopped his hand.

“You have the Amulet? This cannot be. Let me see it.” Jerric handed it over and held his breath. “By the Nine! This is the Amulet of Kings.” Then the questions started.

Jerric answered quickly and honestly, and Jauffre seemed to believe him. He took the opportunity to ask Jauffre some questions of his own, and he learned that the Emperor had spoken of the Daedric Prince of Destruction Mehrunes Dagon, and that Oblivion was his realm. There was also something about the Dragonfires and magical barriers that he thought he didn’t need to fully understand. The reverence with which Jauffre treated the Amulet caused Jerric to flush remembering his own casual handling of the relic. “The Emperor said you knew where to find his last son,” Jerric said. He was willing to admit that part.

“I am one of the few who knows of his existence. Many years ago I served as Captain of Uriel’s bodyguards,” and Jauffre told the tale of a baby born on the wrong side of the blanket. “Now it seems that this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim throne, if he yet lives. The Emperor didn’t need you to know about his last heir for you to deliver the Amulet to safety. I expect he chose to entrust you with that knowledge in the hope of your further aid.” Jerric was uncomfortable under Jauffre’s piercing look.

The Emperor had asked him to find his last son, but he thought he might have had enough of this kind of responsibility. “I don’t know if I can help you, Brother Jauffre. I’m long overdue at home, and I’m sure my family is worried about me.”

Jauffre continued as if Jerric hadn’t spoken. "His name is Martin," he said. "He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here. You must go to Kvatch and find him at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger."

Jerric was astonished. "I know Brother Martin!" he exclaimed. "He taught me my first spell for throwing frost, though it was not exactly on the Chapel menu. I was just a lad. To think he is the Septim heir! I’ll talk to him for you, Brother Jauffre, I live in Kvatch. I wonder if he’ll remember me."

Jauffre did not seem surprised by Jerric’s revelation. "I don't have much here at hand, but you're welcome to anything you need. I keep some things here to resupply travelling Blades." He opened the long chest in front of the book case, and the cupboard doors swung back to reveal a rack of weapons. "Take what you need, I think this armor might fit you.” Jauffre picked up a quilted arming doublet with iron plates and held it out. “Can you wear this?”

Jerric put it on and made some adjustments, and Jauffre checked the fit. “It’s not the same as mine, but I can move in it. Thank you,” Jerric said. He repeated the process with greaves and plated boots. He shrugged his shoulders and bounced on his feet, swinging his arms. “Feels a lot better than just a shirt.”

“I know what you mean,” Jauffre said. He was examining Jerric’s short sword. “I can’t do better than this, but I have a claymore if you can use it.”

“I’m still training with one, I’m better with a sword and shield. I don’t see one of those katanas, I guess you don’t hand them out like apples.”

Jauffre snorted. “No, we don’t. Take a look at these daggers, unless you’re fond of your goblin blade.” Jerric held one in each hand, undecided. One was long and thin with a disc shaped pommel, and the other was curved with a basket guard. “Take them both, if you know how to use them.”

Jerric nodded. “Thank you, Grandmaster.”

Jauffre gave him a keen look. “Bow? Mace, axe?” Jerric shook his head. “Shield.” He held out Jerric’s leather shield and a smaller round one.

“No contest,” and Jerric took the round shield. He knew that its curved steel center would be better for deflecting blade strikes. Jaffre nodded in approval.

“Take all of these potions, they will restore your health and magicka. Whatever you have left you can give to Martin, or use on your journey back here.”

“I’ll talk to Martin, Grandmaster, but you should know I have a reputation in Kvatch. Nothing serious, but I don’t think a priest will drop everything and run off with a … me.”

“You must make him understand the danger he is in, and what his life means for the Empire. He knows that the people who raised him were not his birth parents. You saw his father murdered, and his last words were to you. Find a way, Jerric.”

Jerric nodded. “I’ll send word if he doesn’t believe me. No, I’ll send word either way. Running Wolf, that’s my family’s company. I’ll send a courier. If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know something went wrong.”

“There is food in the dining room. Prior Maborel and Brother Piner will also be able to help with your journey. You should speak to them before you go, though the details of your assignment should remain secret."

He went behind the Priory house and practiced moving with his new gear, then he went back in to speak to Brother Piner. He found him seated at the table just inside the front door struggling with a letter, if the balled up sheets of parchment on the floor meant anything. When he saw Jerric he stood and moved to the bookcase. “Here, perhaps you will find this useful. One of the books I saved from my Blades training, before I received the call to serve Talos in another way.” He handed Jerric a book titled The Warp in the West. “You go into danger. Jauffre didn’t tell us more than that, but know that our prayers go with you.”

“Thank you, Brother Piner. If you can spare it, I could really use a map.”

Brother Piner went to the shelves and opened a long box. “Take anything you need,” he said, and he turned his back and walked over to the fire.

Jerric looked through the maps and chose one that showed Cyrodiil and parts of the adjoining provinces. It was large enough to show the details of the settlements and roads, and there were markings that showed elevation. Other than that the wilderness areas were great blank spaces. “If you had to choose between a long route by road or a direct route through the wilderness, which would you take?”

“It depends on how far you’d need to go without provisions, and what kind of danger you expect. The Legion patrols the roads, but people can find you more easily on them. There are all kinds of monsters in the wilderness, but your path would remain secret. Weather can slow you down either way, but the road doesn’t get muddy in the rain. It could slow you down even more if you got injured or lost.”

“Thank you, Brother Piner.”

“I’ve packed some food for you, we are quite used to supplying travelers. You’ll find that everything is ready to eat as it comes out of the pack. Here is a canteen filled with kahve, cold is better than none at all, if it comes to that.” They said their farewells, and he left the house. Jerric had no illusions about becoming a priest, but he would happily have spent more time at the Priory talking to Brother Piner.

Jerric found Prior Maborel standing in the Priory stable. “I know that you are on an important mission for the Blades. Please, if you need a horse, take mine,” he said. The Prior had his hands on a paint gelding, and the horse stood quietly.

“I don’t know when I could get him back to you, Prior.”

“Not to worry. I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do without him.”

"I'm not much of a rider," Jerric admitted. "I'm better off on my own feet. What I could really use is a pack animal."

"Flash is trained to carry a pack as well as for riding," said the Prior. “His pack saddle is right here.”

Jerric held out his hand and looked at the sturdy horse. Flash snuffed the hand and gazed blandly back at Jerric. He ran his hand down the horse's neck and gave him a firm scratch on his prominent withers. The horse reached over and wiffled some air against Jerric's chest. "Flash?" he asked dubiously.

"He's as steady as they come,” Prior Maborel said with a smile. “I guess someone got the wrong idea when he was a colt." The Prior watched Jerric groom and saddle Flash then carefully balance the load. The Priory’s Dunmer shepherd came in with a repair hammer for Jerric while he was working, and he returned with extra rope and canvas tarps. Jerric tied them over the packs to protect against any rain. He was grateful for the time he had spent as a lad on the caravan. There was little need for a guard to work with the pack animals, but he had not started off as a guard. By the time he was finished the Prior seemed satisfied, and he clapped Jerric on the shoulder in farewell. "Go with Talos’s blessing. Do not fail.”

Jerric raised a hand in thanks as he and Flash stepped out onto the Black Road south and downhill toward the Imperial City. He decided to stay on the main roads. From Weye they would take the Ring Road south to Fort Virtue, then the Gold Road home to Kvatch. He enjoyed one of Brother Piner’s excellent sandwiches as they walked, and then he shared some carrot sticks with Flash. The horse’s pace was comfortable for Jerric to match. They found themselves passing the other walkers, but Flash’s clopping hooves seemed to make people move out of the way. Flash’s head bobbed up and down gently as he walked, and the sound of his hooves and the creak of leather made the music that Jerric walked to most of the days of his life.

After a time he began to think that he didn’t need to hold the halter rope at all. When he draped it over Flash’s withers and the horse kept walking, he left it there. He tried stopping abruptly, and after a short distance Flash stopped and turned his head to look back at him. Jerric was delighted. He walked along for awhile and then dropped the halter rope to the ground with a “whoa,” and Flash stopped again even though Jerric kept walking. When Jerric came back and picked up the rope, Flash fixed a tolerant eye on him. He had yet to see how the horse would react when they faced a fight, but so far Jerric thought that Flash was a tremendous companion.

He suddenly remembered that they were heading toward a battle with goblins, and he decided that if the Odiils didn’t have a sturdy barn, they would just have to invite Flash to wait it out inside their house.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 8 2011, 11:31 PM

What a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than with a tasty bowl of Grits?

Concerning writing mechanics, I think your idea of the day wait is a good one. After I finish my first draft of a chapter (which can take over a week if it is a long one), I do a single redraft of it once a day, for the following four days. The reason I wait a day between drafts is because if I look back at it again sooner than that, the words just blur together and I miss things. I have to clear my cache before crunching the words again. So usually it takes me two weeks to write a chapter, and by the end I have been over it five times.

A lot of the TF I am posting here was already posted before on the Bethesda forums. That is why I have been able to keep up a steady pace of posting every other day here. Because I am not doing that first draft on many of the chapters. I am still doing the normal 4 redrafts on every chapter before posting here though. Partly because things have changed in the TF 2.0, and partly just to find errors that I (and no one else) noticed in version 1.0.

Once I get through the backlog of old chapters my posting rate will slow down here. Probably to at least three days between posts, or four. Possibly with breaks between chapters of a week or two as well. So do not feel in a rush to post. There is no race to keep up.

Concerning what to focus on, and what to gloss over, do not feel that you have to put a tight spotlight on everything that happens. Speaking as a purist, if it does not contribute to the plot somehow, it should not be in the story. So we do not really need to know every detail about the protagonist's day. Since we are not writing to publish here, but for our pleasure, I feel free to ignore that to a large extent. Also my own personal writing is character-driven, rather than plot-driven. So I look to include any scene that helps build my characters. You will have to decide what matters to you, and what does not. Then focus on the important things, and do not worry about letting the rest slide.

Since in many ways Teresa is discovering the world for the first time, I spend time describing those things that are new to her. That both gives me the opportunity to build the world up, and build Teresa's character by her reactions to what she finds. But once she has been there and done that, I do not see any reason to go over the same thing in detail over and over again. For example, I devoted an entire scene to Teresa going to the Temple of Zenithar to open a bank account. I did it to show how banking worked in the world, but also to show how Teresa's socio-economic standing, and her views on it, have changed since she was a street urchin going through the garbage for cast off apples. But I will never bother spending 1.5k words on her going to the bank again. I will just give that a few sentences, or a paragraph at best. If I mention it all all.

Now, enough of my hot wind, and on to your story!

The reverence with which Jauffre treated the Amulet caused Jerric to flush remembering his own casual handling of the relic.
I loved this. At least Jerric did not wipe his rear with it!

a baby born on the wrong side of the blanket
This is a wonderful phrase!

This is one of the weakest parts of the Main Quest's plot. By making Jerric a resident of Kvatch, and better yet having him know Martin, you have done a good job of sidestepping its weaknesses. Jerric has a real personal stake in things now. For more reason than one. That always makes a stronger story.

Also a nice scene of Jerric gearing up for the future, with well-appreciated descriptions of RL weapons, such as the rondel.

Finally, Flash the paint pack horse! I like the name. Although it does make me think of Flash Thompson from Spiderman.


nits:
I’ll talk him for you
I think your to in between talk and him was frightened off by Jauffre!

Posted by: Grits Jan 11 2011, 04:12 PM

SubRosa: At least Jerric did not wipe his rear with it!
Luckily it was not the Parchment of Kings!

I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate the time you are taking to help me. In two months I have gone from wondering if it would be fun to write something to really wanting to improve. Thank you so much!!

I had a lot of free time to write at the end of the year, but that’s over for awhile. We’re iced in again today, but the atmosphere indoors is not exactly peaceful.



Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 1

By late afternoon Jerric saw the crooked pine tree that Valus Odiil had described, so he and Flash turned down the path it marked. There was an old yellow dog sleeping in front of the first farmhouse they passed just like he had said there would be. Jerric thought that while a map and road signs were more reliable, rural directions given out loud provided far more entertainment. All that was missing from Valus’ instructions was a reference to a landmark that no longer existed, and Jerric suspected that he would have included one if Jerric had been more familiar with the area.

They walked on past abandoned farmhouses and fallow fields until they reached a tidy homestead that Jerric thought must be the Odiil farm. A thatched stone cottage, a small stone and timber barn, and a few walled pastures nestled along the shoulder of a low hill. A split rail fence defined the large field visible above the cottage and barn. “Hail the house!” Jerric called as they approached, and three Imperials popped nervously out into the yard. Jerric saw the family resemblance in their compact frames and round faces.

“Good, you made it!” called Valus, and he introduced his sons, Rallus and Antus. Both wore swords, and Antus wore a look that Jerric had seen on many faces right before he killed them. It was the look of a person who knew that they had overreached themselves. “We haven’t much time. I’ll show you where they come from.”

“Hold on a moment,” said Jerric. “First we need to get my horse to safety. I didn’t have a horse yesterday when we met, but I do now. He belongs to a friend and I don’t want to lose him on our first day.”

“The barn is secure if you bar it from the inside,” said Antus, the younger brother.

“Who’s going to stay inside?” asked Jerric. No one answered. “The house, then.”

There was a burst of objections, and Jerric raised his hand. “We need to get this done, or I move on.” He saw Rallus gather himself in the manner his father had yesterday. “Don’t try your Voice on me, Imperial, or I’ll have to use my Nord power. It’s called my foot in your balls.” Jerric thought that he sounded pretty reasonable.

“I’ll stay in the barn,” said Valus. “Let’s go, bring the horse.”

They got Flash comfortable, and Valus showed Jerric how he would bar the door. “If it gets bad, you can retreat here and I’ll let you in, or you can go in the house and lock it behind you,” Valus told them. Then they walked up to the field, and Valus gave them their plan. He spoke with calm authority, and his voice held none of the fear and shame that had colored it in Chorrol. It seemed that the goblins always came in three groups. One group tried to break into the house, one raided what they could carry out of the fields, and the third raided the barn. The Odiils had always waited out the attacks in the locked house, so they could only tell Jerric what they had seen through the cracks in its shuttered windows. They agreed on the plan, then Valus went and secured himself with Flash in the barn.

Jerric had a good feeling. The light was in their favor, there was plenty of room to move in the field, and the goblins should be coming up from lower ground. He thought that if the Odiil boys had planned to tackle the situation alone, the three of them should do all right. Of course, anything could happen. “You two will be behind me, so if you decide to retreat, you’d better yell and not leave me out here alone.” Jerric said. He looked at each of them earnestly. “Really, don’t do it.” Both brothers seemed ready to fight, and Antus looked like he expected to die. Jerric felt better knowing that neither of them planned to run. “I’ll probably summon a scamp or a skeleton, don’t attack it. Just the creatures. All right? Any last words? Ha ha. Let’s go.” He put out a fist and they bumped it with theirs, and the three of them took their positions in the field.

“We will spill their blood in the name of our father!” Rallus cried. Jerric expected he would feel the tension once he had his eyes on the enemy, but for now it was just another beautiful afternoon. He looked around at the green mountains and the open woodland falling away in front of them. A grassy hill rose up to their rear. The farm was situated on a natural terrace, and Jerric could imagine why the Odiils wanted to stay there. He didn’t think he would make a good farmer, but he was sure he could enjoy the view. He bounced from foot to foot and slapped his arm across his chest to stay focused.

His reverie was interrupted by Antus. “Here they come!” The creatures were goblins as he thought, and three of them ran through a gap in the fence carrying small axes. Jerric slashed through one’s throat, and its arrested strike bounced off of his armored thigh. He turned and thrust his sword into another’s back as it ran toward the Odiils. Rallus stabbed through the last one’s middle, and Antus got his blade wet when he finished it on the ground. Jerric thought that the boys looked suitably riled up and unlikely to run. Rallus pointed his sword and shouted, so Jerric turned to meet the next group.

Four came at them now, and one of them carried a sword and shield. Jerric slowed one down with a frost spell before he summoned a skeleton and closed with the shield bearer. He could see the next group coming up the hill, so he got busy. The goblin thrust his sword toward Jerric’s groin, and he brushed it away with his shield then chopped down through the goblin’s arm. The goblin reeled back screeching, and Jerric looked over to see his summoned skeleton drop his jaw at him over another dead goblin. “Did you see?” he heard Antus shout behind him, and he guessed that Rallus must still be alive to yell at. He shoved the goblin’s shield aside with his own and thrust his sword under it into its belly. He yanked it back out and moved to intercept the next group.

Still no archers, Jerric was pleased to see. He hated getting shot, but even worse was removing the arrow. These four were spaced far apart and coming over the fence, so he guessed that they might have seen him cut through the first group. He summoned a scamp for its ranged attack and started casting frost spells. The scamp cooperated with its fireballs, and one goblin went down smoking while another fell crusted with Jerric’s ice. Jerric and the scamp ran toward the same third goblin, and Jerric had to stand back to avoid the wild leaping and clawing that ensued. He had never seen a scamp fight a goblin before, and he thought that they could teach a lot of Arena fighters something about showmanship. The scamp raised its claws in victory as it disappeared, and Jerric heard Antus shout, “Ha ha, we beat them! Did you see how well I fought?”

Jerric glanced over to make sure that the boys were both on their feet, and then he checked himself for damage. There was a dented plate over a sore spot on his thigh, but he was pleased with his borrowed armor. Overall he felt good. He jogged back over to where the one-armed goblin lay clutching its belly and opened its throat. He rolled his shoulders and looked out at the forest wondering if there would be another group this time.

Valus joined them on the field, and Jerric guessed that since the old man was in charge he could relax. Swords were brandished excitedly as they thumped each other in relief and congratulations, so Jerric gave them some room. “Foul things!” exclaimed Valus. “They deserved the death you brought them.” Valus sounded relieved, and there was a lot in his face that he wasn’t saying. Jerric’s eyes went to Valus’ sword. He still hadn’t gotten a peek at the blade. Valus seemed to read Jerric’s thoughts. “My boys are safe! I can’t thank you enough for sticking with them and helping a foolish old man.” He unbuckled his belt and presented the sword to Jerric. “Please, take this. I won’t be needing it any longer. My battles are over. I plan to live out my days here on the farm in peace and quiet.”

Jerric glanced at the Odiil boys and didn’t see any hard feelings. He guessed they were happy enough to both still be alive. He took the sword and drew it, catching his breath at the magicka that shimmered across the blue blade. “Frost damage,” he whispered reverently, and Valus smiled.

“And weakness to frost. It’s name is Chillrend. It seems fitting that you should have it.”

Jerric nodded his appreciation and put Chillrend away. There was still work to be done, and he could play with it later. “Valus, I must ask you a favor. May I stay in your barn tonight? It will take some time to pick up your field.” Jerric also wanted to get a closer look at the goblins.

“In the house, lad, I’ll go start the meal while you boys finish up. I’ll put your horse in the pasture, I don’t think he even flinched during the fight.”

Valus handed out healing potions, then Jerric and the Odiil boys dragged the goblins down into the woods until Rallus was satisfied that they wouldn’t stink up the farm. There was some loud talk and laughing as they let go of the rest of their tension. When they made a pile against the cottage wall out of the nine axes, two short swords, and shields, Jerric thought that if the goblins had been expecting resistance it could have gone quite badly. He had examined the garments and chest adornments that they wore, but they didn’t tell him anything new.

Jerric cleaned and repaired his equipment, and then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He went behind the barn with Chillrend and spent some blissful time with his new blade. He was sure it was the most valuable thing that the Odills owned, and their willingness to give it up showed him the depth of their gratitude.

The sun was setting by the time they were ready to clean off the sweat and blood. They stood on the hill below the well scrubbing and shouting while Valus poured buckets of cold well water over them. They dried off, and Jerric went to check on Flash where Valus had turned him out to pasture. The two of them walked to the barn in the gray dusk, and Jerric took the opportunity to give Flash a summary of the action. He made his way back over to the cottage by the light from its windows.

Valus had prepared a shepherd’s pie, and the portion he placed in front of Jerric was easily twice the size of the others.’ Jerric thought that probably said a lot about how Imperials view Nords. There was also a giant platter of fresh lettuce, sliced tomatoes, carrots, and radishes. When he saw the blackberry pie Jerric thought that you could not beat Hearthfire for a time to visit a farm. It seemed that Valus did all of his drinking in Chorrol, so they quenched their thirst with clay tumblers of well water. It turned out that the Odiil boys were both older than Jerric, and he attributed their youthful appearance to clean living on the farm with no women to chase and no ale to subsequently drown their sorrows.

They tucked into their meal, and after the first hunger pangs were satisfied Jerric started to work on his curiosity. “Valus, I’m surprised you were going to let your boys tackle this fight on their own. They don’t even have any armor.”

Valus gave Jerric a level look. “I’m going to come clean with you, Jerric, and hope you keep a cool head. I would never have sent them out there on their own. I’ve trained them both, but Antus had never even seen a fight like this until today. I had to find someone like you while we still had some crops and a roof left to live under. When I saw you at The Gray Mare, I did what it took to get you out here. I hope you’ll forgive an old man.”

Jerric put his fork down and looked at Valus. He reached over and thumped his fist into the point of Rallus’ shoulder. “That was for your fa,” and he picked up his fork again. He didn’t want to go back down that path when Chillrend had already closed the gate. “I passed a few farms on the way here, why are they empty? Is it the goblins?”

“Sickness, deaths, people got old or moved on. They’re good homes and land, but I don’t have the hands to work them. It’s a quiet life out here, I guess folks want the excitement in the city. We never had goblins before this year. Now that they know we’re not worth the trouble, I hope they don’t come back.”

“I hope not, too. So if someone wanted to start a farm, they could what, buy one? Lease it?”

“They’d have to go to the Castle for that. We’re County Chorrol out here, though the Chorrol Watch won’t help us. You thinking about doing some plowing, Jerric?”

Jerric choked on his shepherd’s pie and washed it down with some water while Rallus took his revenge pounding him on the back. “No, Valus, I believe I’ll stick to what I know. Although I confess, plowing is never far from my mind.” Antus caught his eye with a silent laugh, and Jerric had to look away to keep his composure. “I traveled with some Bretons, said they were heading to Hope Valley. Have you ever heard of it?”

“Kahve farmers, I’ve heard of it. It’s a fairly new settlement up in the Highlands. Off the Orange Road. I don’t know anything about growing kahve beans, but something about the mountain air makes them better.”

Jerric nodded and tucked the information away in his memory. “What’s that plant you have in the bowl? I’ve never seen anything like that before. Is that what’s making the noise?”

“I don’t know what it is, but it looks like it might be valuable. I’ve shown it around in Chorrol, but no one seems to know anything about it.”

“Draw me a picture, and I’ll show it to a mage I know. I’ll have to send it to him, but he knows every alchemical plant there is. I’d draw it myself, but …” and he held out a hand. “Not really made for a quill.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll break off a piece and you can take it with you, leaf and root. It grows well in the pot, it just needs a lot of water. We were thinking…” Valus glanced around as if there might be a spy sitting on the mantle, “we might grow it to sell to mages.”

“I’ll send you what I find out. Odiil Farm, County Chorrol?”

“Add Troll Rock Lane, and that should do it.” He saw the question before Jerric could ask. “There’s a big rock up the lane that someone thought looks like a troll.” He snorted. “Show me a rock that doesn’t look like one.”

“Do you have any books you’d like to swap with me? I have a few I’ve finished.”

The boys looked at each other. “We’ve little use for books out here, but I know there’s one around here somewhere. Oh, here it is.” Rallus reached under a bench and removed the book that had been keeping it level. “Take it, we can use a piece of wood or something.”

The title was The Book of Daedra. “Thank you,” said Jerric. It was an effort not to open it and take a look. He decided not to ask any more questions or make any more comments, or they might end up giving him everything that they owned.

“Do you have The Lusty Argonian Maid?” asked Antus.

“I did but I traded it already.”

“Do you remember any of it?”

“Sure, I remember. Do you want me to tell you?” and Jerric told the story of Crantius Colto and his maid Lifts-Her-Tail. Then the Odiil boys repeated it, acting out the voices. Jerric thought that they were pretty entertaining, but it would have sounded better with some ale.

The time had come for Jerric to decide if he wanted to share his air with three other men or one flatulent horse. He looked around the small cottage and decided on the horse. Valus sent him off with a lantern and a spare key and told him to come in as early as he liked to start the kahve. Jerric wished them all a good night.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 11 2011, 05:19 PM

rural directions given out loud provided far more entertainment.
Indeed they are!

I’ll have to use my Nord power. It’s called my foot in your balls.
I love this!

Excellent description of the Odill farm on its terrace. Followed by a rousing description of the battle with the goblins. The entire scene with the Odills was excellent. You really brought the little farming family to life in their interactions both before, and especially after the battle.


nits:
It that what’s making the noise?
I think those goblins swiped your is, and replaced with their it.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 12 2011, 04:12 AM

The famous scene with Jauffre! You did it justice. I was impressed by Jerric's patience. Buffy angrily replied to Jauffre's grilling with, "You're not the boss of me!" as she stormed out. I guess Jauffre wised up with dear Teresa, simply trying to reward her and send her on her way. Looks like Jauffre found a 'keeper' with Jerric though. I thoroughly agree with SubRosa that your choice to make Jerric a resident of Kvatch made this work beautifully.

The fight at the OK Odil corral was extremely well done. Your pacing and level of detail was just right. Heart pounding without bogging down. Wonderful use of summons as well.

Jerric's view regarding taking care of his new friend Flash surely endears him to me. You can tell a lot about how a person interacts with an animal - and in this case, all of it good!

Such a wonderful touch: Jerric, Nord, frost, mage . . . Chillrend! One of those slap my forehead moments!

Delightful 'fleshing out' of the Odil family as well.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 12 2011, 08:11 AM

OMG! That was priceless!



Oh my

Very nicely done. Like others have said, you brought the family to life wonderfully

Posted by: Grits Jan 14 2011, 04:35 PM

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.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 14 2011, 05:34 PM

I bet Aelwin tricks everyone who passes by with that line of his!

On the subject of flashbacks, most people put them all in italics, so it is clear to the reader what is taking place in the past, and what is in the present. If it is a small flashback, you do not even have to section it out. If you have an entire scene then you should put dividers up around it, the same as with any other change of scene. In your case I would just italicize that paragraph with Abiene.

Which brings me to Abiene. So she rode the white horse!

In fact, most of the folk who now leaned against Aelwin’s stone fence were not looking at the fish.
Doh!, and now all of Weye is looking at his horse!

Her low-pitched voice made him think of firelight on velvet.
I love this description. In fact, I love the justice you do to Nerussa, she of the seductive wines.

I guess it’s easy enough to find trouble but too hard to stay out of it.
Sounds like the words Jerric lives by!

With that voice she could ask me to do anything, and I would consider it, Jerric thought.
Yep, just like she hooked Teresa!



nits:
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’s silence gave him too much time for remembering.
You have some extra spaces between your paragraphs here. This can happen from time to time when copying and pasting into the forum.


The archer’s name was Feleri. She had been a tireless and joyful hunter, always the first to make a joke and the last to give up teasing. Her ash-gray skin and charcoal hair made her nearly invisible at night. The few times she had joined him in his bedroll she had twisted them into knots that he could never have imagined on his own. She died kicking in agony because he had frantically tried to put her back together instead of simply giving her some peace. He felt her shadow rising up to darken his mind, bringing others with her. He stared into his bowl and made himself remember it as if it was a sad story in a book.
This paragraph seems to be more telling than showing, and feels forced into the story. You might to consider taking all, or most of it out. Or rewording it to make feel more natural.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 14 2011, 06:35 PM

First let me say that I've been reading this story from the beginning and enjoying it immensely. I find myself liking Jerric a great deal.

Now on to more immediate matters. I really enjoyed your unique take on the "Go Fish" quest, as well as the start of the "Shadowbanish Wine" quest. Your tongue-in-cheek approach is oh, so delightful, and Jerric thinks like most men I know!

SubRosa already picked out the parts I liked the best, so let me just add that your inclusion of the local kids (leaving his sword with a couple of girls, the growing entourage including tweenie girls that are curious about you-know-what, etc) really shines! Good thing I had put my tea down before reading this!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 15 2011, 03:21 AM

I read this after you worked in SubRosa's comments.

I must say I thought your flashback to Abiene was very well-done, evocative and fit perfectly where and how you used it.

"I cut him up a bit, but there are way more than a dozen scales left on him.”
Doh!!! As soon as I read this, I figured what was going to happen, and you did not disappoint.

Jerric had a great idea here: A fish cook out!
Jerric had a dumb idea here: When the Altmeri goddess of passionate seductiveness asks if there is something you would like, asking for a haircut tops the list? Seriously, I loved the way you ended this!

A very fun interlude in Weye!

Posted by: Grits Jan 17 2011, 06:13 PM

SubRosa: Thank you so much for the advice, SubRosa! I cleaned up those sections and just removed the archer flashback. It was too much of an interruption, and I’m much happier without it.

Your comment about Abiene and the horse had me spitting out my tea and holding on to the table. Eventually people will learn to stop asking me why I’m laughing so hard. Abiene wants back in the story, and she’s pushing me!

When I thought of Jerric and Nerussa the first word that came to mind was outclassed, so I went with it. She is a bit relentless and demanding (Did you find the wine yet? Keep looking for that wine!), so she must be pretty special to get results. Teresa’s Nerussa has thoroughly eclipsed the game Nerussa in my mind, so I am glad that you approve!

haute ecole rider: I’m so happy that you’re reading! Thank you so much for your kind words, they mean so much to me!

The Weye kids started out as part of Jerric’s version of stone soup: do you have a gaffing hook, may I borrow a cart, how about those kids to push it. Then they took over. I think Cyrodiil must be knee deep in youngsters to keep up with the death rate.

May I approach you as an authority on equestrian matters: Flash is the product of distant memories of a Shetland pony and searching lots of phrases such as “can a horse climb stairs.” If you see me put his hooves too far out of line, may I ask you to correct me? He is at risk of becoming a big dog wearing a pack saddle in my hands.

Thank you haute ecole rider, I’m glad you’re enjoying Jerric’s adventures!

Acadian: Aelwin gets me every time with that, and he still wants twelve dang fish. Jerric in the game has not finished Go Fish yet, it’s a beast for an Atronach sign with no Marksmanship and low Alteration. I have a new plan, though. I just really don’t want him to drown.

I’m glad you enjoyed Jerric’s request – he made it very clear what he was not going to ask the Altmeri goddess of passionate seductiveness to do for him!

Thank you for your encouragement on the revised flashback. A learning experience for Grits!!



Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 3

Jerric hefted the fish into the hand cart and stood back with a sigh. “All right lads, that’s the last one. I’ll follow you shortly.” He watched the parade of village children heading away from him. “Say, why weren’t you in school all day?” he called after them. He was counting the days, but only by number.

“It’s Loredas!” chorused the girls, and their laughter rang back to him as they disappeared over the hill. His life was ordered for him by the caravan schedule, and he seldom thought ahead past when he next had to report for duty. Now that he had delivered the Amulet he was immensely enjoying his freedom. Aelwin had described him as an adventurer, so he decided that for a few more days that’s what he would be.

He stood and looked out over the lake, listening to the gulls cry far above him. There was a sea eagle hunting in the fading light, and he watched until it plummeted to the water and winged away with a fish. Small shore birds ran along the edge of the gentle waves, and he wondered what they were scooping up in their long bills. The White Gold Tower shone over it all with the setting sun’s orange light.

Jerric returned to Weye with his sword on his hip and his drawers in his hand. He could hear the music all the way from Aelwin’s house. It seemed that the village had decided that the day of a dozen slaughterfish should be celebrated not just with a party but with a festival. Colorful ribbons fluttered in the evening breeze from stakes planted all along the road. He followed them to the center of town where strings of bright paper lanterns hung over the open square, and torches burned in brackets on all of the buildings. Someone had painted a banner depicting a massive slaughterfish with a sword sticking out of it. Many folk had food and handiwork for sale, and Nerussa poured ale and wine from a table at the side of the festivities. Everyone brought their own drinking vessel, so only a few speedy lads and lasses were needed to run back and forth to the inn with supplies.

A group of red-cheeked women served Rumare slaughterfish to the appreciative crowd for free. They grilled the fish with a spicy sauce and wrapped it in thin flatbread to be eaten out of the hand. The young Breton woman he noticed earlier walked up while he was getting his serving. “I’m Jerric,” he said. He handed her his fish roll and got another.

“I know. I’m Anette.”

“Pleased to meet you, Anette.” They walked a short distance and stood to eat their meal, like the rest of the village.

“I’m so glad they liked your idea,” said Anette. She licked the tips of her fingers. “All of the slaughterfish we catch goes to market. It’s so expensive, no one in Weye can afford to eat it.”

“I didn’t know that. No wonder everyone’s in such a good mood.” Jerric watched her lick sauce from her thumb, and his mind began to wander.

“Plus we haven’t had a party since forever. This summer was so boring. I had to work almost every day. My mother never lets me do anything.” Anette rolled her eyes.

Jerric had a distressing thought. “Say, Anette, uh … how old are you?”

“Fifteen. My birthday was in Second Seed. Why? How old did you think I was?” Anette tipped her head to the side and looked up at him with a smile.

“Um …” Jerric struggled to find an explanation that didn’t sound condescending or include a reference to her bust. “It’s just that you’re so mature. I thought you were at least eighteen.” Then add three years, he thought. He mentally adjusted his plans for the evening.

“Ugh. Here comes my mother now.” Anette rolled her eyes again. “Ever since my father left, she never lets me out of her sight.”

Jerric thought that Anette’s mother was no fool. She appraised him openly as she approached, and her smile let him know that he had missed an opportunity. She shared her daughter’s prominent attributes, only hers were no doubt accessible. Jerric smiled back and inwardly kicked himself.

“I’m Dionne Lavois. Anette’s mother.” Jerric waited for her to extend her hand, and then he took it carefully in his.

“I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

“I know.” Her eyes laughed at him. “Is this your first visit to Weye?”

“It is. I’ve been to the Imperial City before, but I crossed the lake from the docks at Fort Virtue. I met Aelwin on the road last night, and now here we are. This is a pretty big town square for a fishing village.”

“Weye is also a market town. Wholesalers come from the Imperial City and buy goods directly, then they sell to the city merchants. That way folk don’t have to spend the time getting their wares all the way to the Market District. Some still make the trip to get a better price, but this square fills up every Tirdas and Fredas with those who don’t. Plus there’s the local market. You missed it this morning, you were at the lake.”

Anette rolled her eyes and snorted, looking pointedly away from Dionne. “May I get you something to drink?” Jerric asked Dionne.

“Wine would be nice, thank you. Yes, you may, Anette. Just one.”

“If you have some goblets, I’ll go get us a bottle,” he said.

Dionne nodded to her daughter. “Go ahead, Anette.”

Anette didn’t go two paces before she was arm in arm with another girl. Jerric didn’t need to guess what they were talking about. He joined the line at Nerussa’s table, but the villagers cheerfully pushed him to the front. Nerussa herself stood there, looking as poised and polished outdoors in the lantern light as she had inside the inn. “Ah, our adventuring fisherman. May I interest you in some ale, or perhaps a bit of wine?” Her voice sent a delightful shiver through him.

“A bottle of wine, if you please. I don’t know what kind, you pick.”

“Hmm. I noticed you were chatting with Dionne. May I suggest Tamika’s West Weald Wine. It’s special enough for a celebration, but not so rare that one need stop at a single bottle. I think it will be well received.” Jerric nodded and she opened it for him.

“Thank you, Nerussa.” The smile she gave him in return could mean anything or nothing. He decided that if the goal of her mysterious air was to make him think about her, she had succeeded.

Anette had brought the goblets by the time he returned with the wine, so he poured for them. “New friends,” he offered, and they drank a toast. The wine was smooth on his tongue, and he thought he could taste vanilla and blackberries. He decided that Tamika’s West Weald was a name he should remember.

“I saw Rullus casting frost spells at you earlier,” said Dionne. “I thought he had lost his mind. What was that about?”

“I can’t regenerate my magicka, so I asked him to do it. Target practice for him, all the magicka I can absorb for me. Only I didn’t absorb all of them. Frost is best for that, it doesn’t hurt me as much when it hits me.”

“You’re lucky a Legion Rider didn’t see you. He might have gotten the wrong idea.”

“One did,” Jerric said ruefully, “but we got it straightened out.”

The three of them wandered through the crowd, and they stopped to watch a puppet show. One puppet was wearing only a short pair of white pants. “I’m going to duel the fish with my sword!” it said in a deep voice. It brandished a puppet-sized weapon.

“You won’t need that one,” squeaked the other puppet. “Just go in the lake and you’ll scare the fish to death!”

“Let’s go watch the jugglers,” said Jerric.

The music changed with a flourish, and the square quickly cleared. “Let’s go!” cried Anette, and he barely had enough time to hand Dionne his goblet before she dragged him off into the dancers. Despite Anette’s efforts and whether Dionne was watching or not, he made sure they stayed away from the dark corners. When the festival ended Jerric was ready to say goodnight to the Lavois women. It had been a long day under the lake, and he was still sore from Rullus’ frost spells.

He saw Aelwin leaving the square and jogged to catch up with him. “Your fish were popular tonight, Aelwin.”

“Jerric, I’m surprised to see you trailing along behind an old man. Where’s your little lady?”

Jerric laughed. “I’m nearly twice her age, you dirty … fellow.”

“I’m nearly twice her mother’s age, but it wouldn’t stop me if I had a chance with her!” Aelwin cackled. “I guess she just wore you out with the dancing.”

“That she did, and I guess wine makes me tired. You Weye folk are a peaceful bunch. Not too many bottles broken, and no fights at all.”

“There’s enough work to go around in Weye. It’s idle hands that turn to brawling. Well, here we are. Only one day since you stood on this spot and listened to my troubles, and you looked as heavy-eyed then as you do now. Good night, lad. You’ll come in for breakfast, and I’ll have your reward for you.”

“Will do, Aelwin. Good night.” Jerric stretched out on the straw and fell asleep listening to Flash pass an impressive amount of wind, he guessed from his own long day in Aelwin’s clover.

Jerric woke the next morning with Aelwin’s finger poking into his arm and a mug of kahve under his nose. It was still dark, and Aelwin had hung a lantern from an overhead beam. Jerric shoved himself upright and sipped the bitter brew, blinking at Aelwin. Aelwin plopped down on a bale and heaved his bad leg into place. The Breton was likeable but eccentric, and Jerric wondered what he would do next. Aelwin put his hand in his pocket and looked at Jerric.

Jerric took another sip, then sucked in some air to cool his tongue. “How does the day greet you, Aelwin?” he asked groggily. “What’s it going to be today, twelve golden mudcrabs? A dozen unicorn horns?” He scratched some straw out of his hair.

Aelwin’s round, weathered face spilt into creases with his smile. “Let it never be said that there are no kind souls in this world. You were a stranger, but now I count you as a friend. You have my thanks for your help, but there is something more.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and passed a ring to Jerric. “This ring is for you. It served me well all these years, but I have no use for it any more. I imagine it would be very valuable to someone like you.”

Jerric looked at the ring resting on his palm. It was a silver band with blue and gray stones smoothly set in a wave pattern all around it. It could be gray for water and blue for sky, or the other way around. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. He looked at Aelwin for more explanation.

“It’s the Jewel of the Rumare. It allows its wearer to breathe water and move more easily. You’ve shown me kindness, and I will think of you often in the long, comfortable days ahead.”

Jerric held the mug between his knees and slipped the ring onto his finger. He felt its magicka wash through him, and he took an experimental breath. Apparently it would not interfere with breathing air, so he decided to wear it. “Aelwin, thank you for this. You’re right, it is very valuable to me. But I have to ask, did you think it might have been helpful for me to have this yesterday when I was at the bottom of the lake?” Jerric took another sip of kahve, and hissed again. It was still extremely hot.

Aelwin cackled. “That I did, but by then you had the Lavois ladies hanging on your arms. The Rumare Slaughterfish Festival will be an annual event in Weye, once they all agree if it should be held on Heartfire the eighth or the nearest Loredas. I hope you’ll come back and visit us! You can sleep in the cottage next time, now that I know you’re not after my retirement savings. Now come inside, and I’ll make you breakfast.”

Jerric looked out the open door and saw no light in the sky. Retired or not, fishermen were disgustingly early risers. He waited for Aelwin to move before he flailed out of his bedroll and onto his feet. “Let me cook it for us, Aelwin, I’ll be there in two shakes.” If the kahve was any indication of Aelwin’s skills, Jerric imagined that he could produce a meal that was at the same time raw and burned beyond recognition.

“Shake it over the wall, lad, your horse has already drowned my garden.” Aelwin cackled again and hobbled out, leaving the lantern for Jerric.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 17 2011, 06:53 PM

Having trouble with Go Fish? I have found several ways to deal with those pesky slaughterfish while suffering minimal harm. Most of them are based on a trick I learned a while back while fighting with a claymore, but it works with most all weapons and even touch spells. The idea is to stay in the sweet spot where the enemy is in range of your weapon, but you are not in the range of theirs. Since they will naturally advance to hit you, you have to keep backpedaling to stay out of their reach. With a shorter range weapon what you have to do is move in quickly, strike, and then back up fast. It takes timing and practice, but once you have it down, you will hardly ever be hit in melee combat (this is how you can play a melee glass cannon in fact).

I would love to see more Abiene, including a fic just her own like the Saturalia short that you did. Reading about her makes my little girlie heart go pitter-patter in that way usually only Jane Austen can do.

The Nerussa in the TF is pretty special, just ask Teresa! She is demanding as well, but Teresa is quite happy to provide for her needs.

Now, to today's episode.

I loved your description of evening on the shores of Lake Rumare and the fish festival in the village. It really makes the setting come to life. Your inclusion of the children is especially nice. It is so strange not seeing them, or real families, in the game (have you noticed that almost no one seems to have a mother or father in the game? and they only have a brother or sister if it is quest-related.)

He decided that if the goal of her mysterious air was to make him think about her, she had succeeded.
Yep, that is our Nerussa!

Jerric stretched out on the straw and fell asleep listening to Flash pass an impressive amount of wind
Ewwww!

“What’s it going to be today, twelve golden mudcrabs? A dozen unicorn horns?”
That is what it seems like to me too!

You’re right, it is very valuable to me.
Could it perhaps be... precious?

All in all a very fun episode. With this and the last episode, I think you are really hitting your stride with your writing of Jerric. He feels much more alive and well-rounded now. I get the impression that you know him better now, so you can convey his Jerricness better.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 17 2011, 07:07 PM

Of course you can ask me anything equine related (or canine, or feline . . .)! Just shoot me a PM!

On to this latest installment - I loved the festival air you gave Weye. Also making this little hamlet on the way to the capital a market town makes great sense. It's nicer than the Waterfront, and feels friendlier for being a waypoint on the road.

I see SubRosa has already noticed the same thing about Flash that I did! Oh, boy, does that bring back memories! Of course, cattle are worse!

And yes, Jerric is really coming alive, thinking like a typical male ("how old are you? darn! oh, your mom's more my speed - and available too. darn, again!"). You've got that down pretty pat, imho.

Posted by: mALX Jan 17 2011, 08:39 PM

Great line !!! Jerric's character is a masterpiece - I bragged about it to a writer on the un-named forum last night! Great Write!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 18 2011, 02:11 AM

I will readily agree that you are really hitting your stride! Reading this is quite soothing and beautiful, like Tamika's wine.

'He stood and looked out over the lake, listening to the gulls cry far above him. There was a sea eagle hunting in the fading light, and he watched until it plummeted to the water and winged away with a fish. Small shore birds ran along the edge of the gentle waves, and he wondered what they were scooping up in their long bills. The White Gold Tower shone over it all with the setting sun’s orange light.'
Your care and talent in crafting this rich description really shows.

"May I suggest Tamika’s West Weald Wine. It’s special enough for a celebration, but not so rare that one need stop at a single bottle. I think it will be well received.” Jerric nodded and she opened it for him.'
It is wonderful to see Nerussa's reputation as a wine enthusiast in action. It is easy to overlook amidst her other talents.

“I can’t regenerate my magicka, so I asked him to do it. Target practice for him, all the magicka I can absorb for me.
Another wonderfully clever reminder of Jerric's masochistic birthsign - somehow, it really suits him!

Posted by: Grits Jan 19 2011, 04:10 PM

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.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 19 2011, 05:19 PM

Although he can’t seem to get away from strange men giving him jewelry.
Maybe we should start calling him the midnight cowboy?

I loved the entire part of Jerric coaxing Flash up the steps with the apple!

A Nord and a horse are not going to sneak up on anything.
As Clint Eastwood said: "A man's got to know his limitations."

Slim the Skeleton. A great name to go with Flash the horse!

a bag of dried skin would go farther than a dozen roses to gain her favor
Ewwww! Somehow I doubt Buffy has to worry about her being alone with Savlian after all!

Servilla the Serpent
Hawt!

Just an idea to throw out, in ancient Rome sex with a prostitute was not adultery, it was a simple business transaction. Likewise with a slave. The main reason probably being that a child from such a union could not be a possible heir. But the other being that sex was not seen negatively in society or religion. Rather it was a simple given that people wanted to have sex. Given that Cyrodiil has had a prostitute's guild for a long time, it might not be too much of a stretch for the same to apply (I plan to use this for the TF).

I’m sure he’ll wash your back for you
Yep, that's Vigge!

A delightful description of the Skingrad Mages Guild, not only physically, but of the colorful, and unfriendly characters there. Not to mention one that is a little too friendly. I cannot wait until Jerric meets Falanu Hlaalu! I bet she will like his pale Nordic skin.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 19 2011, 05:34 PM

Enjoyed this chapter a great deal.

I suppose that Ayleid ruin is Ceyatatar? Flash is like most horses - he'll do anything for a juicy, crunchy apple! Just one thing that jumped out at me. "Ground tying" is more an euphemism than anything else - it consists merely of dropping the rein or lead on the ground. Horses (especially working cow horses) can be trained to stand in place with a dropped rein. They are actually not physically tied to anything. I avoid the term because it can be confusing for many non-horse people, and just mention dropping the rein (or lead, in Flash's case). Just something I wanted to point out to you. Maybe you know what it really means, but I'm sure most of our readers don't.

It's surprising how close your depiction of Vigge the Cautious came to mine. I just finished writing the Skingrad chapter and there is a bit about their sleeping habits.

Scamp skin for Sigrid? That's my kind of girl! I don't go for roses, either! Sounds like Jerric really knows how to woo a woman!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 20 2011, 02:40 AM

Great fun to see Flash climb the steps. Animals steal the show, don't they?

“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,
Gosh, that Atronach birthsign sooo fits Jerric! Being big and not so sneaky, he is quite the target so it works perfectly for him! What a fun and exciting little fight scene! Nice little touches of harvesting steel blue entoloma and scamp skin.

I smiled all the way through your entire depiction of the Skingrad guild. Wonderful detail you lavish on the guild and its denizens. Buffy was taken aback when she met Druja as well - about the first cranky Argonian she had ever met!

Posted by: Zalphon Jan 20 2011, 02:56 AM

I like how the dialogue doesn't feel forced at all. It feels like two people are actually talking

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 21 2011, 04:37 AM

That gave me the image of a Nord and a horse entering a china shop...

I love the detailed descriptions of the mages guild. I could easily picture it myself.

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 22 2011, 12:25 PM

HOW IN FREAKING HELL HAVE EYE MISSED THIS UNTIL NOW???!!!

Oh, the writing! The style! The Humour!

The opportunities for DHERTEE IN YO END-0!!!

But now that I have cum into this thread (somebody break out the tissues) rest boat sured that I shall be following - er - stalking this!!!

Posted by: Grits Jan 22 2011, 03:09 PM

SubRosa: Ewwww! Somehow I doubt Buffy has to worry about her being alone with Savlian after all!
No matter how velvet-clad, platinum blonde, and busty, an alchemist is likely to have her pockets full of things that are revolting!

Thank you for sharing your thoughts about sexual mores in Cyrodiil. The game gives us everything from Sanguine worshippers to Alessia Ottus, and it’s fun to see how different people take it in their own directions.

Thank you, SubRosa! Falanu is up next. Joe Buck and the necrophiliac.

haute ecole rider: I suppose that Ayleid ruin is Ceyatatar? Indeed, but Jerric doesn’t know the name yet.

Thank you very much for the advice about the ground tying/lead dropping – I changed the wording. It never crossed my mind that people would think he was tying the lead to the ground, but that’s exactly how it sounded.

I think anyone who has awakened with Vigge the Creepy in their bed or standing over them will relate! I am too baffled by the nocturnal activities at the Skingrad Mages Guild to even try to explain them. I can’t wait to hear what Julian thinks of that bunch!

Acadian: Flash has been such unexpected fun! I’m learning more about the Atronach birthsign with more game time, and the biggest thing is how much time he has to spend doing alchemy. Thank you for your kind words!

Zalphon: Thank you for your comment! Dialog is my favorite part.

Jacki Dice: Thank you!
That gave me the image of a Nord and a horse entering a china shop...
I wonder if they have tea cups in Skyrim.

D. Foxy: Welcome, Foxy! Or should I say wellcu-, no I’ll leave that for you! It’s great to have you here, despite the extra cleanup!


Chapter 6: Going Home, Part 5

Jerric jogged through the streets of Skingrad in the rain. He loved the way they ran up and down with big rocks jutting out of the ground. The buildings were orderly and fine, but the land was wild underneath. The rain turned all of the stone to dark gray, and he felt as if he was winding through twilit canyons. Little rivers of rainwater ran down the steep streets, adding to the effect. There were few people out in the rain, so he could look around as he went instead of minding where he put his feet and elbows. He made his trades on the market street, and then he hurried to his last errand before the shops all closed.

He entered All Things Alchemical and flipped back his hood, shaking off water. A female Dunmer stood smiling behind the counter. Jerric didn't know much about fashion, but he could tell that her gown was expensive. Her short, red-gold hair framed her face nicely, and she had the ruby eyes and delicate features of her race. He noted the curve of her lips, and his appreciative gaze dropped lower.

“Greetings, Nord," she purred, and Jerric pulled his eyes back to her face. She reached over the counter. "Give me your hands." Puzzled, Jerric complied. Her hands were small and warm on his. "Pale as the snow and cold as the grave," she murmured, as if to herself.

Jerric pulled back far too quickly to be considered polite. The hair on his arms stood at attention, and his sensitive parts were in full retreat. He had to firmly squelch the urge to flee. "It's raining," he gulped in explanation. “I’m Jerric.”

"I'm Falanu. House Hllaalu. As if that matters here," she said pleasantly.

He took the plant that Valus had given him out of his bag. “Do you know what this plant is?”

"I don’t know. Never seen that sort of root before. Head over to the West Weald Inn and talk to Sinderion. He’s a botanist. He could identify it for you I'm sure."

“Thanks,” he said, and he put his bag on the counter. “I need water hyacinth nectar, stinkhorn caps, and lichor. I have some things to trade, I might be able to take all you’ve got.”

They completed their transaction, but Falanu seemed to want him to linger. “I'm the only alchemist in Skingrad,” she told him. “Not much business here, but I can't go back to Morrowind. It's just like anywhere else in the Empire. By the way... do you happen to know what the fine is here in Cyrodiil for necrophilia? Just asking."

She had her hands on him again, and his mind was filled with broken glass. “Huh...what?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering.”

Jerric escaped the shop and weighed his coin purse with satisfaction. Falanu must have liked him. He was sure he could buy a round or two at the West Weald Inn and still afford a few of his favorite things at The Colovian Rose. He decided to grab a quick meal at the inn, proceed to The Rose, then time permitting stop back at the inn to make some new friends before crashing into bed at the Mages Guild.

His musings had carried him to the inn, and he hung his dripping cloak by the door. The silk-clad publican greeted him right away. “Welcome to the West Weald Inn. I'm Erina Jeranus, the proprietor. If you'd like food or a bed, speak to me.”

“I would like a meal please, and wine while I wait. Tamika’s West Weald.” She gave him a look that made him pat his hair and check to see if his shirt was sticking through his fly. He wondered if Erina disapproved of all of her customers, or if he was somehow special. “Is there a Sinderion here? I’d like to talk to him."

Erina nodded toward a door. “In the basement.” Jerric decided not to knock, he just opened the door and went down the stairs.

He found himself in a large, candle-lit room containing neatly organized storage for the inn as well as living quarters and a work area. An Altmer male stood in the middle of the space, dressed plainly and holding a vial in his hand. Jerric looked in amazement at the long, well-equipped tables. “Falanu said she was the only alchemist in Skingrad,” he said in surprise, completely forgetting his manners.

The Altmer laughed. “I am well known as a botanist, and I do not compete with Falanu. If I can avoid that young lady’s attention, I will consider myself fortunate,” he said.

Jerric folded his hands respectfully. “Apologies. I’m Jerric. I have a plant to show you.”

Sinderion folded his hands in return. “I am Sinderion. Botanist, as you know, and alchemist, as you have surmised. I conduct my research here. Plants, specifically their alchemical properties.”

Jerric got out the plant sample. “A farmer had one of these growing in a bowl. It made a strange noise, so faint you almost couldn’t hear it.” He handed over the plant.

Sinderion’s face wore a gleeful smile. “Nirnroot! What a nice sample. What do you know about this plant?”

“Nothing. I was hoping you could tell me about it.”

That seemed to be the answer Sinderion was looking for, and he settled into an instructive manner. “A few years ago an adventurer not unlike yourself sold me a musty old tome containing alchemical formulas. Most of them were worthless, but one page contained a recipe for the Elixir of Exploration, a sort of ultimate dungeon delver’s potion. The formula looks sound, but it contains an extremely rare ingredient. You guessed it, Nirnroot!” He patted the wilted plant. “I have so many delicate experiments going on, I can’t possibly go out plant hunting. I had to put the recipe aside. But now that you’re here, that changes everything! Since you know what to look for, you could collect some for me. Do you feel up to a little expedition?”

“I have to get back to work, but I’ll keep an eye out for it in my travels. I’ve never seen it before, where should I look?”

“I wrote a short missive about it for the Imperial Alchemy Symposium. If you’re interested…” Sinderion retrieved a folded parchment and handed it to Jerric. “The best place for you to look is Shadeleaf Copse, in the Great Forest northeast of here. Do you have a map? Here, I’ll mark it for you. You’ll find it always grows near water. If you find ten samples of at least this size, I should be able to brew a weak version of the Elixir. I would give one to you for your trouble, and of course I would make the rest available at a huge discount.”

“What about growing it as a crop? Do you think that would work?”

“What an interesting idea. I suppose… you would need to give it plenty of water. I do hope you’ll bring any that you find to me, so that I might determine if the recipe even works. Then I could advise you if Nirnroot is suitable for agriculture.”

Jerric felt completely at ease talking to Sinderion. He couldn’t tell if it was his delight over the Nirnroot or just a jovial nature, but the Altmer was a welcome friendly face. He decided he would keep Nirnroot in the back of his mind. “I need to send word to my friend who found this sample. Do you have a sheet of parchment I could buy?”

Sinderion reached into a pile and handed one to Jerric. “With my compliments, in the hope of a long and fruitful association.”

Back upstairs in the inn Jerric fetched his wine and found a table where he could work while he waited for his meal. He carefully wrote out his message to Valus, then he handed it over to Erina with a coin for its postage. He settled in to read.

The Book of Daedra told about the different Daedric princes and their realms, a subject he had not thought much about until recently. The inn was filling up with patrons, but the seat opposite him remained empty. He held the book at arm's length, trying to catch the light and still focus on the writing.

"Is this seat taken?" asked a female voice, high-pitched and flirty. A young Imperial woman with wavy brown hair and blue eyes stood smiling at him with a wine goblet in her hand. She looked as round and soft as a fresh dinner roll. Local girl, he thought. Old enough to know better and young enough not to care, his Ma would say. Jerric gestured to the chair, and she seated herself with a bounce and a giggle over her shoulder. A cluster of what looked to be her friends had their heads together over a nearby table, and Jerric suspected he had become the object of a dare. "I'm Antistia," she said. She pointed to his forehead. "Where did you get that scar?"

Jerric closed the book and leaned back in his chair. I got it on my face, he thought. How long before my food is ready? He glanced over at Erina, but her attention was elsewhere. "I'm Jerric," he said politely, but he ignored the question.

“You look like a fighter,” she observed brightly. “How many people have you killed?” Jerric was dressed for a night on the town, and his shirt still had its buttons. He wondered how she had drawn that conclusion. Then he remembered what his nose looked like.

"Just the ones who needed it.” He thought that this promised to be a boring conversation, so he consoled himself by staring at her chest. “Tell me something about you, Antistia."

She didn’t have anything to say, but that didn’t stop her from talking throughout his meal. The West Weald Inn was full of nicely dressed, well spoken people, and Jerric began to feel like a marauder in merchant’s clothing. It made him itch to punch someone in the face, which of course would only prove that Antistia and her friends had been right about him. After dinner he rose abruptly and left without a proper farewell.

It rained the whole way to The Colovian Rose, but when he got there Jerric found a warm welcome. Everything he saw was something that he liked, and his smile started to hurt his face. “You’re new in town, aren’t you,” his hostess asked. “Have you heard of Servilla? Of course, she’s famous. You’re lucky tonight, if you like she can see you right away.”

He decided to find out what made Servilla famous, and she did see him right away.

Before he returned to the Mages Guild, Jerric stopped back at the West Weald Inn and found it darker, smokier, and louder than before. He picked up his bottle from Erina, and she still did not look happy to see him. When he turned to survey the room he was surprised to hear someone calling his name.

“Jerric! Over here!” It was Maglir. Jerric found there was plenty of room at his table.

“Maglir, that was fast. I thought you were going to ride it out in Chorrol.”

“Didn’t last long, that damned Oreyn had his eye on me.”

“I don’t know him.”

“He’s the Fighters Guild Champion, you’d think he’d have better things to do than pick on an Associate.”

“Well anyway, you’re here now. You must have passed me on the road.”

“The road! I’m a Bosmer. I went through the Reserve.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Oh, four days if I remember. I would have done some hunting, but it rained the whole way.”

“How did you find your way?”

“Kept going downhill. Have you never been in the Imperial Reserve? It’s not hard, unless you’re too much of a city boy.”

“I’m used to the roads, but I’ve always wondered what was out there. Are you good with a map?”

“Does a spriggan squat in the woods?”

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.” Jerric took out his map and the small box with his ink block and brush. “Here, mark what you know.”

Maglir placed some landmarks on Jerric’s map. “I know this route along the base of the mountains well. This part is a big valley. Look, you can’t miss these ruins. Stay away from Hackdirt, that place is bad news. Here, I’ll mark it. You’ll know it by all of the burned buildings.”

“Thanks, Maglir. I hope I get to see it all someday. Say, I found an Ayleid ruin here. Do you know the name of it?”

“Because I’m a mer, I must know the name of every Ayleid pile of rocks?”

“Uh...”

“Well, I do know that one. That’s Ceyatatar. Are you drinking wine? Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your Nord credentials?”

“Well, we’re in Skingrad. Here, have some if your cup is empty.” Jerric had run out of conversation. He shifted in his chair.

Maglir filled his goblet. “What happened to you, sit on a minotaur horn?”

“Servilla the Serpent.”

“Oh ho! You got her special?” Jerric nodded uncomfortably. “I bet you were surprised.”

“Yeah, I was surprised. I should have asked for the details first. Still, ‘The Serpent,’ I’m sure I’m not the first to guess wrong about that.”

“Hey, that reminds me of a joke,” said Maglir, and Jerric didn’t need to provide any more conversation. When the time came he was happy to tip the rest of the bottle into Maglir’s goblet and head back out into the rain.

Posted by: ureniashtram Jan 22 2011, 03:46 PM

Caught up! And I must say;

Servilla the Serpent? Does that mean she has a one eyed-snake or what?

Loved how you potray Maglir! The descriptions are so good in the West Weals Inn, its almost like you can actually see the interior of that fine establishment! Eagerly waiting for the next update!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 22 2011, 06:32 PM

OMG! That scene with the Imperial girl in the West Weald was wonderful, especially when Jerric guessed she was there on a dare!

Servillia the Serpent? Sore butt? Somehow my mind's going in a direction involving whips, cuffs, chains . . . No, stop it right now, girl!

The encounter with Falanu was also very well done. Sinderion's comment about her ties the two together very well in an absolutely delicious way!

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 22 2011, 07:40 PM

"Pale as the snow and cold as the grave,"
Hawt!

She had her hands on him again, and his mind was filled with broken glass.
A lovely metaphor!

I got it on my face, he thought.
I love this! Too bad Jerric didn't say that!

so he consoled himself by staring at her chest.
Yep, Jerric is male alright!

“Does a spriggan squat in the woods?”
This is a lovely setting-friendly phrase. Remind me to steal it!

Sounds like Servilla had a serpent up her skirt! No wonder Jerric has a sore bum! Very nice to see a trans character. One does not see them too often in ES fan fiction.


nits:
I’d like to talk to him.
”
Looks like a space got thrown into the end of this line, between your period and quotation mark.

An Almer male stood in the middle of the space
Some thief stole the "t" in Sinderion's race!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 23 2011, 02:55 AM

I heartily agree with the wonderfully clever lines that have already been quoted. I also continue to really enjoy Jerric's take on Cyrodiil.

I quite like Sinderion, and was pleased to see that Jerric liked him for the same reasons! That Jerric pondered growing nirnroot as a crop is testimony that he is no dumb Nord.

Antistia was a neat little interlude and fun to read:
'He thought that this promised to be a boring conversation, so he consoled himself by staring at her chest.'
'She didn’t have anything to say, but that didn’t stop her from talking throughout his meal.'

Posted by: mALX Jan 23 2011, 03:03 AM

My instant reaction to Servilla's serpent was exactly what SubRosa said - (which, by the way ... reminds me of an experience my character in Fallout: New Vegas had last week with a robot called "Fisto" - nuff said, lol). Great Chapter !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Jan 25 2011, 01:58 AM

Oh... Servilla the serpent... Makes me wonder is it a garden snake or a boa constrictor? Poor Jerric. I bet he was surprised!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Jan 25 2011, 02:25 AM

Grr! Procrastinating!

I've got some catching up to do...

Posted by: Grits Jan 25 2011, 10:46 PM

ureniashtram:I’m glad you’re reading! Thank you for your comments. Maglir is fun, he keeps giving himself more to say.

haute ecole rider: Thank you! Skingrad was a fun place to watch Jerric explore. I think in the future he’ll be a little less reckless, though!

SubRosa: I enjoyed writing about Skingrad. There are such interesting folks there. Thank you, SubRosa! Looks like I ran afoul of the paragraph editing again. D’oh! Thank you for pointing it out so I could fit it.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! In this case I have to give Valus Odiil the credit for thinking of growing Nirnroot as a crop, Jerric was asking on his behalf. I have given Jerric kind of a different way of thinking, thank you for noticing!

mALX: “Fisto,” OMG! Thanks, mALX!!

Jacki Dice: LOL! He says he’s done talking about it.

Thomas Kaira: We’ll be here whenever you can get to us. I’m glad you’re still reading!

I had days of trouble over the little tussle in this post. Thank you so much for your help, Foxy!!!



Chapter 6: Going Home Part 6

Jerric and Flash walked along the Gold Road alone in the sunshine. They had left Skingrad with a group of travelers, but all of them had turned off the road or fallen behind. He thought they were approaching Ra’sava Camp. The large rocks ahead on the right looked like an excellent place for an ambush. Jerric took his shield from Flash and wished once again that he had his team of scouts and archers. He asked Flash to wait while he walked ahead.

He wasn’t surprised when a Khajiit wearing fur armor stepped out in front of him. “You’re using my road. The fee is one hundred gold. Pay up, or else,” he said. He had a short sword in his right hand and a dagger in the other.

“Who walks around with a hundred gold?” Jerric moved so that he could see the other side of the rocks. “I don’t have it.”

“Your fee just went up. Put down your sword and leave the horse. Or this one will take your life.” The Khajiit’s teeth were bared in contemptuous grin.

“No good.” Jerric looked around and didn’t see anyone else. “Are you sure you want to die over this?”

“We can play it that way if you like. In fact, that’s how this one prefers it.” His grin widened to a snarl and his ears flattened back as he smoothly advanced in a balanced crouch. He kept his head and shoulders bobbing and weaving to confuse Jerric, and it worked. Jerric drew Chillrend and backed away to open the space. The Khajiit simply flowed into it with feline grace. His fluid motion now included his wrists, and Jerric couldn’t keep up with the multiple angles of his attack. The highwayman’s grin widened to a sneer. “The prey is as slow as it is stupid,” he taunted.

Jerric wished again for the familiar long sword that waited for him at home in Kvatch, and then he realized even that wouldn’t be enough against this enemy. He didn’t have a chance to cast a spell, the Khajiit’s continuously flicking blades kept him far too busy. He knew he was outmatched, and cold fear rose up in his gut.

The highwayman slapped Jerric’s first real thrust away with his sword, swaying aside without moving his feet. His dagger hand was perfectly balanced for the lightening fast counterstrike, and Jerric saw it flash under his shield before he could think to move it. His mind exploded with white-hot pain.

The Khajiit’s dagger had slammed into his side low in the gap where the plates didn’t meet. Jerric’s breath left him, and he reeled with the pain. The highwayman yanked out his blade as he twisted behind Jerric, and he slashed through the unprotected back of Jerric’s thigh even as he whirled past.

Jerric went down heavily onto one knee, and when he couldn’t get back up he knew what the pain was telling him. He’s behind me, Jerric thought. I’m finished.

Then the Khajiit was in front of him again, and Jerric saw that he wanted to face him for the kill. “Now who is going to die over the horse?” he sneered. His jaws were open in a mocking grimace.

I have a chance as long as he wants to play, Jerric thought. Just one chance. “Hey, fur licker,” he wheezed, and that was the limit of his creativity. The second’s pause let him call his Nordic Frost up from deep inside.

“The prey should have stayed home with its mother!” howled the Khajiit. His sword slashed toward his head, and as Jerric ducked down and took the blow on his shield he reached out in a last desperate strike. His hand found the Khajiit’s leg. Frost boomed, and Jerric saw the dagger slice the air in front of his face as the Khajiit flew backward onto the grass beside the road. He followed his frost with lightning spells until he saw that the Khajiit was not going to rise.

Jerric put down his shield and held his side, bracing his other hand against the ground. He closed his eyes to concentrate and felt through the wounds with his magicka, then he healed himself. It took a few potions before he was able to get his leg under him again.

He glanced back to check on Flash, then he walked over and looked down at the Khajiit. His yellow eyes were open and his shallow breaths hissed rapidly through his teeth. Ice glittered over his leg and up his body, and the blood on his lips told of the damage inside. Usually folk were crying out or struggling at the end, and Jerric was fascinated by the ones who were calm.

Jerric picked up the Khajiit’s sword. He didn’t need Chillrend for this. He wondered what would pass through his own mind at the end, or if he would even know it was happening. This time the thought that it was over had come to him as a fact, but then his mind had filled with survival.

The highwayman didn’t flinch when Jerric opened his neck. Jerric stepped back and waited for the life to drain out of him. He watched for the moment when the Khajiit left and the meat stayed behind, but he didn’t know it had happened until he heard the final breath rattle out. Jerric had been told what to believe, but he wondered what it was like to lie on the warm grass one moment and then be somewhere else entirely. He supposed that the dead Khajiit knew the answer now. He dropped the sword when he started shaking.

He went about the chores that come after a kill, pausing to empty his stomach onto the grass. Flash walked over when he whistled, and Jerric gave him a carrot and a long scratch on the withers under the saddle blanket. He adjusted Flash’s packs for the weight of his new salvage, and Flash held still when Jerric rested his face against the horse’s forehead. Jerric missed his team’s noise and camaraderie. He decided that being alone had given him too much time to think.

By afternoon they had reached the path to Gnoll’s Meeting Camp. Jerric had slinked out of there with Velwyn like a chastened puppy. That was no way to behave, he thought, even if your most recent acts had likely been vile or at the least disgusting. He gathered his courage and turned down the track.

Flash didn’t flinch when they passed the gallows with their decorative occupant, so Jerric led him down into the camp. He spotted Carmia tending the cook fire and watching the entrance. “I’m looking for a toothless, dirty woman. Have you got one?” he called out in a voice that carried.

Carmia let out her deep belly laugh. “If it’s Foul Festia you want, you’ll be disappointed, she’s moved on. She left word for you, though. She says you’ve ruined her for other men. She says when she sees you next, she’s going to ride like she’s late for market day.”

“Sweet Mara,” said Jerric. “I’ll settle for just a dirty one, then.” Carmia laughed again, and Jerric hugged her around her neck. She smelled of onions, and her breath could knock a mudcrab off a manure pile. With a woman like Carmia, you just had to keep her pointed in the right direction.

“It’s still early. You staying?” she asked.

“Not this time, I’m going to push on until I drop. I think I can make Kvatch by lunch tomorrow if the weather holds. Where’s Lavina? I brought something for her.”

Carmia called her daughter, and she came running barefoot over the dirt. “Jerric the Nord!” she shouted.

Jerric laughed. “I’m sure you’ve met more Nords by now, Lavina.”

Carmia snorted. “You’re The Nord, don’t you know. Not many pay her any mind, and no girls her age to play with.”

Jerric pulled the goods out of his day pack and knelt down. “The doll or the sling?” he asked her.

Lavina stood thinking. Her fingers pulled at her lip, and she looked back and forth between his hands. She started to reach for one, then she reached for the other. “The doll!” she finally decided, and Jerric handed both to her.

“Practice every day with your sling, and you’ll never go hungry,” he told her. “Yours is just like your brother’s, he can show you.” Lavina jumped up and hugged him, then she clutched the doll to her chest. “Any more loose teeth? Show me. Hanging by a thread, ugh. Say, that’s a nice doll. What’s her name?”

“Jerric,” Lavina announced proudly. “Jerric the Doll.”

Jerric shook his head. “All right then, now don’t cry when Jerric gets dirty, just take her to the stream and wash her.” Another squeeze from Lavina and she scampered off.

“You remembered her birthday.” Carmia was pleased.

“It’s in Heartfire, same as my Ma’s. I don’t remember yours though, so don’t get any ideas.”

“It’s First Seed the fourteenth,” she said, and she gave him a playful bump with her hip.

Jerric pointed to his face. “This is what I look like when I’m forgetting.”

Lason had ambled up with a sly grin on his face, and Jerric braced himself. The Redguard didn’t waste any time on preliminaries. “I never took you for a troll-humper, Jerric.”

Jerric gritted his teeth under his smile. “If she’s willing. Who’s your alchemist?”

“Sa-Teega, he’s off somewhere. What do you want?”

“Tell him he better have some pretty words ready when I meet him, or his name will be Eats-My-Fist. I left a trail all the way to Skingrad, and that’s not funny.”

“Hah! It sure sounded like you were having a good time, though.”

“Stendarr’s balls, I did not need to know that.”

“Who improved your looks for you?”

Jerric felt his wreck of a nose. “I wish I remembered so I could thank him. I have to go this time, but I’ll see you soon.”

Lason nodded at Flash. “Aren’t you going to introduce your new girlfriend?”

“Do not disparage my horse.”

Matilene had joined them, and she had some news for Jerric. “Rothmund came around asking about you. I guess you went for a walk and forgot to tell him.”

“Something like that. I was a guest of the Watch. Fetching Imperials, no sense of humor. No offense, Carmia.”

“None taken,” said Carmia.

Lason tapped his knuckles on Jerric’s iron plate. “Where’s your shiny suit? Looks like you’ve come down in the world.” He was enjoying himself.

“It needed some alterations. My stick keeps getting bigger.” He looked around and didn’t see any more of the camp’s residents. “Next time, Matilene.” He took a breath and hugged Carmia again, then he and Flash headed back to the road. He was sure that Carmia, Lason, and Matilene would tell the tale of his shameless return, and he could hold his head up on his next visit.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 25 2011, 10:53 PM

Foxy's always a good one for the combat stuff! As for the bed scenes, wehlll --

The tussle was well-written, especially the vomiting afterwards. Yup, that's the way it goes sometimes.

But I really loved Jerric's return to Gnoll's camp! No trolls this time?

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 25 2011, 11:34 PM

Excellent battle with the bandit. Not simply because Jerric was out-matched, but especially so due to the drama you attached to it. You took what is often a very simple act in the game, and even simpler one in many fan-fictions, and gave it real emotional weight. As I said before, you are really coming into your own now. Bravo!

she’s going to ride like she’s late for market day.
Yowzers!

Likewise, Jerric's return to Gnoll’s Meeting Camp was a lot of fun! Very light-hearted and amusing after the grim battle.

Posted by: mALX Jan 25 2011, 11:51 PM

Awesome Chapter !!! This has to go into my list of favorite chapters so far !!! My fave line:

Great Write !!!

Posted by: D.Foxy Jan 26 2011, 02:14 AM

1. EXCELLENT combat scene - you have been learning well! KUDOS!

2. mALX and others have already shown their (much deserved) appreciation of your writing skills so I will just add -


DITTO!!!




“It needed some alterations. My stick keeps getting bigger.”

And you, madam, are getting naughtier by the hour!!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 26 2011, 02:24 AM

I love that you don't overflow your story with combat. But by Mara, when you do grace us with a fight, it’s a damn heart-pounder!

I have a chance as long as he wants to play, Jerric thought. Just one chance.
This was both the magic moment and the Khajiit's fatal flaw.

The highwayman didn’t flinch when Jerric opened his neck. Jerric stepped back and waited for the life to drain out of him. He watched for the moment when the Khajiit left and the meat stayed behind, but he didn’t know it had happened until he heard the final breath rattle out. Jerric had been told what to believe, but he wondered what it was like to lie on the warm grass one moment and then be somewhere else entirely. He supposed that the dead Khajiit knew the answer now. He dropped the sword when he started shaking.
For this old paladin, the above passage struck chillingly close to home. I hope you will take that as a compliment to your skill.

*

The scene at Gnolls Meeting Camp was wonderful as well.

“It’s First Seed the fourteenth,” she said, and she gave him a playful bump with her hip.
Jerric pointed to his face. “This is what I look like when I’m forgetting.”
This interchange really showcases your talent at blending dialogue with supporting action. So delightfully natural and real.

Posted by: Grits Jan 29 2011, 06:15 PM

haute ecole rider: No trolls at the camp this time, luckily, or he might have installed a lock on his belt and thrown away the key. I’m glad you enjoyed the visit. I appreciate your comment on the tussle, it seemed like this one would be spew-worthy. Thank you for your encouragement, it means a lot to me!!

SubRosa: I can thank Foxy’s guidance for the bandit drama, there were whole layers that I had forgotten to put in that scene above the who does what to whom. I had a lot of fun with the Gnoll’s Meeting section, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ve written some more for Abiene while I’ve been struggling with Kvatch, she’ll be back in Jerric’s story soon. Thank you, SubRosa!

mALX: I’m glad you enjoyed it, mALX! You say the sweetest things!!

D. Foxy: Your help is so valuable to me!! I know what goes on during a tea party, but the combat stuff keeps me guessing. Thank you so much, Foxy!! As far as the greaves alterations, I had to get a little naughty in before Kvatch. A whole chapter coming up without any lewd talk or crotch-grabbing. Sigh. It was hard for me.

Acadian: The whole point of the fight was to get to the passage you pointed out. It seemed like something that needed to be addressed. It means a lot to me to hear that it worked for you. Thank you so much for your support! I’m glad you enjoyed Gnoll’s Meeting. I didn’t think of the characters until after Jerric and Velwyn had left, so he had to go back to redeem both of us!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 1


Worry tightened Jerric’s chest as he turned onto the steep Kvatch Road. Acrid smoke had scented the air all morning, and now he could see it. A strange cloud hung high over the city. Sudden storms often swept in and darkened the sky over Kvatch, but he could see that this was no thunderhead. Something was horribly wrong. He clicked his tongue to Flash and increased his pace.

As they turned a corner a wild-eyed Altmer nearly staggered into him. Jerric caught him and steadied him by the arms. "Come on!" the Altmer gasped into Jerric's face. "Run while there's still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!"

"Calm, friend!" Jerric gave the mer a shake. "What are you saying?"

"Gods' blood, you don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature... something out of a nightmare... came right over the wall... blasting fire. They swarmed around it... killing... Kvatch is a smoking ruin! Everyone else is--"

Jerric let go of the mer and ran up the road. Cold fear gripped him. Every tree and rock that he passed should be welcoming him home, but this time he wasn’t looking. When he reached the wide level place between switchbacks, he found a crowd of people milling around there. Most of them wore night clothes, and many were barefoot. He realized that they had fled from the city.

Jerric dashed through the refugees, searching for beloved faces. There were so few people there, and all of them looked terrified or numb with shock. The children, he thought, where are all of the children? He spotted a familiar figure in a soiled blue gown. It was Sigrid from the Mages Guild. He ran to her, out of breath. "My family," he begged, "Have you seen them?"

Sigrid’s face was streaked with ash and tears. “They’re not here. No one else has come down from the barricade for hours, and I haven’t seen them.”

He braced his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. He had to fight the air past the dread that froze his chest. When he stood Sigrid reached for him with trembling hands. She gripped him as if she thought they both might fall. “Sigrid, think,” he said. He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. “When the attack came, where would they go? They must still be in the city.”

"The thing came over the wall, and daedra flooded in through the city gate. Captain Matius got us out behind them. We’re all that's left." Her voice was rough with tears and smoke. “A few made it to the Chapel, and I heard Captain Matius say there are some trapped in the castle, but… They cut us down in the streets, Jerric. They burned us out. Everyone else is dead.” Her voice broke into sobs, and fresh grief flowed down her cheeks.

Jerric shook his head, unwilling to believe it. He dropped her hands and backed away from her. It isn’t real until my own eyes see it, he told himself. “My horse,” he said, pointing down the road. Then he turned and ran the rest of the way up to the city.

When he reached the Kvatch plateau Jerric slowed and stared in raw shock. Red clouds laced with lightning boiled above him, and the mid-day sky had turned to black night. Thunder cracked and rolled over a noise he couldn’t describe. Behind the city wall Kvatch was in flames. His mind recoiled from what he saw in front of the city gate. Great glistening black claws reached up from the ground forming an oval frame that dwarfed the city wall, and a vertical pool of fire swirled within it. The very air crackled with its power. He knew he was looking at the Gate to Oblivion.

Men’s shouts sounded like the cries of small birds under the noise. Jerric’s eyes went to a crude barricade between the road and the gate. He saw a group of soldiers gathered there. Their white surcoats told him that they were Kvatch City Guard. The shouts came from three who were engaged with a scamp and a small clannfear on the open ground in front of the gate. They finished the daedra and fell back to their cover as he watched.

Jerric ran to the guards who were sheltered behind the barricade. One of them turned and stalked toward him. He had lost his helmet, and a band of filthy cloth kept the sweat and blood out of his eyes. He gripped his sword in one hand and waved Jerric back with the other. “Get back to the encampment!" he called. "This is no place for you!" Jerric recognized him. It was Savlian Matius, Captain of the Kvatch Guard.

"My family!" shouted Jerric. He closed the distance to Matius. "They're still in the city!" The Gate’s roar was overwhelming.

"We can't get through with that Gate in the way!" yelled Matius.

Close shut the jaws of Oblivion. Jerric remembered the Emperor's words. "Close it!" He grabbed at Matius, frantic. "We have to close it!"

Matius shrugged him off. "I don't know how, but it must be possible from the other side." He pointed to black marks and ridges that scarred the area around the Gate. "Look there, the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack."

Without a word Jerric sprinted through the barricade and across the violated ground. For a few strides he still heard Matius shouting behind him. One leap carried him through the Gate, and he landed with a jolt on a hill of cracked, blasted rock. Tumbled boulders loomed around him under a scorching red sky. He saw great black walls and tall gates below him, with huge spiked towers jutting up behind them in the distance. Seething rivers of lava sent ribbons of heat and fumes into the air. The Deadlands. Jerric stumbled a few paces, terrified. His packs were still on Flash, and he didn't even have his shield.

He forced the hot air into his lungs and turned to look back at the Gate. It looked the same as it had on the other side, and he couldn’t find any means to close it. The noise was different here, a low, powerful hum. He circled the Gate again, frantically searching for anything that he might have missed. His hope that he could somehow jump back through as it closed drained away, and cold fear flooded in after it.

In front of the Gate again, Jerric turned away to try to gather his thoughts. Now he noticed a charred figure twisted on the ground right at his feet. A long sword lay beside it. The person had been burned until he couldn’t even tell if it had been armored. The fire that haunted his worst nightmares flared to life in his mind. His heart raced, and he felt that the pitiless air was smothering him. His breath came in dry, shallow gasps. Panic tightened his muscles until he felt his arms couldn’t bend. He knelt and tried to bring himself back under control. Sweat ran into his eyes, and when he closed them he braced his shaking hands against the hot ground.

One hand met the sword hilt. His fingers closed around it, and he clutched it like a drowning man holds on to a rope. He wiped the sweat from his face and told himself that if the daedra could breathe his air, then he could breathe theirs. He opened his eyes and focused them on the sword. A long, straight steel blade, double edged and stained with blood. The edges were squared off near the crossguard. He recognized the design on the hilt as Batul’s work. This sword had belonged to someone from Kvatch.

Jerric pushed himself to his feet and deliberately slowed his breathing. The sword’s grip fit comfortably in his right hand, and its heft and balance felt familiar. There was plenty of room for his left when he cupped the rounded pommel in his palm and made an experimental thrust. When he got his arms moving, he began to calm down. He stood by the Gate and looked around him, and the sword’s weight in his hand held him together. If he could not close the Gate here, he would have to go into the Deadlands and look for a way. The Gate is behind me, he thought. Home is behind me. I need to go forward.

He heard a shout and a hooting whistle down the hill from his position. A Kvatch guard was running toward him, pursued by a clannfear and scamps. Jerric ran down the hill until he reached the guard, and the man turned beside him to fight. The ground where they met was open and level, and the enemy approaching them was familiar to Jerric. He began to forget his fear when he felt the first scamp’s muscle and bone split open under his blade. He decided to conserve his magicka, and the fight sent his blood singing through his veins. When the clannfear reached them it charged straight at Jerric. He had plenty of room to dodge and thrust his sword into its side behind the bony head frill as it passed. He finished it on the ground and looked for his next target.

The guard was the only thing left standing. Scamps lay in pieces around them, and their blood was splashed over Jerric’s armor. The stench from their spilled insides filled his mouth. Bile rose in his throat, but his tongue was too dry to spit it out. When he felt for his magicka, he silently thanked his stars that he had absorbed some of the scamps’ fire spells.

"Thank the Nine!" gasped the guard. "I never thought I'd see another friendly face." His voice cracked with strain. The man stood heaving with exhaustion and dripping with sweat. Blood and scorch marks stained his white surcoat, but Jerric decided that he moved well enough to go without healing.

Jerric noticed that he still had his day pack, and he got out a canteen and handed it to the guard. He knew that the one on his belt was already empty. “Water,” he said. “I’m Jerric.” Introducing himself made the situation seem more sane.

The guard drank and got his voice back. "I’m Ilend Vonius. Captain Matius sent us in to see if we could close the Gate." Jerric took just enough water to moisten his throat. He pulled Vonius over toward some rocks and crouched down for cover. "The others are dead, and Menien Goneld was captured," Vonius continued."I saw them take him into that tower. We should search for him, he might have learned something of this nightmare place."

“How do we get to the tower? Those gates are blocking the way.”

“We’ll have to go around, down there.” Vonius pointed to a black trail through the rugged terrain. “That’s how I got out. They closed the gates behind us when we were out there on the bridge. Most of us died in the ambush. I got away, and I saw where they took Menien.”

Jerric took a moment to think, his mind had not been clear since he first noticed the smoke. The Kvatch wolf on Vonius’ surcoat brought the burning city back before his eyes. He pushed away the panic for his family and focused on the situation before him. Akatosh guide me, he thought. I am not good with plans. “Go back through the Gate, Vonius," he said. "Tell Captain Matius what you know. If I don’t make it he can send someone else. I'll search for Goneld so we can shut the Gate." Jerric decided not to tell Vonius about Martin. If the priest was still alive he would just have to keep himself that way until Jauffre figured out that Jerric had failed.

Vonius nodded. Weariness and guilt filled his face. "I don't know how you’ll get home if you manage to close it," he said. “I was just trying to get away and go back through the Gate.”

"Tell Captain Matius to give me time to get to that tower. Don't let anyone else get stuck here."

A rumble came from above them. Vonius pushed Jerric to safety and jumped after him as rocks crashed down around them. One clipped the guard's knee, and now there would be no arguing. Jerric healed it only enough to let him stand.

"Take my shield," Vonius said. He gripped Jerric's shoulder in farewell and limped back to the gate. Jerric crouched on the rocky ground and watched him go. The noise hadn't drawn more enemies. Vonius passed through the Gate, and Jerric turned to look at the distant tower.

He had to let go of his fear so it couldn’t take him again. He made himself accept what he had known since he leaped through the Gate. His life would end here under the red sky. He could only hope for one thing at a time, and now it was to find Menien in that tower. But first he'd have a long run through the Deadlands to get there.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 29 2011, 07:00 PM

You have done a wonderful job describing Jerric's first impression of the Deadlands - the terror and the heat and the noise et. al.

The interaction with Vonius was well done, too. And now Jerric has his own Kvatch Wolf to carry! May he earn it!

Concerning your comment, it takes a lot to make me spew during tussles. Strong stomach and RL experience with blood and gore, you see. Believe me when I tell you there are worse things than blood and gore.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 29 2011, 11:17 PM

Jerric has come home at least. Thank goodness that brawl ended him up in prison. I wonder if he might have been in Kvatch during the attack if that had not happened? And thusly have been killed in the attack?

It isn’t real until my own eyes see it, he told himself.
This is absolutely perfect!

Jerric's reckless charge into the Oblivion Gate, with no preparations, show not only his youth, but his very real and believable desperation to rescue his family. Now I see has a new sword: The Kvatch Blade? Vengeance? Retribution? It will need a name to go with his new Kvatch Wolf.

A wonderful description of the blasted horror of the Deadlands. That Jerric looked for a way to close the gate from the other side of it made perfect sense. It always seemed strange to me that the gates would form so far away from the sigil stones. If the stones create them, they shouldn't they be right next to the gates?

Posted by: mALX Jan 30 2011, 12:32 AM

This is absolutely the best, most realistic rendition of the chaos in Kvatch after the attack that I have ever read - much better than the Bethesda version even!!! I am in awe!!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 30 2011, 02:27 AM

You captured the burning, fear, fire and devastation wonderfully, both in your descriptions and the reactions of everyone Jerric encountered.

Jerric did not surprise me here. Impetuously leaping into that gate. I appreciate how he fully understands the danger. His hope was to flip a switch just inside the gate and jump back to the safety of Cyrodiil. He realizes now that whatever it takes to close the gate will place him too far away to escape before the gate closes. He reasonably assumes that he will not survive the closing. His willingness to continue speaks volumes about his nature - all good. Stones? Yup, Jerric's got a pair.

Posted by: Grits Feb 1 2011, 07:56 PM

haute ecole rider: I wasn’t going to give him a shield, but he picked one up in the game. Sadly for the guy who dropped it. Still not sure if he’s going to get to keep it. Thank you for the encouraging words!

SubRosa: Yes, he would certainly have been there for the attack. It’s something he’ll have to deal with soon. Good idea for a sword name. Hmm. Thanks, SubRosa!

mALX: Thank you for the encouragement! It bugs me that in the game the camp doesn’t change after the quest, and the city stays burning.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I’m glad Jerric’s thinking and character came across. He’s taken kind of a big step to get here from the brews, babes, and brawling.

Folks: I find that the Kvatch part of the game is pretty gut-wrenching, I hope I haven’t been too heavy-handed with it. Your feedback and guidance is very much appreciated!!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 2

Jerric stood on the ramp inside the great tower, catching his breath. A column of flame as wide as his body roared the whole way up through the open center, and its light seemed to somehow penetrate even the narrowest adjoining spaces. The sound had covered his noisy progress through the tower’s resident daedra, but its vibration shook his bones and the underlying hiss set his teeth on edge. His long sword dripped a trail of scamp blood as he walked cautiously up to the next level. The inner ramp seemed to always lead to series of separate corridors and chambers, then back onto a higher level of the ramp. He had followed one into the next moving ever upward in the tower. Looking up he could see there were several more levels yet above him. He reached the end of this level and opened the door, ready for a fight. The narrow, sloping hallway beyond appeared to be empty, so he jogged up in the near darkness to the door at the top. It opened from the center with a sound like tearing cartilage. The scamps in the large chamber beyond turned toward the noise.

They led him on a chase around the benches and pillars in the room, but they soon ended like the rest in pools of blood on the floor. Jerric rotated his tired right shoulder, then turned toward a new sound. Booted feet. He barely had time to wonder what this enemy would be before it stalked in through the open doorway.

An armored dremora carrying a mace in its hand. Jerric had seen conjured dremora, but never this close. Its long legs ate the distance between them. That thing is huge, he thought with rising concern. I’ll have to dodge and strike at its head. Or take off its hand. He backed around a bench and threw his frost spell at its chest, looking again for a weakness in the armor.

The frost didn’t slow it down much. “On your belly!” it howled at him. Its voice sounded like metal grinding on metal. It swung its mace across its body too low for Jerric to duck. He lunged backward and yelped as he lost his footing. Pain exploded in his head, and then confusion. He looked to the side and met the dead gaze of a scamp lying next to him on the floor.

“Shatter!” said the metal voice. Jerric groggily raised his head, remembering where he was. An armored boot entered his field of vision. The pain in his head doubled and his eyes went dark.

Jerric’s scalp felt like it might part from his skull. “Join my trophies, bloodsack!” the dremora roared from above and behind him. He realized that it was dragging him by his hair. He tried to bring his sword up and discovered that his hand was empty. With a flash of horror he remembered the torn corpses hanging on the posts around the room. Not all of the cruel hooks were yet occupied.

Panic took over, and he kicked out frantically with his legs. One foot slipped wetly over the floor, but the other caught on something. For an instant it slowed the dremora. Nordic Frost surged up inside him before he realized that he had called it. His groping hand found the dremora’s wrist, and the frost boom was followed by a crash and roar from the dremora.

Years of habit more than deliberate thought made Jerric summon his skeleton, and he belatedly hoped that his foggy mind got the spell right. He sent healing light at the roaring pain in his head and rolled over to get back into the fight. It looked like Slim was chopping away with his axe at something thrashing on the floor. Jerric’s eyes were clouded and burning, and he couldn’t see well enough to tell what was happening. He heard Slim’s victory rattle and the sound of the spell releasing him. The dremora stayed down. Jerric pushed himself up to his knees, sliding a little in the scamp’s blood. He couldn’t believe that Slim had finished the dremora.

When he tasted blood he guessed why he couldn’t see. He found the scalp wound with his magicka and closed it easily, but his blood still blinded him. He started wiping with his fingers, but that hardly helped. Neither did the cursing.

Eventually a trickling noise penetrated his thoughts, and he stilled himself. He could hear running water in the room. Thirst pushed its way quickly to the front of his thoughts, and he groped his way toward the sound. His hand dipped into a fountain, and his heart soared with relief. I’ll never take another little stream for granted, he thought, as he gulped down handfuls of liquid. He splashed some onto his face to clear his eyes.

A copper taste still filled his mouth, and all he could smell was blood. His eyes had become even more fogged. As he wiped them again this time with his cleaner hand, he felt powerful healing working inside him like a potion. Finally he could see that his palm was filled with blood. Disgust drove away his wonder. He had discovered a fountain, but it did not contain water. He spit and gagged for a moment until he brought himself back under control. Somehow this blood fountain had healing properties, he could feel it. He told himself that squeamishness and curiosity were luxuries he must put aside. He just needed to stay alive. He drank from the fountain and pretended it was something else to keep it down.

The pain slowly receded from his head as he examined the dead dremora. He found the weak points in its armor, but he doubted he had the skill to exploit them. It appeared that Slim had simply hacked at its unprotected face while it was still on the floor. The mace was some distance away, the dremora must have dropped it. Jerric couldn’t believe his luck. One solid hit with the dremora’s mace and his summoned skeleton would have been in pieces. He thought about summoning his scamp next time, but he wasn’t sure if he could control it here.

This dremora was nothing like the bandits in light armor he was used to fighting outdoors. He hadn’t even thought to keep his feet out of the blood that was already on the floor. He thought of the steep ramp in the center of the tower. He needed a plan in case he encountered this enemy where it could shove him over the rail. Slim’s method was ugly but effective, he decided. He would try to knock the dremora down with shock spells and then target their heads. And not fall over the railing. He picked up his sword and headed up the next corridor, still searching for Menien.

It seemed like hours later when he reached a dead end. The doors in front of him were locked, and he couldn’t find a way around them. He hadn’t found Menien Goneld, but any one of the shredded corpses he had passed could have been him. He still had no idea how to close the Gate. The last of his hope faded with a sickening lurch in his gut, and his will to go on went with it. The walls inside the tower looked like the shell of some giant crab or insect. Even shaking with exhaustion, he couldn't bear to lean against them. He knew he was in the right place, only one tower glowed at its top with baleful yellow light. He would have to turn back and search for something that he might have missed. He had to admit that for a time he had gotten lost. Despair crept into his heart, and he knew he had to fight it.

Jerric closed his eyes and reached in his mind for anything that would keep him on his feet. He thought of his sister's children even now trapped in the burning city. He imagined Fjirsten with her naughty gap-toothed smile, Hrolgar's small hand in his, the three of them walking in his Ma's sunny garden. Right now he should be with them. Grief surged through him, and rage followed it. He had failed them, but he was still alive. Anger gave him new strength. As long as he lived, he would keep going.

He moved back up the hall and opened another door, then he staggered in surprise. Red light blazed in from the Deadlands. He had discovered a door in the outside wall. It led to a bridge high in the air over the Deadlands to another tower. Jerric swayed and caught himself against the chitinous frame. Carefully he stepped out onto the narrow bridge. Scamps and clannfears went about their alien business below him, and he felt the hot urge to kill them all. He fixed his eyes on the bridge. One step at a time, he told himself. Don't look down. Balancing was tricky with the long sword in one hand and the Kvatch shield in the other, but he crossed more easily than he expected. The air out here was hot but still, and it he welcomed the quiet after the constant rumble and whine in the big tower.

He entered the smaller tower and found himself standing on a narrow ramp with no railing. The interior was simply one tall, open space lit from above by the red sky. A human corpse hung by its feet directly in front of him, stripped of its clothing and some of its flesh. He had no time to react to the sight, an armored dremora stood to his right on the ramp just above him. The dremora recovered from its surprise more quickly than he did. "You should not be here, mortal," it growled in a voice that threatened to turn his bowels to water. "Your blood is forfeit, and your flesh is mine!"

The dremora rushed him, lifting its mace. This is a bad place for a long sword, Jerric thought. He had no time for a shock spell. He dropped his sword and grabbed the dremora’s spiky left arm, falling quickly back into a squat. The dremora’s momentum made it easy for Jerric to yank it off balance. The mace clanked onto the ramp as he sent the dremora over the edge with his feet. It roared out its fury as it fell, and Jerric scrabbled wildly on the smooth ramp to keep from following it. So much for the plan, he thought.

A man's parched voice from above broke the sudden silence. “Up here! In the cage!”

New hope washed over Jerric. “Menien?” he called. He started up the ramp toward him.

"Yes! Have you got the key? You must get the Keeper's key -- it's the only way into the Sigil Keep!"

He spun around and ran back down the ramp. A key. Jerric’s hope swelled into elation. Hold on, he thought to his family. He searched the shattered Keeper until he found the gore covered key, then he ran back up to Menien, grinning with triumph.

Menien was imprisoned in a metal cage swinging over a platform at the top of the tower. Blood and filth streaked his bare skin. Jerric immediately started searching for some kind of lock. Menien knelt in the cage and looked down at Jerric. "Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" urged Menien. "You must get to the top of the large tower. The Sigil Keep, they call it. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry!"

"You need healing. How do I get you out of this?" Jerric demanded. Hope had brought back fear for his family, and a renewed sense of urgency pushed him.

"Don't worry about me, there's no time!" Menien's knuckles were white under the blood. "Get moving!"

Jerric stared at him, appalled. Menien was badly bruised and torn, and Jerric could not imagine what torment he had already endured. "Look what they’ve done to you! I won't leave you here to die!"

"You will, son." Menien placed his hand over Jerric's on the metal bar, and his gray eyes burned in his broken face. His fingers dug into Jerric’s, and he spoke with calm intensity. "You have the key. You must do this."

Jerric’s joy splintered into new grief. He couldn’t bring himself to leave this man, not after he had lost all hope and then found him. Every moment that he delayed closing the Gate allowed more daedra to attack his city. He thought of Captain Matius and the Kvatch Guard. They held the barricade, barely. How many of them would fall while he stood here, paralyzed with indecision? What had his family suffered while he was wandering lost in the dim tower? Menien's courage was a balm to Jerric, but it was also an arrow through his heart.

Jerric made the impossible decision. He would take the stone first, and if somehow he survived he would return to Menien.

He pulled the dagger from his belt and handed it to Menien through the bars. No more words passed between them.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 1 2011, 09:20 PM

The entire Kvatch quest, including the battle for the Castle, is pretty heart-wrenching.

Leaving Menien behind like that was the worst thing for me as the player. How I really wanted to rescue him! You've captured that feeling very well.

Keep it up - you don't need to document the entire time in the Deadlands - only the high points. That's what I did way back in the beginning. You need only the emotional moments, such as the one with Menien.

Oh, and don't you hate it when one of those guards fall? On the one hand I say oh, goody, a light iron shield! I like it better than leather at low levels, though I much prefer the leather to mail armor. And how cool is it to carry a Kvatch Wolf? But on the other hand, I feel bad for the guard that died to give me that shield.

Posted by: mALX Feb 1 2011, 10:13 PM

That is one of the worst places in the game, having to leave Menien caged to an almost certain death. Your rendition of Jerric's emotional dilemma was perfectly portrayed. Awesome Write !!!

Posted by: D.Foxy Feb 2 2011, 01:56 AM

The last paragraph....


I salute you, woman.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 2 2011, 02:53 AM

Kvatch is horrifically powerful and you rendered the full measure of bloody justice to it here!

'His long sword dripped a trail of scamp blood as he walked cautiously up to the next level.'
Scene-setting and evocative.

'Its long legs ate the distance between them.'
Wonderfully clever and effective!

'Jerric’s scalp felt like it might part from his skull. “Join my trophies, bloodsack!” the dremora roared from above and behind him. He realized that it was dragging him by his hair. He tried to bring his sword up and discovered that his hand was empty. With a flash of horror he remembered the torn corpses hanging on the posts around the room. Not all of the cruel hooks were yet occupied.'
You sure captured Jerric's terror here.

'He thought about summoning his scamp next time, but he wasn’t sure if he could control it here.'
What a perfect 'Jerric' thought!

'the three of them walking in his Ma's sunny garden. Right now he should be with them. Grief surged through him, and rage followed it.'
Just the right touch of home at the right time to make us remember what is at stake.

'Menien's courage was a balm to Jerric, but it was also an arrow through his heart.'
Magnificent.

Again, Grits, super well done here! The mood, feel, atmosphere, terror, pacing and choices you made in presenting this were great.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 2 2011, 04:09 AM

I loved this chapter. The first gate was near sickening with the unexpected gore. And I like Jerric's thoughts on whether he would be able to control his scamp in the plains of Oblivion. Excellent write ♥

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 2 2011, 04:20 AM

A wonderful description of the interior of the tower, filled with the sights and sounds of Oblivion. You paint a very vivid picture. Also, by skipping over Jerric's trudge to the tower itself, you relieved us what would have quickly become tedious, and cut straight to the heart of the matter instead.

Phew! That was some encounter with that dremora! Once again Jerric's Nordic Frost saved him. With a little help from his friend Slim as well. I like that Jerric is an all-powerful god-slayer - as one so often sees in fantasy fiction - but is rather a man with vulnerabilities.

And a very wonderful introduction to the blood fountains! Lets face it, how many people would ever seriously try drinking out of a fountain made of blood in the first place, without knowing that they heal you? Aside from the vampires and serial killers, probably not many folks. But Jerric's natural thought that it was water led him to it perfectly. As did his willingness to override his revulsion once he learned not only what it was, but what it could do.

Especially good was Jerric's natural despair. Then his even more natural resolve to continue on after thinking of his family.

Plus a wrestling throw to kill the dremora! Now that was nice to see!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 2 2011, 09:43 AM

OK, back up-to-date now.

I must say, you wasted no time sending us into the depths of Oblivion! Fear can drive us to do crazy, often stupid things, and I'd say entering an Oblivion Gate with no weapon, armor, or even a simple waterskin is definitely up there. But with his family's lives on the line, how could it even be possible to blame Jerric?

Jerric's brief tussle with the Dremora was quite well done. Edge-of-the-seat reading at its finest, made ever that much better with the threat that HE was going to become one of the gruesome corpses you find hanging all over the Deadlands! Visc... SLEDGEHAMMER!!! (Sorry, inside joke)

Argh! The irony of the Blood Fountains. At least we know Jerric isn't a vampire now, and therefore requires no slayage.

Jim the Slim... he just loves it when you snap into him....

*Sees Slim staring*

Oh, come on, it's not THAT bad!

*Still staring*

Posted by: Grits Feb 4 2011, 04:32 PM

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.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 4 2011, 05:15 PM

This was well done.

The briefing ahead of time had a lot of detail which makes the battle more believable. Better than just drawing swords, shouting "For Kvatch!" and running pell mell into the thick of things.

And the combat in the plaza was also realistic. Your description of Jerric's visceral reaction to the mage was fantastic.

Overall, well done, and well worth the work you put into it!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 4 2011, 06:15 PM

MMA? Manly Men Around?

“I’m glad to hear it, if an orc has my horse.”
Lets just hope they have not already eaten all of Flash!

Jerric makes a very realistic decision to use his short sword rather than the long one. Historically shorter blades like the Roman gladius were better in pitched battles than the long Celtic swords. Often in the press of men standing shoulder to shoulder, there was no room to swing the larger weapons. Yet the shorter blades of the Romans worked just fine. It is one of the reasons for the slaughter of the Celts in battles like Towchester.

To be recognized on sight by most of the law enforcement in Cyrodiil’s second largest city was something of an accomplishment.
Doh!

Matius comes across very well as an experienced leader. Giving clear, direct orders, and showing no signs of hesitancy or uncertainty. Good job on him.

and Chillrend sang into Jerric's hand.
I love this!

Posted by: D.Foxy Feb 5 2011, 02:10 AM

MMA = Mixed Martial Arts. For those who are more into classical history, google "pankration" and see what you get.

I see Grits has definitle been reading my opus! You are clearly my Ichiban Kantsei!!!

Posted by: Acadian Feb 5 2011, 03:21 AM

Well done, Grits! You well captured the return from Oblivion. The tiny moment of humor about orcs/horses was perfectly inserted. The pre-battle brief was great and contrasted Jerric's formidable but undisciplined passion to that of the professional in charge. You displayed this so well, that Jerric's conclusion below just flowed naturally:
'Jerric compared his own rambling discourse to Captain Matius’ crisp delivery, and he recognized that much more than age separated the two of them.'
Of course, I don't have to tell you how Buffy feels about Savlian. We were very proud of both he and Jerric in this.

'The dremora’s shock spell sank into Jerric’s body, and he shouted defiance as he felt the magicka join his own.'
Buffy thinks those born under the Atronach are both crazy and suicidal. Somehow however, the birthsign just seems to suit our Jerric to a tee!

Nit?
' 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.'
I'm trying not to be overly influenced by the game, because you can certainly present things differently, but I took this as Jerric lamenting the fact that Menien did not survive the gate closing, just like in the game. Had Menien survived, I would have expected Jerric to comment in more detail and with more incredulity. Yet, in the below quote, Menien seems alive and well:
“No,” said Menien. “We saw many return through the smaller gates before they closed.”
Did Menien then, in fact, survive and I simply misunderstood what you were trying to say in the first passage?

Posted by: mALX Feb 5 2011, 05:44 AM

WHEW! Jerric's reaction to the gate falling around him, the briefing and counsel Jerric gave before going into battle, all the detail you have in this chapter - and above all you captured the feel of the frenzy, panic, and hope as the Battle for Kvatch begins - AWESOME WRITE !!!

Posted by: Grits Feb 7 2011, 08:10 PM

haute ecole rider: Thank you!! It makes more sense to me that the Captain would be in charge, not some random Nord who just ran up and jumped into the Gate. I’ve also changed a few small details in the next part. The section after this one, who knows. I’ve just dumped it again.

SubRosa: Mixed martial arts, what Foxy said. Although ‘Manly Men Around’ does explain my interest. I’m glad the sword decision made sense, I’ve been studying!! Thank you, SubRosa!

D. Foxy: I have been reading it, and reading it, and reading it!! Thank you, Foxy!! (I hope Ichiban Kantsei is something good!)

Acadian: Thank you for pointing out Matius/Menien mix-up, that was a big oops. I fixed it. Sadly, Menien remains in the Deadlands. The Jerric/Matius contrast was important to me, I’m so glad it came across. I think Buffy’s right about the Atronach folks. They definitely have a different way of looking at things! Thank you, Acadian!

mALX: Thank you, mALX!! The next section gives us a little break between the action. Whew.

A note: Back in the very first chapter a Breton mage named Arnand Penoit introduced us to Jerric. Then I discovered that he shares his first name with a character in Destri Melarg’s magnificent Interregnum. *Grits’ head meets desk* So Arnand Penoit gets a slight tweak and becomes Darnand Penoit. He also gets a mention in Abiene’s Saturalia story, I’ve changed it there, too.



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 4

Abiene put down her quill and listened to the commotion coming in through the library window. Something was definitely wrong. She went over and leaned out, straining to see over the Mages Guild hall’s portico. An agitated crowd milled around the courtyard in front of Anvil’s Main Gate. One woman screamed and fell into her companion’s arms as she watched. Several people turned away and started running.

Her uneasy feeling bloomed into worry. She latched the window with a click and walked briskly down the stairs. Raised voices drew her to the dining room, and she found the other mages gathered in a knot under one of the stone arches. Everyone was speaking at once, and she couldn’t understand what they were saying. “What?” she demanded, pulling at the blue velvet shoulder in front of her. “What about Kvatch?”

Felen turned around, his narrow face tight with excitement. “It’s overrun with daedra. A Gate to Oblivion has opened on the plateau, and the city is destroyed! A few escaped, but everyone else is dead! An Altmer brought the news. We don’t know what’s happened to the chapter there. We’re waiting for Carahil, perhaps she has more information.”

Images from her one visit to Kvatch flashed through Abiene’s mind. Shopping in the bustling market square on Loredas. Laughing with the other associates at the kahve shops outside the arena. The elegant Guild Court shaded by ancient trees. Flowers planted everywhere, and fountains. It couldn’t all be destroyed.

Her next breath caught in her throat. Jerric lives in Kvatch, she thought. Jerric. Abiene reeled in shock, and she felt a hand under her elbow. “Sit down and wait.” It was Darnand. “We don’t know yet.”

She realized that Darnand’s attention was focused only on her, and for once his face held no evidence of distraction. Any other time she would have delighted in it, but now she felt as if ice had filled her veins. She shook her head at him. “I’m not going to wait.” The Running Wolf company had an office at the harbor. They will know something, she thought. She lifted her skirts and bolted for the door, running all the way down through Chapelgate to the warehouses Harborside.

She burst into the Running Wolf office and leaned against the door, panting and holding the stitch in her side. Her shins ached and her face felt uncomfortably hot and sweaty. The Redguard woman behind the long counter stared at her in startled dismay. Her eyes were swollen as if she had been crying. The Nord who ran the office stepped into the doorway behind her wearing a similar expression. Abiene recognized him, but she couldn’t think of his name. “Young lady, what on Nirn… Here, come in and sit down,” he said. “Shasana, please get her some water. Calm yourself, and tell us what’s wrong.”

The Nord guided her through the door into a small office. “Kvatch,” Abiene gasped, still out of breath. “Where are your caravans?”

The Nord shook his head. “I’ve just been checking the schedules. I’m sorry my dear, it’s very bad news. The caravans were in Kvatch when it happened. The city is destroyed, we fear that all of them are lost. It’s a family birthday, they planned it so they could be home together. Such a terrible shame.”

Abiene fell into a chair and covered her face with her hands, fighting her tears. She could still remember the taste of his skin, and the scent of him. The thought that she wouldn’t see him again seemed impossibly wrong. Grief overwhelmed her self-control, and sobs shook her frame. She gasped out the answers to the Nord’s questions.

“Did you have something on one of our caravans?” he asked. “It will take some time to… You knew someone? Did you say Jerric? Of course, you must have known him from the Mages Guild.” He handed her a handkerchief, and she pressed it to her burning eyes, trying to untangle her emotions.

“Maybe he got out,” she choked. “Maybe he survived.” The sorrow on the Nord’s face told her he didn’t believe it. She shook her head and clenched the handkerchief in her hands. “He’s a battlemage, he can fight!” Her breath came in hiccups. The Nord looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Oh, miss,” he said. “Let me walk you back to the guild.”

Shasana came in and silently handed Abiene a mug of water. She rested her hand on Abiene’s shoulder while she sipped it. The Nord took a seat behind his cluttered desk, and Shasana went to stand beside him. While Abiene struggled to stop crying, fresh tears rolled unchecked down Shasana’s cheeks.

The Nord spoke again. His deep voice was heavy with sorrow, but kind. “We’ve all lost folk in Kvatch, miss. We heard the news from an Altmer named Hirtel only an hour ago at the Flowing Bowl. He was there that night. He said a few survived, very few. I could take you to see him, or when you’re ready I’ll take you home. Folk should stay together at times like these.”

Abiene felt an irrational anger toward the man. “I won’t give up hope,” she insisted. “Not yet. I’ll go back to the guild. Carahil will know what to do, and if there’s any news, she’ll hear it.” Her words ended on a squeak as she took a ragged breath. Part of her wanted to deny what she was feeling.

“You’re right about that, miss. She’s a credit to the guild, and Anvil is lucky to have her.”

“Abiene. My name is Abiene.” Find your composure, she told herself firmly. A few weeks of dalliance hardly make a love affair. The truth is you barely know him.

“Of course, Abiene. I’m Ongve. You healed my shoulder last Rains Hand with a student, and I’m sorry I forgot your name.”

Abiene sniffed and blew her streaming nose. With a city lost, I’m not going to fall apart over one man, she thought, trying to make it true. She focused her attention on Ongve. “How is your shoulder now?” She wiped her tears away and tried to smooth her windblown curls.

“Still just as good as new, thanks for asking. I’m careful now when I lift, like you showed me. You were too kind to say, but I ought to let the young lads shift the heavier loads.”

She looked straight at Ongve, but her mind was filled with images of Jerric. He must still be alive, she thought. Somehow. “I’ll send word if I hear anything,” she told Ongve. “When we hear from him.” I wonder if he got my letter, she thought. Maybe he already sent one back to me.

Now Shasana’s hand rested on Ongve’s shoulder, and he reached up and covered it with his own. “Thank you, Abiene,” he said. “We’ll do the same.”

When the chapel door opened, Jerric was the last to step inside. Thunder rolled as he pulled it shut behind him. Cool, dry air and dim quiet closed around him like a curtain. But for the tired, frightened faces he would never have known that fire and destruction reigned outside.

His eyes passed quickly over all of the people inside the chapel. Brother Martin and the priestess Oleta stood with no more than a dozen others behind two uniformed Kvatch guards. Jerric recognized one of the guards as Berich Inian. He had worn the Kvatch Wolf as long as Jerric could remember. Panic began to rise in Jerric’s chest when he saw who wasn’t there. “Are there any others?” he demanded, then he realized that Captain Matius was talking.

“Tierra, report,” Matius had said to the other guard. Jerric couldn’t wait for them to finish.

He looked down and met Oleta’s gaze. Her wrinkled face looked drawn with fatigue, but her gentle brown eyes were clear. “Is this all of you?” he asked quietly, and she nodded. “You know my family, were they here?” He felt as though he was balanced on the edge of an axe.

“No, I haven’t seen them,” she told him sadly.

Jerric felt the foundations of his world fall out from under him. He collapsed into a pew and braced his hands against the back of the one in front. For the first time he started to believe that his family could be lost. Wild grief began to pull the heart out of him.

No, he told himself again, and he desperately clung to the thought. They could still be in the castle. I’m going to find them.

Jerric dragged himself up and approached the altar, trembling with emotion and exhaustion. He knelt down and rested his forehead on the cool stone. My strength is spent, he thought, but I’m not finished. He had no words for what he was asking.

The blessing swirled around him and joined his magicka as he absorbed it, but there was something more this time. He thought he might have stepped away from himself and then returned, but he couldn’t remember. It was like awakening from a quickly fading dream. A sense of clarity washed through him, and he opened his eyes. He felt as refreshed as if he had spent a long night under the stars wrapped in a warm blanket. He stood and looked around. Brother Martin was alive, and he knew he should go speak to him.

Captain Matius was talking to the folk who had found refuge in the chapel. “Pack up everything you can carry. You’ll need food, clothing, healing supplies, and blankets at the camp. Oleta and Brother Martin, I would ask you to remain on the plateau with Sigrid until we have taken back the castle. We will need your healing skills. Oleta, do you have any potions we could bring into battle?”

“Yes, we had few injuries to treat here. I fear the wounded couldn’t… Brother Martin and I can heal your afflictions now, and of course all of you should seek a blessing before you go.” Jerric saw that she was looking at him. “Our water is still pure, the pump is in the kitchen beyond the chapel hall.”

“We’ve heard daedra in the undercroft,” said Tierra. “I’ll go with you.”

One of the guards held his hand out to Jerric. He realized the man was offering to fill his canteen. “Thanks,” Jerric said, and he handed it over.

“Rilian,” said the guard.

He looks younger than me, Jerric thought. “Thanks, Rilian.”

Brother Martin and Oleta began to move among the soldiers, and flashes of white magicka lit up the chapel. Jerric saw Matius talking with Berich Inian. They appeared to be in disagreement. Inian’s voice sounded low and urgent. “Savlian, it’s my place to go with you. Even now I should be at Count Goldwine’s side.”

Matius gripped the older man’s shoulders. Jerric saw the other guards looking away, and he did the same. They could pretend to give them privacy, at least. Vonius caught Jerric’s eye. “Castle Guard,” he said quietly, nodding toward Inian. Oleta put her hands out to heal Vonius.

Matius’ voice was firm and compassionate. “Berich, my friend. I need you to hold the chapel. If I fall, you must lead the Guard again. You taught me everything I know. My decision can’t surprise you.”

Inian’s voice sounded strained. “Make sure you don’t. I haven’t finished teaching you everything I know.” Jerric heard a snort that could be laughter, and then Inian spoke again. “I’ll wait for your orders, Captain.”

Jerric saw the survivors gathering at the south door to evacuate. Brother Martin stood among them, carrying a large pack with another across his shoulders. Jerric looked between Captain Matius and Brother Martin, torn.

Matius spoke to Tierra as she opened the south door to leave. Her face also held the strain of following orders that were not to her liking. “This is only the beginning of the battle for Kvatch,” he told her. “We’ll see you at the castle.”

Jerric made his choice. The conversation with Brother Martin would have to wait. Rilian returned as the door closed behind Tierra. When Jerric took his canteen he noticed that the burns on Rilian’s face had faded to pink. They joined the guardsmen gathered around Captain Matius.

“Our goal is the castle gate,” Matius told them. “This door will take us to the north plaza, and the way is clear across Market Street and through Pinder Plaza. Inian?”

The castle guard spoke with calm authority. “Market Street is completely blocked north to the city wall, but the street is open south through Guild Court. The daedra hold at least the castle courtyard, and they closed the castle gates. You will be attacked from the south and under fire from inside the castle courtyard when you reach Pinder Plaza. The mechanism for raising the gates is inside the gatehouse. The only way to get into the gatehouse now is through the passage at the North Guard House. Remember, Market Street is blocked there. When you clear Pinder Plaza, you’ll have to come back through the chapel and out through the undercroft to get to the Guard House.”

Matius spoke again. “Our fall-back position is the chapel. We’ll clear Pinder Plaza and take cover until the castle gates can be opened. You know the drill. In pairs against the dremora. Stick close to your partner and keep your eyes open. Jerric, are you with us?” Jerric nodded, and Matius’ face broke into a fierce grin. “Ha ha, I knew you’d be up to it! Let’s move out. To the castle!”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 7 2011, 08:23 PM

Again you've done a wonderful job with this quest so far. I really liked how you had Oleta give Jerric the status report instead of our hero eavesdropping on Tierra's report to Savlian. It makes great sense considering Jerric is from Kvatch and knows most of the survivors anyway.

Matius's military planning skills are on fine display here, and I'm enjoying it very much. He's a terrific character to write, isn't he?

Do you know how many times I wrote the castle battle before I said enough was enough? Five times! It was one of the stickiest parts of the MQ for me. So it's good to know I'm not alone.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 8 2011, 02:13 AM

Abiene!

An Altmer brought the news.
A nice nod to that terrified Altmer we meet on the road when first coming to Kvatch.

Jerric felt the foundations of his world fall out from under him
This was wonderfully writ!

Another strong piece. Jerric's fears about his family are shown very well here. So is his determination to win through. His experience at the altar was especially good, and intriguing. This is beginning to take on the overtones of a shamanic initiation. Where one dies a literal or figurative death, and then is put back together, but with something special added deep inside. I smell the brimstone of a time dragon in the latter...

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 8 2011, 02:35 AM

Poor Jerric His feelings about finding his family come out so strongly that i had to fight back a tear or two -sniff-

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 8 2011, 03:23 AM

And caught up on this one as well.

Jerric: a new role model of mine. Shame about that nose, but hey, Owen Wilson seems to be able to do it, so it can't be that bad. Besides, as long as the ladies keep thinking that he got it doing various valiant, manly things, their experiences with him will be all the more enjoyable.

I enjoyed the idea that Jerric and his family operate out of Kvatch, as one of the best way-stops along the trade-important Gold Road. That, and his history with Captain Matius, is a very nice touch about a hero trying to save his home.

Your depiction of the Kvatch Gate quest made me sigh in remembrance. One of the toughest parts to write, and you handle it very well. Jerric and company keep a mind on tactics that Oblivions A.S. (Artificial Stupidity) system doesn't allow.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 8 2011, 04:10 AM

Two distinct and very good scenes. In fact each would have made a fine story alone.

I particularly enjoyed drawing out the fact that the Mages Guild in Kvatch was a full, vibrant guild - until that gate opened. Lovely flashbacks of Kvatch.

Meanwhile, back in Kvatch, lovely interaction inside the Chapel. No surprise that Jerric will be part of the raid force to retake the castle. I very much enjoy that in this scene and, I expect in your next, Jerric is just one participant among many brave members of the City of the Wolf.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Feb 8 2011, 05:17 AM

Emotions ran heavy in this one. You did a great job portraying the effects the fall of Kvatch are having on the people of Tamriel, a whole lot better than this:

You'd think considering how huge an event the fall of Kvatch was for the game, the populace would recognize that. Thankfully, in your story, they did, and they did so very well.

Looking forward to the next big fight.

Posted by: mALX Feb 8 2011, 05:37 AM

You have done more than bring to life the tragedy of the events in Kvatch; these chapters have immersed us in the events as realistically as if we had experienced them ourselves. AWESOME WRITE !!!!

Posted by: Grits Feb 10 2011, 05:32 PM

haute ecole rider: Thank you for the encouragement!! Having Jerric live in Kvatch has put a different spin on this whole quest, which has been interesting.

SubRosa: I’m glad you detected that whiff of brimstone. I’m still not sure where it will take him.

Jacki Dice: I think the guy deserves a nice vacation after this!!

Captain Hammer: I’m glad you’re reading! I’m sure someone will rearrange his nose for him eventually.

Acadian: In retrospect I probably should have posted the two scenes separately. Just the few sentences I wrote about Kvatch made me want to do a story set there before the Gate. Knowing it is doomed somehow captures the imagination.

Thomas Kaira: I agree, people should be upset! It also makes me mad that Kvatch stays burning. Next big fight, coming right up!

mALX: Thank you, mALX!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 5

Jerric moved out and took his position on the north chapel steps beside Captain Matius. The sky had darkened while they were inside, and the wind drove ash and debris against his face. Vonius stood behind him. Jerric heard his voice under the growing storm. “She’ll be at the castle… she’ll be at the castle…” Vonius repeated to himself. Jerric realized that all of them had someone they still hoped to find, and the strain increased as they got closer to their goal. His eyes moved quickly over the north plaza to Market Street. Flame atronachs were clearly visible in the dusk, and the scamps had already spotted them and begun casting their flares. Matius wasted no time. “Kvatch!” he roared, and they answered him as one voice.

The fireballs were not difficult to dodge at this distance. Jerric saw the guards moving with him as he ran toward the closest flame atronach. He began casting frost spells as he approached. She leaped up and brought her hands down to strike him, and he dodged to the side. He guessed that the dark spots he saw against the flame of her body were her armor. He dodged another graceful leap, then sliced Chillrend across her bright abdomen. Her body jerked from the frost effect, and he gritted his teeth against a sudden jolt of pain. Dammit, he thought. She’s reflecting damage. He danced back on the balls of his feet, sword ready for his next strike. This is going to hurt, he warned himself. When he saw her begin to raise her arms again, he stepped forward and drove Chillrend up under her armor into her chest. Her flames grew dim as she slid off his sword. The dark pieces of armor clanked against the stones when she flickered away into nothingness. Huh, he thought. No blood. He glanced around and saw another target. As he ran toward her it began to rain.

By the time Jerric reached the statue of Antus Pinder, Chillrend’s magicka had run out of charge. The padded doublet under his iron armor was coming apart from the flares he failed to absorb, and he was spitting up blood from the damage the flame atronachs reflected back onto him. The rain had soaked through to his skin. He reached the statue at the same time as Rilian and another guard. Matius was watching the rest of the guards return from the ruins of Guild Court. His blade and white surcoat were dark with blood. He turned and spoke, raising his voice over the rain.

“Rilian, I want you to go get the guard house key from Inian at the chapel. Make your way through the undercroft and around to the North Guard House. Inian will tell you what to do. Jerric, I want you to go with him, will you do it? Good! Keep the daedra off his neck. Looks like you can absorb their spells, that’s an advantage we need. Check your cuirass, Jerric. Those buckles look loose. The rain and dark should give you some cover, tell Inian try not to engage the daedra. We’ll clear the eastern part of the city after we secure the castle. As soon as you raise the gate, join us in the castle courtyard. Our priority is Count Goldwine, then anyone else who made it to the castle. Got it? Fast and quiet, get that gate open!”

Rilian secured his bow on his back and Jerric sheathed Chillrend. They jogged back across Market Street and into the north plaza. Lightning flashes illuminated the sheets of rain that fell across their path and splashed up from the cobbled street. Candlelight from inside the chapel made the tall windows barely visible. Jerric tried to fix his buckles as he went, but he just couldn’t manage it. He tucked his chin against the rain and ran the rest of the way to catch up with Rilian.

They burst into the chapel just as a tremendous crack of thunder sounded simultaneously with its lightning flash. Inian whirled around drawing his sword, then they all jumped toward the south door as it flew open. Three Imperial Legion soldiers dashed in, shaking off the rain. They stopped abruptly at the sight of Jerric and the Kvatch guards with their weapons drawn. “Hold!” one shouted, spreading out his hands. “I’m Paetus. This is Livius, and Masavo is the archer. We saw the flames from the Gold Road while out on patrol. We came to help.”

“Your help is most welcome,” said Inian. He made the introductions, then he turned toward Rilian and Jerric. “Did Captain Matius give the order? Finally, a chance to fight back!” The legionnaires gathered around him with Rilian and Jerric. “We need to open the castle gates,” Inian said to all of them. “I’m afraid we’re in for a tough time, friends. We’ll have to go out through the chapel undercroft, and then through what’s left of the city. Rilian, here’s the guard house key. Rilian’s the fastest guard in Kvatch, and we need to get him through to the tower at the north wall, that’s the North Guard House. There’s a passage there to the castle gatehouse. We’ll go through it and open the castle gates.”

“Captain said fast and quiet, sir,” said Rilian.

Inian nodded. “That’s right, we just need to get you through. The noise from the rain and the dark should give us some cover. The daedra don’t seem to work together, I’ve been watching. The important thing now is to get to the Count. We won’t engage if we can get by them.”

Jerric looked over at the altar while Inian spoke. He wondered what had happened to him there. He didn’t need fear or rage to drive him anymore, he felt a calm purpose like firm ground under his feet. He drained his canteen while Inian was speaking.

“Check your gear,” Inian told them. “Jerric, you have some damage here. Let me see it.”

Rilian took Jerric’s canteen again and headed for the stairs. “Be right back,” he said.

Inian swore under his breath as he moved Jerric’s arm. “There’s no way I can fix it, you caught too many flares. Look here, this buckle is about to give out. I think you’re better off with just the breastplate.”

“All right.” Jerric made the adjustments. “At least I’ll be a little quicker.”

Inian tugged at the cuirass and nodded with satisfaction. “Keep one eye on Rilian, that lad is fast. I don’t want to lose him in the dark. It’ll be hard to tell where we are out there. It’s bad, Jerric.”

“I hear you.” Jerric swung his arms and picked up his gear. “Ready.”

Inian opened the door to the undercroft, and the stench of scamps hit them like a wall. Jerric and the legionnaires moved through with Rilian and Inian behind them. The evenly spaced columns helped keep Jerric from veering into the way of his allies. “For the Empire!” bellowed one of the legionnaires, but Jerric ignored him. He reveled in the simplicity of this fight. The only thing on his mind was each enemy that stepped in front of him. The scamps’ flares lit up the dark undercroft along with Inian and Rilian’s torches. He felt his confidence surge with each fireball he absorbed, and the ones that hit him were forgotten as soon as he healed the burns. The last scamp’s body flailed onto him, blood jetting out of its neck stump. Jerric kicked it away and spit to get the foul taste off of his lips. He wiped his mouth on his exposed doublet, then he wiped Chillrend and turned to examine the blade in the torchlight. He glanced up and caught Rilian’s wide-eyed stare.

“Did you see that?” said Jerric. “Look, its head is still rolling.”

Inian spoke. “We’ll move from cover to cover. Jerric, you go first, then Paetus and Livius. You three engage any daedra that spot us. Rilian, you’ll run through and do not stop to fight. Masavo, you’re with Rilian. I’ll bring up the rear. Wait for me to give the signal before you go again. The city is in ruins, we might have to backtrack to find a way through. We don’t have time to get lost out there. Ready? No shouting, Livius. Keep it quiet. Now let’s get out of this stink.”

They filed out of the undercroft and back into the rain. Jerric saw the distant glow from two flame atronachs, and when lightning flashed he strained to see the dark shapes of any dremora. Inian grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. He pointed to two-story building some distance away. Fires burned around it, but the first floor lay in shadow. Jerric nodded. Inian thumped his shoulder again, and Jerric moved out into the dark street.

Jerric pulled Chillrend out of the dead scamp and dropped to his knee. His left arm burned, he couldn’t tell if it was from the scamp’s claws or from its flare. He closed his eyes and focused his healing spell. Great, he thought. It’s broken again. He slipped the shield off to make sure he healed it straight, then he sent the white light into the injuries. He guessed they had been making their way through the city for at least an hour. Their attempt at stealth was not working. Each fiery skirmish drew more daedra, and Jerric doubted that they had left many alive behind them. He flexed his arm with satisfaction and shook some rain out of his eyes.

A flash of lightning showed him a huge shape rapidly approaching. “Die, churl!” growled the dremora. Jerric reached for Chillrend on the ground, but his hand met only wet cobblestone. He scrambled back and readied a shock spell. Dreck, he thought. Dreck, dreck, dreck. He sent his shock at the dremora’s armored chest when it raised its mace, then he rolled to the side to avoid its strike. He heard the mace hit stone. The dremora howled as Jerric got his feet under him. When he lunged away and readied his next shock spell, another scream cut through the rain. This one sounded distinctly Imperial. Jerric turned to find the dremora on one knee, then it toppled to the ground. Rilian stood behind it. Jerric noticed that he had lost his helmet. Rilian pulled his sword out of the dremora’s neck and looked at Jerric. “Just like you told us,” he said. His words were followed by rumbling thunder.

Jerric picked up his gear and followed Rilian’s pale shape to the rally point. He guessed that the storm was moving away from them. Inian and the legionnaires crouched in the shadows, waiting. Inian spoke when they knelt down. “I thought we’d be at the Arena by now,” he said. “But I don’t think we’ve reached Market Square.”

Jerric looked into the building beside them. There was enough fire to see inside, but the furnishings were jumbled and burned. “I can’t tell if that’s a sales counter, or just someone’s kitchen,” he said.

Masavo spoke up. “I saw a bed in the street back there. It was upside down, but I could tell it was a bed.”

“The shops had dwellings over them,” said Inian. “Let me think.”

“I know!” cried Rilian. He darted out into the darkness.

“Dammit! Rilian!”

“Want me to go after him?” asked Jerric. He doubted he could catch up, even if somehow he headed in the right direction.

“No. Maybe they won’t notice him,” Inian sighed. “Canteens. Take a drink if you have one.”

Paetus didn’t, so Jerric passed his over. “How’s the knee?” he asked Paetus.

“Not good. If I had the time, I’d wrap it.”

“Want me to take a look?” Paetus stretched his leg out, and Jerric sent his magicka through it.

“Just wrenched. I can heal it if you want,” said Jerric. “You’ll have to let me have the next mage, though.”

“All right,” Paetus agreed. Jerric healed the knee. His magicka was getting dangerously low.

“Born under the Atronach,” explained Inian.

“Oh. So that’s his excuse,” said Livius. “Crazy son of a…”

“I’m back!” announced Rilian, dropping down between them with a grin. “We’re on the edge of the Arena. I looked at the curbs. My father used to make me wait while he watched the games.” Rilian sounded breathless and exhilarated. Jerric thought that perhaps they had all gone a little crazy.

“Good work!” said Inian. “But don’t run off again, you have the key. That means we’re almost there. We’ll go around through that spot, see where it’s clear? Masavo, you’re out of arrows. You get to go first this time. Then Jerric and Livius, then Paetus with Rilian. Remember, Jerric wants the mages.”

“And the flame atronachs,” said Jerric.

“You can have them,” Masavo said fervently. His cuirass was blackened with soot. Masavo took off running across the littered street.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 10 2011, 06:19 PM

He guessed that the dark spots he saw against the flame of her body were her armor.
Either that or sunspots...

Another grueling battle in the streets, and once more Captain Matius shows us why he is the captain. Likewise with Inian.

I looked at the curbs. My father used to make me wait while he watched the games.
This was a nice touch.


nits:
In the game, Reflect Damage only works against melee attacks. So Jerric's frost spells would not have been reflected. That would have taken Reflect Magic. If you are purposely changing it for the JF, no worries.

Three Imperial Legion soldiers dashed in{,} shaking off the rain.
You missed a comma where I inserted it above.

He heard the mace hit stone at the same time the dremora howled and he got his feet under him.
This sentence is rather long, with a lot happening in it, and no commas to break up each thing. You might consider going to back and rewording it some, and adding some commas.

Posted by: Grits Feb 10 2011, 06:44 PM

SubRosa: Thank you!! I addressed the issues. The reflect damage was an oops!

Sunspots!!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 10 2011, 06:54 PM

Let me begin by saying that SubRosa caught the nits I noticed.

Now let me say this: Rousing! Rawr!

Be still my beating heart, there's still the castle to go.

Well done, again!

Posted by: mALX Feb 11 2011, 01:01 AM

Holy Cow! I was holding my breath through this whole chapter! Powerful imagery of the whole scene, and I agree with SubRosa, that moment of recognizing the curb he used to sit on was HUGE! Awesome Write!

Posted by: Acadian Feb 11 2011, 01:58 AM

Wonderful again, Grits! You not only captured the frenzy and fog of the fight, but tied in several suggestions at the personal tragedies of memories and loved ones. 'She'll be at the castle.' Jerric looking at the curb.

Very effective pacing here; I'm sure anyone reading is breathing a little harder and their pulse is a bit faster.

All of the characters in this episode are very well presented under pressure here. You do justice to each of them and their efforts.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 11 2011, 04:03 AM

Wow. Talk about the Adrenaline rush. No, not the Regaurd racial power, why do they always think it's that...

You do a great job with the small squad operating against a lot of enemies. Especially with how they just can't seem to catch a break and avoid any of the enemies out there. Shame how the that never works

Particularly liked how the others responded to learning that Jerric was born under the Atronach, as well as his request to handle the magic users. Good stuff.

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 11 2011, 05:35 AM

Couldn't blame them for it :/ Poor men. All this makes Wrothken's crazy look like a walk in the park!

Posted by: Ahrenil Feb 13 2011, 01:15 AM

I love the little humane twists on the Legionaires and guards, it takes a little bit of the curb off the situation, but you always bring back the weight of the situation with the little details. Like the bed in the street, the rooms above the shops. It makes the whole situation a lot more personal and human than it ever felt in the game. It's a superb read!

Posted by: Grits Feb 15 2011, 01:52 AM

SubRosa: I’m glad Inian is coming across, too. When I saw that he is a castle guard I decided to give him a little more work to do. Thank you again for pointing out those issues so I could fix them, and for your encouraging words.

haute ecole rider: It’s the last push to the castle, whew! Thank you so much for your support!

mALX: The curb was my favorite detail. Thank you mALX!!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I was hoping that the characters would come across in these action-y sections without slowing things down too much.

Captain Hammer: Yeah, if they avoided all the enemies it might have been a little bit boring. Thank you for the encouragement! I’m glad you enjoyed the legionnaires’ comments.

Jacki Dice: This would be a bad time for Jerric to wander into a felldew situation!

Ahrenil: Thank you for pointing out those details, Ahrenil. I’m glad you’re reading!!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 6

Jerric stood inside the North Guard House looking at the round trapdoor set into the floor. Inian dropped a lit torch down. Its yellow light revealed that thick smoke filled the dark passage. “Looks like the daedra came through from the courtyard and got stopped here at the hatch,” said Inian.

“What could still be burning down there?” Jerric asked. There’s no air, he thought. Terror made his wet skin feel coated with ice. He would rather face a dozen clannfears than go into that tunnel.

“Some crates, maybe. Furnishings that were in storage. There shouldn’t be anything else down there to burn,” Inian replied. He looked up at the five of them. “Here’s what we’ll find. It’s a climb down these metal rungs, then stairs down to a straight passage all the way to the end. You’ll find another set of stairs and rungs there going up with a hatch at the top like this one. No turns, no other way out. Watch out for steps up and down throughout the passage. My concern is that the daedra might have blocked the trap door in the courtyard after they set these fires.”

“Is there any other way?” Jerric asked quietly. He tried to calm himself. The thought of suffocating underground had already made him feel short of breath.

“This is it.”

“Let me see if there’s air in the passage, sir,” Rilian suggested. The young guard looked tense and eager. Jerric caught Livius’s eyes and saw his own fear in them.

“All right,” said Inian. “Be quiet getting the other trapdoor up. It’s not easily visible from the courtyard, but be careful. I don’t want a fight in the passage.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rilian. He dropped his legs through the hatch and disappeared into the smoke. A moment later they heard him coughing. “It’s not so bad near the floor!” he called. “I’m going!” The yellow light disappeared with his fading footsteps.

“Masavo, light another torch,” said Inian. He looked up at Jerric. “I’m sending you next.”

“Funny,” said Jerric. “They’ve set everything on fire except the torches.”

“Stay focused,” Inian told him sharply. Smoke began to drift up out of the hatch. “I think he’s opened it! Damn, that boy is fast! Fetch it, we’re all going.” Inian grinned at Jerric and dropped Masavo’s torch down. “You first, Nord. Then Livius.” Fear stiffened Jerric’s limbs. He didn’t let himself think, he just swung his legs over and climbed down into the darkness. He felt some relief when his muscles didn’t hesitate. Smoke started to burn his eyes before he even picked up the torch. He heard Livius hit the floor behind him as he started down the passage, coughing. Good idea to get the frightened rabbits down the hole first, he thought. Now Inian can kick our dreck-dribbling haunches the rest of the way if he has to.

Jerric loped through the long tunnel with the torch in his hand, stumbling over the stairs that Inian had warned them about. It took all of his concentration not to take off running in a panic. He fell into a rhythm counting steps and keeping his breaths shallow until he reached Rilian at the top of the final staircase. The air at the base of the round tower was clearer. Jerric dropped the torch and got ready for the climb up.

The others joined them in the tower. “There’s no cover in the courtyard,” Inian warned them. “It’s designed that way. We’ll be under fire from the top of the walls. Jerric, straight across between the gates and up the stairs to the gate lever. It’s a wheel, turn it to the left to raise them. See if you can get them up as fast as Rilian got the hatch open. Let’s go!”

Jerric needed no encouragement to climb out of the tunnel back into the rain. He dashed between the gates and up the stairs, coughing the smoke out of his lungs. Even though it was wet, the gate wheel turned easily in his hands. He heard shouts from across the moat and screeches from within the courtyard as the gates went up. By the time he leaped down the steps and swung around the corner into the courtyard, the battle had begun.

Scamps, clannfears, and flame atronachs filled the air with their cries and the light from their fire spells. The three legionnaires had taken a position in the middle of the courtyard. They looked like a solid fortress against a swirl of fire. Jerric heard Matius shouting, and the Kvatch Guards filled in on both sides of them. Jerric stood beside the Altmer archer, throwing his spells over their heads at the dremora on the wall above. First he would send a flare to show him his target, then he would follow quickly with a more powerful shock spell. He saw the first dremora fall and glanced to his right where something had caught his attention.

Vonius lay on his side cursing in a rapidly widening pool of blood. His hands pressed around a dremora arrow that had pierced the mail over his upper thigh. A scamp had almost reached him. Jerric jumped over Vonius and slashed through the scamp’s belly, heedless of the claws raking down his arm. He lowered his shield and aimed a second slash through its throat. The scamp slumped forward, and Jerric threw his shoulder into its slippery chest to shove the body away from Vonius as it fell. He dropped to the ground beside Vonius, kneeling in the blood and water. No cover, Jerric thought. He pressed against the injured leg with one hand and got the other ready to pull out the arrow.

Rilian crashed to the stones near them with an arrow protruding from his throat. He lay thrashing on the wet cobbles. “The kid!” Vonius gritted out. “Rilian!”

Jerric scrambled over to Rilian, and for a moment he was blinded by fire as a flare hit his back. When the flames dissipated he saw that Rilian’s eyes were open, locked on his. His legs had stilled, and red bubbles frothed through Rilian’s fingers. No time, Jerric thought. He ripped out the arrow and clapped his hand over Rilian’s on the torn throat. White light swirled around them as Jerric sent his healing spell into the wound over and over, as fast as he could. Rilian began kicking again and coughed out blood. Jerric pulled him upright by his surcoat. Rilian stared back at him with wild eyes, clutching his healed throat. “Stendarr’s balls,” Jerric breathed in amazement. Rilian bent over onto his knees, spitting up blood. Jerric lunged back over to Vonius. He lay flat on his back now with another arrow in his chest. The rain made puddles in his open eyes.

A sick feeling churned inside Jerric’s guts, and he felt the grief and horror flooding back in. Thoughts swarmed around his head like bees, but he pushed them away. He let go of Vonius and rose to stand beside Rilian. The fight in the courtyard was over. We’re almost there, he told himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain on the courtyard stones, and in a moment his mind was clear again. He picked up his shield and joined Matius at the castle door.

Blood soaked the Captain’s headband and surcoat. Jerric saw the Altmer archer standing grim-faced beside Matius, holding a dremora mace in his hand. Jerric guessed he must have eliminated the rest of the dremora archers. “This area’s clear,” said Matius. “You legionnaires are a welcome sight. We’ve got to get inside and find the Count before it’s too late. Inian, we’re under your command. No one knows the castle better than you.”

Inian stepped forward. He spoke to the Altmer first. “Merandil, take Jerric with you and go straight through to the Count’s quarters, you know the way.” He nodded to the legionnaires. “You three go with them to rescue the Count. Get through the living quarters main hall to the corridor at the end. It leads to the Count’s private quarters. Find the Count and defend him until we meet you. There’s a corner in the final hallway you can use to your advantage. I’ll clear the Great Hall with Captain Matius and the rest of the guard. We’ll come for you and the Count when the castle is secure.” He spoke to the rest of the Kvatch Guard. “You on the left, you on the right. You two straight down the middle, let Merandil’s group through. Move out!”

Jerric followed Merandil into the Great Hall. The interior was a shocking wreck of piled, smoldering furniture. Books and silver tableware littered the floor. Smoke obscured the high ceiling. Jerric looked for the familiar entrance to the castle dungeons, but rubble filled the opening. He saw the guards closing with flame atronachs and scamps. This is it, he thought. He reached inside himself for his Nordic Woad and felt it settle like a second skin around him. “The Count!” cried Merandil.

There was plenty of room to dodge daedra as they ran through the Great Hall. One clannfear’s charge caught Jerric’s side, but its bony head frill glanced off his hip with a white flash of magicka. He stumbled into a shattered column, then he pushed himself up and continued without injury. They followed Merandil up the curved set of stairs behind the throne. They had reached a part of the castle that Jerric had never seen before.

The doorway to the castle living quarters was open, its doors shattered. Ruined furnishings cluttered the floor, leaving little room to move. Twisted bodies lay strewn across the carpet here. The smell of smoke thickened the air, and under it Jerric could smell something much worse.

Scamps and flame atronachs emerged from the doorways along the sides of the hall and began throwing their flares. Jerric stayed between Masavo and Merandil as they worked their way through the room. The uncertain footing made it difficult to dodge the fireballs. The legionnaires easily caught them on their shields. Jerric absorbed most of them, but the increasing pain from his burns made a constant howl in his mind. Merandil began to stagger. He carried no shield, only the dremora mace.

A clannfear stepped out of a side passageway and turned into the room. Jerric heard Livius and Paetus on his left swearing at a flame atronach. On his right Merandil struggled grimly with a scamp, and Masavo was somewhere behind him. The clannfear lowered its head and trumpeted. It charged straight at Jerric. Dammit, he thought, there’s no room. He was able to move a half step to the side, but the clannfear caught him full on his shield. He heard the splintering crack of impact as it tossed him into a burning table. Hot agony seared his hands as he scrambled and rolled sideways out of the fire. He heard Masavo shouting, but he couldn’t listen. The sight of his hands blackened and red where the skin split open filled him with horror. Panic sent his healing spell carelessly over all of himself. He stared down at his healed arms, shaking. Jerric looked up to see Masavo pulling his sword out of the clannfear. Masavo looked over at Merandil and Jerric. “We’ve got this!” he cried. “Go to the Count!”

Merandil caught Jerric’s eye and jerked his head toward the back of the hall. Jerric could see two broad steps leading up to an open, arched doorway there. He pulled his ruined shield from his arm and dropped it as he picked his way through the debris. The floor at the back of the hall was thick with bodies dressed in the castle guards’ white surcoats. Jerric realized that this was where they had made their stand. The hopelessness and despair they must have felt also filled him, and this time he was powerless to stop it.

His family had never been here, now he knew it in his bones. The last thought that he might find anyone left alive slipped away. He tried to bring them into the front of his mind. They stood together in his imagination, and he found he couldn’t see their faces. They seemed so far away from him. The knowledge that he could never bring them any closer sank through him like a black fog. He felt cold inside, alone and empty.

His legs still carried him forward. Jerric knew the hollow look of folk who had gone on living long after their hearts had left them. Now he knew the feeling. He rounded the corner in the hallway, following Merandil. They stepped over at least a dozen torn bodies. Jerric realized that after the guards were killed, the daedra had simply slaughtered these people where they stood.

When Jerric and Merandil entered Count Goldwine’s quarters, a scamp looked up from where it rummaged through the wreckage. These doors had also been splintered open. The smell told Jerric that the Count had been dead for some time. Jerric's eyes found him on the floor in a dark, sticky pool. Merandil pounded the scamp with his mace until it fell, and then for awhile after. A ragged sob pulled Jerric’s attention to the door. Inian stepped into the room, his face utterly defeated. Tears stood in his eyes.

Jerric pulled the woven coverlet from the bed and spread it out next to the Count’s body. Inian turned him until the black wolf on the coverlet centered over his chest. They wrapped the Count’s body and carefully lifted him onto the bed. When Captain Matius found them standing there, Inian silently handed him the Count's signet ring.

The victors made their way back out of the city, but there was no rejoicing. Jerric understood that they had all held onto the hope of finding loved ones alive at the castle. The only folk who weren’t grieving were the ones who lay dead. Even the three legionnaires were somber. He noticed that Masavo and Paetus supported Livius between them. As they walked across the bridge over the castle moat, the rain faded into a drizzle. Smoke and steam still rose from the ruins, but the air was already clearing. By the time they reached the city gate, Masser and Secunda were visible in the sky. Jerric stood on the plateau and looked up at the familiar stars. The smells were horribly wrong, but the damp wind that washed over him felt the same as it had for all of his life. He heard Sigrid speaking to the guards, but their words made no sense in his ears.

Jerric turned and walked back into the city. His feet found a path through the wreckage, and his eyes followed the line of the city wall until he stood where his home had been. Small fires still burned under the rubble. They showed him that there was nothing left but tumbled stones and ash. Savlian had pointed to where the great siege crawler had come over the wall. His family would have been beneath it. He knew they had died here, crushed and burning. Still he had to look for them.

He started searching the dead faces in the street, moving stones and people as he went. His hands turned every broken body until Inian found him at dawn. He took Jerric’s arm and led him away to the encampment like a child.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 15 2011, 02:31 AM

This. Is. Heartbreaking.

You've captured the harrowing experience of Kvatch as told from the view point of a Kvatch resident. Entwined with that is the crazy chaos that is combat, with comrades dropping left and right too fast to count. Friends are standing next to you one second, and in the next they're gone. And the aftermath is just astounding.

Posted by: mALX Feb 15 2011, 02:38 AM

WHEW!!! This battle scene was breathtaking in detail - choking on the smoke in that tunnel was a huge descriptive way of showing what that tunnel was like. Jerric's emotions could be felt through this whole set of chapters - AWESOME WRITE !!!!!

GAAAAAH!!!! Poor Jerric, that last paragraph brings tears!!!

Posted by: Acadian Feb 15 2011, 03:13 AM

Well done, Grits!

This was very moving and powerful.

I loved the fear and vulnerability you let the situation bring out in Jerric. Yet he did not falter when it counted.

You captured the aftermath very very effectively. In fact, you have really done full justice to the majesty and tragedy of Kvatch.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 15 2011, 03:35 AM

Wow. I was definitely not expecting this. The fight for Castle Kvatch was one thing entirely, but what you've done with Jerric and the unimaginable loss he's suffered is unbelievable in the quality of your writing. Well done.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 15 2011, 05:53 PM

Jerric's claustrophobia at going into the tunnel was a good touch, as it makes him a down-to-nirn person with vulnerabilities.

Jerric looked for the familiar entrance to the castle dungeons
This brought a faint smile to my lips!

A very exciting, fast-paced battle in the courtyard. Jerric's being able to save one soldier at the cost of another's life was outstanding writing! You continued the pace through the castle, to its tragic conclusion. Very hot and desperate!

The was of course perfect. Jerric's soul being crushed under the weight of knowing that it was all for nothing, searching through the bodies and ashes for the remains of his family. Powerful stuff.



nits:
I was a little confused about where Rilian was shot. Eventually I figured out it was in the throat, but that was only a few sentences later. Perhaps you might add something into one of the first two sentences in that paragraph telling us the arrow was in his throat?

Posted by: Grits Feb 17 2011, 02:54 PM

haute ecole rider: You can imagine it was upsetting to write. What you described is what I was hoping very much to convey. It means a lot that it came through for you. I appreciate your support through this chapter so much, thank you h.e.r.!!

mALX: The tunnel is such a nothing event in the game, but when I thought about it I realized how scary it would be. Thanks, mALX!! I’m glad Jerric’s emotional state came through, it seemed important.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Jerric was definitely walking a fine line throughout. This chapter has me seriously considering switching from the PS3, if only to make Kvatch pretty again.

Captain Hammer: Thank you, I really appreciate your comments. I knew it was going to be tough when I made Kvatch his hometown, but whew!

SubRosa: I couldn’t bring Jerric back to the castle without having him remember his many walks of shame. Thank you so much for your support. This chapter has been quite a journey! Is the Rilian arrow any clearer? I moved a sentence around a little.




Chapter 7: Kvatch Part 7


Abiene opened the door to the guild hall, fanning herself. She stepped out of the Anvil sun and into the welcome cool. A grumble from her stomach made her wonder if she had missed lunch. Marc Gulitte and Darnand stood in front of Carahil’s counter in conversation with Baeralorn, the mage from the castle. Carahil was absent from her usual position. Abiene realized it was later in the day than she had thought if Baeralorn was already here for his customary afternoon visit. She took in the sight of Marc’s chubby cheeks and Baeralorn’s outlandish stripes of hair next to Darnand’s lean elegance. He looks like a stag standing between a skunk and a tree rat, she thought with amusement. Then his words struck the whimsy out of her head.

“They’re talking of a blonde Nord who ran through the Oblivion Gate and closed it,” Darnand was saying to them. “He went into Kvatch with the City Guard when they took back the city. He fought against the fire atronachs and dremora mages, and their spells couldn’t touch him. They’re calling him the Kvatch Lion.”

Abiene’s heart leaped in her chest, and her stomach filled with butterflies. She hurried down the steps and stood next to Marc to listen, holding her breath. Baeralorn spoke next. “What is his name? Do you suppose it could be Jerric?”

“No one knows his name. They say he fought with a blue sword and frost spells,” replied Darnand. “I think it was him.” Darnand’s eyes met Abiene’s. “Good afternoon,” he said to her politely.

“Most Nords are blonde, it could have been anyone,” said Marc. Abiene wanted to put her hands around his throat. She gave Darnand a nervous smile.

Darnand’s voice sounded calm, but Abiene had spent enough time watching him to see the tension in his posture. “A Nord battlemage from Kvatch with amber eyes and those scars on his face? Jerric was born under the Atronach, that would explain how he absorbed the spells. He would jump into Oblivion to save his family, don’t you remember how he talked about them? It’s enough to give me hope.”

Marc nodded. “That’s true. He couldn’t open his mouth without saying something about his Ma. What a pity.”

Darnand ignored him and looked back at Abiene. “As soon as Felen is ready, we’re leaving with supplies. Glafeviel is coming with us, she plans to stay with anyone who is left from the guild. The Mages Guild will still have a Kvatch chapter. The people there will need us.”

Marc spoke in a querulous tone. “Why lion? The Kvatch Guard wears the black wolf.”

Darnand shot him an irritated look, and his voice further betrayed his annoyance. “Because he fought alone, perhaps. He’s not one of the City Guard. Maybe the yellow eyes, Jerric does have a leonine appearance. He’s certainly larger than the average city guardsman. Why do you think, Gulitte?”

Baeralorn glanced between the two Bretons, looking mildly entertained. “I didn’t know you and Jerric were such good friends, Darnand,” he observed. “I might have named him the Kvatch Jester. I seem to recall he got the best of you on more than one occasion.”

Darnand turned on Baeralorn just as Marc opened his mouth to speak again. Abiene found her voice and interrupted them. “Does Jerric have a blue sword?” she asked.

She watched Darnand compose himself. The firm resolve in his face gave her something to hold on to. “I have no idea, but when I see him I’m going to ask,” he said. “He survived the battle. The Kvatch Lion is still alive.” Darnand took her arm and led her a few steps into the small receiving room. She heard Marc and Baeralorn continue talking in the hall. “I know you share my optimism, Abiene. Do you have a message for Jerric? I could take it for you.” His eyes seemed to search her face.

Abiene’s emotions swirled her thoughts into a confused mess. The breathless hope that Jerric might still live mixed with the thrill that Darnand was showing an interest in her. She warmed to Darnand’s hand on her sleeve, but then the memory of Jerric’s heat raced over her skin. She took a shaky breath, and then another so that she was sure her voice would sound firm. Darnand stood waiting. “I’m sure he has a great deal on his mind other than his restoration trainer,” she said primly. “If you think of it, just tell him I hope he returns to Anvil soon.” Please bring him back to me, she thought. I need to see him again.

Sigrid smoothed her hair and stepped out of her new tent. Legion Riders had brought them yesterday along with bedrolls, cots, and cooking supplies. For the first time in nearly a week she felt refreshed. She shook out the folds of her blue gown, now clean. I suppose I should be thankful I was up late that night, she thought. At least I’m not still wearing a nightdress.

She walked the few paces to Oleta’s tent and peeked in. Oleta looked up from where she knelt folding bandages. “He’s up,” Oleta said. “He checked on his horse, then I sent him to the creek to wash. Try Tavia’s cookfire.”

Sigrid nodded briskly. “How is he?”

“Healed. Rested. Still not talking.” Oleta sighed and looked down at her hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kept him asleep for so long.”

“He wasn’t himself. You did the right thing, Oleta. We need to give him some time to adjust,” Sigrid replied. “Remember, for him this all just happened.”

“At least now we have canvas over our heads and something to feed him. See if you can get him to eat. It’s been days.”

Sigrid walked through the camp until she spotted Jerric on a log bench beside Tavia's cookfire. He sat with his forearms braced against his thighs, back hunched and head down. He wore the clothes that she had washed for him. His wet hair looked clean. It's a start, she thought.

She moved to the fire and sat down near him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. “I’m pleased to see you, Jerric,” she said softly. He didn’t respond, so she decided just to talk to him. "It looks like Tavia found something for her pot. And I smell kahve.” Sigrid searched his bleak face. His wide eyes stared at nothing, utterly empty. "The fires have burned out in the city. There's already talk of rebuilding." She wondered if he even knew she was speaking. “Supplies are starting to come in.” She reached out and touched his arm. "We have lost all we had, but we’re starting again. I could use another mage. You have a future here, Jerric."

He held an empty cup in his hands. Sigrid gently took it from him and filled it with kahve from the pot hanging over the edge of the coals. She gave it back to him, pressing his fingers around the cup until he gripped it. Steam rose. Sigrid sat and waited.

Finally he met her eyes, and she saw that he was back behind them. His face wore all of the guilt and sorrow she was feeling. “I should have been here, Sigrid. I slept not half a day’s walk from here while they burned.”

Sigrid steeled herself for what she knew she had to say. This was no time for gentle words, only the truth. She hoped he was ready to face it. “You would have died with them, Jerric. I used my spells to get through the fire, but you would have fought until your last breath and then died along with the rest. Do you see any other Nords out here, or any children? No one escaped who was slowed by little ones. The only difference you would have made is more blood on the ground and your ashes in the wind. Don’t tell yourself you could have saved them.” Sigrid realized that her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her knees to still them.

His expression didn’t change at her words. “I couldn’t find them. They have to be somewhere, but I couldn’t find them.”

“They’re not here, Jerric, they’ve gone on together to the great halls of Sovngarde. Even your smallest cousin had a dragon’s heart. Can you at least take some comfort knowing that?”

“I don’t know what to believe. My Fa’s shadow has already found me in my dreams. How can I avenge him? I don’t even know who to kill.”

“There’s nothing you can do for them. You have to let them go.” Sigrid realized that her words weren’t just for him. “You’re still alive, Jerric. Don’t waste it.”

They sat in silence for awhile, and then he spoke again. “I can’t stay in Kvatch. I wish I was strong enough, but I don’t know how to be here without them." Jerric rose and drank the kahve. "I have a promise to keep," he said, and he handed her his empty cup. "Where is Brother Martin?"

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 17 2011, 03:14 PM

It's good to have a quiet chapter after the last couple heart-pounding ones. It's time to sit, think about what happened, grieve. It's not yet time to start thinking about the future. Your writing reflects many of the same things most trauma victims go through. The progression of emotional events are well represented here, with Jerric just coming to terms with events, and Sigrid already a bit further along and starting to think about tomorrow and the day after.

And Abiene is torn between lust for Darnand and her fondness for Jerric? I can relate to that!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 17 2011, 06:03 PM

That is a little better with Rilian's arrow. But it you still have to read several sentences in before you find where the arrow is. I think the most confusing part is the bit about his legs having stilled, which makes one think of the arrow is lower. It is basically a matter of what you think the reader should know first. You might consider something like this:
Jerric scrambled over to Rilian, and for a moment he was blinded by fire as a flare hit his back. When the flames dissipated he saw that the fletchings of an arrow rose from Rilian's throat. The soldier clutched at the missile with both hands, and red bubbles frothed through his fingers. Rilian's eyes were open, locked on his own. No time, Jerric thought. He ripped out the arrow and clapped his hand over Rilian’s.


Now on to the new episode. First off, it is nice to see Darnand again, after so long. I love Abiene's observation about the skunk, tree rat, and stag. Since he is the latter, I am guessing that she might be housing him now? From what I see later on, I guess not. Yet at least. The Kvatch Lion is also a good nickname, given Jerric's blond hair and of course a lion's mane.

“Does Jerric have a blue sword?”
I would think Abiene is more familiar with the color of Jerric's sword than any of the guys. Unless Servilla the Serpent was not an isolated incident...

At least I’m not still wearing a nightdress.
Damn! If only she had went to bed early!

Finally, even fully-dressed as she is, Sigrid gives excellent advice. Both pointing out that Jerric's coulda', woulda' shoulda' been there would just leave him as dead as everyone else, as well as the fact that it is time to take what you have and get down to the work of living.


nits:
Sigrid stepped out of her new tent, smoothing her hair. Legion Riders had brought them yesterday
This makes it sound like the legion riders brought hair, rather than tents. You might consider reversing the smoothing and stepping?

Posted by: Acadian Feb 18 2011, 01:26 AM

Delightful seeing Abiene again, albeit under poor circumstances. It is wonderful that the Anvil guild is responding to their guild mates in Kvatch.

The last part of this story, where Sigrid is trying to comfort Jerric (and herself) is quite touching. Sigrid's plight at Kvatch has always tugged at my heart, and Jerric's plight is now poignantly fresh in our minds after the several wonderful chapters that preceeded this one.

Posted by: mALX Feb 18 2011, 03:36 AM

She should remove her top, the headlights would blink his attention to her.



This sentence is as powerful as it gets - huge emotions in Jerric here that leaves the reader with the same numbness and feeling of being stunned beyond what the human mind can comprehend. Your ability as a writer has always been obvious to the reader, but never so much as in these Kvatch chapters - Totally Awesome, there could be no other word more deserving of your story !!!

Posted by: ghastley Feb 18 2011, 09:31 PM

But a few lines later:

That would have been delayed indefinitely if she'd done as you suggest.

Posted by: mALX Feb 18 2011, 09:47 PM

You are right about that, here is what he would have seen (covered up, of course) :


http://images.uesp.net//thumb/4/44/OB-npc-Sigrid.jpg/600px-OB-npc-Sigrid.jpg


*

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 19 2011, 05:09 AM

The Lion of Kvatch.

Sorry, just had to draw attention to that. The use of the animal motif is only enhanced by Jerric, not only for his physical resemblance (a blond man with a decent beard is nothing if not leonine) but for his heart as well.

Of course, you realize that I'm never going to think of him as anything other than "Jerric the Lionheart" now.

The chapter itself was a great exercise in the emotions that occur after a battle. The way the residents of Anvil's Mages' Guild respond to the reports about the closing of the gate, how Abiene reacts to learning that Jerric may still be alive, and their plans for the Kvatch guildhall are all excellent ingredients that make this story work.

Posted by: Grits Feb 20 2011, 06:18 PM

haute ecole rider: I put a lot of thought into what Sigrid would say to him. I’m really glad it made sense. Yep, Abiene is definitely conflicted. She’s had that slow burn for Darnand since before last Saturalia, but then along came Jerric. She is definitely fun to write, I’m so glad she is relatable. Thank you, haute ecole rider!!

SubRosa: Thanks for welcoming Darnand back. He’s certainly giving Abiene some mixed emotions. Glad you liked the animal comparisons, especially the lion. It seems to fit Jerric much better than Hero of Kvatch. I had to laugh about the blue sword. It says a lot about my mental state that I missed it!! Also thanks for pointing out Sigrid’s advice. I wanted to give her more than just a legendary rack. I fixed the sentence that implied the Legion brought Sigrid a wig. D’oh!

Acadian: Thanks for welcoming Abiene back. I’ve missed her! We’ll see more sides of her soon, good as well as stuff she could improve upon. I feel the same way about Sigrid, I’m pleased that she touched your heart. Your kind words are so encouraging, Acadian.

mALX: Sigrid is going to have to flash her headlights in another story! Poor Jerric brought her a bag of scamp skin, then got distracted by events and failed to make a pass at her. Thank you for your kind words, mALX. That you can feel what he’s going through means so much to me!

ghastley: Not sure how many people manage to look Sigrid in the eye. If she took her top off, poor Martin would have a long, lonely walk to the Priory.

Captain Hammer:

Just what I was hoping for, but I didn’t want to spell it out. Thank you so much, Captain Hammer!! I’m pleased to hear the different sections worked together. I wanted to bring some characters back into the story, but I was concerned that the way I did it might be too choppy.


A note: Although I play around with events from the game, Vonius really died during the game battle, and the sigil stone in this section is the actual one that Jerric got. You should have heard me shout. Thank you for reading!



Chapter 7: Kvatch Part 8

Jerric walked toward Brother Martin where he sat idly by the fire. Martin saw him and rose as he approached. Jerric had missed the resemblance to Emperor Septim before, but now it was clear in Martin’s pale eyes and solemn face. “I heard about how you helped the Guard drive the daedra back,” Martin said. “Well done.” Jerric recognized the same resonance in Martin’s voice.

“Brother Martin, I need to speak with you privately.” Martin didn’t reply, but he followed Jerric away from the fire. “Do you know who I am?” Jerric asked him.

“Of course. You’re Kjelling and Sonstra’s youngest. We met when you were just a lad, but it’s been years since I’ve seen you in the chapel. I’m well acquainted with your mother. She spoke of you often.” Martin stopped and turned toward Jerric. “Do you need a priest? I don’t think I’ll be much help to you. I’m having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want anything to do with it.”

“There is a plan, Brother Martin. It gives me no comfort to tell you, but we’re part of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin’s voice took on a bitter edge. “I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”

Jerric didn’t know how to speak any way but plainly. “Brother Martin, you are Uriel Septim’s son.”

“Emperor Uriel Septim? You think the emperor is my father? No, you must have the wrong man. My father was a farmer.” Jerric saw anger and denial in Martin’s face. A part of him already believes me, he realized.

“You know the man who raised you isn’t your father. I was there when the emperor was murdered. He told me I must find his last son and close shut the jaws of Oblivion. His last words were of you, Martin. The daedra came here for you.”

“An entire city destroyed to get at me?” Martin demanded, aghast. “Why? Because I’m the emperor’s son?” Horror flooded into Martin’s face.

“I don’t understand what they want,” Jerric said quickly. “There’s something about the Dragonfires being out and Oblivion. I only know that they’ve killed the emperor and all of his heirs, and now they’ve come for you. They destroyed Kvatch, and then they left. Why would they leave if they wanted the city? If you really knew my Ma, then you know it’s not in me to lie. Do you want to wait here and find out that I’m right? You’ll know it when they come back for you.” Jerric had tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he could hear it himself. He willed Martin to believe him.

Martin looked away toward the trees, and conflicting emotions battled in his face. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s strange, I think you might actually be telling the truth.” Martin’s expression changed to wariness, and he looked back at Jerric sternly. “What does this mean? What do you want from me?”

“Come with me to Weynon Priory,” Jerric urged. “Brother Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades, I’ll take you to him. He’ll tell you what you must do for the Empire.”

Now Martin appeared calm and resigned. “You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped them drive the daedra back. Yes. I’ll come with you to Weynon Priory and see what Jauffre has to say. Lead on, when you’re ready.”

Jerric felt relief, followed by the pressing need to get away from Kvatch immediately. “Brother Martin, please gather what you’ll need for a week’s journey through the wilderness. We can stop to pick up more food, but you’ll need blankets. Also I suggest you put aside your priest’s robes as soon as we are out of sight. The assassins who killed the emperor were mer and men. We should assume they will be looking for you.” Jerric rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to think. Beyond convincing Martin to go with him, he didn’t have much of a plan. “I’ll meet you at the foot of the Kvatch Road as soon as I can. You shouldn’t tell anyone where you’re going. I need to speak to Captain Matius before I go.”

“Berich Inian is the Captain of the Guard now. We made Savlian the Steward of Kvatch until the Council decides what to do.”

“I need to speak with Steward Matius, then.”

Martin gave him a brisk nod and headed toward the city gate. The city must be secure, Jerric thought. Get yourself moving. He walked to the tent where he had seen Matius earlier. The former Guard Captain seemed smaller in his civilian clothes. He stood outside at a desk made from a door placed over standing logs. Sheets of parchment were spread across the surface, held down with stones against the breeze. Matius looked up and began to speak as soon as Jerric reached him.

“Good, you’re on your feet,” he said. “Here’s what you missed. We’ve started salvaging from the city. Some supplies have arrived from Anvil, and more are on the way. Count Hassildor has promised aid. Legion Riders have brought more every day. I’ve made Berich Inian the Captain of the Kvatch Guard again. You and I have had our differences in the past, Jerric, but the Guard could use you. Kvatch was rebuilt from ruins before, and she’ll do it again.” Matius’ voice rang with pride and determination. In his mind Jerric put up another statue next to the one of Antus Pinder.

“I’m leaving, Steward Matius. I don’t know if I’ll return.” He returned Matius’ gaze without shame. “I have always respected you, however foolish my actions. I believe that Kvatch will rise. But not for me.”

Matius nodded. He turned and retrieved some things from the tent, and he held them out to Jerric. “I hoped you would stay, but I want you to take this, regardless of your decision. I’m through with fighting. It may serve you well in the days to come. Batul made the adjustments while you were recovering.” Jerric looked at the Kvatch Wolf embroidered on the surcoat in his hands, speechless. Matius’ cuirass, he realized with awe. “I thank you for risking your life to help us,” Matius was saying. “I can ask nothing more of you, Jerric. Go your own way, and may Akatosh guide you.”

Jerric didn’t trust his voice. Steward Matius gripped his arm, and then Jerric just walked away. A few steps took him to the City Guards’ tent. Inian stood outside with Merandil. The Altmer nodded at something Inian told him and left as Jerric approached. “Captain Inian,” Jerric said. Then he couldn’t find the words.

Inian gave him a long look. “I guessed you might be going,” he said. “I had hoped you would stay with us.” Jerric was relieved to find no judgment in Inian’s expression.

“How could I?” Jerric managed a small smile. “You don’t have a prison cell for me.”

“Any of these tents would hold you.” Inian smiled back at him. “No dungeon has ever seen a more pleasant inmate. You know, old Brocchus never bothered to check for mail unless he came to work and heard you in the drunk tank singing. He told me you were just as reliable as the flags that they hung outside the caravan office, and much easier for him to see.”

Jerric looked at his feet and nodded. “Old Brocchus. He could sure spin a tale. And he never minded starting over when I passed out in the middle.” He looked back at Inian. “I’ve got to go,” he said simply.

“Hold on another moment, Jerric. I have something for you.” Inian ducked into his tent.

“I can’t take anything from you, Captain. I should be giving you what I have, but I can’t.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Your fines probably outfitted half of the City Guard.” Inian emerged from the tent with a Kvatch Wolf shield in his hands. “They told me you carried this in the Deadlands. Vonich would want you to have it. He went through the Gate to try to save his bride. Vonich was a good man, one of the best. You’ve earned it, Jerric.”

“He saved us all, Captain Inian. He and Menien. They told me what I needed to do in the Deadlands.”

“We’ll keep his name alive along with all of those who were left there. Kvatch has a new generation of heroes, and some of them are living.”

Jerric knew what Inian meant, and it made him uncomfortable. “As soon as I can, I plan to tell the tale of Savlian Matius, Hero of Kvatch. You’ll be in it too, Captain Inian. It won’t do any good to talk about me after I’ve left. The real heroes are the ones who stay and pick up the pieces.”

“I’m too old to stand here and try to convince a post that it’s made of wood.” Inian got his arm around Jerric, cuirass, shield, and all. He thumped him on the back. “Akatosh guide you, Jerric. Whether you know it or not.”

Jerric walked to Batul’s tent, following the sound of her hammer. She saw him approaching and got his greaves ready. “Here,” she said. “Get that cuirass on too, I want to check the fit. You were kicking like a wild thing the last time I saw you.”

“I guess I was dreaming.” Now there’s an understatement, thought Jerric. He shrugged into his gear and stood for inspection. He felt magicka strengthening him even as it glinted across his vision. This cuirass is enchanted, he realized with amazement.

She checked him over and appeared to be satisfied. “I’m good,” she observed. Jerric thought that was another understatement. Batul picked up a long sword in its scabbard and handed it to him. “Do you recognize this? You brought it back from the Deadlands. It belonged to a good friend of mine. I made it for him.”

“I recognized your work, Batul. It got me through a bad time in the Deadlands, I can tell you. It’s a lot like the sword my Fa had you make for me.”

“I know it is. You should have it.”

“Batul, thank you.” He thought how inadequate the words seemed. “You made a new scabbard. How did you have time for all this?”

“I haven’t slept much. None of us have. What am I going to do at night, go sit in a burned out tavern? Work keeps my mind from dwelling on what I’ve lost. Take a look at the blade, Jerric.”

He drew the steel blade and whistled at the white magicka that shimmered over it. “You enchanted it! How?”

“Sigrid did, with the stone you brought back from inside that Gate. Look at the scabbard and figure it out.” She turned it in his hands.

“Atronach’s Redeemer. What, does this sword absorb magicka?” he asked, astonished.

The smith clapped him on the shoulder, and he staggered half a step. “You’re not as dumb as you look. She told me what to write.”

“Batul, I could kiss you. I can’t pay you for all of this.”

She barked a short laugh, probably the first heard in the encampment. “Go kiss Sigrid, you know you want to. Lion of Kvatch.” He gave her a quizzical look. “That’s what they’re calling you. On account of your crazy heroics. Or because you don’t know how to use a comb, one or the other.” She stepped back and looked him over again. Appraising her work, he decided. “You closed the Gate, and I got my tools back. Let’s call this one even. I’ll charge you next time, though, you can count on it.”

“Thank you, Batul.” This time the smile came more easily. “I mean for not eating my horse.” Jerric headed down the road toward Flash.

“Ha!” she called after him. “You’re just lucky we didn’t have any onions.”

When Jerric reached Flash, he found Sigrid there waiting for him. He dropped his burdens next to the pile of packs and tack and ran his hands down Flash’s neck. “Remember me, fellow? I’m afraid I’ve been pretty rude lately.” Flash turned his head and snorted some breath against Jerric’s chest.

“I’ve packed you some food,” Sigrid said. “Oleta won’t give me any peace if you don’t take it.”

“I’ll take it,” Jerric replied. He rummaged through his packs on the ground. “Here, it’s scamp skin. I was bringing it to give you.”

They traded packages. “For my Mage’s Bane poison. Thank you, Jerric.” Sigrid stood in the shade of a twisted pine tree. For the first time Jerric noticed how young she looked, and how lost.

“I wish I could give you more, but I’m afraid I’ll need it,” he told her. He started balancing the packs and preparing to leave. “Batul told me you enchanted my sword. How did you do it, Evoker?”

Sigrid straightened her posture, and her characteristic strength and pride sounded in her voice again. “The stone you retrieved is a Sigil Stone. It carried both the enchantment itself and the power to imbue an object with it. The process is very similar to alchemy. You already have the ability to read the enchantment, you just need to hold the stone and an object and use your will to combine them. The way you read the potential in ingredients and then will their fusion in your mortar. I doubt you even realize what you’re doing; alchemy seems to come naturally to you. You were one of my easiest students. Your skills developed quickly despite your casual technique and obvious distraction. I’ve read about sigil stones, but I was still surprised that I could actually use it. I hope you’re pleased with your sword, I should have asked you first.”

Jerric decided there was just no polite way to explain his distraction during their alchemy lessons. “I’m more than pleased. I just dropped the cursed thing on the ground and walked away from it. I’ll thank you every time I use this sword.” He secured the last buckle and stood beside Flash. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to stay, he thought. Calm purpose rose up inside him, and he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted. Surprisingly, the thought was a comfort.

Sigrid stepped forward and put out her hand. “I’ll have more to trade than sandwiches the next time we meet, Associate.”

Jerric took her hand and squeezed it for a moment. “Until then.” He clucked his tongue to Flash, and the two of them started down the road to meet Martin.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 20 2011, 07:49 PM

What, you're not waiting until dear Savlian Matius is dead first? May he live a long and useful life!

Ya think?

I rather enjoyed this chapter, from Jerric telling Martin about his ancestry to speaking with Steward Matius and Captain Inian to saying farewell to Batul and Sigrid.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 20 2011, 09:40 PM

So I see Jerric is taking the Bosmer path, through the wilderness. A good idea, since it is likely that more assassins might by lying in wait on the obvious routes to Weynon. Likewise, his idea that Martin should get out of his robes and wear something normal is again, good thinking.

So Matius is now the Steward? That makes good sense, as well as promoting Inian to his old job. His decision to give Jerric his cuirass makes much more sense now, as he is now formally giving up the military life and becoming a civilian leader.

I loved the little bit about Bocchus and Jerric in the drunk tank! Little things like that really make a character and setting come alive.

Atronach’s Redeemer is a wonderful name for a sword, and with a perfect enchantment behind it!

Or because you don’t know how to use a comb


I loved Sigrd's explanation of how alchemy and sigil stone enchanting work. It seems Teresa is not the only natural alchemist around.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 21 2011, 01:44 AM

A great prelude to leaving Kvatch.

“I’m too old to stand here and try to convince a post that it’s made of wood.”
I loved this!

You consistently and effectively wove just the right touches throughout this story that displayed that Jerric and these people all knew each other and were all residents of Kvatch.

In the scene with Batul, you really struck that magical blend of truth, poignancy and humor. Well done!

'Calm purpose rose up inside him, and he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted. Surprisingly, the thought was a comfort.'
This is a brilliant passage. Despite what could almost seem contradictory, it makes absolute perfect sense.

Posted by: Grits Feb 23 2011, 05:05 PM

haute ecole rider: I’m glad you enjoyed it! It was mostly taking care of business, but the characters made me want to linger.

SubRosa: You got it, and now Jerric has a reason to thank Maglir. I’m glad you approve of Savlian’s new job. The game’s treatment seemed abrupt and unsatisfying to me. Darnand disagrees with Sigrid on the subject of Jerric’s alchemy, and Felen will weigh in on the subject soon. Darnand would point out that if Jerric was a natural alchemist like Teresa, surely he would find a way to make himself smell better. Apricots and vanilla, aaaaah! Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Thank you for your kind words, Acadian! Batul struck me as a no-nonsense survivor, and someone Jerric would have known well. To my surprise, she was ready with a joke. The passage you pointed out is important to understanding Jerric’s mindset throughout this chapter. Starting over has been postponed for him, and grieving has been interrupted. Thank you so much for drawing attention to it!



Chapter 8: Running, Part 1

When Jerric and Flash reached the rocks at the base of the Kvatch Road, Martin stepped out from his cover. He wore plain clothing under a dark grey cloak. His sturdy shoes looked well-worn, and Jerric guessed they were his own. A dagger hung from Martin’s belt. He carried rolled blankets and a small pack in his hands. Jerric took the bedroll and added it to Flash’s load. “Do you want to put that on Flash, or carry it?” Jerric asked him, nodding to the pack.

“Carry it.” Martin shrugged it over his shoulders. “Lead on.”

They started walking down the Gold Road. Meadowlarks trilled their joy from the thickets on both sides of the road. Flash playfully nudged Jerric’s back as they walked, snorting wetly on his neck. The sun shone warm in the cloudless sky. Jerric had a troubling feeling of disconnection. He had to look down at his stained surcoat to remember what was real. He realized that he needed to make a plan.

“I think we should take the road as far as Skingrad,” he decided. “I know a place to stop for food, and I need to get my sword recharged. We can cut north from there across the Imperial Reserve and hope we’re not seen leaving the road. What do you think, Brother Martin?”

“Just Martin now, I must leave the priest behind.” They walked a few more paces. “You will be recognized in your Kvatch cuirass. Young Rilian told your tale to everyone who came through the camp while he was recovering. That lad could be a bard.”

Jerric considered. “I suppose it won’t hurt to be seen going east. We could be heading almost anywhere in Cyrodiil. I’d like to push hard until we get to Skingrad. Only stop after sunset until moonrise, then keep going as soon as we have enough light. We can rest when we get away from people. Can you do it? Good. I’ll go into the Mages Guild, you and Flash should be safe hiding out around the Grateful Pass Stable. Shout if there’s trouble, you should get Tilmo from the stable and a Skingrad guard.” He dug into his daypack and pulled out Sigrid’s package. “Flatbread around some kind of meat. Here you go. Eat and then we’ll save our breath for walking.”

They passed a lot of folk on the road, and Jerric’s cuirass did attract attention. They kept moving each time someone hailed them, calling out their greetings and waving off the questions that followed. Jerric set a pace that had Martin trotting every few steps to keep up. The number of small caravans headed toward Kvatch made Jerric hopeful. Soon Sigrid will have some salt to put on her mystery sandwiches, he thought.

They got most of the way into Gnoll’s Meeting Camp before the residents had them surrounded, peppering them with questions. One lad’s piercing treble rang out over the other voices. “Jerric, aren’t you the Hero of Kvatch? The one who closed the gate and saved the city?” Jerric recognized the freckled face and solemn, dark brown eyes. Carmia’s boy, Faustino.

“The city was destroyed, no one saved it,” Jerric told him. He saw Faustino’s face fall, and he realized that they needed to believe in a hero. This isn’t about you, he told himself. He looked around at the other folk who were crowding him. “Savlian Matius is the Hero of Kvatch. Almost everyone that’s left alive, he got out of the city. He discovered that the Gate could be closed, and he led the fight that drove out the daedra. Savlian Matius serves the people now as Steward of the city.” Jerric took a breath. “Berich Inian is the Hero of Kvatch. He leads the City Guard now as Captain. Menien Goneld. Ilend Vonius. Many brave folk went in to close that Gate, and most of them were lost in the Deadlands. Those are the names of your heroes. They kept the daedra from your homes. Now there’s work to be done in Kvatch, and opportunity for those with the strong backs and stomachs to do it.” Martin stood beside Flash while Jerric made his speech, and Jerric could not read his expression. “They need food and supplies,” he continued. “In these times you don’t need to wield a sword to be a hero.”

Jerric saw questions on many faces, but he turned away from them. He caught Carmia’s eye. “A moment, Carmia.” She walked with him the few steps to the cookfire. The others talked amongst themselves now, comparing their versions of what he had just said. What rumors did I just start, he wondered. He turned his attention to Carmia. “I need food for a journey. I can’t explain, and I can’t pay you. There’s trouble.”

Carmia gave him a piercing look. “You’ve never asked anyone here for a favor, and I don’t expect you will again. And don’t let it out that I did one for you.” Carmia began filling a small sack with vegetables and apples. “I trust your trouble won’t follow you here.”

That was the risk he had not wanted to take. “If anyone asks about me, don’t try to lie. You can’t hide that I was here, but you don’t know where I’m going.” He kept his voice low. “I want to you consider moving to Kvatch this winter. Faustino’s already a hunter; he’ll thrive wherever you put him. It’s Lavina I’m thinking about. How old is she now, eight? She’s grown up wild out here, and free. But there’s a cost to that, too. I know why you made the choices you did, but now it doesn’t have to be that way. In Kvatch you can live inside city walls, and no one will care who you used to be. We lost all of our children, Carmia. Every one of them. Lavina would have a chance to be anyone she can be. Out here she won’t have many options, and you have to split the coins you get too many ways. You turned away from your old life, how are you going to feel when Lavina finds out the easiest way to earn is on her back? Matilene was hardly more than a kid when she tried to stick her hand down my drawers. And I guess you know the next fellow didn’t turn her down.”

“You’re one to judge Matilene. She’s taken plenty of drakes from you over the years.” Carmia shoved the filled sack against his middle hard enough to make him wince.

“Only after we were both old enough. I’m the last one to judge her, but you know most of her earnings go to drink. How much of that is so she can stand to smell the next stranger? I’m asking you if that’s what you want for your daughter.” Jerric made a show of handing something back to Carmia. She took the imaginary coins from his empty hand.

“City walls are a cage, Jerric. Lavina’s not yours, stay out of it.”

“I know she’s not, Carmia. Just like I know some day I’ll walk down here and see her looking at me with those hard eyes, just like the others. I’ve said more than you wanted to hear, but I’m not sorry.” He raised the sack of food. “Thank you for this, I won’t forget it.” He started up the path toward the road.

“Jerric!” Carmia called after him. He turned around at looked at her. “You’re not wrong,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

Jerric nodded. He collected Flash and Martin, and they left the camp.

The chapel bells rang four of the morning watch as Jerric jogged toward the Skingrad Mages Guild. Julianos, he thought. I’m sure I’m a stranger to you. He slipped quietly through the silent hall to the second floor living quarters. The central lounge was empty, but still lit by candles. Vigge’s door stood open, as did Erthor’s. Not a good sign, Jerric thought. He listened at Sulinus’ door and heard snoring. He listened at Adrienne’s door and heard nothing. Vigge’s most likely to be in there with Adrienne, he decided. Or maybe not, as he remembered the bathing room incident. He knocked softly on Adrienne’s door, then again louder. He opened it a crack. The room appeared to be dark. He opened the door wider and called out. “Apologies. It’s Jerric.” He pushed the door all the way open, and light from the lounge fell across the floor.

Adrienne slid down from the bed and strode to the door. Her blonde hair lay over her shoulder in a neat braid, and her bare feet made no sound on the thick rug. Bretons, Jerric thought. Put her in a nightgown, and even this frightening harpy looks sweetly pretty. “I trust you have a good reason for waking me?” she demanded.

Adrienne’s tone matched her expression in its severity. So much for appearances, thought Jerric. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Guild Master,” he said respectfully. “I’m looking for Vigge.”

“Vigge has gone to Kvatch,” she snapped. “Are you a member of the Guard now, Associate? I trust you didn’t steal that.” She indicated the wolf on his chest.

“No. It belonged to Captain Matius, he gave it to me. Steward Matius.” How did we miss Vigge on the road, Jerric wondered. Must have passed while we were at Gnoll’s Meeting. Get to the point. “Look, I need my sword recharged, and I can’t wait. I don’t even have enough coin to cover what it will cost. I know it’s not your problem. I’m asking you to help me.” Puppy dog eyes won’t work on this one, he thought. She probably eats puppies.

“I’m sure you don’t expect me to perform this task for you. You’ll find soul gems in the cabinet in Vigge’s workroom.” Jerric stood stunned while she glared up at him. “Well?”

“Nothing. Thank you.” Jerric retreated before she changed her mind or remembered she hadn’t mentioned payment.

Vigge’s cabinet contained baskets spilling over with soul gems, unmarked and disorganized. He glanced over at the door that he guessed Druja slept behind. No, he decided. I can figure this out myself. He held Chillrend in one hand and picked up a soul gem in the other. Like alchemy, he thought. Probably. He gingerly sent his magicka into the gem and discovered that it hummed with energy. Startled, he almost dropped it. He gave the gem a nudge with his will, and the energy buzzed through him on the way into Chillrend. He felt the gem crumble in his hand. The dust sifted away to nothing before it hit the floor. Huh, he thought. That felt kind of nice.

He picked up another gem and tested it. This one felt less powerful. Then he had an idea. He sent his magicka into Chillrend this time, and he was shocked at how much he learned. He had an instant sense of the sword’s power, the nature of its enchantment, and how much energy was left inside it. He even felt the void that could still be filled with magicka. He picked through the soul gems until he found one that closely matched Chillrend’s emptiness. Another nudge, and power thrilled through him again. Vigge has an excellent job, Jerric decided. He pocketed a handful of gems and headed for the door.

He spun around on the threshold and strode back to the kitchen before he could start feeling guilty. It’s for the Empire, he told himself. Cook will forgive me. He filled a bag and left, crunching on an apple.

Posted by: mALX Feb 23 2011, 07:41 PM

I tried not to spam your thread with quotes, but could not help it on these two chapters.


All the interchanges between Jerric and the Kvatch residents were so natural, absolutley perfect blend of the comfortableness of people who have known each other all their lives - and the trauma and loss they just endured. All of them could have been quoted for examples - but this one was my favorite:

This scene was a perfect ending to the Kvatch crisis:




Sort of like the lone wanderer and dogmeat leaving the wasteland at the end of Fallout 3, lol. AWESOME !!!


***

I love this (snipped) - what a perfect line !! :




This has to be the best answer I've seen yet anywhere to answer the question, "Hey, aren't you the one they call the 'Hero of Kvatch'?" :





AWESOME !!!


This had me stunned breathless and speechless :




*****



BWAAAHAAA !!!!


*****

The whole end of the chapter where Jerric learns how to recharge his weapons was incredible !!!


You have made Jerric feel like a living, breathing person we may know personally. Everytime I read your story I am struck by what a tremendously creative imagination you have; a huge ability to weave characters that are believable and memorable...and the skill and talent to form words that paint mental images in the readers mind.

AWESOME WRITE !!!! (as always !!!)

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 23 2011, 07:52 PM

Ahh, time for a big bowl of grits for lunch!

Flatbread around some kind of meat.
Since Flash is still alive, we can guess that it is not horse. Still, there was a lot of two-legged meat that got cooked recently in Kvatch...

The city was destroyed, no one saved it,
This is something I always think when someone calls me the Hero of Kvatch in the game.

Now we see the payoff for your introduction of Gnoll's Meeting Camp. Not only a friendly stop for Jerric to gather supplies, but perhaps a jumping-off point for some people to help rebuild Kvatch? Jerric's speech was wonderful, pointing out all the heroes that helped mitigate the disaster at Kvatch, and who are still needed to put things right again.

Even better is his conversation with Carmia about her daughter. All truth there, and ugly truth at that.

Finally, a wonderful description of using soul gems to charge Chillrend.

Forgot to mention:
Darnand would point out that if Jerric was a natural alchemist like Teresa, surely he would find a way to make himself smell better.
It is not that he is not capable of it. Jerric is a man, so he has no desire to smell better. Or comb his hair, etc...

Posted by: Acadian Feb 24 2011, 02:20 AM

'Jerric set a pace that had Martin trotting every few steps to keep up. '
What a delightful little nod to the game and exactly how followers tag along.

'Savlian Matius is the Hero of Kvatch.'
I have said, ever since meeting him at Kvatch, that when it comes to a noble selfless hero, he is the gritty real deal.

The whole scene with Carmia was powerful, poignant and very well-written.

Adrienne is one scary puppy-eating Breton! Wow. What a neat job you did with her.

And finally, Jerric discovers Vigge's whole little basket of sex toys soul gems and how nice they can make one feel.

Posted by: Zalphon Feb 25 2011, 02:40 AM

I'm inclined to agree with Acadian about Salvian

Posted by: Captain Hammer Feb 25 2011, 06:29 AM

So a quick stop in Skingrad, and we learn so much.

Others have commented on Jerric's attitude when he meets people following Kvatch.

What I found really interesting was Jerric's actions at the Skingrad Guildhall. His process of charging Chillrend and loading up on soulgems, his thoughts about taking an apple from the kitchen, and his dialogue with Adrienne (not to mention his thoughts about the sleeping arrangements) make it a great installment.

Posted by: Grits Feb 26 2011, 03:22 PM

mALX: I appreciate your comments so much!! It helps me to learn which parts stand out for you. You are so encouraging!!! Jerric definitely went on a few little rants at Gnoll’s Meeting. Since he has been such an enthusiastic patron of brothels, I thought he should speak up about the darker aspects of the profession. Your kind words made my day, mALX!!

SubRosa: Two-legged meat !! Your comment inspired a remark that you will find in the section after this one!! You’re right about Gnoll’s Meeting. Who better to rebuild than those who have already scratched something out of nothing. Blurting out that the city was destroyed and then making his speech to change what he said was an important moment for Jerric, I’m glad you pointed it out. As was what he said to Carmia, he needed to acknowledge that it’s not all fun and games for the working girl. Thank you for your insightful comments, SubRosa!

Acadian: We’ve had a lot of where is Martin moments in the West Weald. Most memorably they passed too near Shardrock and got mixed up with the bears. Jerric killed one and got away, then he couldn’t find Martin. Kept getting the message that he’s unconscious. Eventually he had to go to the nearby shrine and keep fast travelling there until he caught Martin in a brief moment of consciousness. That episode didn’t quite make it into the story!!

The Carmia scene meant a lot to me, I’m glad to hear it came across well. I’m so glad you enjoyed Adrienne. I figure anyone who can lose one quarter of her employees is either very distracted or has a screw loose. Maybe both. And if Vigge has to play with little buzzing stones all day, who can blame him for… no, that’s still no excuse for his behavior. Thank you, Acadian!

Zalphon: Me too, Zalphon!

Captain Hammer: The late night visit to the Skingrad Mages Guild was a little like riding along in Jerric’s mind, and I was worried that I put too much Jerric-thought in it. You’ve eased my mind. He really started waking up when he got to Skingrad, and I wanted to show it. Thank you, Captain Hammer!



Chapter 8: Running, Part 2

Jerric, Martin, and Flash walked north through a rocky meadow valley. Sparse woodland lay behind and to the west, and denser forest rose up to the east. Flash snatched mouthfuls of grass as they went. The land had started to rise and fall in small hills under them. Their pace had slowed to accommodate the terrain. Tall trees blocked their view of the distant highlands, but Jerric had complete confidence in his sense of direction outdoors. As many times as they cut left or right to avoid the steepest hollows, he easily got them going straight again. No matter where they came out on the Black Road, he thought Weynon Priory should be easy to find.

Ferns and calf-high grasses swished against Jerric’s legs. A high breeze sifted through the treetops in the adjacent woods. They sounded as if they could speak to one another. The afternoon light made jewels of the late summer flowers peeking through the golden meadow grass. Jerric knew he should be drinking in the peace, but he wasn’t. Lack of sleep or decent food had worn down his nerves. He had to keep his mind from drifting back to Kvatch, and it wanted to go there the way a tongue can’t help testing a sore tooth. He needed to feel that clear sense of purpose again. Instead he felt irritable. He looked over at the source of his annoyance.

Martin looked down at his feet as they walked. His shoulders slumped, and he moved as if his pack was filled with stones. This sad little man is my emperor, thought Jerric. He has to lead us into war. Enough of this. “Tired?” Jerric asked him. “Hungry? What’s the problem, Martin?” He let anger give his voice a hard edge.

Martin shook his head. “Kvatch,” he said morosely. His voice sounded heavy with regret. “I wish I had never gone there. I brought destruction down on them.” He sighed. “I blame myself.”

“I blame you, too,” Jerric shot back. Martin looked over at him, startled. Jerric returned his stare until he saw an answering anger in Martin. “That’s right. It’s unfair. This has nothing to do with who you are. It’s what you are. So you can try to hide from it, or do what you need to do. Are you going to keep hiding?”

Martin drew himself up. He looked extremely affronted. “Of course not.”

“Good. You said you’d left the priest behind, but you need to leave the rest of it, too. These are your last days as just Martin. You need to do what it takes so you’ll be ready for what’s coming. When the people look to you, they’ll want to see an emperor.” Jerric watched Martin as they walked. I hope I know what I’m doing, he thought. He was surprised to feel his annoyance receding.

“You’re right,” Martin said, finally. He lifted his head and looked out over the meadow. “Dwelling on the past will not advance our cause. I must view it as self-indulgence, for it serves no other purpose. It is time I looked to the future.”

Flash snorted and stopped in his tracks. Unease tickled the back of Jerric’s neck. “Or maybe the right now,” he said. He gestured for Flash to wait, but the horse was not moving forward. “There’s something…” Jerric loosened Chillrend and slipped his shield over his arm. He moved forward cautiously, looking to the right into the woods. They were on the edge of a darker, denser part of the forest. Jerric had hoped to escape the predators from both the meadows and the forest by staying along the border, but now he thought he might have exposed them to both kinds. Jerric heard brush cracking to pieces in the woods. The ground began to shake with the thunder of something heavy galloping at them. “Martin, run!” Chillrend rang joyously in his hand, but his gut clenched with alarm. He saw the dark shape, and a grunting roar confirmed it. “Bear!” he shouted.

He stumbled over the uneven ground as he ran toward the menace. The ferns concealed fallen logs that tripped his feet. He held his shield arm out for balance and brought Chillrend up. The bear looked like a black mountain bearing down on him, and its open maw was a fanged cave. I should try to scare it, Jerric thought. He called up his fire spell and cast it at the charging beast. The flare hissed against the fur along its side. The bear lowered its head away from the flames, but it didn’t slow down. Jerric stepped and slashed at its burned shoulder as it stormed past him. Pale fat peeled open over raw muscle under his newly sharpened blade. He was impressed for a fleeting instant until his heels hit something hard. The bear thundered to a halt and turned around, bawling out its pain and fury. Jerric saw treetops and sky as he toppled over onto his back. His elbows slipped on the crushed ferns, but his feet found the log that had tripped him. Pushing against it got him nowhere. The bear reared up over the log, spittle frothing out in ropes. Blue light flashed, and Jerric sent his fire spell crackling over the bear again. The bear let its breath out in a deafening roar. Jerric rolled frantically to the side as it bulk crashed down onto him. He heard a dry snap like wood breaking. Pain blocked out the rest of the world for a moment, until he realized the bear was on him. The stench of burned hair filled Jerric’s mouth and nose. His mind screamed with panic over its labored grunting. Then the bear flashed blue and was gone. Martin stood in its place.

Jerric looked down and saw that his knee was somehow facing the wrong way. He realized that he was shouting. “Aaaah, my mother fetching leg, you skiit-sniffing coochka!” he howled. Martin had begun to reach for him, but he drew back, his face full of alarm. “Not you, the bear! Dammit, pull it straight!” Jerric heard a rippling laugh, and his stomach lurched with more than pain. “Spriggan! Pull it, Martin!” Martin did. While Jerric screamed again, Martin healed him. Jerric stared at him for an instant in shock. Then he scrambled to his knees, searching for Chillrend. “Run, Martin!”

The spriggan’s balletic leaps made her seem to float over the ground as she approached. Jerric’s hand found Chillrend, then his legs launched him at the spriggan. The pain’s sudden disappearance left adrenaline surging through him. The spriggan scribed graceful arcs in the air with her arms, giggling. Before she could finish her spell, Jerric had reached her. He dropped his weight behind his wolf shield and bashed her to the ground. Her legs felt hard under his, even through his armor. He raised Chillrend and chopped at her torso and neck. Chips of bark and wood flew through the air. She struggled under him, but not for long.

Jerric pushed himself to his feet, shaking. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down. He turned to look at Martin walking toward him up the small rise, through some small shrubs. He saw Flash grazing down in the meadow beyond, unperturbed. His stomach heaved up some more bitter liquid, and this time Jerric leaned to spit it out. Martin opened his mouth to speak.

A splintering crack sounded from the shrubbery behind Jerric. He saw Martin’s face change in an instant. Blue frost filled his hands, and his battle cry rang through the air. “For Akatosh!” he called with majestic fury. The air froze along Jerric’s side as the frost hurtled past him. For a moment Jerric didn’t know whether to turn and attack or kneel at Martin’s feet. He heard the shrub’s leaves softly crackling as they curled up from the frost, and he turned to look. There was no other sound or motion. Whatever it was, he thought that Martin must have killed it.

Jerric motioned for Martin to stay back. Sword at the ready, he moved behind the shrub to investigate. Then he shook his head and laughed in relief. A large rat lay curled on its side, frozen solid. “That’s one powerful frost spell,” Jerric remarked. He dropped the rat in front of Martin. It bounced a little when it hit the ground. “Here’s your kill. Dragonborn.”

Martin viewed his prize. “At least we can eat mine,” he replied. The grim sovereign was gone from his face, and a smile played around his eyes.

Jerric nudged the rat with his boot. “I guess. If we had a few days to thaw it.” He eyed Martin. “You’re not going to ask me to carry it along, are you?”

Martin gave him an arch look. “I’m not going to order you to bring it, no.” Then he laughed. “I suppose we could burn your kill and cook mine on its fire.”

They walked back down to the meadow. Jerric’s tension eased as his heart rate returned to normal. “I’m no hunter,” he admitted. “I guess it’s raw carrots and dry bread again, until something else attacks us.” He clucked his tongue to Flash and started walking. “Maybe we’ll run afoul of a murderous deer.”

“A rogue sheep would also be welcome.”

They walked in the sun for several minutes. “Martin,” Jerric said.

Martin looked across at him. “Yes, Jerric?”

“They say you have dragon blood in your veins. Do you think it’s true?”

“I think it’s true that the Septims had the dragon blood. I’ll be certain what flows through my veins when I hold the Amulet of Kings.”

“Well, I think I got a look at the dragon back there. If you’re killed before we get to the priory, do you think Jauffre will give me the Amulet of Kings? I’d light the Dragonfires for you.”

Martin looked disconcerted. “Well, Jerric, I don’t think it works that way.”

“Oh,” Jerric replied. “So the next time we’re attacked, how about if you stay behind me?” Jerric made an attempt to look stern.

“Oh, of course.” Martin looked mildly embarrassed. “I suppose I should have run when you shouted.”

“I suppose,” Jerric replied. “But thanks for killing the bear.” He dug into his daypack and passed bread and carrots to Martin. Flash nudged his back again, so he bit off chunks of carrot and handed them to Flash as they walked. Jerric decided that their argument and the following fight with the forest creatures had lightened the mood considerably.

“What do you know of the Doom Stones, Jerric?” Martin asked. His easy tone confirmed Jerric’s thoughts.

“Nothing. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What are Doom Stones? Even if it’s a long story, I have the time to hear it.”

“Magical standing stones, they can be found throughout Cyrodiil. They are covered with runes that glow at night. Doom Stones stand in stone circles. They are named for the stars and heavenly features.”

“What do they do?”

“Nothing any more, most believe. Some think their magics are still at work, just unknown to us.”

“All right. Why are you telling me this?”

“You know how the gods watch us, and guide us with their unseen hands.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Jerric replied wryly.

“It is my theory that the Doom Stones only respond to those the gods deem worthy. I have sought out several of these stones, and had no success unraveling their mysteries.”

“Unraveling their… What did you do, exactly?”

“I went to the stones and sat within the rings. I fasted, prayed, and cast spells upon the stones. I made… offerings. Both during daylight hours and at night. Nothing.”

“But clearly you’re not unknown to the Divines.”

“I did not always follow the Nine. My deeds of renown would not cause them to smile upon me. My life since I converted and became a priest of Akatosh has been a quiet one of study and reflection. You, however, have certainly gained the attention of the gods. I wonder if you would be able to activate a Doom Stone’s magic?”

“What do you think would happen? This isn’t a good time to get struck by lightning. And you need to tell me more about these evil deeds of yours. Should I sleep with one eye open?”

“You have nothing to fear from me. Pride and hunger for power moved me in the past, and I suffered for it. People died. My friends died. But that is past.”

“So, back to the stones.”

“Yes. Some of them are named for the birthsigns, and some for the heavens. The reason is lost in the mists of time, but I believe that they were named with a purpose. Perhaps they impart powers to the supplicant, powers similar to the ones granted by the stars at our birth.”

“That’s interesting. I could use some extra powers. All right, Martin, you bring this up now because…?”

“I believe I am familiar with this area. We’re near the shrine of Sanguine. We will pass within a short distance of one of the Heaven Stones.” Martin looked over at Jerric. “The Jone Stone,” he intoned.

Jerric kept walking. “All right, let’s go see.” Martin’s eyebrows went up. “You thought it would be hard to convince me? They say curiosity killed the Khajiit, but I’m a Nord so we don’t have to worry. Lead the way. We’re going to have to limit the offerings, though. We don’t have much to give, and I’d like my blood to stay inside me.”

“I think we should reach it by nightfall.”

“So,” Jerric said a few moments later. “The shrine of Sanguine?”

“A story for another time,” replied Martin.

By the time Jerric had begun to doubt that Martin knew where he was going, he stopped them at the top of a wooded hill. Dusk shrouded the rocks and fallen logs, but a ring of tall stones below them stood out from their surroundings. These stones were a light tan color, unlike the grey outcrops that sprinkled the forest and adjacent meadows. As they drew near, Jerric saw that the area between the outer ring of stones and the central monolith was empty, blackened ground. He began to get an uneasy feeling. He gave Flash the signal to wait. Martin led him to the front of the monolith. It stood easily three times Jerric’s height. Red runes flared to life as they watched, glowing with an angry light. “Uh, Martin…” said Jerric.

He felt Martin’s hand on his back. “Step into the ring. The stars shine upon the stone, we have arrived in time to witness it.” Martin’s hand pressed against him. “Go ahead.” Jerric stepped gingerly onto the black dirt and faced the glowing stone. “Try kneeling,” Martin suggested.

“No way,” Jerric said nervously. “Any gods who’re watching would know it was a lie. I’m about to piss myself and run, not kneel. Do you think there’s going to be fire?” Martin didn’t answer. He shifted his feet and held his hands out to the stone. “All right, here I go.” The stone shuddered silently to life under his hands, but he didn’t flinch. He sent his will gently into it, the way he had with the soul gems. To his relief there was no flash of fire. Instead he had the sense that he was somehow being filled, or becoming denser. He stood for a long moment against the stone. Then he stepped back to Martin.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Martin sighed. “I thank you for your indulgence.”

Jerric stared at him. “You mean you didn’t notice anything? Something happened, Martin. I got Jone’s gift, or something. Here, I’ll try it.” Jerric held his hands out slightly to the side and felt for the new something. “It’s not a spell,” he said. “It’s a whole new part of me. I think it’s like my Woad. It’s not connected to my magicka. Stand back and watch. I’ll try it.” Jerric reached for his new power, and it slipped over and through him like it had always been there. “I feel… I have no idea. What do you think it did? Hit me, maybe it’s a shield.”

“Well,” said Martin, “You’re invisible.”

Jerric held out his hands. “Ha ha! Look at that. Invisible! And I don’t even know any illusion spells. Martin, this is outstanding! You have to try it.”

“Oh no, I don’t think I should seek anything from the gods right now, if they are even the source of this power. It is enough that you have brought me new understanding. I thank you for it.”

Martin’s reluctance made Jerric remember his unease. He hoped the new power didn’t come with a price he didn’t know about. “Well I guess we should camp near here,” he said. “No fire tonight. Let’s find a spot out on the edge of the meadow. Flash can graze, and there will be more moonlight.” He started walking away, then he remembered Martin couldn’t see him. “Invisible!” he called out. “There’s something more, too. I guess I’ll have to study on it.”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 26 2011, 07:49 PM

Yaaay for the pep talk! Martin certainly needed a kick in the tush to get him out of his blue funk. I noticed it worked on Jerric too, though how Jerric could kick himself in the tush is beyond me.

Loved the encounter with the bear and the spriggan. Those things are almost as bad as the will o'wisps! I never know if that damned bear charging me is a real one, or just one of those beeyoches' summons. Sometimes I hear that annoying giggle, other times the first thing I hear is the whoosh of the spell. Sometimes nothing at all, just that black mountain of fur coming at me!

And I loved the discussion of the Doom Stones. It felt pretty true to what little we have about them in the Lore. Though most of it are just hearsay, and not really contemporaneous accounts, but still . . .

S'more!

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 26 2011, 10:44 PM

He had to keep his mind from drifting back to Kvatch, and it wanted to go there the way a tongue can’t help testing a sore tooth.
This was a wonderful metaphor.

Poor Jerric! I know what it feels like to dislocate a knee. I did it myself years ago, and had to pop it back in place myself. The pain was indescribable. My leg has never been the same since.

A rousing battle with the spriggan and her black bear! I see not everyone has the luck of Teresa, who would have petted one and probably watered the other!

They say curiosity killed the Khajiit, but I’m a Nord so we don’t have to worry.
But satisfaction brought the Khajiit back! Nords are not quite so fortunate however...

Finally, I loved Jerric's reaction to the doomstone. The ones that are surrounded by flowers and other plants all look nice and inviting. The ones that are all blasted and burned dirt always give me the heebie jeebies too!


nits:
Why is he telling me this, Jerric wondered. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
It seems redundant for Jerric to think it, then say it immediately. I think you can just drop the part about him thinking it.

I wonder if you would be able to activate a Doom Stone’s magic.
I think you probably want a question mark at the end, rather than a paragraph.

Posted by: ghastley Feb 26 2011, 11:12 PM

Hey, I want some healing like that! Broken femur one minute, running at a Spriggan the next! But that's exactly what the healing magic in the game allows, so that's just the way to write it.

I'll second Haute's comment about the summoned and real bears, except that I usually kill the Spriggan and then it's panic when the bear with her doesn't disappear, because it wasn't hers.

Nice frozen rat piece. Balances the intensity of the Spriggan encounter perfectly.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 27 2011, 01:44 AM

It's memories of wood elves!!!
'the way a tongue can’t help testing a sore tooth.'
This conjures images of the stringy redhead sticking that tongue into the spot where Vols knocked out a molar.
'I hope I know what I’m doing'
This, on the other hand could apply to quite a few of the decisions made by another wood elf - a scrawny blonde.

Ok, sorry. Couldn't resist. ^

The pep talk and bear/sprig encounter were magnificent. Martin got the pep talk that he understandably needed. He also got a chance to show his grit. More charge in and kill 'em by Jerric. I'm glad you paused their trek to bring us this scene. It blended heart pounding action with rich character development. Fabulous touch with the iced rat cube.

Posted by: mALX Feb 27 2011, 04:26 AM

I am in awe of how you come up with these perfect injections !! You have made an amazing character in Jerric; everything we know about these quests becomes secondary, a backdrop to your story !! Your ability is extraordinary !!!

Posted by: Jacki Dice Feb 28 2011, 08:26 AM

Oh my this is so true! ...stupid wisdom tooth....



His anger is so true. Its so natural to want to pin it on someone, whether its fair or not



This made me laugh! A certain other Nord felt the same way, and now look at his mess!

Posted by: Grits Mar 1 2011, 03:19 PM

haute ecole rider: He’s very flexible. The doomstone part was a little tricky, because Martin had to get it a little wrong with the renown points. Reading the lore and then figuring out what an undereducated Nord would know has been fun. Especially since he has eclectic reading habits. Glad you liked it!!

SubRosa: Dislocated knee, yikes! Yeah, that’s the kind of pain that removes all other immediate concerns. I had a hip situation occur, but I didn’t have to see it go back in. Just heard it. No yoga for me. But hey, now we know when a storm is coming. If Jerric ‘watered’ the spriggan, it would sure keep the deer away from her! Thank you for the nits, I changed them. Glad you liked the doomstone part. I had never seen a scary one until the Jone stone.

ghastly: That’s exactly how it was for Jerric. Gaaaaaah oh I’m all right now. The superfast healing was a touch of Martin Septim badassery, Jerric couldn’t have pulled it off. Yep, the dead spriggan victory dance cut short by a real bear. Bears are scary, especially when they roar in surround sound right behind my ear. Glad you liked the frozen rat.

Acadian: Oh my gosh you’re right, it’s the wood elf tribute episode!!! As I recall, another Bosmer also recently encountered a bear. And a fourth is presently in Chorrol which is near where… well, that connection is a little thin. I actually did check to make sure I didn’t write ‘what we’re doing.’ The doomstone side trip is due to Buffy’s influence, by the way. I never bothered to figure them out before. Thank you, Acadian!

mALX: I could not write anything for Jerric and Martin until they had that little spat. They ran all over the Imperial Reserve in the game, and nothing. No rapport at all. I was really stumped for awhile! I thought, oh great, my main character hates Martin. Is it too late to abandon the MQ?! I have a bunch of non-quest stuff coming up in a little while. I enjoyed Maxical’s extended stay in the Bloodworks so much, it inspired me to go ahead and make stuff up!! Thank you so much, mALX!!

Jacki Dice: Wisdom teeth, ugh! That quote was the turning point for Jerric and Martin, thanks for pointing it out. It took me forever to figure out what the problem was. I’d better keep Jerric away from Niben Bay! I’m off to save the world… oh look, a door. I really shouldn’t go in there. Oh hey, butterflies.




Chapter 8: Running, Part 3

Abiene stood in the guild hall library, bored nearly senseless. Her student was late, and Marc Gulitte had her cornered. His impromptu lecture on destruction magic held no interest for her. Neither did he. Marc paused to take a breath. A commotion from downstairs reached them, even through the closed door. Abiene bolted for the stairs without excusing herself from Marc’s company. Days of waiting for news from Kvatch had frayed her nerves. Every time the front door opened, it made her jump. She had held on tightly to her hope. Now she was afraid to lose even that.

Darnand and Felen had returned from Kvatch, and the other mages were mobbing them for news. Her eyes searched behind them for Jerric’s broad frame. Now I’ll know, she thought. Her stomach clenched with fear. “Settle,” Carahil said from her office doorway. Her quiet voice commanded attention. “Felen and Darnand, do you need a moment to refresh yourselves? We will gather in the dining room. No, let them pass. We shall all listen to the news together.”

The travelers dropped their packs and went straight to the dining room. Felen began as soon as they had assembled. “Of our guild’s Kvatch chapter, Sigrid alone survived. She will remain in Kvatch.” He held his hand up to silence the burst of chatter. “Vigge the Cautious from Skingrad has joined Sigrid, as has our own Glafeviel. The Kvatch guild hall is a tent, but they are operating. Feather and healing magic are in greatest demand. They can use all of the alchemy supplies we send them.” Felen paused. Abiene felt her heart pounding in her throat. “The Lion of Kvatch is Jerric,” he announced. “We did not see him ourselves. Sigrid spoke to him after the battle. He has left Kvatch, his destination unknown. We made a list of the survivors who are living in the encampment, as well as those who departed but are known to have survived. Here, Carahil.” Felen handed over the parchment.

Chaos broke out again as everyone wanted to see the list, but Carahil’s stern gaze quieted them. “Peace,” she said. “There are too many of us who want to look and too few names on this list. I shall read them out. We have held on to hope, but soon we may be grieving. Please allow me to finish.”

Abiene leaned back against the stone archway, arms wrapped around herself to still her shaking. She had already accepted Kvatch as lost, and Sigrid’s survival seemed almost odd to her. She watched Darnand slip out the dining room door. I’ll give him a little time, she decided. Then she closed her eyes and let the tears come. Jerric is alive, she thought. Somewhere, he’s alive. The depth of her relief showed her just how frightened she had been.

She felt a hand on her arm and opened her eyes again. Thaurron stood before her, face broken with grief. Her heart went out to him, and she held him as he sobbed against her shoulder. When he calms, I’ll look for Darnand, she decided. She watched her own tears fall onto Thaurron’s shoulder.

It was more than an hour later when Abiene found Darnand in the library. He sat gripping a quill pen, hunched over piles of parchment. His damp hair still held the marks of his comb. As she watched, a curl fell over his forehead. I wonder what he’s working on, she thought. Maybe notes from his trip. She stepped over to his table, standing in front of the window’s light. Her fingers wanted to reach out and smooth his hair. After a moment, he glanced up in irritation. Her stomach dropped. Then the polite mask slipped over his expression, like she’d seen when he spoke to other people. It hurt to see it on his face when he looked at her. “Yes?” he asked. His voice sounded neutral, at best.

“Never mind,” she said hastily. “You’re busy, it can wait.”

His eyes were back on his work before she finished speaking. She walked back to the stairs, flushed with embarrassment. She felt a surge of annoyance for giving him this kind of influence over her mood. I guess that’s why it’s called a crush, she told herself ruefully. As she reached for the door handle, Darnand spoke. “Abiene.” She saw he was really looking at her this time. “Apologies. Are you free after dinner this evening? I would like to walk with you. We could speak then.”

She tried to keep her expression cool, but it was hopeless. “Yes, that would be nice,” she said with a smile. “After dinner, I’ll see you then.”

Jerric and Martin stood looking down at the dead boar. The struggle had left the grass trampled and bloody, but he had killed the boar without burning or freezing it. Martin put out his hand and slapped Jerric’s arm. “This is much better than the last thing you killed,” Martin told him.

“You didn’t want charred troll for dinner? It might have been better than the wolf we ate last night.” Jerric heaved the boar onto a slanted rock so that Martin could hold it up. The rock supported most of the weight.

“The wolf was tough and dry, that is true. Your cooking skills were not at fault,” Martin added quickly. “I confess, I would be reluctant to dine upon something that goes about on two legs.” Martin held the boar’s hind feet while Jerric gutted it. He turned his face away, Jerric guessed from the smell.

“Two legs and two fists, I’d say. Anyway, troll fat is bad for you. I doubt troll meat is any better.” Jerric moved the carcass to the ground, away from the slippery pile of guts. He knelt and began turning the body into meat with his knife. “Cook it here, or wait? We might not find a safe campsite.”

Martin broke off some ferns to wrap the meat. “Let’s cook some here and eat it, then look for a safe site tonight. Perhaps we shall have two meals today.”

“All right.” Jerric leaned his head back to get some clean air. “Let’s do the rest of the potatoes while we’re at it. If you watch the pot, I’ll go gather us some greens. And maybe some mushrooms. We can let Flash graze while he waits.” Jerric smiled down at the carcass. “I’m sure glad this fellow tried to kill us.”

By nightfall Jerric had found a sheltered place to camp, and they decided to risk a small fire. Even if someone smelled the smoke, they wouldn't be able to easily see it. They had dined on fatty meat cut from the boar’s belly and fried in Jerric’s pan. Now Martin cleaned the skillet with dry grass while Jerric mixed up some potions. They sat companionably on opposite sides of the fire. The pines sighed above them in the light wind. Jerric thought how easy it was to pretend they were just out camping. The sounds of the fire and his pestle grinding flax seeds and mushroom caps could take him to almost any night in the last decade or so.

A piece of wood snapped in the fire, sending up a glittering veil of sparks. Martin spoke. "Do you remember the day I met you, when your mother first brought you to the chapel for lessons? You were at that gangly age, all legs and feet.”

Jerric looked across at Martin. His hands didn’t need his attention to finish their work. “I was eleven.” Tonight he didn’t mind thinking about home as it used to be. “She made me learn to heal myself before she let me go out with the caravan. Then I helped the cook for years while I trained before they let me carry a blade.”

“I had just come to Kvatch when we met. That was a dark time for me, Jerric. The deeds you asked me about.” Martin tossed the grass into the fire and pulled up a clean bundle. “When she went back out the door, the sun shone through and lit you up like a torch. Look at this boy, I thought. Unspoiled, and full of promise. See how the sun loves him.” Brother Martin looked at him intently. “Jerric, this might sound strange.”

Jerric made his hands still and gave Martin his attention. “All right. I’m listening.”

“When you came to speak to me at the fire in the encampment, of course I knew who you were. But more than that, when you walked up I remembered that moment. I had tended you as you slept after the battle, and I helped Oleta with your healing. But I didn’t remember that day until you came to speak to me.”

The hairs stood up on Jerric’s neck. “Go on,” he said.

“I am afraid my words will be disquieting. You told me you know we are both part of a plan. Perhaps you wonder why it was so easy to convince me. I believe that day in the chapel you were pointed out to me. Singled out for what was to come.”

Chills ran over Jerric’s skin. He thought for a moment. “Maybe you can help me understand something your father said to me. The Emperor. He said ‘In your face I behold the sun’s companion. The dawn of Akatosh’s bright glory may banish the coming darkness.’ That was right before he died. The Dragonfires are out, right? So the darkness he spoke of is now. We’re in the darkness.” Jerric scratched his hands through his hair. “He said the dawn of Akatosh’s glory. The sun brings dawn. Did he mean Akatosh is the sun? And now you tell me the sun pointed to me the first time my feet hit the floor inside Akatosh’s chapel. You’re right. I feel like a puppet.”

Martin rubbed his chin, the grass in his hands apparently forgotten. “The Emperor saw you as the sun’s companion. What do you think that means?”

Jerric picked up his mortar and pestle again. “Well right now I’m your companion. I guess you have some work to do if you’re supposed to be the sun.” He ground the seeds some more. Almost ready for the water, he noticed. “What do the Dragonfires do, exactly?”

“They keep a magical barrier between Mundus and the planes of Oblivion.”

“So the Oblivion Gate couldn’t be opened until the Dragonfires were out. That’s why they came for you, it has to be. So they could keep the Dragonfires from being lit again. Kvatch wasn’t the whole plan. We may be in the darkness, but there’s more coming.” Jerric was surprised that the idea didn’t carry fear with it. Only a sense of knowing. “I’d better not wear the Kvatch Wolf until you’re safe. At least not the surcoat.” He dipped a fingertip into the mush to test it. “What did you say I was, unspoiled? Ha! How long did you hold on to that idea?”

Martin smiled absently. Jerric guessed that he was one who could talk and think at the same time. “At least a few moments. I've always wondered what kind of trouble you might have caused with that frost spell I wasn’t supposed to teach you."

"That frost is still my favorite spell, I can throw it harder and faster than anything else. Back then I tried to freeze my nephew's bath water, but it didn't work. We're almost the same age. There are always pranks in the making with my family. Where’s your family, are they safe?"

“My parents were older when I came to them, and they have both been gone for many years. We lived on a farm near Chorrol until I was grown. I was told that my natural mother died in childbed.” Martin stirred the fire. “I don’t tell you this as a priest, but as a son myself. Your mother often spoke to Akatosh on your behalf.”

"I was a terror," Jerric admitted. "I'm sure I used up all the grace she might have gained for me. My family was my life. I’m sorry you’ve gone so long without yours, Martin.”

Martin was silent for a moment, then he spoke again. "What are you going to do after this? Do you have any place to go after Weynon Priory?"

"I haven't thought much about it. I have friends in Anvil. Mages Guild. Or my Fa's partner, he'll give me work. I don't know."

"Have you ever thought of attending the Arcane University?"

Jerric snorted. “School didn’t work for me, I left when I was twelve. My penmanship was awful, and my writing worse. I remember an essay we had to write about a trip we took to Trumbe, do you know that place? I was thinking how the arches rose up like the mountains, and the low buildings must have spread out like the sea. Looking up at the heights from the solid ground reminded me that we can’t change the lot we have been given, but we can hope to rise above it. I wondered if the beings who could think up such a place had the cruelty it must have taken to build it. Maybe they had slaves who were willing to do the dirty work for them, against their own kind. Then when I tried to write, all that came out was ‘White stones are old,’ and I forgot if ‘stones’ has an E in it, and four words filled up half of the parchment. It was humiliating.” Jerric was surprised at how bitter the memory still tasted. “Besides, there’s far too much sitting still.”

"You have half a dozen books in your pack. Your books probably weigh more than our food supply. Are they for trade?"

"No, they're mine," said Jerric. "I just haven't felt like reading since... Anyway, they’re just for fun."

"What do you mean?" asked Martin.

"It's reading what I want to know, not some assignment." Jerric searched for an explanation. "It's like pleasing yourself with a book." Martin's eyebrows went up, and Jerric felt his cheeks burn. "No, that’s not what I meant. Apologies, Martin."

"I wasn't born a priest, Jerric," Martin remarked.

Jerric poured some water into the mortar and swirled it around. The last of the water went down his throat, then he held the empty water bag and looked at it. “This one has Jerric’s Juice,” he said to himself, out loud. “Remember.” He started slowly pouring the gloppy liquid into the water bag’s mouth.

“Is that a potion?” asked Martin. “Jerric Juice?”

“Jerric’s Juice,” Jerric corrected him. “Yes. It restores my magicka. Sign of the Atronach. I’m out of bottles, I should have grabbed some in Skingrad.”

“Oh,” Martin said. He sounded genuinely interested. “Is it supposed to be so… lumpy?”

“Are you an alchemist?”

“Not at all,” said Martin.

“Then yes, it’s supposed to be very lumpy.” Jerric tipped up the mortar and drank the last of the gritty solution. The magicka that bloomed inside him brought a familiar comfort. “Where did you learn that frost, Martin? I don’t suppose they teach that at priest school.”

“I began my study with the Mages Guild.” Martin stared into the fire. “I left the guild when I was an apprentice.”

Jerric could tell that subject was closed. He finished putting away his equipment. “I think I’m ready for sleep,” he said.

“You have given me some things to ponder,” Martin replied. “I will stay awake a little longer. If you dream, do you want me to wake you?”

“No. I might get a little more this time, if I dream.” He rolled himself into his blanket. “Maybe if I don’t wake up, it will stop. It’s the same every time. I don’t think it’s just remembering.” He closed his eyes. “Sorry if I disturb you, Martin.”

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 1 2011, 06:22 PM

Home for lunch, and just in time for a bowl of Grits!

Poor Abiene, trapped by Marc Gillette and one of his lectures on shaving!

So Vigge has gone to Kvatch? I wonder what the sleeping arrangements are like there? One thing is for certain, everyone visiting the Skingrad chapter will be breathing a sigh of relief!

And Abiene cannot decide who she wants, Darnand or Jerric? Well, she could not have picked two more polar opposites that is for certain! What about Vidkun though? She seems to have completely forgotten about him.

So the hobbits are cooking dinner in the wilderness. I half-expected Jerric to pull out his box of spices from the Shire to season the boar!

A piece of wood snapped in the fire, sending up a glittering veil of sparks.
This was a wonderful line of description, that really sets the scene.

I guess you have some work to do if you’re supposed to be the sun.
Unless he is the son, as Julian has pondered in an alternate reality.

"It's like pleasing yourself with a book."
It seems The Lusty Argonian Maid is at the top of Jerric's reading list!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 1 2011, 07:17 PM

This was a wonderful male bonding moment. I really enjoyed the reminiscing that the two men shared - it made them more real and less cardboard.

I wonder how Vigge and Sigrid are getting along? Somehow I don't see our Sigrid letting dear old Vigge getting away with the antics he pulled in Skingrad!

The scene in the Anvil Mages Guild when Carahil read off the names of the survivors really brought home the devastation that was Kvatch. It makes me think of the people crowding around the telegraph offices after every Civil War battle, searching for names of loved ones on the list of dead and wounded.

Posted by: ghastley Mar 1 2011, 07:33 PM

Loved this bit.

Posted by: mALX Mar 1 2011, 08:43 PM

SPEW!!! OMG, ROFL !!!! Poor Sigrid, I foresee deflated breasties when next we spot her.




Sigrid will always float to the surface !!!





Powerful, POWERFUL !!! I got chill bumps reading this whole section !!!







ROFL !!! You must have set that line in there specifically for Foxy and me to stumble across and spew - I was laughing before I even saw the end of that line and Martin's reaction below, lol.





- AHA !!!! So Martin and Foxy think alike !!!! Uh oh, I do see trouble now !!!








ROFL !!!! What great characters you create !!!!


*

Posted by: Acadian Mar 2 2011, 03:00 AM

I enjoyed seeing how you reflected the devastation to the Kvatch guild via the Anvil guild. I'm glad Sigrid has some company (and I hope Vigge causes no trouble). Wonderful that the Kvatch chapter is still operating, albeit from a tent.

Nice hunting/dinner scene with Martin and Jerric.

'Jerric looked across at Martin. His hands didn’t need his attention to finish their work.'
I really liked this phrasing!

Posted by: D.Foxy Mar 2 2011, 03:16 PM

Poor Sigrid, I foresee deflated breasties when next we spot her.


... You mean....he was a bottle fed baby, too???

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 3 2011, 01:50 AM

Oh noes! I'm lost!

I've been away so long I think I've lost my place. Argh! I really need to get myself back to reading this, I'm missing out on quite a well-written tale here.

Posted by: Grits Mar 4 2011, 04:56 PM

SubRosa: There’s a hobbit-inspired bag of salt in the story, but it won’t show up for a while yet. Abiene is definitely conflicted. Poor Vidkun, the old boyfriend left behind in Leyawiin. Unless of course he decides to take her advice and join the Mages Guild.
The thing Jerric’s really upset about losing in Kvatch is his collection of Dunmeri erotica.

haute ecole rider: I think you’re 100% right about Sigrid! Maybe we’ll have to check in on them later. Carahil’s list was inspired by such events. It is a relief to start thinking about Kvatch rebuilding.

ghastly: That was my favorite part!

mALX: Sigrid, I need your help, my ring is on the bottom of that pond. Oh, never mind. The sun’s companion thing is hard for me to figure out. What the heck was Uriel talking about?! And Martin thinking hmm, did he bring along a copy of Nord Girls Gone Wild? Thanks, mALX!!

Acadian: Kvatch is kind of taking on a life of its own, it’s been interesting. I wouldn’t worry about Sigrid, I’d guess she’s an expert in deflecting unwanted attention. I never really thought about the Kvatch to WP road trip from Martin’s perspective before this story. I guess it would be a pretty big transition for him. Thank you for noticing the Accidental Alchemist at work.

D. Foxy: Hi, Foxy!! Always nice to hear from you. I’m so glad you’re reading!

Thomas Kaira: Don’t worry, it will be here whenever you get to it! I’m glad you’re still reading.



Chapter 8: Running, Part 4

Jerric had lost track of the days, but he guessed nearly a week had passed while they walked through the wilderness. He thought it might have been a month since he headed south from the Odiils’ Farm. The trees had changed from shades of green to all the colors of fire. High on the mountainsides he could see the dark shapes of evergreen groves. Snow capped the peaks and reached pale fingers down into the shaded hollows.

The men climbed up through a bright meadow. Exertion kept them warm now, instead of heat from the sun. Jerric believed that he had steered them too far west. His thoughts were confirmed when he saw the tops of Chorrol’s crenellated city walls. “Look, Martin!” he said. “We’re almost at the road. Tonight we’ll sleep at Weynon Priory!”

Martin gave him a tired smile. “The Priory at last. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since that terrible night.” Jerric let the comment skim over the surface of his mind and away. He had learned to keep the days for moving forward and let his grief have the nights.

Foot traffic was light on the Black Road, and they were able to pass slower travelers. When they turned onto the path to Weynon Priory, they found it empty. The massive oaks lining the road wore autumn cloaks of brilliant crimson. Acorns crunched on the stones under their feet. Tree rats filled the air with busy chatter as they raced about gathering them. “Big trees from such little things,” Jerric remarked. “There are a lot. No wonder we didn’t have any trouble from the real bears.” Martin looked at him as if he was speaking Argonian. “Acorns,” Jerric explained. “They’re not hungry. The bears.” Jerric decided that emperors might not spend much time thinking about such matters. He cleared his throat. “Priory’s just ahead,” he said.

Distant shouts and an agonized cry jolted Jerric into action. “Stay back,” he said to Martin. He started down the road at a run.

A Dunmer was dashing toward them, shouting. “Help! You must help! They’re killing everyone at Weynon Priory!”

Jerric’s gut tightened at the sight of the panicked mer. He glanced up at the sky for signs of red clouds as he ran. “What’s happening?” he called to him.

“I don’t know!” Eronor had nearly reached him. “I think they’re right behind me! Prior Maborel is dead!”

Eronor was correct, they were right behind him. Two armored figures pelted up the road, maces in their hands. They wore the same armor that the assassins under the Imperial Prison had conjured. Jerric’s mind filled with cold fury. Redeemer hissed into his hand, and he realized he had left his shield on Flash. Again. His Woad shimmered over him as he closed with the first assassin. Man or mer, he didn’t care what he faced. He wanted to smell their blood.

When the first assassin reached Jerric, his companion still lagged several steps behind. Jerric noted wild eyes and a small frame. Redeemer’s tip pierced the assassin’s face before he could finish his strike. A surge of magicka and black joy sent Jerric toward his next opponent. This one was taller, but the reach advantage still belonged to him. He saw the assassin begin a weak swing from the wrist. Already unbalanced from his strike, the man couldn’t dodge when Redeemer sought his throat.

Jerric looked down the path through the red mist of their dissipating armor. A brown-robed figure danced around another assassin in the Weynon House courtyard, his blade glittering in the sun. Brother Piner. Another enemy approached him from the rear. Frost hurtled past Jerric and boomed against the advancing figure as Jerric ran toward them. Piner’s blade darted faster than Jerric’s eyes could follow. By the time he reached the courtyard, Brother Piner stood alone. “God’s blood!” he gasped. “They came out of nowhere! Have you seen Grandmaster Jauffre?”

“Eronor said he was in the chapel,” Martin said from behind Jerric. Jerric whirled around and stared at him.

“Quick!” cried Brother Piner. “He may need our help!”

They heard shouting as they entered the small chapel. Piner led the way, blocking the path through the pews. “You’re just in time,” Jerric heard Jauffre remark to Piner. By the time Jerric got around his flashing blade, the air was full of red mist. Three bodies lay on the floor. Jauffre stood uninjured with a long katana in his hands. Jerric looked at the small Breton, impressed. Grandmaster, he reminded himself.

“You’re back,” Jauffre said to Jerric. “Thank Talos!” He glanced at Martin, and Jerric saw recognition flare in his eyes. “They attacked without warning. I was praying here in the Chapel when I heard Prior Maborel shout. I had just time to arm myself.”

“Prior Maborel is dead,” Brother Piner said heavily.

Jerric spoke over him. “How did they know…?” He looked over at Martin.

“The Amulet of Kings!” Jauffre started toward the door. “I fear that was the target of this attack. I keep it in a secret room in Weynon House. We need to go see if it is safe.”

Brother Piner dashed after Jauffre, but Jerric held on to Martin’s arm. “It could be a trap,” he said. “I don’t know who to trust. We’ll follow in a moment.”

Martin looked aghast. “The monk was fighting for his life! You don’t think—"

“I don’t know enough to think,” said Jerric. And this anger isn’t helping, he realized. “All right, let’s go. This time, stay behind me.”

They crossed the courtyard, stepping around the dead. Jerric saw Eronor walking toward them, leading Flash. Prior Maborel’s black-robed corpse sprawled beside the Weynon House front door. Jerric almost hoped to meet opposition. His muscles twitched with energy he wanted to spend in blood.

They found Jauffre upstairs pacing in a room that had been concealed by shelving when Jerric had been there before. “They’ve taken it!” he told them. “The Amulet of Kings is gone!”

Jerric pulled Martin into the small room. “Grandmaster Jauffre.” He kept his voice low. “I have brought Martin Septim.”

Jauffre composed himself and turned to them. “Then it has not all gone against us. Thank Talos for that!” He looked Martin over, but his face did not betray his assessment. “Martin cannot stay here. We have driven them off, but they will be back once they learn of Martin’s survival. Which they will.”

“Where will he be safe?” Jerric asked. He realized he still had a grip on Martin’s arm, and he let go.

“We must take him to Cloud Ruler Temple. The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma. We should leave at once.” Jauffre turned his piercing gaze on Jerric. Jerric nodded his answer, and Jauffre turned to Martin. “We must postpone formalities until you are safe,” Jauffre said to him. He indicated the second loft area. “Over there, the trunks. Get yourselves some woolen clothing. Blankets too, we’ll be sleeping rough. There will be snow on the ground where we’re going.” Jerric found some Nord-sized clothing, and Martin had a significantly larger pile to choose from. Jauffre joined them with a leather cuirass for Martin. “Piner is packing the food. Get it from him, Jerric. We’ll meet you at the stable. Watch the road. I don’t know how quickly they will decide to send someone back here.”

“Does Brother Piner know where we’re going?” asked Jerric.

Jauffre gave him a sharp look. “He has not betrayed us.”

“No, that’s not my meaning. If they come back here looking for Martin, won’t they take whoever’s here? For information?”

“You can trust that I have taken such things into consideration,” Jauffre replied crisply.

Jerric knew it was time to shut up and move on. He headed downstairs. Piner gathered the packed food and followed him. Eronor took the blankets from Jerric when they got to the stable. He watched the road while Eronor and Piner readied the horses. Flash was wearing a saddle now, as were the bay and chestnut. “I’m sorry about the Prior,” Jerric said to the men.

Brother Piner didn’t spare him a glance. “We’ll put him to rest as soon as you are gone,” he said. “And the others.” For the first time Jerric realized that some of the forms on the ground could be residents of the Priory. These attackers hadn’t worn red robes. Piner led Flash out onto the road and gestured to Jerric. “Come on.” As Jerric walked after him, he saw Piner glance back at Eronor. “We heard about Kvatch,” Piner said. “Jauffre told us it was your home. I’m sorry, Jerric.”

“Kvatch will rebuild,” Jerric told him quietly. He felt the shadows rising again, and he pushed them back. “Will you be all right here, Brother Piner?”

“I will serve Talos, whatever comes. I hope there will be a day when you may visit us here in peace.” Jerric gripped his arm in farewell.

Jauffre and Martin joined them. While they made their final preparations, Jerric addressed Flash. “This may be the end of our friendship, fellow,”’ he said. “I hope we can agree that I should stay on.”

As they rode away from the Priory, Jerric heard the sounds of grieving. Jauffre set a brisk pace up the Black Road, and the Orange Road proved winding and steep. Gaps in the trees provided breathtaking views down across Lake Rumare. The White Tower showed them the colors of sunset, then faded to grey in the twilight. Jerric concentrated on keeping his seat.

As night fell, Jauffre slowed the horses. The road was empty and wide enough for them to ride abreast. They talked as they rode through the dusk. “Those assassins weren’t trained fighters,” Jerric said. “One of them didn’t even know how to use his mace. Still, I can’t help but worry about the folks back at the Priory.”

“The attack was a distraction while their agents searched for the Amulet,” Jauffre explained. “I believe that retrieving it was their only purpose today. The enemy will learn of Martin’s survival. Our hope lies not in secret, but in speed. We must reach Cloud Ruler Temple before they realize that Martin lives. A few men can hold it against an army. There is no place that Martin will be safer.” They rode for a few moments in silence. The evening air held a chilly bite. Jerric wondered if they had come far enough north for snow. Stars glittered in the darkening sky where he could see it between the trees. He guessed he wouldn't find out tonight. Jauffre spoke again, as if Martin was not riding right between them. “The enemy has defeated us at every turn. We gained Uriel’s heir, but lost the Amulet of Kings. Nowhere is truly safe against the power arrayed against us. But we must play for time, at least.” Jauffre’s voice sounded grim, with a disturbing edge of hopelessness.

Jerric looked over at Martin, then past him at Jauffre. He couldn’t read their expressions in the dusk. “Have you ever played stickball?” he asked them. Neither of them replied. “Well, you’ve seen it played. You know what you do when you drop a pass. Go get the ball. Make the next play.”

To Jerric’s surprise, it was Martin who spoke. His rich voice filled the cool evening. “Once we have reached Cloud Ruler Temple, you must advise me of our resources, Grandmaster Jauffre. Then we shall locate and retrieve the Amulet of Kings.”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 4 2011, 06:29 PM

Quite the homecoming. It was hard to lose Prior Maborel in the game, especially after he was so nice to loan you his horse.

And the end of the road turns out to be the start of another, much harder road. Poor Martin. He is still coming to terms with being the Emperor, but I see in your fiction he is already ahead of the game.

This was confusing for me. Didn't they want to go north anyway? Did you mean too far west of their ultimate destination? Or did you mean north instead of northwest in the sense of the direction of their travel? When Chorrol and WP lay on an east-west line like they do, I would think that if you ended up at Chorrol, you steered too far west in relation to your ultimate goal. In either case, both are north-northwest of where you started from. (I'm assuming you left the Gold Road at the same point I typically do when going cross country - at the bridge east of Ra'Sava Camp.)

The 'd' in unbalanced got scared and bolted from the fight.

This triggered another brief moment of confusion for me. To me, wool means the rough fiber you get from the sheep/goats/yaks etc. And blankets are often made of wool as well, especially those in northern climates, so using wool and blankets as two separate things in the same sentence gave me pause. Did you mean woolen clothing perhaps?

Overall, still a great job and an intense read. I quite enjoyed myself here.

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 4 2011, 07:27 PM

Okay, I've finished Chapter 7 now, so I'm going to comment on that. Very powerful stuff you have going there, Grits. You handled the Battle for Kvatch very well, and Jerric's sorrow when he discovered his family was truly lost was quite moving.

Now it's time for the legendary "Escort Martin" quest. I've actually found a mod that adds a small road through the forest north of Skingrad, and I can give it to you if you are interested. I feel that that would defeat the purpose of your foray into the Reserve, though, so I will not comment further on that.

I look forward to what hi jinks the two of them might have together!

Posted by: Acadian Mar 5 2011, 01:57 AM

You continue to do a wonderful job here! Your descriptions, dialogue and action are a pleasure to read.

'He had learned to keep the days for moving forward and let his grief have the nights.'
This is lovely.

Very powerful moment at the end, seeming to say that Martin is truly beginning to realize the nature and responsibility of the position he has been thrust into.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 5 2011, 03:00 AM

Tree rats
A great name for squirrels. Plus an excellent observation on Jerric's part about the acorns keeping the bears well-fed.

An exciting battle. Jerric is certainly getting good at this sort of thing.

“You can trust that I have taken such things into consideration,”
This was an excellent conclusion on the part of the author as well. Of course the Mythic Dawn would scoop up whoever was left behind and torture them. It makes me wonder if Piner has been lead to believe that they are going somewhere else, and is being sacrificed to buy time? Cold, but brilliant.

Posted by: mALX Mar 5 2011, 03:18 AM

It kills me that Jauffre didn't carry the amulet on his person since he was armed and still alive at the end of the battle ... he puts it in an unlocked cupboard made of wood (smashable if it was locked) - in a room with a door (how secret is that?) - and then leaves it alone to go pray in the chapel ?????

- and then gets haughty when Jerric is thinking of strategic tactics !!!


Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades whose only job is to guard the Emperor and that amulet - he loses one personally, the other is lost by men he trained - Er ... would you buy a used car from this man ???? ROFL !!!!


Great Chapter !!!!

Posted by: Grits Mar 7 2011, 09:05 PM

haute ecole rider: You are correct on all three quotes, I meant what you said, not what I wrote. I fixed them, thanks for pointing them out. In my mind, I always put Chorrol where Sancre Tor is on the map. Oops! I felt so bad when Jerric and Martin were walking toward the Priory. No hot bath and fresh socks for you, guys! Thank you for your support, haughty echo rider!

Thomas Kaira: I’m playing on the PS3, so no mods for me. I appreciate the offer, though. Thank you for the kind words about the Kvatch chapter. It was a pretty important section for me, so I’m glad to hear it worked for you. They do get a little break in the wilderness.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! You are correct about the last line, right there is where Martin decided that he was not going to be a puppet. The line about Jerric really highlights what he is still going through, and probably will be for some time. Thank you for drawing attention to it.

SubRosa: Yep, Jauffre is not a warm and fuzzy type here. I can’t help but think that Brother Piner had an I-am-so-screwed moment when the three of them rode off. Glad you enjoyed the acorns and tree rats. It was fun to do a little Jerric thought before things heated up again.

mALX: Yeah, Jauffre losing the Amulet is a real ‘because it’s a game’ situation. If they found him in a pool of yuck with his guts opened because he had swallowed it (or otherwise), then I might believe he did his best to hide it. Thanks, mALX!!



Chapter 8: Running, Part 5 Cloud Ruler Temple

Jerric reached up to the woolen cloth covering his mouth and nose and cracked off the ice that clung there where his breath had frozen. Flash snorted, and Jerric wondered if he was having similar issues with his whiskers. He could see Martin on the bay riding in front of him, and in the lead rode Jauffre on his chestnut. Snow drifted down around them, turning their world to grey. The powder on the road muffled the horses’ footsteps. When the wind quieted, Jerric could hear the crystalline music of tiny ice particles tumbling over tree branches on their way to the ground. Gusts scoured the road in places, piling the snow in white ridges. They had reached the Silver Road and climbed into the Jeralls under low, heavy clouds. As the path finally leveled out, the grey granite walls of Bruma had come into view ahead of them. At that moment the snow had begun to fall in a fast, dry shower.

The road was rising again, and Jerric paid close attention to Flash’s footing. Swirling clouds of powder obscured the view, but Jerric had the sense of a great open space beside them. He would hate to measure how far up the mountain they had climbed by how long it took him to fall. “Not much farther,” Jauffre called back to them. The cold didn’t bother Jerric, but he wished he could see through the snow. Martin was the one who seemed to suffer the most. On their first night above the frost line, Jerric had quietly transferred some of his own blankets to Martin’s bedroll.

The horses made a sharp turn. Jerric looked up, squinting against the stinging snow. Dark walls loomed above them with a pair of massive doors set in their middle. Jauffre dismounted, and Jerric and Martin followed his lead. A cloaked figure appeared in front of Jauffre. Jerric realized he must be a sentry.

“Grandmaster, is this …?” The Redguard soldier’s eyes were fixed on Martin.

“Yes, Cyrus,” Jauffre replied. “This is the Emperor’s son, Martin Septim.”

“My lord!” Cyrus executed a crisp salute. “Welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple! We have not had the honor of an Emperor’s visit in many years!”

“Ah, well, thank you,” Martin replied. “The honor is mine.” If Cyrus noticed the uncertainty in Martin’s voice, he did not show it.

Jauffre nodded to Cyrus, and the Blade tapped sharply on the metal doors. With a groan, they swung slowly open. A broad set of stone stairs lay beyond. Cyrus ran up ahead of them. “Come,” Jauffre addressed Martin. “Your Blades are waiting to greet you.”

They led the horses up into Cloud Ruler Temple. Shouts and running feet were audible above them. Jauffre halted them at a wide landing. Two teenaged Imperials dashed down the stairs and took the horses, nodding respectfully to Jauffre and Martin. Jerric received a matching set of curious glances. After a moment, Jauffre seemed to receive some signal. He nodded to Martin, then led him up the steps. Jerric followed. He gazed up in awe at his surroundings.

The stairs rose between terraces built of massive stone blocks, each one as tall as Jerric and perfectly smooth. Large fire bowls lit the steps and plaza above. The main temple building rose up in three sections, the tallest symmetrically placed in the middle. Each forward-facing gable possessed a concave roof that swooped down to wide, overhanging eaves. Jerric wondered how they did not collapse under the weight of the still falling snow. When a rush of wind completely cleared the courtyard of its accumulated powder, he got his answer. He saw the horses’ rumps disappear into a low building along the left side of the plaza. The snowfall drew its pale curtain over whatever lay behind the main building and to the right.

The Blades had lined up along both sides of the central walkway. Jauffre and Martin passed between them as they proceeded to the final low steps and broad landing in front of the main building. Jerric paused at the top of the long stairs, uncertain. Then he found he was unwilling to walk between the assembled Blades alone.

When Jauffre and Martin reached the final steps, they turned and faced Jerric down the double line of soldiers. Martin had thrown back his hood. Even standing on the low stairs, he looked small and slim between the armored figures. Jerric suddenly felt he should be by Martin’s side. The crackling flames in the nearby fire bowl and the snow hissing against its hot metal sounded overly loud to him.

“Blades!” Jauffre called out. “Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch. The Empire is in chaos. But there is yet hope. Here is Martin Septim, true son of Uriel Septim!”

As one, the Blades drew their katanas and saluted Martin. Their voices rang against the stone. “Hail, Dragon Born!” they cried. “Hail, Martin Septim! Hail!” Jerric felt a chill that had nothing to do with the snow on his neck.

Jauffre’s voice carried down to Jerric as he addressed Martin. “Your Highness, the Blades are at your command. You will be safe here until you can take up your throne.”

Martin answered him immediately, speaking both to Jauffre and to his Blades. There was no trace of the hesitation he had shown talking to Cyrus. “Jauffre. All of you. I know you all expect me to be Emperor, I’ll do my best. But this is all new to me. I’m not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. That’s it. Thank you.” Martin’s voice projected both confidence and humility, but Jerric could hear the fatigue under it.

“Well, then. Thank you, sire,” said Jauffre. “We’d all best get back to our duties, eh, Captain?”

The Blades dispersed without further comment, as if by some signal that Jerric didn’t see. His feet carried him across the open plaza to Martin before he decided what to do, and he realized the extent of his exhaustion. Jauffre stood to the side, speaking with the man he had addressed as Captain. Martin waited on the steps, looking slightly down at Jerric. “Not much of a speech, was it?” Martin asked quietly. “Didn’t seem to bother them, though. The Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you. Thank you. But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do. And I haven’t the faintest idea…”

“I’m sure Jauffre will tell you what they expect,” Jerric told him. “Anyway, if you’re an Emperor, then I guess you get to decide how to behave. As for what to do, you told us what was next when we were on the Orange Road.”

Martin nodded and gave Jerric a tired smile. “Of course, the Amulet of Kings. So we … I … can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires. And stop the Oblivion invasion.”

“And you will be the Emperor,” Jerric stated.

“The Emperor... That’s an idea that will still take some getting used to. In any case, we need the Amulet first. Maybe Jauffre will know where to start.”

The Captain strode away, and Jauffre joined them. “Your chamber is being prepared, sire,” he said to Martin. “We will dine together in our great hall, then you must rest. Jerric, we have no guest quarters here. I invite you to sleep tonight in our barracks in the west wing. Tomorrow I would like to discuss what comes next. For now, let us rest and recover from our journey.”

Jerric followed Martin and Jauffre through the tall wooden doors and into the central hall. Jerric stopped and looked around in amazement. The high ceiling rose to a peak running the length of the room, lit by windows tucked under the eaves. A wide walkway led straight through the space between rows of tables with benches. Thick, plain wooden columns marched along both sides with arches between them. Doorways, cupboards, smaller tables, and shelves filled the lower walls to the right and left. A massive fireplace dominated the far wall. Jerric guessed he could stand in it with Martin on his shoulders, and ten men could stand shoulder to shoulder across the opening. The roaring fire within it both lit and warmed the hall. Fire bowls hanging from dragon-shaped brackets also provided illumination. Jerric’s wandering eyes halted at what he saw glimmering in the fire bowls’ light, and his breath caught in his throat. The high arches along the entire hall were lined with katanas, hanging evenly spaced and pointing down through open space. The wall over the fireplace also gleamed with blades. Awe prickled over his skin, but the empty spaces tightened his gut. He realized the katanas that would someday hang there were now carried by the men and women who had just filled the plaza with their voices.

Jauffre must have noticed his gaze. “It’s how we honor our fallen brothers and sisters,” he said reverently. “This is the Hall of Blades.” He gestured to Martin, and when he spoke again his voice held a note of cheer. “Come, sire, I see a table has been laid for us. The others will dine together at the usual hour, but by then you should be resting.” They seated themselves at the table closest to the fire. Jerric had been too tired and saddle sore on their journey to notice his empty belly, but now every meal that he had missed made his stomach rumble. Crusty bread, a clay pitcher of beer, and bowls of thick stew awaited them. Jerric identified carrots, onions, and chunks of beef in the dark gravy. He picked up his spoon and glanced at Martin. The former priest appeared to have already concluded his blessing, and Jerric sent up his own silent thanks for Martin’s brevity. The three of them demonstrated that they were equals at least in their appreciation of the meal.

Jerric looked around as he ate. The floor was mostly constructed of wide boards, but there were sections of stone blocks or pavers in between. As he studied it, he realized that the stones actually ran in continuous lines with wooden sections between. “What’s below this hall, Jauffre?” he asked. “Are there rooms underneath?”

Jauffre took a swallow of beer to clear his mouth. “Indeed. Living quarters for our staff and families, work areas and storage, even the baths lie below us. Winter brings bitter cold to these mountains, but this fortress does not require fires for heat. Hot springs can be found all over this area. Our lower levels are quite warm. The water in our baths comes out of the rocks already heated. We must mix in water from the cold springs, or it would be too hot to bathe in.”

Jerric took another slice of bread and passed the basket to Martin. “I wouldn’t say no to a hot bath,” he said. He guessed he might be the pungent reason that Jauffre had mentioned it.

“You are a most welcome guest, while you are here with us. Please enjoy what hospitality we may offer. Clean garments will be provided until your own can be laundered and returned to you. I would suggest that you send your weapons and armor to our smithy.”

Jerric nodded and swallowed his bread. “I appreciate the help. Jauffre, I trust you that we’re safe now. But I have to ask. How is this place a secret? We followed a cobbled road to get here, and you found it in a snowstorm.”

“This fortress was built by Reman Cyrodiil’s Akavari Dragonguard at the founding of the Second Empire. The enchantments that conceal this place were laid down with the very stones. When you leave, you will not be able to find your way back unless you are one of us. Even those few who are born within these walls cannot find their way home unassisted, unless they are inducted into the Blades.”

Jauffre’s answer brought more questions, but Jerric decided that they could wait. He pushed back his plate. “I’m almost too tired, but it’s either hit the baths or sleep in my armor. Thanks for dinner.”

A look from Jauffre brought another young teenager over to the table. “Delain, bring Jerric’s bags. Show him to the baths, then take care of his gear for him. He’ll need clean clothing. When I see you again, I expect you will report that he is resting.”

Jerric quickly sorted his gear with Delain’s help, stripping off his armor and adding it to the pile destined for the smithy. He followed the lad through wood paneled hallways and down into the bowels of the fortress. The walls below were made of the same massive blocks of smooth stone. Metal sconces lined the passageways, and Jerric couldn’t identify the source of the cool, white light that glowed from them.

The baths were a wonder to Jerric. A long, warm room was filled almost entirely by a pool carved out of the rock. Benches lined the wall along the right, and shelving filled the back wall. Jerric felt cool air pass over his face as he followed Delain to the shelving. “Here are your soaps and towels, sir, help yourself. I’ll take your clothes to the laundry and bring you back some clean ones. Don’t drop your ring in there, it might go down the drain. If you get too hot, stand under these vents here. Don’t fall asleep in the pool. I’ll be back shortly. Would you like to shave, sir?”

“Uh, no thanks,” said Jerric. “I think I’ll be back out in the cold soon enough. And you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’” The water had a heavy, mineral odor. Jerric thought it was only a slight improvement over his own unwashed traveler smell.

“With respect, sir, I do.” Delain flashed him a grin.

Jerric bundled up his clothes and handed them to Delain. “Some of those might be best put on the fire.”

“Cordus runs the laundry, sir. He says there are no tasks too small to do well, only men who are too small to do them. He won’t quit until your things are better than new.”

“Then I suggest you drop that lot and flee before he gets you to help him.” Jerric picked up a block of soap and eased into the steaming pool. The water was hot enough to make him hiss, but then he had to stifle a noise of appreciation lest he alarm his attendant. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall asleep in here. Though a little drowning might be worth it.” Delain took off up the passage at a run in the way of the energetic and eager to please. Jerric got busy with the soap.

He discovered that the water on the far end was waist deep, but the pool sloped up to shallow steps along the side closest to the door. He found the place where the fresh water entered and the drain where it left at the same rate. He marveled at the planning that kept it from flooding or draining completely. When he remembered that he was wearing the Jewel of the Rumare, he sank to the bottom and spent a blissful period just lying there, completely submerged in hot water. Eventually he realized what that would look like to Delain when he returned, so he got out to towel off and stand under the air vents. Fresh air flowed gently in, making clear ribbons in the steam. The heat made his limbs unbearably heavy, so he wrapped the towel around his waist and sat on the bench. His head went back against the stone, and before he could completely apologize to Delain in his mind, he was asleep.

Posted by: ghastley Mar 7 2011, 09:31 PM

I like the idea of thermal springs under Cloud Ruler Temple. I hope there's enough fresh water available, too, as you've just eliminated snow as a source by blowing it all away! Just don't over-reach and have the beer bubbling out of a third well

Now that's a better reason than you get in the game! And the enchantment makes Cloud Ruler Temple a much better place for Martin than you'd normally think. It never made sense before that the Oblivion Gates that open are near the other gate of Bruma, and nowhere near the Temple. Especially with spies operating in town!

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 8 2011, 01:52 AM

He would hate to measure how far up the mountain they had climbed by how long it took him to fall.
Indeed!

Jerric suddenly felt he should be by Martin’s side.
Perhaps Jerric's mission is not yet finished then?

He guessed he might be the pungent reason that Jauffre had mentioned it.


Do I sense a hypocaust rearing its terrifying head? Seriously, I also thought it was brilliant of you to incorporate a thermal spring into the foundations of Cloud Ruler Temple. Even more brilliant was the "lost" spell associated with the temple. Now that was a work of pure genius on your part. It reminds me of how the Psijiic Order makes their island invisible to all but those they want to find it.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 8 2011, 02:40 AM

Lots to like here!

Your opening scene description was chillingly immersive. I was reaching for my furs!

'The cold didn’t bother Jerric, but he wished he could see through the snow.'
So much better than having that thin Valenwood blood!

Your Hall of Blades was magnificent!

Let me join the echo of praise for the 'cloaking' enchantment! I think I may someday steal the idea for Frostcrag Spire!

Especially after that snowy arrival, the hot bath was incredible! And how clever to remember the Jewel of Rumare! Jerric is so practical.

Nit:
'As one the Blades drew their katanas and saluted Martin.'
A singular/plural mismatch here. Not sure if you meant one (singular) of the Blades drew his katana, or perhaps the Blades (plural) drew their katanas.

Posted by: mALX Mar 8 2011, 04:06 AM

EW !!! The first way ... it would have to come out eventually!!! The second way ... EW !!!! GAAAAAH !!!!

Mankar Camoran: "I have it! The Amulet of Kings is mine at last! ... Er...what's that smell?"




GAAAAAH !!!! This is AWESOME !!! And the bathing pool !!! I love what you have done with Cloud Ruler Temple !!! Awesome Write !!!!


*

Posted by: Grits Mar 10 2011, 02:44 PM

ghastley: A beer well, the Akaviri keg-o-rator!! That’s brilliant. Then the Blades wouldn’t have to stick their beer kegs in the snow banks, Bruma-style. Or on the back porch like in Grits World. I did think that Jerric should have brought the pitcher of beer to the baths. It always bugs me that they say Martin is safe, then they leave the front door open. I appreciate your comments, ghastley!

SubRosa: I couldn’t think of an ES friendly way to say ‘geothermal’! And once the hot springs appeared, the baths were a must. I mean, they have to find some way to keep all those Bretons and Imperials from transferring to the Heartlands. Thank you for your kind words, SubRosa!

Acadian: I made myself cold writing about the snowstorm! I’m glad you liked the renovations to Cloud Ruler Temple. I think any place with “Frost” in the name should come with hot springs and a cloaking enchantment. I missed a comma when I was trying to say the Blades did everything in unison. Thanks for finding it! I appreciate your support so much, Acadian!

mALX: I was having a Calgon-take-me-away kind of week, but Jerric got the hot bath. I really enjoyed CRT, once I figured out why everyone in the world can’t just look up and see it sitting there. Thank you, mALX, your comments made me smile!


Chapter 8: Running, Part 6

Jerric woke, gasping for breath. His hands clawed at the phantom pain in his chest. Dreaming again, he realized. The fire he had thought was consuming him had disappeared, replaced by the dim interior of the Blades sleeping quarters. A glance down the double row of pallets on the floor showed him that he had not disturbed his fellow sleepers. He rose and quietly straightened the blankets. Delain had brought him here last night, asleep on his feet. He supposed his gear was still scattered throughout the temple in the hands of various laborers. His borrowed woolen tunic and trousers should be warm enough for now, he decided. He stepped into his boots and headed out, in search of fresh air.

The wooden door swung quietly on its hinges. Jerric stepped through into the silent dawn, nodding his greeting to the Blade standing watch. He flapped his tunic to fan the crisp air over his skin, still sweaty from the nightmare. No snow today, he noticed. As he walked out from under the front portico, the sun’s edge appeared over the eastern mountains. He drifted to the low wall along the edge of the plaza, his mind suddenly empty of everything but amazement.

White peaks rose up behind Cloud Ruler Temple, but not much higher. Jerric felt that he must be standing near the top of the world. Grey granite ridges poked out of the drifted snow in the hollows far below him. The sun rose through a pink haze without warmth, but he realized that he didn’t need its heat. He wandered along the battlements, looking down the road they had climbed in the snowfall. Dark fir and spruce trees dotted the high mountainside and filled the lower slopes with their groves. Wide, open meadows looked like pale blankets, brightening to coral where the dawn light touched them. Bruma’s dark mass was visible to the south in the distance, but beyond that the land dropped away into a blue mist. His heart lifted in a way that felt like home.

“It’s something else, isn’t it,” remarked a voice at his side. Jerric glanced over. The Blade’s stature and thick features marked him as a Nord. “Roliand,” the man introduced himself.

“I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

Roliand nodded, looking him over. “You were at Kvatch,” he stated. Jerric waited, but Roliand didn’t continue.

“Did you have people there?” Jerric asked.

“No. Went there as a lad once, saw the Arena. What a view from the plateau. There’s something about standing up high with the world at your feet. It wasn’t quiet like here, though.”

“Well, it’s quiet there now. I guess the view’s the same as when you saw it.” Jerric wondered what the man wanted. “Not many Nords here?” he guessed.

“I’m the only one.”

Jerric hooked his thumb under his tunic. “Thanks for the loan, then.”

“Keep it.” Roliand was giving him another assessing look. “They say you went into the Gate to Oblivion and closed it.”

“Yeah.” Jerric decided to get the explanation over with. “Kvatch was my home. I thought I could save my family. I’m sure you would have done the same thing.” Roliand still did not appear to be satisfied. Jerric looked him straight in the eye. “Do you want to spar with me or something?”

Roliand nodded. “I’ll be off duty this afternoon. Pelagius and Fortis should be out soon, they spend most of the day training. Over there.” He pointed to a square of brown turf. “They’ll want to talk to you. Grandmaster Jauffre said we should expect more Gates to open.”

“I’ve told him everything, and Martin, too. He was there. They’ll get you ready for whatever comes.” Jerric felt uncomfortable reassuring the older man, like a child instructing his tutor. He decided to change the subject. He had noticed the white columns and arches of an Ayleid ruin above the trees far to the west. He pointed at them. “What’s that over there?”

“Rielle. There are no complete structures left standing. Full of undead, but they stay underground. Captain Steffan sends out a patrol periodically. It’s not a threat.” Booted feet and voices sounded in the plaza behind them. Steel rang against steel. Jerric turned with Roliand still beside him. Two Blades had begun sparring on the practice ground, and others spilled out of the doors into the open square. “There they go, already started. The watch is changing, and the grub’s on in the dining hall. Grandmaster Jauffre may want you with him, you should stop in the great hall first. I saw him there with our Lord Martin.”

“Thanks, Roliand.” Jerric resolved to remember Martin’s new title.

“I’ll see you later.”

Jerric walked through the crowd of Blades, trying not to gawk. The morning sun gleamed on their armor. He pulled his hands through his hair, suddenly feeling young and scruffy. The Blade at the front door greeted him. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning. I’m Jerric.”

“Yes, sir. Caroline.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jerric gave her a closer look. “Is Delain your boy?”

“He is.”

“He’s a good lad, you must be proud.” He turned and looked back over the plaza. “I guess there are worse places to grow up.”

“There's no place more secure in all of Cyrodiil. I just wish... I wish we could have gotten our Lord Uriel here....”

Jerric continued into the great hall. His second look was no less awe-inspiring than the first. He spotted Jauffre and Martin back at the table by the fire. Kahve’s rich aroma reached him along with the smell of wood smoke. As he walked to join them, his stomach growled its hope for a meal.

“Ah, there you are,” remarked Jauffre in greeting.

Martin poured a mug of kahve and slid it to Jerric. “Good morning,” Martin said with a slight smile. Jerric wondered how long he and Jauffre had been at the table. Delain burst into the hall bearing a loaded tray. A young Imperial woman followed him, similarly burdened. They quickly filled the table with steaming bowls and platters. “We didn’t know how long you’d sleep,” explained Martin. “But now we don’t have to start without you.”

Jerric stared at the food in surprise. “And I thought I was the early riser. Where’s the rest of the army?”

Jauffre snorted. “They’re cooking for a Nord and an emperor. Their Grandmaster alone doesn’t get this kind of breakfast. We’ll see if there’s anything left to eat by winter.” He glared over at Delain. The young Breton returned his look with an unrepentant grin. Jerric noticed that Jauffre was one who could smile with his eyes while the rest of his face was scowling. The smell of sage and fennel teased his nose while he waited for Martin and Jauffre to fill their plates. Jauffre gestured with a serving fork. “Go ahead, Jerric. Help yourself.”

Fried potatoes with peppers and onions made the first mountain on his plate. Crisply browned sausage patties proved to be the source of the fennel and sage. He passed on the plate of sweet rolls to leave room for a pile of the orangest scrambled eggs he had ever seen. Then he found something new. He caught the Imperial girl’s eye. “What’s this?”

“Porridge made from ground corn. There’s sausage gravy in that pitcher to go with it.”

“You put gravy on your porridge?” he asked, incredulous.

“What do you put on yours, sugar?” she shot back impudently.

Jerric smiled and filled his bowl. If he was getting sassed in front of the next emperor, he guessed the mood at Cloud Ruler Temple must be improving. He imagined it must have been grim since the news of the last emperor’s death had reached them, as well as the deaths of all of his guard save Baurus. He tasted the porridge. “It’s kind of gritty,” he remarked.

The Imperial opened her mouth to answer, but Delain’s elbow in her ribs seemed to shut it for her. “Dismissed, you two,” said Jauffre. They disappeared through a door, and Jauffre got abruptly down to business. “Have you ever considered military service, Jerric?”

“Uh, not really. I mean, I don’t have any problem following orders, as long as I agree with them. But I like to think I could tell my boss to hump himself and go my own way.”

“Many Blades serve the Empire independently, as agents. Only a few reside here, and at smaller fortresses throughout Tamriel.” Jauffre was giving him a significant look.

Jerric put down his fork. “Grandmaster Jauffre, what are you trying to say?”

“You have proven yourself a loyal servant of the Empire, as worthy as any of the Blades to stand by Martin’s side during this crisis. As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honored to accept you into our order as a Knight Brother. Will you join us?”

Jerric was stunned. “Jauffre, I’m no knight. I’ve spent most of my time looking for something cold to pour down my throat and someplace warm to put my stick. I don’t live by a code. I’ll kill someone when they’re down, or when I’ve kicked their weapon away. Whatever it takes to get the job done. I’m not going to apologize for my talk, either. I think you should know what you’re dealing with.”

“I’m dealing with the man who went through a Gate to Oblivion and closed it on his own, then picked himself up and took Kvatch back from the daedra with the Guard.”

“Not on my own.”

“I’ll give you that. But you took the Sigil Stone. No one handed it to you.”

“I was working on anger and desperation. I kept making the same mistakes. It’s a miracle I survived.”

“Yet here you are. Your tactics are not under scrutiny. You have earned this invitation with your loyalty.”

Jerric scratched his hands through his hair. To stand by Martin’s side. The sun’s companion. His heart knew the answer before his head could accept it. “I need to get my mind cleared up, and train. I don’t have much experience against heavy armor, and it seems like that’s what our enemy is going to throw at us. Zealots in heavy armor. They’re not afraid to die, they’re just attacking. Even untrained, they have enough of them to take me down. I need stronger shock spells, and better summons spells to fight the daedra. I’m not ready.”

“I’m not going to negotiate, so I’ll tell you how it is and you decide. You’ll be an agent for the Blades, if you accept. Go train, prepare yourself. Come back when you’re ready for orders. Here, or you can find Baurus at Luther Broad’s Boarding House in the Imperial City. He’s gathering intelligence; we hope that soon we will be able to identify the enemy. You’ll follow your orders and complete the missions you are given. When you decide you’re through, then you’re through. I’m not going to chase you down, but I expect that you’ll tell me and report on your current mission. You should know that once you’re a Blade, you’ll always be one.” He nodded over his head at the Hall of Blades above them. “In time they all come back here. Are you with us?”

“I’m with you.”

Jauffre rose and stepped away from the table. When Jerric saw the Akaviri katana in his hands, he guessed that Jauffre had anticipated his answer. “It is my honor to welcome you into our ranks as a Knight Brother of the Blades.” Jauffre extended the sword balanced across his open palms. The simple gesture spoke louder than pomp or ceremony. Jerric took it from him with the sense of a door closing behind him. Jauffre sat back down and addressed his plate again. “Get measured for your armor before you go. Your allegiance is a secret now, but there will come a time when we’ll all stand together.” He gestured impatiently. “Sit down, finish your breakfast.”

Jerric did as he was told. He cleared his plate, then filled it again with a stack of griddle cakes. “I guess we should work out a code, so you can get me back if you find out something.”

Jauffre nodded and speared a griddle cake. “That’s good thinking. A signal telling you to return here, and one to find Baurus in the Imperial City.”

Jerric thought for a moment. “Send me a letter. I don’t have any relatives left alive, so it could be from Auntie or Uncle Someone. Auntie for Baurus, Uncle for here.”

“Where should we send it?”

“Anvil Mages Guild. Wherever I go, I’ll make sure they know it.”

“You should take Flash.”

Jerric shook his head. “I can’t afford to keep him. I don’t even know if I have a coin purse anymore.”

“He can carry enough grain to get himself through the snow. You might need to return quickly, faster than your feet can bring you. We can’t rely on caravans, the daedra are likely to cause disruption.”

Martin spoke, and Jerric stopped eating to listen. “We know that Mehrunes Dagon is the source of the attacks. It seems that his worshippers are working on his behalf here in Cyrodiil. When we find them, we must move quickly to retrieve the Amulet, before they remove it forever from our reach.”

“All right, I’ll take Flash,” Jerric decided. “I think you should go ahead with your plans when you make them, though. A lot can happen between here and Anvil.”

Jauffre and Martin exchanged a look. “There is another thing you must know, Jerric. Your concern for Brother Piner was well founded. All who serve the emperor are at risk. If he is captured by the enemy, he will not be able to lead them here. You, however, number among those who must not be taken alive.”

Jerric had already come to this conclusion. “Right. Then I guess I’d better not be too conspicuous.”

“On the contrary, wear your Wolf with pride. The more places you’re seen, the harder it will be to track you. Rumors spread quickly, and might only contain a crumb of truth. The people need a hero, and you will need favors. Others carry Akaviri blades, though they are rare. In fact I believe there is one presently for sale in the Imperial City. And when the enemy does connect you to Martin, it may tell us even more about them.” Jerric stared at Jauffre. He hoped that his casual tone reflected confidence in Jerric’s skills instead of disregard for his life. The Grandmaster continued, gesturing with his bite of griddle cake for emphasis. “I doubt they will come for you soon, but it would be unwise for you to let your guard down.”

Captain Steffan entered the hall and stood to the side, waiting. Jauffre rose and went to speak with him. Martin looked over at Jerric. “You are going back into danger. But don’t worry about me, my friend. I know I’m in good hands here.”

Jerric spent the better part of a week at Cloud Ruler Temple, training with the Blades. “A storm’s coming,” Roliand told him one day on the battlements. “This old shoulder always knows.”

“And my knees,” added Jena. “You’d better get going.”

Jerric and Flash followed the Silver Road down out of the mountains, then headed west along the busy Red Ring Road. Folk all along the way told him rumors of daedra. He told them of Kvatch and the heroes there who were rebuilding it. They got all the way to the Gold Coast before they saw one. A dead clannfear in the road with pools of blood around it. Two Legion horses stood placidly nearby, attended by a young legionnaire.

Jerric left Flash in her care. He checked his canteen and made sure he remembered his shield this time. His eyes scanned the landscape as he descended through the meadow. An oval of fire glinted far below, brighter than the sun. He walked toward it, pulled along as if in a dream. Thunder rolled and the sky blackened. Red clouds began to swirl above him, laced with lightning. He had found a Gate to Oblivion.

Posted by: mALX Mar 10 2011, 06:22 PM

I love this line !!!!



Another perfect example of how your writing can be visualized totally by the reader - I could see this scene in front of me as if I was watching a movie !! AWESOME WRITE !!!!

The whole section from the point Jauffre begins talking about Jerric joining the Blades - all the way to the paragraph before Captain Steffan walks in was outstanding !!!





WHEW !!! Powerful, POWERFUL ending !!!!!!

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 10 2011, 06:30 PM

A lovely description of the sights from the battlements of Cloud Ruler.

Jerric noticed that Jauffre was one who could smile with his eyes while the rest of his face was scowling.
I love this!

And a big meal. Everyone eats so good here at Chorrol. But gravy on polenta? Well, it is better than popcorn and beer on rat stew!

But I like to think I could tell my boss to hump himself and go my own way.
Exactly my own attitude. Teresa's as well.

I’ve spent most of my time looking for something cold to pour down my throat and someplace warm to put my stick.
Okay, here is where Teresa and I part company from Jerric!

Jerric took it from him with the sense of a door closing behind him.
And indeed it has!


nits:
as worthy as any of the Blades to stand by Martin’s side during this crises
I think you meant crisis, crises is the plural form of the word.


Jerric and Flash followed the Silver Road down out of the mountains, then headed west along the busy Red Ring Road. Folk all along the way told him rumors of daedra. He told them of Kvatch and the heroes there who were rebuilding it. They got all the way to the Gold Coast before they saw one. A dead clannfear in the road with pools of blood around it. Two Legion horses stood placidly nearby, attended by a young legionnaire.


Jerric left Flash in her care. He checked his canteen and made sure he remembered his shield this time. His eyes scanned the landscape as he descended through the meadow. An oval of fire glinted far below, brighter than the sun. He walked toward it, pulled along as if in a dream. Thunder rolled and the sky blackened. Red clouds began to swirl above him, laced with lightning. He had found a Gate to Oblivion.
The forum threw in an extra space between your last two paragraphs.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 10 2011, 09:59 PM

I have been away from Cloud Ruler Temple for so long that this chapter nearly made me homesick! It's a beautiful place, good for meditation and for regrouping. And the Blades are warmer than that fire in the Hall!

I quite enjoyed this chapter, even though your vision is a bit different from mine. Your CRT is a wonderful place to be, with the baths and the kids.

And the line about Jauffre's eyes smiling above a scowl is exactly how I think of him! I just write it differently!

Well done!

Posted by: Acadian Mar 11 2011, 02:08 AM

'Porridge made from ground corn. There’s sausage gravy in that pitcher to go with it.”
Gritty indeed!
Yummy breakfast overall!

I liked the understated dialogue between Jerric and Roliand. It really worked.

The details of how you presented Jauffre's invitation to join the Blades and Jerric's decision were wonderfully done!

Oh. . . crap. Mehrunes Dagon can open more than one of those things!?!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Mar 11 2011, 06:14 AM

OK, all caught up again! A very nice breakfast you served today!

I hope Jerric is ready for the coming darkness. He's going to need every ounce of his Nordic strength quite soon, it would seem.

And poor Cliff has been hung again! You would think he would eventually learn to stay away from them there gallows!

Posted by: Grits Mar 13 2011, 08:25 PM

mALX: Thank you, mALX! I’m glad you liked Jauffre’s sales pitch to Jerric, he had to be pretty persuasive. The ending was Jerric’s doing, he won’t quit going in the damn Gates. He’s not cooperating!

SubRosa: Thank you, SubRosa! I like all of the places with a view. Jauffre’s warm side comes across to me in little touches, since he’s the one who has to make the cold-hearted decisions. I’m glad you liked it.

haute ecole rider: The civilian support staff at CRT is such a departure from the game, I was wondering how it would be received. I’m glad you enjoyed it. It all started when I asked who got to dust all of those swords. Thank you, h.e.rider!

Acadian: I’m so glad the Jerric and Roliand part worked for you. I’ve only witnessed those kinds of exchanges, and I really have to guess what’s behind them. Thank you so much for the reassurance! And we are indeed having Gate issues. I keep saying don’t go in there, but he doesn’t listen!

Thomas Kaira: I’m glad you enjoyed breakfast. It’s getting dark in a hurry, we’ll see what happens next!



Chapter 9: Anvil, Part 1

Darnand Penoit walked east along the Gold Road in the morning light. The Brina Cross Inn lay behind him, and he hoped that two Imperial Battlemages were following out of sight. Carahil had tasked him with helping them solve a series of murders between Gottshaw and Brina’s Crossing. They suspected a rogue mage was robbing merchants. His reward would be her recommendation. His eyes searched the road’s edge, watching for danger. Carahil’s words echoed in his mind.

“We are still getting reports of daedra on the Gold Road,” she had told him. “The Legion has discovered a Gate to Oblivion south of Garlas Agea, and they are monitoring it. Some would stay inside the safety of city walls until this danger passes. However, we have work to do, work that matters. Take care, and do not let your guard down.”

Darnand believed that his own work was important, but his private research did not earn him an income. Pursuing his goals would require coin, and that meant seeking more responsibility. He had to interrupt his work in order to continue it.

A tall figure in a bright blue gown stepped out into the road in front of him. It’s that Altmer from the inn, he noticed. I wonder what she’s doing all the way out here?

Red magicka swirled around Darnand, and he halted in surprise. He realized she had cast a spell on him. Weakness to something, he guessed. This must be the rogue mage. He quickly reached for the scroll Carahil had given him.

The Altmer sneered as she filled her hands with frost. “I’m afraid your journey ends here, traveler!” His fingertips found the scroll, and he readied a fire spell. The scroll’s protective shell bloomed around him as her frost attack impacted his chest. The air left his lungs, and he staggered back in pain. Fire roared out of his hand at the Altmer, but he knew the flare wouldn’t kill her. She shrieked with fury when it hit. “I’ll be taking whatever you’re carrying!” she howled. Darnand looked around for the battlemages. Frost boomed against him again, driving him to his knees with shock and pain. “After you’re dead, of course!” He cast more fire, cursing his stars. The Apprentice gave him a vast well of magicka, but it weakened him to magical attacks. He didn’t realize how much until today. I should summon something, he thought dully. The Altmer raised her hand, and the white glow of healing magicka flowed down over her. “I do hope it’s more than the last few had,” she crowed. “They were most disappointing!”

Darnand heard a shout and turned his head toward the source. A large man ran down the road toward them, out of the sun. Darnand got the impression of a round shield and stained surcoat, then he found himself on his back looking up at the sky. Agony gripped his chest like an icy fist, consuming his attention. He used his healing spell three times before his ears stopped ringing. Shrieks and fire attacks split the air. It isn’t over, he realized. He thrashed over to his side in a panic, bent double with a spasm through his middle. Another healing spell, then he sat up to see what was happening.

The Altmer lay sprawled on the road, a puddle of sapphire velvet. Her pale golden hair gleamed against the dusty stones, incongruously pretty. The man turned away from her and stalked toward Darnand. He held his long sword pointed at the ground. Blood ran off the blade in a bright thread, shining in the sun. Darnand sat frozen. I’d better get a spell ready in case he attacks me, he thought. Fire spell, that has to be a Nord. More shouts came from up the road, this time from the direction of Brina’s Crossing.

The man removed his battered helmet as he approached Darnand. His shoulders seemed to block out the sky. Shaggy blonde hair and a thick beard obscured his features. “You all right?” he asked with concern. The deep voice sounded rough, but familiar. It’s Jerric, Darnand realized with a shock.

The two Imperial Battlemages dashed up, shouting. They both wore blue hoods and armor. Arielle and Hanus, thought Darnand. Finally. Jerric turned toward them and dropped his helmet. He took a step back, raising his sword and shield. Darnand suddenly realized how the scene must appear, and he scrambled to his feet. “Drop it!” Arielle shouted at Jerric, raising her mace. Hanus planted his feet, and a ball of fire coalesced in his hand.

This was not in the plan, Darnand thought frantically. He leaped in front of Jerric, arms outstretched. “Wait! He’s a friend! He’s with the guild, too!” Arielle lowered her mace, and Hanus let the fire blaze out against the road. Darnand turned around and saw Jerric standing in a way that must have meant something to the other two. He still looked extremely menacing to Darnand. Jerric moved to the side of the road without speaking to them.

Hanus walked over to the Altmer’s body. Arielle addressed Darnand. “We saw him attack that woman. Is she the rogue mage?” Darnand nodded. She gestured at Jerric with her mace. “Did he just happen to be walking down the road at this moment?” she demanded.

Darnand looked over at Jerric for confirmation. He knelt beside Hanus, cleaning his sword on the Altmer’s gown. He seemed to be ignoring them. “His name is Jerric,” Darnand replied crisply. “He’s from Kvatch, and I haven’t seen him since before the attack there. Do you suppose I could have arranged this meeting? That’s what you need to decide. Then we can discuss where you were while the rogue mage was attacking me.” I’m an Associate dressing down an Imperial Battlemage, Darnand realized with horror. Better just brazen it out.

Arielle gave him a piercing look. “We were briefing a Legion Rider. I’m sure you saw him when he passed you. They have increased their patrols since the last Gate opened. He informed us that the Garlas Agea Gate has closed.” She stared past him at Jerric. “I don’t believe you planned this,” she told Darnand. “We will stay and clean this up. Report our success to Carahil.” Hanus returned to his position at Arielle’s side.

Darnand nodded. “Thank you, Arielle. Hanus,” he said respectfully, and with a great deal of relief. He walked over to where Jerric stood near the body, watching them impassively. His eyes appeared have sunk into their sockets, and there were new lines and scars on his face. His nose was a crooked ruin. “Jerric,” Darnand said cautiously. “It’s good to see you.”

Jerric put out his mailed arm, and Darnand grasped it. “Darnand,” he replied. “I almost didn’t recognize you without a book in your hand. And wearing a dagger now, I see.” Darnand thought he could see teeth under the beard. Jerric indicated Darnand’s trousers. “Where’s your gown?”

Darnand sighed inwardly. Here was the Jerric he knew, and it gave him some comfort. “Carahil sent me out here. I’m posing as a merchant, so I couldn’t wear a mage’s robe. The knife is Felen’s, it’s part of my disguise. I’m starting my recommendations. Do you have any yet?”

“Just one,” Jerric said. “Kvatch. Heading back to Anvil, then? I’ll walk with you.” He turned and gave a piercing whistle. A moment later a paint horse laden with packs ambled over the hill.

“I’m happy to have the company,” Darnand said. Something of an understatement, he thought wryly. When he brushed the ice crystals from his borrowed shirt, he realized that his hands were shaking. So were his knees.

Jerric rubbed the horse’s neck when it reached them. “Flash,” he said to Darnand, indicating the horse. Then he looked at the horse and tipped his head toward Darnand. “Darnand,” he told the horse. Darnand began to wonder about Jerric’s mental state.

They started walking. The sun cast their shadows in front of them, and the early winter light seemed to glow on the rocks and trees. Darnand always forgot how nice it was to be outside. When the weather was agreeable, of course. The morning was unusually warm, and he couldn’t understand his sudden shivering. The cold from the attacks had faded with the ache when he healed himself. When his teeth started to chatter, he glanced over at Jerric. “D-don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Darnand stammered.

Jerric nodded. “It takes some that way. Afterward. The shakes.” They walked a few more paces. “I throw up a lot,” he added.

Eventually Darnand’s body came back under his control. “I looked for you in Kvatch,” he said. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Wandering. I had a few things I needed to do, then I headed back this way. I saw a Gate, and I closed it. It was bad, Darnand. I don’t even have the words for what I’ve seen. Then I found another one. I just got lost for a while.” They walked for a few more steps. “What’s the date?”

“Evening Star the fourth.” Darnand saw the shock in Jerric’s face.

“I had no idea,” Jerric said. He started looking frantic, then he visibly calmed himself. I really need to watch him, Darnand realized.

“We heard there was a Gate near Gottshaw, but it closed about a month ago. Was that you?”

“Yeah.” Jerric’s flat tone did not invite further questions.

Darnand wanted to be respectful, but he wanted information more. He decided to start with an easy subject. Swords or women, he would let Jerric choose. “By the time I got to Kvatch, you had left,” he remarked. “Sigrid didn’t know where you had gone. We heard about it in Anvil, but we weren’t sure it was you. Do you have a blue sword?”

“I had one. Chillrend. It was enchanted with frost damage and weakness to frost. Dropped it in the Deadlands.”

“What happened?”

“I was outside on a bridge. I saw a spider daedra, so I attacked it. They like to cast shock spells out of their mouths, it’s pretty unnerving at first when they’re aimed at you. Did you know the real ones summon little spiderlings? Well, the big ones are hard to hit, I have to get in close. I was trying not to trip over its legs, and the spiderling paralyzed me. I went down hanging partway off the bridge. They have lava in the rivers there. I dropped my sword into the lava trying not to fall. That was Chillrend.”

“Why did you attack it?” Darnand asked, astonished.

Jerric looked at him as if the question didn’t make sense. “Why else would I go in there? Besides, spider daedra are even better than fire atronachs for me. I absorb a lot of magicka fighting them, and my frost spells do a lot of damage. The Gate near Skingrad led to some kind of nest, I wouldn’t have made it through without them. Those big dremora are hard for me to kill, and I can’t sneak past them in the towers. That’s why I’m coming back, to train. And I have some sigil stones, I need to figure out the best way to use them.”

Darnand halted in surprise. “You have sigil stones? Where?”

“In my pack, Flash doesn’t like them. Look.” Jerric reached under his mail and started rummaging in the front of his trousers. Darnand stepped back, alarmed. “Stendarr’s beard, I’m going for my pocket. And I sure don’t have a sigil stone in my pants. I guess you’re still jumpy after the head-humping incident. Can’t say I blame you.” He held a ring out to Darnand. “Here, look at this.”

Darnand took it. “What does it do?”

“You can’t tell?” Jerric’s glance was a challenge.

Darnand examined the ring warily. “I can tell it’s magical. Not everyone can read enchantments so quickly, Jerric.”

“Really? Well, it lets you see life energy. Try it, I made it myself.”

“How did you… you enchanted this with a sigil stone?” He looked at it more closely. “A brass and pearl dinner ring?”

“All right, give it back then. I had to use what I could find. I got this ring off some fool who wanted to kill me. Don’t remember which one. You’d think with daedra around, folk would quit attacking each other. Anyway, it fits whatever hand you put it on. Even your lady fingers.”

Darnand handed the ring back. “You said you have sigil stones?”

“I’ll show you when we get to Anvil. They’re packed pretty well, and if I dig them out now, Flash will cause a fuss. Understandably,” he said, directing his last comment at the horse.

Darnand looked over and saw that Jerric looked uncharacteristically reflective. “Glafeviel is with the guild in Kvatch now,” he said quickly, “and Vigge from Skingrad.”

Jerric nodded. “Glafeviel and Sigrid, sparks are going to fly between those two until they work things out. Shouldn’t be boring, that’s for sure. And Vigge in the mix, I didn’t know he planned to stay. I guess he’ll be in charge, he’s a Conjurer.” Jerric shot a glance over at Darnand. “What did you think of Sigrid? Is that the first time you met her?”

Darnand understood Jerric’s meaning. “She is an impressive woman,” he replied coolly. “I have never seen her equal.” He caught Jerric’s grin. “Back to the guild hall when we get to town? What’s the plan?”

“I don’t have one. The guild hall is a good place to start.” His grin faded, and Darnand could see that he was getting agitated again. “Listen, let me just walk a little with you. I haven’t used so many words since Heartfire. Tell me about your studies. I swear I’ll stay awake.”

“All right, Jerric. I think we can make it to Anvil by late afternoon. That should give me enough time to tell you. Even a Breton mage can make good time going downhill.” Jerric smiled at that remark, and Darnand felt a little relieved. He launched into the tale of his research, hoping he could somehow make it sound interesting to the man they called Lionheart.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 13 2011, 09:24 PM

The Altmer sneered as she filled her hands with frost.
Wonderfully put!

Here you had me about to comment on Darnand (or Darnit? ) being a Breton and having a 50% resistance to magic. Then you throw in that he was born under the Apprentice. So instead he has a 50% weakness! Clever girl.

Then we can discuss where you were while the rogue mage was attacking me
No kidding. Great help those two were.

He informed us that the Garlas Agea Gate has closed.”
And I can guess who closed it...

I love seeing Jerric from Darnand's point of view. Like a wild animal come in from the cold. You can see that the time he has spent fighting has changed him. Worn on him. He has forgotten what it is like to be part of the civilized world.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 13 2011, 10:00 PM

I cracked up at this. When I play the game, the slashin' and smashin's always over by the time those two show up, and all they have left to do is defend themselves against the Legionary that's always there (if you have already started the MQ and Gates are opening up all over).

This used to happen all the time in the Old West (American Old West), when a cowboy would be out on the range for days on end with only the horse for company. Prospectors and mountain men suffered the same malady, talking to what ever animal was their companion (such as burros or even a grizzly bear ) To me, this emphasizes how long Jerric has been on his own.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 14 2011, 12:45 AM

'Hanus planted his feet, and a ball of fire coalesced in his hand.'
I both chuckled and wrung my hands at the battlemages' tardiness, but this is an impressive picture you paint of the battlemage preparing to fry Jerric.

I absolutely loved the idea of having Darnand do this quest and having Jerric in a 'support' role. Brilliant!


'I’m starting my recommendations. Do you have any yet?”
“Just one,” Jerric said. “Kvatch.'

Oh my! I wanted to cheer over this. Closing that damn gate at Kvatch should certainly earn a strong recommendation from acting chapter head Sigrid! Speaking of Sigrid, I heartily concur with this for many more than two reasons:

“She is an impressive woman,”


Now I realize that I travel with a horse-crazy elf, but introducing Flash to Darnand seemed so perfectly the right thing to do of course!

Another wonderful episode!

Posted by: mALX Mar 14 2011, 04:39 AM

Very powerful statement !!




Excellent description, SubRosa !!

I was stunned at the difference in Jerric from the bouncy guy we love up at CRT - to the changes seen in this chapter - and the way you slipped in how quite a bit of time had passed and he had been closing gates all that time - this chapter is HUGE!! The subtleness of clues as to the state of his mind - you have taken this from fic to epic with this chapter!!



I have never seen a closer example to the way my son came back from his first tour in Iraq. The changes in him are the same that you detailed here in Jerric - this write is HUGE, Grits. It couldn't get any more powerful than this - AWESOME WRITE !!!!!

Then in the same chapter you gave us this:




And then this:





I have been reduced to gobbling like a turkey at the end of the read - can't even begin to express what a tremendous write this was. This is absolutely my favorite chapter of all of them, I don't think there is a way to top it. Awesome Write ... gobble, gobble, gobble ...

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 14 2011, 09:26 AM

You're already at PAGE 10??!!! I've got some serious reading to do! I'll be back to say something very long-winded (if not intelligent) when I've caught up.

Posted by: Grits Mar 15 2011, 07:13 PM

SubRosa: Whew, I’m glad I got the birthsign reference in there! It took me a while to figure out how to make Darnand powerful but still vulnerable. I’ve never played a Breton in the game, but the Apprentice seemed like the way to go. Not sure he’d agree with me, though! What you saw in Jerric is what I was hoping Darnand could show you, and you put it so beautifully. Thank you so much!

haute ecole rider: In Jerric’s game I finally timed it so that the Legion Rider would pass before the fight, then afterward I couldn’t find Hanus. He was still standing over in the bushes. Bird watching, maybe? Sheesh. The prospector is a great analogy! Wild-eyed and hairy with a pack full of daedra hearts, and a little too attached to his horse.

Acadian: I’m glad you liked Darnand’s role in the MG quest. Sadly, I ended up cutting Arielle’s super-spy part, but it didn’t really fit. I’ll be taking some liberties with the recommendations, hopefully it will work. I’m glad we both see eye-to-eye with Sigrid. Thank you for your kind words, Acadian. A cheer from you warms my heart!

mALX: This part did not go as I planned. It’s a shock to me how a story about a fun guy and some monsters is sometimes not about that at all. Certainly more than I intended to attempt, especially on my first time out in fiction land. I’m sure we’ll find him with his pants down at an inopportune moment again, since this is Jerric that we’re dealing with. But it seemed disrespectful not to address the rest of it. I’m sure you can guess this part has been uncomfortable to write. Your affirmation means so much to me, mALX. It really, really does! Thank you!!!

Destri Melarg: Wheee, I’m glad you’re back!!! This story will be here whenever you get to it, I’m delighted that you’re reading. Page 10, I can’t believe it either!! I guess this turned out to be something I want to spend time doing. I have learned so much from your comments. You are very much appreciated, and you have been missed!

Note: Now that we are in Chapter 9, I realize that we have started sort of the middle of the story. If there was a natural break for a Book 2, I just blew past it. Ooops. Still learning!



Chapter 9: Anvil, Part 2

Jerric and Darnand parted company at Horse Whisperer Stables. Jerric took his time getting Flash settled and rearranging his packs. Now that he could see Anvil’s walls, he felt reluctant to close himself within them. The short walk to the Mages Guild hall did nothing to ease his disquiet. Townsfolk greeted him with curious stares, and he could hear the trail of excited talk he left behind him. He dropped his packs in the entry hall. Carahil was not at her counter, so he stepped into the reception room.

Marc Gulitte sat there, reading. “It’s Jerric!” he called out, and voices in the dining room passed on the news. Soon the small reception room filled with babbling mages. Jerric didn’t recognize most of them. Students, he thought. And folk on the move, seeking safety in the cities. The pity he saw in their faces turned his stomach, and the morbid curiosity in some was worse. There were too many questions, he couldn’t even connect them with people. He felt the ceiling closing down on him with the weight of the building above it. The urge to bolt for the door was nearly overwhelming.

“Jerric,” said a voice at his shoulder, and he turned to see Darnand beside him. His solemn face held concern and the last thing Jerric would have expected. Understanding. “I’m finished with Carahil. Let’s go.”

Jerric followed Darnand’s back through the crowd, but Carahil stopped them in the front hall. “Jerric, I am pleased that you have returned to us. I wish to see you when you’ve rested. I would like to discuss today’s events.” Jerric looked at her numbly, and part of him saw Darnand cast a spell and lift up his largest pack from the pile by the door.

“Get the rest, will you,” Darnand said quietly. “Remember, I’m just a Breton.” The ghost of a smile touched Darnand’s face, and Jerric realized that he wasn’t alone any more. He followed Darnand over to the evergreen oak in the middle of the plaza, and they stopped beneath it. “All right, breathe.” Jerric did as he was told. “Now look at me. Are you going to want to drink? A woman? I need to know where to take you.” Jerric just shook his head, he had no idea. “I’m taking you to the Count’s Arms, then. I know it’s not your kind of place, but it’s close and they have the best food. In a day or two we can decide what’s next. You were feral for a while, but you can come back from that. Just trust me.”

The next thing he knew he was standing in the middle of the Count’s Arms common room listening to Darnand argue with the publican. “He’s getting that center room in the front. I don’t care if you’re expecting the High Chancellor this weekend, that man is a hero. Unless you wanted an inn full of daedra, you should be thanking him. No, he’ll stay until he’s ready to leave. Don’t bother him. Send someone up with water, and a hot meal with some meat. I don’t care what time it is, he’s not waiting for dinner. Someone from the Mages Guild will probably check on him, you should give them your cooperation.”

Darnand returned to his side and picked up the pack with a grunt. “By Azura, what’s in this thing?” He cast another spell and headed for the stairs. Jerric followed him again, and he found himself in the finest suite he had ever seen. A highly polished dining table sat to the right of the door, and a linen press gleamed against the wall to his left. Deep burgundy rugs covered the floor, and their colors were picked up in the bed cover and matching wall hangings. Three wide steps led up to the massive bed placed under wide windows. Jerric stood in the middle of the space feeling like a wild creature that had found its way indoors.

Darnand dropped the pack and opened the windows. “Look, you can see that big tree you like from here, and you’ll get a breeze. Get your armor off, I don’t know how you do it. Ugh, all this hero business hasn’t made you smell any better. If you can stand it, you could really use a trip to the bath house. Do you have anything left that’s clean? Not even close. Look, give me your laundry and I’ll drop it off. The bath house is behind the inn. I’ll meet you there with something that will fit. Did you lose your shaving kit? Then bring it, unless you like being mistaken for a yeti. We can deal with your hair later. It looks like you’ve been cutting it with a sword.”

Jerric finally found his voice. “Thank you.”

Darnand gave him a steadying look. “Just get through the next thing, all right? I’ll see you soon.”

He was true to his word, and Jerric was shortly headed back up the inn stairs with a towel around his neck, tripping over a borrowed robe. “I’ve never worn a dress before,” he told Darnand, but he couldn’t quite find a smile to go with the words.

“You’re hilarious. I don’t know anyone whose trousers would fit you. Carahil had this robe.”

“I wonder where she got it.” Speculating on Carahil’s sexual history got them back to the room, and Jerric’s meal was waiting. When he sat down in front of it, he realized he was starving. Darnand declined the food, but he poured himself a goblet of water and sat down at the table. His quiet company was an anchor for Jerric. He pushed back his empty plate and drank the rest of his water, then he looked across at Darnand. “How did you know?”

“I lost both of my parents when I was seventeen. It was a carriage accident. My brother threw me out of the house before the end of the week. My friends didn’t know what to do with me.” Darnand met his eyes without pity. “Keep doing the little things, they’ll remind you how to live.” Darnand stood and gathered up the dishes.

“I need to get my head straight. I thought I was ready for people, but I’m not.”

“I believe tomorrow will be better. They’re all talking about you now, maybe they’ll get it out of their systems. Get the door, will you? You should go to bed before you drop on the floor. Abiene will probably be here any moment, I saw her watch which way we headed. She won’t be satisfied until she sees you herself. She can be a little overbearing even for a healer, and there isn’t anyone alive who isn’t her patient.”

“Abiene was there? I didn’t see her.”

Darnand stood in the doorway holding the tray. “I’m not surprised, you looked like you were about to come apart. I didn’t get you a nightshirt, mind your manners.”

Jerric smiled a little. “I’m sure she’s seen it all. You know, healer.” He watched Darnand turn toward the stairs. “Thanks, Darnand.”

“Get some sleep, Jerric.”

He climbed into bed and thought that somehow it didn’t seem real. The sheets felt cold and smooth against his skin, but when he closed his eyes, all he could see was fire. A soft knock on the door got him back out of the bed.

“Abiene.” He stood in the doorway looking down at her face. Her expression was calm, but her eyes showed him the depth of her concern. I never even let her know I was alive, he realized. The wall he had built around his grief began to crack.

“Let me in, Jerric. I’m going to look at you.” He shut the door behind her, and she walked briskly to the bed. She pulled the covers all the way back. “Lie down so I can reach you.”

“I don’t need healing.”

“I’m the one who gets to tell you that. You look better than you did a few hours ago, but that’s just the surface. What do you think you’re hiding with that towel? Come on, Jerric.” She looked stern enough to make him think her interest was professional. He hadn’t thought of her in weeks, and now she filled his mind. He did as he was told. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

Jerric watched her face as she began to examine him, but he had to close his eyes against the pain he saw growing there. He felt her cool hands moving over him, finding and testing his newest scars. Her gentle touch lingered the longest on his face. She soothed away the hurts he didn’t realize he still carried. When she finished, he found she had tears on her cheeks.

“What is it?” he asked. He pushed himself up to reach for her. Her sadness was too much for him, and his own grief closed over his head like a suffocating wave. He held on to her for a long time, shaking so hard he feared they both might break.

Finally he could breathe again. “I’m all right,” he told her. He slipped out of her arms and lay back on the bed, exhausted. The relief he felt came as a surprise. He caught her hands when she wiped the tears from his face. “I’ll sleep now,” he whispered against her fingers, and he didn’t recognize his own voice. His heart began to fill with the things he knew he wouldn’t say to her. “I’m glad I got to see you again, Abiene.”

When he closed his eyes, he found that for now the fire had receded. He let her pull the covers up over him. The last thing he heard as he fell asleep was the door clicking shut behind her.

Abiene stood in the hall outside Jerric’s room, composing herself. The thought that she could dismiss him as a summer fling seemed so childish now. What am I going to do about this, she asked herself. Why does he make me feel this way? I wish there were two of me. “First things first,” she murmured aloud. She walked quickly down the stairs and out into the slanting sunlight. The chapel bells rang out across the city five times as she passed through the Harbor Gate. She felt safe walking along the docks to the warehouses. Her position as a healer endeared her to many, and the rough sort who made their living on the waterfront often faced injury.

The door to the Running Wolf office stood open to the pleasant air. She nodded to Shasana as she stepped through to the small office. “Hail, Ongve. May I speak with you?”

Ongve rose and indicated the chair in front of his desk. “Indeed, Abiene. Well met. What can I do for you?”

They sat. “I want to thank you for your assistance the last time I came here. I’m afraid I was too upset to do so at the time.”

“Completely understandable. It has been difficult for many.”

“Did you get the message I sent when I learned Jerric is alive?”

“I did, and I’ve been hoping he would walk through that door every day. He’s a hard working man for all the trouble, and I have a job for him if he should want it.”

“That is what brings me to you today, Ongve. Jerric has returned to Anvil. I don’t know what he plans to do, but…” She looked down at her hands twisting together in her lap, then she met Ongve’s eyes again. “I know it’s not my place, but I want to know what his options are. I want to encourage him to stay.”

Comprehension grew in Ongve’s in face. “Well, you can tell him he has a job with me. He’ll need to find a place to live. He can ask about homes for sale at the castle, or I can tell you what I know about places for rent. He can always stay with me and Shasana. You did well to come to me, Abiene. ”

“Would you give me some idea what to tell him about a place to rent? It should be available for the short term, I don’t want him to have to make much of a commitment. And I think he wants…” She looked down at her hands again. This is what I want, she realized. “He’ll want some privacy.”

“Well that narrows it down quite a bit. There’s no privacy in a boarding house. I know Newheim the Portly has some small houses he rents in the Westgate district, but I don’t know if there’s one available. You can find him most evenings at the Count’s Arms. Norbert Lelles has some beach huts, they’re not much, but they’re private. They’re outside the city wall, of course. You can usually find Lelles Harborside in the evening at the Flowing Bowl. I’m sure there’s more to be found, but that’s a good place to start.”

“Thank you for your help, Ongve. I’ll tell him.”

“How did he escape, do you know? Is it possible that anyone else from his family made it?”

“No. He wasn’t there during the attack. He arrived the next day, I don’t know why. No one else in his family survived.”

“His father and I were partners since before Jerric was born. I’ll do whatever I can for him.”

Abiene nodded gratefully. “I’ll tell him.”

She hurried back to the guild hall and penned a quick note in her room. The bell rang announcing dinner as she blew across the ink to dry it. No time to freshen up, she sighed to herself.

Carahil walked out of her small office just as Abiene scooted through the dining room door. Since Glafeviel had gone to Kvatch, Abiene didn’t have to fight to get the spot between Darnand and Thaurron at the table. Darnand held her hand as she stepped over the bench, and she slipped him the note when he sat down beside her. “Some places Jerric could rent,” she said softly.

Darnand looked surprised. “Thank you, Abiene.” It seemed he would like to say more, but he just nodded and tucked the note into his robe. Abiene’s stomach gave a nervous little jump. She peeked sideways at his lean profile, remembering how he had opened a path through the crowd with a single glare. He had looked so commanding, and Jerric had looked so lost. What am I doing, she wondered again. When he glanced back at her, she smiled at him and picked up her wine.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 15 2011, 09:59 PM

This chapter was short on action, but that's okay, because it was long on emotion!

Jerric's shell-shocked condition was quite real, as were Darnit Dammit Darnand and Abiene's reactions to it. And Abiene seems even more confused now than ever. Nothing like seeing the man you love being beat up like this to really bring those feelings home.

So Abby, which is it going to be? Jerry? Or Darnit?

Posted by: mALX Mar 15 2011, 10:41 PM

You did a great job of demonstrating Jerric's PTSD in this, very realistic. Another very powerful write, especially all the scenes that included Abiene and the emotions of both her and Jerric, her inner turmoil. It is impossible to see this as your first stab as writing, if it is - you have found a niche you belong in. Once again you have left me speechless and gobbling like a turkey. AWESOME WRITE - yes, but it doesn't begin to cover what you have given this story.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 16 2011, 01:12 AM

A delightful interlude!

Darnand took great care of Jerric. His actions and gestures speak volumes about his character, and all of it good. Nice that you revealed how Darnand learned to understand what he felt Jerric might be going through.

And Abiene. You captured her caring and healing wonderfully. Nice touch to relay her 'real estate' research to Darnand by note at dinner - and the perfect opportunity to again emphasize her indecision about the two men.


Nit:
'Jerric followed him again, and he found himself in the finest suite he had ever had ever seen.'
An unintentional repeat of 'had ever' near the end of this.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 16 2011, 01:50 AM

Jerric stood in the middle of the space feeling like a wild creature that had found its way indoors.
This one sentence really sums up Jerric's return to Anvil, and civilization.

Jerric is lucky to have two friends like Darnit Darnand and Abiene. As the healer observed at the end of the story, our intrepid Nord has been lost in a fog these last few episodes, and would be in even direr straits without them to lean on.

Posted by: Grits Mar 18 2011, 01:06 PM

haute ecole rider: I’m glad those three came across for you, thank you very much for letting me know. You’re right, Abiene is even more confused. Getting him back damaged was not something she had thought through, and Darnand hasn’t given her much to work with.

mALX: What a tremendous compliment, mALX! Everything I’ve written is right here on this forum. Well, not the equipment specs, sales proposals, and the like, but all of the fiction. That’s why I can’t emphasis enough how much the support and guidance here means to me! I have rough ideas about what’s going to happen with the characters, and of course the main quest plot, but the feedback you provide has a big impact on what I’m writing. I can’t thank you enough for it!!!

Acadian: This is perfect!!! Jerric's Story illustrated. Thank you for your kind words about Darnand and Abiene. Jerric and Darnand are like a dog and a cat, even Jerric wondered why he was helping. Thank you for spotting that nit so I could fix it.

SubRosa: You’re absolutely right, he is no loner. Anvil is a long walk from CRT, I doubt if he would have made it without the vague hope of a soft landing at the end. Thank you for pointing out that quote, it is sort of a one-sentence summary.



Chapter 9: Anvil, Part 3

Jerric and Darnand walked out of Anvil’s Dock Gate and turned toward the harbor. The castle made a distant hump in the mid-morning glare. Jerric’s feet caught in his robe, and he staggered again. “Drunk already?” Darnand inquired. “I thought you said you missed breakfast. Pick up the front, if you must.”

Jerric lifted his hem, then he realized that he was mincing along in a fashion that might be described as womanish. He glanced over at Darnand. The Breton strode forward with his head up and eyes forward, cloak billowing out behind him. He would look like some High Rock prince, if not for the smirk barely evident on his face. Aha, thought Jerric. He imitated the way Darnand kicked his robe out as he walked. An arresting scent interrupted his Breton impression.

“Redguard food!” he exclaimed. “Look, a dumpling stand. Come on, loan me a Septim.” They made the exchange with a smiling, round-cheeked lass. While Darnand secured his coin purse, Jerric quietly rolled his eyes over the first savory mouthful. He neatly rewrapped the fried triangle and held it out to Darnand as they walked. “Here, you must be hungry.”

“I suppose, but I don’t think about it.”

“How can you not think about it?”

“I think with my mind, not my…” he gestured at Jerric, “general belt area.”

“Well try it, and let me know how it is.” Darnand bit off a corner and handed it back to Jerric, nodding his appreciation. “Ugh,” said Jerric. “Was there already a bite taken out of that?”

Minced meat, dough, onions, and spices flew in a swath onto the cobbles and two approaching Nords. Jerric couldn’t make out their objections over his own wheezing laughter. He leaned against a lamp post, wiping the tears from his eyes. Darnand was busy trying to swab his tongue while apologizing to the dock workers. Eventually they went on their way, each with another of Darnand’s coins in his hands. Darnand glared at Jerric. “Now that’s three you owe me.”

“Add it to my tab.” Jerric thumped him on the shoulder. “I took the bite. I guess you don’t mind my spit.” He unwrapped the dumpling and bit off another mouthful, then offered it back to Darnand.

“You saw a healer last night. I doubt you have had time to catch the pox since then, although it is possible.” Darnand took a huge bite. “You will be lucky if I give this back,” he said around the food. “You are right, this is delicious.”

Jerric and Darnand proceeded down the harbor. Low, chinked log buildings lined edge of the boardwalk, with warehouses looming along the city wall behind. The shops and taverns were open for business, but foot traffic was still fairly light. It was easy to spot the Redguard woman swaggering toward them. Her tall, heeled boots were folded over in a wide cuff. She wore low slung, tight leather pants and little else. Her hair was a mass of beaded braids, and they swung and clacked around her shoulders as she walked. Both men slowed their pace. “Whoa, would you look at —”

“Indeed,” Darnand agreed. “I have seen undergarments that cover more than that top. She must be freezing.”

“Well, she’s at least a little cold. Look at the muscles on her. I bet she could ride to Sentinel and back.”

“I doubt either of us will receive such an invitation.”

“There is no place on that woman that I wouldn’t put my– Morning,” Jerric said to her as she walked between them. She laughed, and it was not a friendly sound. They turned to watch her saunter up the boardwalk. “Did you see that cutlass? I’d love to get my hands on that,” he continued.

“She must have come from one of those ships. I expect she is a sailor.”

“How does she even get into those pants?” Jerric looked over at Darnand as they started walking again. “So, brothel?”

Darnand snorted. “Not for me, and you lack the coin.”

“What’s the situation? Do you have a girlfriend somewhere?”

“No. I just happen to think it should mean something, with someone special.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Darnand. Good thing I think all women are special.” Jerric saw that they were approaching Lelles’ store. “Look, I think you should negotiate the rent. You can say it’s not safe to live out on the beach. I don’t think he’d accept that argument from me.”

Darnand eyed him. “Indeed, you look quite capable of mayhem in that fur trimmed velvet robe. You should have worn your hero armor. He might have given you the first month for free.”

“Morvayn has it until tomorrow, maybe longer. I can’t wait for that, Wilbur wants me out of his inn.”

Darnand scowled. “What has occurred? I thought he agreed to let you stay as long as I paid.”

“Doesn’t like the noise, or something. Guests are upset. He said they thought someone was being murdered last night. I woke up, but I didn’t hear a thing. Don’t know what he’s talking about.” Jerric finished the dumpling. “Maybe you can charm Lelles. I mean a spell, not your natural charm.” He smiled at his own joke.

“I agree, I will talk to Lelles for you. I have seen you negotiate, it best resembles a puppy rolling over to have its belly rubbed. I am certain you could bargain my entire savings away.”

“What are you saving for?”

“A place where I can work in peace, free of curious Nords and other children.”

“All right then, don’t tell me. I know an Altmer near Aleswell you should meet. He turned himself invisible so he could avoid people. You two could have a hating contest.”

Darnand looked over with interest. “Was this a sustained invisibility?”

Jerric snorted. They had reached the shop.

“Wait outside,” Darnand told him. “I don’t want you to interrupt me with a sudden need for Lelles to like you.”

Jerric stood in the cool sun, enjoying the relative peace of the harbor. Gulls cried in the cloudless sky, diving and fighting for scraps from the fishing boats. Longshoremen shifted cargo with minimal shouting, but with a great deal of crashing. Some children were crabbing at the edge of the boardwalk. They dangled baited lines into the water. Jerric ambled over to view their catch. “Do you want to buy some crabs, sir?” asked a deeply tanned Imperial boy.

“No thanks.” He watched the Redguard sailor strut past again. A tattoo covered most of her back, but he couldn’t tell what it was. The sun caught a ridged scar over her hip. She turned down one of the docks, heading for a galleon. “What’s that ship, there?”

“She’s the Serpent’s Wake, sir. Just back from the Summerset Isles.”

A creaking door drew Jerric’s attention back to the shops. He turned to find Darnand stepping out of Lelles’ store. “If I find it is a pile of dreck, I shall have words with you,” he snapped at the merchant.

“It’s the only roof left for rent in Anvil. I’ve thrown in a cleaning, what more do you want?” Lelles called after him. He spotted Jerric and nodded to him. “Good day to you.”

Jerric opened his mouth to answer, but Darnand yanked him by the arm. “Let us remove ourselves while he still thinks he has bested me.” Darnand stomped up the harbor for a few paces, then he relaxed and turned to Jerric. “Here is your key. It is the hut on the end. There is a well behind the dunes next to the privy, which sounds ill-advised. If I were you I should carry my water from town.”

“Thanks, Darnand. My own place, hard to believe.”

“Your own as long as you pay him. Speaking of which, what is your plan?”

“First I need to buy some clothes. My laundry isn’t ready yet, and I’m not joining the Fighters Guild wearing a velvet dress.” Darnand was giving him a patient stare. “Oh, you mean for money. Well, I’ve been thinking. Running Wolf would pay my bills, but I need more than that. Fighters Guild might have something, but they might not pay well to start. I’ll ask around about some high-risk jobs.” He glanced over to make sure Darnand was still listening. “You said you were saving, too. More risk means more reward. I think we can help each other out.”

Darnand did look interested. “You also spoke about training.”

“Yeah. That’s why I need coin, to train and buy better gear. And spells. For when I go back into the Deadlands. The Sigil Towers are more heavily guarded now than the one at Kvatch. I guess they were surprised that I closed that one. I’ve seen daedroths in the wastelands, too. I can’t kill those on my own, I need to be able to summon stronger allies. I’d be dead many times over if I didn’t have that little pearl ring to show me the big fetchers. I need more experience against armored dremora. It takes me too long to finish them with a blade, and sometimes they have company. And the last Gate I closed had a storm atronach guarding the sigil stone. I had to grab the stone and jump, I didn’t even know how to fight it. I need a strong shock spell I can use. A touch spell, it’s too hard to aim while I’m moving in that terrain. I have sigil stones that carry powerful enchantments, but not weapons I want to use them on. I need coin to recharge Redeemer, too. Also I’ve used up all of my potions. I wouldn’t last five minutes in the Deadlands right now. I’ve been lucky, Darnand. I hope you can help me get ready to go back.”

Darnand looked thoughtful for several minutes while they walked. “I can summon dremora for you to fight. I can summon a daedroth as well, but I hesitate to do so inside the city. I have been doing some reading that might help you, I shall take another look before we speak again.” He thought for another moment. “Athragar in Chorrol has the summons spells you need. I will not try to teach you the ones I know, that would be far too dangerous. If you are an expert in destruction we can go to Adrienne Berene. Otherwise, Vigge the Cautious will have the shock spell.”

“Vigge. We’ll go to Kvatch then.” He looked at Darnand to make sure he meant both of them. “You can get your recommendation while we’re there.”

Darnand nodded. “Now, you need to be able to trap soul energy in a gem, so you can recharge your own weapons. That means you need to reach apprentice level in mysticism. You can start by learning how to detect the energy in living things, and then practicing. I am certain I can teach you that, but let us keep that knowledge between ourselves. It is the same energy you capture when you cast a spell to trap a soul.”

“Like my ring shows me, it looks kind of pink. I have a sigil stone that carries an enchantment to trap energy, but I’m not going to steal any souls. There has to be another way.”

Darnand grabbed his arm as they walked, his face alight with excitement. “One of your sigil stones? That would be ideal, it would save so much time! You could start right away, and sell filled gems back to Gulitte. Now just listen. You know the energy in soul gems?”

“That’s souls?” Jerric asked, aghast. He had never connected the name with anything.

“We are talking about the energy that is released when a soul leaves the body, not the soul itself. The life energy of a living creature, not plants. Even a mudcrab has it.”

“But the souls might need it. For their journey. Maybe that’s where ghosts come from.” He scratched his hand through his hair in agitation.

“Let us consider it. Have you ever heard of a ghost mudcrab? A rat haunting? It is just energy, Jerric. You call it magicka when it is in your sword. You can make a chair out of a piece of wood, or a bow, or put it on the fire. It is still wood. Giving it a different name and use does not make the thing different. Besides, you need black soul gems to capture human souls. Which is wrong,” he added quickly.

Jerric thought for a few moments before he could accept Darnand’s explanation. “It sounds like we have a plan. Earn some coin, go to Kvatch, then on to Chorrol.” He sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think we’re going to have to go underground. Fort ruins, bandit lairs, places that fall between the Legion and the Anvil Guard’s jurisdictions. I know an Altmer who will pay for some old wine, maybe we can find some of that. She said it’s rare, though, so I guess we’ll just have to get started and see what we find.”

They stopped, and Jerric looked at Darnand curiously. Darnand gestured to the building beside them. “Clothing. You said you need some. This is a clothier’s shop.” He handed his coin purse to Jerric. “Just add it to what you owe me, I think you can handle buying your own breeches.”

“Thanks, Darnand.” Darnand raised his hand as he walked away. Jerric took a deep breath and entered the shop. Every kind of trim and fabric in all colors of the rainbow assaulted his eyes. There wasn’t an inch of space in the room that wasn’t stacked or packed with clothing.

“Greetings, Nord,” said the shopkeeper. An Imperial woman, about his age and softly pretty. Her sweet brown eyes made him think of Abiene.

“Greetings. I need some clothes.”

“Well, you’re in the right place,” she said pleasantly. Her hands were filled with some frilly thing. “I’ll be with you in a moment. You can go ahead and get started. Step behind the screen and remove your robe, if you please.”

Jerric walked over to the corner where a curtain screened off an area of the shop. He ducked behind it and pulled the robe off over his head. I guess she’s going to bring me some things, he thought. “Is this your shop?” he asked her. His boots thumped when he dropped them on the wooden floor.

“It is. I am the Tulia of Tulia’s Threads.”

“I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.” He heard Tulia walk briskly over to the alcove. He jumped when she whipped the curtain back. Both of them stood frozen for a moment. “I, uh, also need to buy some drawers,” said Jerric. “As you can see.”

“If you need drawers, why on Nirn did you take off your clothes?” He couldn’t tell if she was more amused or astonished.

“Well, you told me to!” Jerric was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “Why do you need me to be naked?”

“I don’t! I just want to get accurate measurements.” She lifted the end of the tape measure she wore draped over her shoulders.

“You want to measure it?”

Tulia’s eyes flew back up to his face. “No! Well, yes. Your waist. And inseam. And your – I’ll likely have to make what you want, you’ll order it from me. My goodness, how old are you? How is it possible you don’t know how to buy clothing?”

“My Ma used to buy them for me.” Tulia looked skeptical. “Really.” Jerric noticed that Tulia was standing very close to him, and she smelled nice. He decided that her gown was quite flattering, especially at the top. He crossed his hands in front of himself. “Look, in a moment this is going to get embarrassing.”

“I’ll find some undergarments for you. Normal people wear them in these situations. I didn’t think I would ever be surprised again, but you’ve managed it.”

“All right, now I know. I mean, if I had them, I wouldn’t need to be here.”

“Then let’s just forget about this and start over.” The twinkle in her eyes told him she had no intention of forgetting. She closed the curtain, and he heard her light steps moving about the shop. A moment later a pair of linen shorts with a drawstring waist appeared over the curtain. “These should fit. And I’m sure I have some simple trousers that you can wear, and perhaps a knit shirt. But I’ll need to measure you for whatever else you’ll want.”

Jerric pulled on his new drawers. He smiled and shook his head. “Ready,” he said.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 18 2011, 02:13 PM

This is absolutely delightful!


Somehow I'm not surprised he said that! That's some big-hearted man!

So now Darn and Jerry are gonna go adventuring together? Do I sense a budding bromance coming up? I always did enjoy a bit of male bonding, you know!

Posted by: mALX Mar 18 2011, 03:09 PM

Your ability to set mood with dialogue is amazing !! The two quotes I would make as my faves (if I was on a working PC, that is) - Jerric realizing he was mincing in the dress, and of course the clothing shop !!!

I have a sneaking suspicion Darnand would like to see Jerric's interest go in the direction of Tulia rather than risk Jerric enticing Abiene away from him with that natural charm of his.

As always, AWESOME WRITE !!!!

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 18 2011, 04:57 PM

So Jerric and Darnand are swapping spit now? What a cute couple they make. I guess Abiene is going to have to look elsewhere for romance!

Good thing I think all women are special
Yep, typical male.

Sounds like Jerric snores too, given Wilbur's complaints!

You show a wonderful contrast between Jerric and Darnand. Like you said before, a cat and a dog indeed. Darnand's discussion on soul trapping was enlightening, and Jerric's laundry list of what he needs to learn was truly daunting!

I know an Altmer who will pay for some old wine,
And she cuts hair too!

“If you need drawers, why on Nirn did you take off your clothes?”
This is the kind of situation only Jerric can get himself into!




nits:
Sommerset Isles.
Normally that is Summerset, unless you are changing it.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 19 2011, 12:23 AM

An enjoyable walk along the Anvil boardwalk, with plenty of local flavor!

Seems like Jerric is planning some time to significantly upgrade his capabilities, and his wardrobe. Sounds like a prudent plan, and it is nice that he has some help.

Posted by: TheOtherRick Mar 19 2011, 07:38 PM

Here is yet another story that I am just now getting around to reading. I started it this morning and so far I am thoroughly enjoying it. I picture Jerric as looking like Bill Fagerbakke (from Coach and The Stand), but with a touch more intelligence than Fagerbakke's characters. He seems carefree, clumsy, and oafish, until he is armed and fighting. The overnight antics, first with Velwyn at Brinna's Cross and then Jerric waking up in 'chew your arm off' mode, are hilarious.

Great writing and I'm looking forward to reading more.

Posted by: Grits Mar 21 2011, 06:55 PM

haute ecole rider: Jerric gave Tulia a blonde moment of her own. You’re right about the adventuring, but first a little more business.

mALX: Thank you mALX, it was nice to have a little fun. Darnand should definitely be paying closer attention.

SubRosa: My germaphobe friend inspired the spit swapping. One time we accidentally switched wine glasses, and I thought he might throw up on my shoes. Instead he said, “Oh, well I don’t mind your spit.” That was real acceptance! Thank you for the nit, I fixed it.

Acadian: It’s good to have friends. Sadly no one has explained the concept of matching shoes to Jerric, so he still won’t need a magical bag to carry his wardrobe.

TheOtherRick: I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story so far! Yes, Jerric is definitely the big blonde in the room. I really like Bill Fagerbakke, but let’s imagine a different voice for him -- now I keep hearing Patrick Star!! I’m glad you’re reading, and I hope we can keep your interest.

Recap: It’s Jerric’s first full day back in Anvil. This morning he rented a house and did some shopping with a little help from friends.


Chapter 9: Anvil, Part 4 Moving In

Jerric walked along the beach in the afternoon sun. Surf crashed along his left, sending cold spray into the breeze. A row of small, wooden huts backed against the dunes on his right. Smoke trickled out of a few chimneys, but he didn’t see any of his neighbors. He walked to the hut on the end and looked in through the open door.

A middle aged Imperial woman stood there with a brush in one hand and a dust pan in the other. She possessed a round little figure, lively gray eyes, and tidy hair in an unlikely shade of red. When she tipped her head to the side she made Jerric think of a busy little sparrow. He quickly decided not to voice the comparison. She eyed him speculatively.

“I’m Jerric,” he said.

“Vania. I’m the cleaner. I suppose you’re the new tenant.”

“Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you.”

“We’re not finished, it’ll be a few more hours. The girls are on their way back with your new mattress. I’m not even going to tell you what was on the old one.”

“All right then, probably for the best. Is there anything I can do?”

She looked him up and down. “I don’t know. Is there?”

“Well, I can shift anything in there. And I guess I can sweep.”

She gave him a brisk nod, and he thought he saw a dimple. “In that case, get that lot outside so I can scrub the floor. I don’t think it’s been done since the day they laid it.”

Jerric dropped his packs and packages on the dune grass and got to work. There weren’t many pieces of furniture in his hut, and all of them were plain, solid wood. He supposed that’s how they had reached their current advanced age. He carried two small chests of drawers, a cupboard, a trunk, a tall set of shelves, one sturdy chair, and a small table outside into the sun. When he dragged the bed frame out he decided that while it looked long enough for a Nord, it could stand to be a little wider. He stripped off his shirt and swabbed his face with it, then stuffed it into the back of his waistband so he’d know where to find it. Somehow the room looked smaller without the furniture.

Vania eyed his bare torso. “It’s Evening Star.”

Jerric shrugged. “I’m hot.”

“Grab a broom,” said Vania. “We’ll sweep, then I’ll scrub.” Jerric started in one corner, Vania in the other. He had raised a decent cloud of dirt when Vania started shouting. “Nord, what are you doing?!”

Jerric looked up, perplexed. “Sweeping.”

“And where do you think all the dirt is going?”

He looked around. “Away.”

“It’s going up, then it will come back down in here again. It needs to go out. Make a pile and sweep toward the door.” She watched him sternly, and he smiled to think how this small woman was suddenly the boss of him. Imperials, he thought.

“How’s that?” he asked her.

“Better. In my opinion, you should stick to your heroics and leave the cleaning to professionals. Lion of Kvatch.” Jerric saw that she was smiling at him. “Everyone in these parts owes you a debt of gratitude. I know I’ll never forget it.”

“Uh…” Jerric was saved from his discomfort by a shriek from the dunes. He and Vania stepped through the wide doorway and looked around behind the hut. Two teenage girls walked along the path carrying a rolled mattress between them. Their shouts and laughter floated down on the breeze. Jerric glanced over at Vania.

“Two of my daughters,” she said. She gave him another stern look. “Fifteen and seventeen. Hero or not, don’t even think about it.”

“Right.” Jerric decided this was a good time to put on his shirt.

“Over there, girls. Now go fetch the water. All of this needs a good scrubbing. You two wash down the furniture, I’m doing the floor.” She looked at Jerric. “You might as well go off for a while, I don’t know what will happen if I turn you loose on some soap and water. Go get yourself a new cook pot, it seems the last tenant couldn’t be bothered to walk to the privy.”

“All right, Vania. I guess I’ll go for a run and maybe a swim. It’s been a talking kind of day.”

“Do you want me to come back and clean for you, or are you going to do it yourself?”

It took Jerric a moment to figure out her meaning. He had always thought that things just stayed clean. “All right,” he said uncertainly.

Vania nodded. “I’ll come once a week for ten drakes, or every two weeks for fifteen. I’ll charge you more if you turn out to be a slob. Sweep, dust, wash the floor, dishes, change the sheets. That means you’ll need two sets, I can’t do your wash out here. Do you want me to do your laundry?”

“Sure, but I don’t have a week’s worth of clothes. Uh, I don’t have sheets yet, either.” Jerric realized that he’d never given much thought to his domestic arrangements.

Vania shook her head. “Bachelors. You’re my bread and butter, but most of you still need your mothers.” A sudden look of horror crossed her face. “Apologies, Jerric.”

“No, Vania, you’re right. I was about to ask you how many pairs of drawers I should buy.” He smiled at her, and some of the discomfort left her face. “Once a week then, plus laundry. How do we do it, I take it to your house?”

“I’ll pick it up when I clean, then I’ll send my girls out to drop it off when it’s ready. It’ll take longer if it’s raining. Where should they leave it?” The two of them looked around the small covered porch.

“I tell you what, I think I’ll just leave the door unlocked. I’ll latch it from the inside when I’m home, so you don’t have to worry that they’ll open the door and get any surprises. I don’t have anything worth stealing out here. The salt air is bad for metal, so most of my gear is up at the guild hall.”

“That sounds good, Jerric.” She looked up at him and smiled, and this time he definitely saw dimples.

Jerric made a small fire more for its crackling company than for its heat. He looked around his new home. He had what he needed here, but it didn’t give him any comfort. The peace he had found in the day’s activities had evaporated. He tried to pace, but there wasn’t room. He considered going for another run, but the moons weren’t up yet. Shadows already crept up in his mind. Tonight could be a bad one. He realized that he missed his horse.

A light knock on the door brought his attention back to the room. He knew Abiene would be there before he opened it. She stood with the darkness at her back, her face lit by his small fire. She held a small satchel in her hands. “Moving in?” he joked, but he couldn’t quite manage a smile.

“I want to take another look at the scar on your shoulder. It bothers you, doesn’t it?” She gave him a little shove to get in through the door.

“It itches. It’s not the end of the world, though.” Jerric winced at his choice of words. He took Abiene’s cloak, watching her warily. He had avoided her at the guild hall, worried how he might react to her.

“Come on,” she instructed. She pushed him into the chair and pulled his shirt over his head. “Cooperate.” She moved behind him, and he felt her smooth hands running over his skin again. The scar did pull and itch. “It’s adhered,” she told him. “I’d like to work on it some more.”

“All right.”

“Not here. I’ll need to cut you a little. I want Carahil to observe.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. He felt her face against the top of his head, then against his neck.

“Abiene, what are you doing?”

“Trying to get close to you. You’re making it difficult.” She moved to the table and opened the satchel. “I’ve brought you kahve beans, bread, cheese, and apples for the morning. Would you like some ale?”

“Not now, but thank you. Look, we had some fun this summer, but I’m not the same.” Jerric stood up and offered her the chair, but she shook her head. There was nowhere else for him to be, so he sat back down. “There’s work I need to do, to get ready for what’s coming. I’m already behind.” He wanted to reach for her, but fear stopped his hands.

“You’re right, I see the change in you. There’s a part of you now that I can’t reach. But the rest is still you, Jerric. Torn apart inside, and hurting. Please let me help you.”

“Is that why you’re here? To fix me? Don’t.”

Abiene’s face was solemn, and her eyes looked almost black in the firelight. “I’m far more selfish than you think. You don’t want to be alone, I know it. You came back here where people care for you. But you have to let me, Jerric.”

“Today I felt almost like myself again, but I know I could just crack. Remember the Count’s Arms? What if it happens again? I need to get my head right, not go backward.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, then pressed them on his knees to still them.

“I’m not afraid, no matter what happens. Let tonight just be tonight. I’ve missed you. If you don’t want me here, you can show me the door.”

Jerric could see the strain in her face, and his own tension coiled inside him. “You should know, I’m not staying. But you’re right, I don’t want to be alone.” The moment he decided to trust her, he saw that she could tell.

“I knew you would leave before. I don’t want any promises, and I’m not offering any. That hasn’t changed.” She moved over and sat sideways on his lap with her legs between his knees. Her arm felt like it belonged there when she slipped it around his neck.

“How long ago did we say goodbye?” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t know I’d be back so soon. You might not have been so generous that morning.” You're not going to lose her, he told himself.

“That’s nothing compared to how I feel right now. And out here we don’t need to be quiet.” Her first kiss felt as soft as a whisper.

Jerric breathed in the light fragrance she wore in her hair, and under it the warm scent that was just Abiene. “I don’t even have sheets yet. I’ve aired out my bedroll, but it’s still pretty ripe.”

“I don’t care about that. Anyway, this chair would do just fine.” Her smile was also a challenge. “Besides, it’s your first night in a new place. Starting off right is important. For luck.”

“I’ve never had my own place before, so it’s probably even more important.” When he smiled back he saw the joy leap up in her eyes. “I guess we better do what you say. Wouldn’t want to risk it.” She hiked up her skirt and shifted around to face him. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once.

They wound up on the bed eventually. Jerric looked around his fire lit hut with new affection as they rested together. That’s my favorite chair, he thought sleepily. Abiene may be a child of Stendarr, but Dibella has blessed her far more than this Nord deserves.

“Jerric,” Abiene murmured.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m trying not to. I don’t want you to walk back to the harbor alone.” He lifted his head and smiled down at her. She looked flushed and happy. He wouldn’t have believed she could make him feel this way again. “Stay tonight, Abiene.”

“No, I don’t want the gossip. But that’s not what I meant. I’ll be fine walking back on my own.”

He closed his eyes. “I won’t hear of it. Get me up if you have to. Don’t go alone, promise.”

“What’s going to get me, a mudcrab? I’m sure I can outrun it if I see one. Anyway, wake up.”

“I’m awake.” His next breath was undeniably a snore. He forced his eyes open. “See?”

Abiene laughed, and it tickled his chest. “I want to ask you something. It’s serious.”

Jerric picked up his head and tucked his arm behind it. “All right, I’m listening.”

“I was wondering if you thought in a little while, maybe we could go again.” She had her chin braced on his chest now, and the look in her eye was pure mischief.

“What’s this maybe? I’m Jerric, have we met?” Her laugh turned into a squeak when he scooped her up and rolled her under him. “You’re going to have to wait a little, though.” Now it was his turn to get comfortable on her chest. He made sure he wasn’t crushing her on the narrow bed. “Tell me a story,” he said.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 21 2011, 08:22 PM

I loved Jerric's comparison of Vania to a sparrow. Especially after the excellent description you gave of her.

I’m not even going to tell you what was on the old one
Ewwww!

She looked him up and down. “I don’t know. Is there?”
Score one for Sergeant Apone! I was half-expecting Jerric to get in a load lifter afterward. Or fight an Alien Queen!

Jerric shrugged. “I’m hot.”
So Abiene says, or was that Darnand?

Go get yourself a new cook pot, it seems the last tenant couldn’t be bothered to walk to the privy
You certainly know how to paint a disgusting picture!

Posted by: Acadian Mar 22 2011, 01:59 AM

'He had always thought that things just stayed clean.'


A pair of delightful scenes with a pair of delightful ladies in Jerric's new home.

I enjoyed meeting the little sparrow, Vania. You really brought her to life!

And a visit from Abiene that was welcome, sweet and touching. And touching again after a short break.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 22 2011, 02:50 AM

What a wonderful way to begin recovery from shell shock! First a little hut on the beach complete with its own dimpled leading lady. Then a sweet visit from Abiene! Could this get any better? I can't wait to see!

Posted by: mALX Mar 22 2011, 07:16 PM

A wonderful chapter from beginning to end, would have to quote the whole thing to pull out any part that struck me especially. I see big trouble ahead for Darnand and Jerric's friendship, though. Awesome story - I have been hooked from the start on it, but each new chapter adds a new draw !! Awesome Write !!

Posted by: Grits Mar 29 2011, 03:04 PM

SubRosa: A cheap beach house, welcome to the low rent district!

Acadian: I didn’t mind leaving Jerric where he was for awhile, he seemed pretty comfortable.

haute ecole rider: I’m sure at some point he’ll wish he could return to the last chapter!

mALX: You’re right, there could be trouble!

Folks: I’m trying something new this time, writing ahead a little. I like it much better this way, but it means posting will be more erratic. Still haven’t written the whole chapter first, but I’m working toward that! I appreciate your comments and support so much!


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 1

Jerric drank his morning kahve with the sunrise at his back and his feet in the Abecean Sea. The tide was out, and low waves lapped up gently around his ankles. The air was cold enough to make the water feel warm. His breath misted out, blending with the steam rising from his cup. The open water seemed to pull at him, the same way the mountains had made him want to discover what lay beyond them. He decided that the day’s goals would be more modest than that. Join the Fighters Guild. Talk to some mages. Earn a few Septims.

He started at the Fighters Guild hall. The front door opened onto a massive, open room. Racks for weapons lined the walls. Two round targets stood beside an arched doorway, and the middle of the space held a training dummy secured to the floor and a support frame with chains. Long banners hung on the high walls. Looks the same, Jerric thought. He wandered up to the dummy and gave it a casual jab. Chains rattled. They stood alone in the room.

A door opened and closed somewhere up the stairs, and the sound of booted feet preceded their owner. A balding Imperial stepped through the archway with a steaming cup in one hand and a sweet roll in the other. “Help you?” he inquired.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Jerric. I’m here to ask about signing up. I need some work.”

“Fullo Macula, porter. You’ll want to see Azzan about that. Follow me.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jerric followed the porter through a small storage room and up the stone stairs.

The door opened into another large space, this one a dining room. The crackling fire could barely be heard over laughter from the fighters at the long dining table. “That woman is a bit off kilter,” remarked a Nord. “I don’t even want to know what she’s got in her basement.” More laughter followed his comment. Jerric’s eyes went straight to the only Redguard at the table. Rhano. Recognition flared in Rhano’s face before his expression emptied. He did not return Jerric’s nod of greeting. Jerric followed the porter through the dining room and up another set of stairs.

“Fresh meat,” the porter announced as they entered yet another massive room. This one appeared to be the company office. More banners, display cases, and shelves lined the walls. Azzan sat at a desk angled in the far corner. He waved Jerric in with one hand, the other occupied with his kahve.

The door closed behind the porter as Jerric approached the desk. “Jerric,” Azzan said. “Pull up a chair. Decided to join us?”

Jerric did as he was told. “If you’ll have me.” He noted that Azzan’s face was still unlined, and his close cut black hair was yet untouched by silver.

“We’re always looking for new members.” Azzan’s expression became grave. “We heard about what happened at Kvatch. You have my sympathy for the loss of your family. And my thanks for what followed.”

Jerric nodded. He still hadn’t found the words for this situation. He cleared his throat. “I need to earn, Azzan. And I need to train. I have some ideas for working with the Mages Guild, training against summoned daedra. This thing isn’t over.”

“Well, it sounds like the Fighters Guild has a new Associate. Congratulations. I take it you mean all of us training with the mages. I’ll give some thought to what you’ve suggested. I don’t like it, but in these times it may be necessary.”

Jerric was surprised at Azzan’s decisiveness. “Thanks. Do you have a contract for me? I need coin to get my gear back from Morvayn.”

Azzan’s expression was unreadable. “I think I’ve got something that suits your experience. Arvena Thelas has some problem with rats in her house.”

Jerric raised his eyebrows. Once again he found himself at a loss for words.

“Yes, rats,” Azzan confirmed. He sounded a little impatient. “I’m sure she can explain it to you better than I. She lives here in Anvil. Go and talk to her.”

“All right. Mind if I borrow a blade? I don’t want to represent the Fighters Guild with nothing in my hand but my… Without a weapon.”

Azzan snorted. “There’s an iron long sword in the practice room, help yourself. Go take care of the rats. Then come back and talk to me. Good luck!”

The diners were still at the table when he passed back through. He returned their greetings with a wave, not wanting to linger. Fullo introduced Jerric to Mojo, the resident shepherd dog. Jerric scratched his neck instead of reciprocating the dog’s enthusiastic crotch-sniffing. He grabbed the sword on his way out, then he ducked next door into the Mages Guild.

He found Carahil sitting in her office with a quill in her hand. “Carahil, you wanted to see me. Uh, yesterday.” He tried to keep his eyes from wandering curiously over the bookshelves behind her, but he was only marginally successful.

“Yes, Jerric. Come in and shut the door. Please seat yourself.” Jerric sat down and waited while she arranged her desk clutter. She leaned back and folded her hands. “I would like you to relate the events that occurred on the Gold Road,” she said. “I shall include your remarks in my report to the Council of Mages.”

Jerric took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I was traveling west on the road with my pack horse. It was morning, and the sun was behind me. I heard the sound of a frost attack and shouting, so I asked my horse to wait and ran to the fight. There was an Altmer woman fighting with a Breton man on the road, it was Darnand. He wasn’t using his dagger. She was wearing a blue dress, no armor. I saw the Altmer attack him with a targeted frost spell, and he cast a fire spell at her. She hit him again with her frost. When I got to them, he was down. I was shouting, but she didn’t turn around until I hit her with my own frost spell. She kept throwing fire at me until I got my sword into her chest. I guess she switched because she could see I’m a Nord. By then Darnand was back on his feet, and two Imperial Battlemages were coming at us from the west. I recognized them by the uniforms. Anyway, it looked bad for me until Darnand saw who I was and straightened things out. I’m sure I looked more like a marauder than a mage. It could have been ugly if he hadn’t kept his head. We left them with the body. I called my horse and walked with Darnand back to Anvil.”

“You called your horse… You have learned a command spell?”

“No, I whistled. I still don’t know any illusion magic.”

Carahil smiled, it seemed to herself. “Of course. Thank you, Jerric. I am sending your recommendation to the Council along with Darnand’s. You did not request one, but you have proven yourself to me by your purposeful actions in the field. I hope you will consider seeking your recommendations from the other chapters. You will need them to advance in the guild and be given any sort of responsibility. Once you have reached the rank of Apprentice, you will have access to the Arcane University. There you will be allowed to use the Praxographical Center to make your own spells and the altars of enchanting in the Chironasium. Do you plan to stay in Anvil for a time?”

“A little while. I just joined the Fighters Guild for some training, and I already have a contract for them. I found a place to live out on the beach, I won’t be staying here in the guild hall.”

“I see no conflict with the Fighters Guild until you begin to advance in rank with us, and then it will only be in the demands upon your time. Of course I would like you to take assignments from me as soon as you have been promoted to Apprentice. You need not attach yourself to this chapter to use this hall. You may have whatever space you need in the workroom. I trust you will not abuse your privilege.”

“Thank you, Carahil. I’d like to keep storing my gear here, you could break the lock on my hut with a sneeze. And I’ll need the space for alchemy. Is there anything you’d like me to do for now, as Associate? I need coin.”

“Report to Felen. He can always use extra hands.”

“I’ll check with him. I need a new Journeyman’s seal anyway. Thank you again.”

“May I suggest that you test for Expert? You would need to spend more time refining your potions for sale, of course. However, as an Expert you would earn quite a bit more for yourself, and for the guild.”

“I’ll ask him about it. I’ve been using a mortar and pestle I got off a goblin. I guess I’ve gotten better just by making it work.”

“I expect you have. There is more I would like to discuss with you, Jerric. You seem restless. Would you prefer to meet at another time?”

“I can’t sit still for very long anymore, Carahil. I don’t mean any disrespect. It’s the same when I try to sleep. My head just…”

“I would like to calm your mind for you. Do you trust me?”

Jerric stared at her incredulously. “Who could possibly trust an illusionist?”

“Do you trust that I want to help you? I do not suffer fools in my hall, Jerric. I would not waste my time if I considered you lacking.”

Jerric snorted. “Well I believe that. All right, go ahead and mess with my mind. You might not like what you find in there.”

Carahil stretched her hands over the desk. “Illusion magic does not allow me to see into your mind, only to place suggestions there. Give me your hands.”

“I guess that was supposed to be comforting. Can’t you just toss some confusion at me?”

She gave him a cool smile. “Of course, but this is not an attack. I would rather proceed gently.” She waited.

Jerric put his hands on the desk, and Carahil took them. He looked at her slender fingers and thought that she could be made of gold and he of rough stone. He opened her hand on his and examined her perfect oval nails. They were short as he would expect from someone who worked with alchemy, but they looked as carefully tended as a lady’s. Her right palm was ridged with calluses. Hard, but smooth when he ran his thumb over them. He noticed that her fingers were longer than his, but his hand was almost twice the width of hers. He realized that his mind was empty and he was holding hands with the Anvil chapter head like they were a pair of adolescents. He flushed and let go of her.

Carahil’s smile reached her eyes this time. “There, is that not an improvement?”

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. “I didn’t even know you did anything.”

“An important part of mastering illusion magic is concealing its use. Jerric, I would like to offer you counsel.”

“All right.”

“Which would you say is your strongest school of magic?”

“That’s easy, destruction. Wait, maybe alchemy.”

“You are more skilled in destruction spells, that is true. But I believe you have a gift for conjuration.”

“Really. That’s… Carahil, you don’t approve of summoning.”

“I advocate practicing magic that is free from the dark arts. Summoning may put a mage on the path that leads to necromancy. However, in these times we must employ all of the weapons we have at our disposal. In your case, I cannot believe that you would become corrupted by that kind of power.”

“Well, I think you’re right about that. Conjuring a skeleton hasn’t made me want to kill someone to get at their bones.”

“Consider the gladiator games you ran this summer. No, I do not bring it up to chastise you, of course I knew about it. Did you think you could open a Skeleton Arena in my basement without my notice? Some of the wagers Thaurron placed were on my behalf.”

“You’re kidding! That little… please, Carahil, continue.”

“Your ‘Slim’ consistently vanquished opponents summoned by far more advanced conjurers. You were able to direct his attacks, and your observation of his tactics allowed you to form effective strategies for him. Yes, I was there. If you took the time to learn a little mysticism, you would have known.”

“I could use some illusion, too,” he admitted.

“I suggest starting with a simple light spell. He is not a guild trainer, but I believe Darnand has had some success teaching you.” She watched him under a raised brow, and he wondered what she had surmised about the time he had spent with his paid instructor, Abiene. He felt a flush creep up his neck. “There is no need to read your thoughts when they are written on your face,” she observed.

“Do you think anyone else figured it out? She wanted to keep it quiet, you know how mages gossip.”

“If anyone had guessed it would be all over Anvil. I wondered how the most promising restoration trainer I have seen in over a century was unable to help you advance in your studies. I see you did not consider the effect your failure would have on her professional reputation. You have an undisciplined mind. Not all of your power comes from the stars, Jerric. That others underestimate you should not allow you to underestimate yourself.”

“Uh, right.” Jerric appreciated that Carahil did not coddle him, but her direct manner was getting uncomfortable. He decided to change the tone of the conversation. “Learning a new spell from an unsanctioned trainer,” he commented. “Smacks of hedge-wizardry, Carahil.” He watched her response carefully. Teasing one’s chapter head was reckless, even for him.

Carahil smiled in amusement. “You should not get into trouble with a light spell,” she replied evenly. “If I hear he has taught you a new summons, there will be consequences. I will not have rogue daedra rampaging through my hall. You will have to travel to Chorrol for that.”

Jerric grinned back, imagining a clannfear tossing Gulitte over its back. “Thanks, I’ll work on my summoning. It’s funny you should mention it. I’m heading to Chorrol as soon as I have the coin. I guess I’ll take the time to pick up some recommendations, too. Don’t know when I’ll get down to Bravil, but I sure would like to use the university. I have an idea for a spell. A couple of ideas.”

“I believe that the trip would be worth your time. I have another suggestion for you. Felen could mix a potion to help you sleep.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t want to drink yet, either. I guess most drunks don’t start out to be that way.”

“I’ll leave it to you to ask, then. That will be all for today, Jerric. I hope that we will see you here tomorrow.”

“You will. I’ll be in and out every day with my gear here, so I’ll be easy to find if you think of a job for me. And I’ll bring that robe back as soon as it’s cleaned. Whose is it? It’s so fine, I’ve only seen that style in paintings.”

Carahil sat silently for so long he began to wish he hadn’t asked. Finally she spoke. “That robe belonged to a battlemage. I knew him long ago. It was my honor to fight by his side, and my lasting regret that his life ended under my leadership. He was a Nord, and he too was born under the Atronach.” Carahil looked up and met his eyes. He saw a sorrow in her that touched his own. “The lives of men are so fleeting, many of my kind cannot be bothered to know you. However, I find that the briefest fires burn the brightest.”

Jerric didn’t know what to say to that. “You’re a spellsword?” he guessed.

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“No, it actually explains a lot. I remember last summer when you spoke to all of us students. How did you put it? ‘Practical application is often the best educator in the many uses of restoration, even in life and death situations.’ In other words, don’t be a baby if you get your head cut off, just think of the great practice you’ll get putting it back on again. It wasn’t hard to see which of us hadn’t healed anything worse than a scraped knee.”

Carahil laughed, and the sound was surprisingly youthful. “I see you divined my intent as well as my meaning. It would please me to learn that I had underestimated you.” Carahil rose and gestured to the door. “Until tomorrow, Jerric.”

“All right, Carahil. See you tomorrow.”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Mar 29 2011, 04:42 PM

A wonderful introduction to the Fighters Guild and the bundle of hotness that is Azzan (though Rhano isn't that far behind!).

And an engrossing discussion with Carahil about Jerric's place in the Mages Guild. Yes, I can see how eventually he'll have to make a choice sometime down the line.

Posted by: SubRosa Mar 29 2011, 09:22 PM

Given his reactions it seems like Jerric has been to the Anvil FG before, and definitely has crossed paths with Rhano as well.

“I don’t even want to know what she’s got in her basement.”
I wonder if that is a reference to my favorite Rat Lady! (and one of my favorite characters in the game)

And I see it is Arvena Thelas indeed.

Jerric scratched his neck instead of reciprocating the dog’s enthusiastic crotch-sniffing.
Jerric might get kicked out of the man-club for that!

“No, I whistled. I still don’t know any illusion magic.”
This was so perfect!

Jerric ran a skeleton arena in the Mages Guild basement!

A wonderful scene with Carahil. She is one of my favorite Guild Heads, no thanks to fan fics like yours and Haute's, that really put her in the spotlight like this.

Posted by: Acadian Mar 30 2011, 12:47 AM

“The lives of men are so fleeting, many of my kind cannot be bothered to know you. However, I find that the briefest fires burn the brightest.”

And there you have the paradox of an elf who measures her time in centuries, loving a human who measures his time in decades.
Looking back. . . I could have missed the pain, but then I would have had to miss the dance.
The advice I give my elf? If you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Mar 30 2011, 07:28 PM

Wow. I have read this story twice now. You should add ‘writer’ to your list of accomplishments, Grits. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but this has been a revelation. When I last left Jerric he was an engaging Nord who spent most of his time in pursuit of his next forgotten evening. Now he is Jerric Lionheart, Hero of Kvatch and Knight Brother of the Blades. The wonder of this story is that all of this has occurred in the most natural and organic of ways. Jerric’s character has been revealed one complex layer at a time over the course of this story, and there appears to be un-mined depths that are still there waiting to be discovered. What you have accomplished here takes most writers years to learn (if they learn it at all).

I won’t single out every moment that I liked in this story because that would probably require a thread of its own. But I would like to talk about a few moments that really stood out:

The first was Jerric’s initial foray into the Deadlands. Panic drove him through that gate in search of a way to reach his family. I thought that allowing him to find courage in the hilt of a discarded sword was perfect! His fight with the dremora and his subsequent dousing in the blood fountain were handled with just the right blend of rage and horror. I was particularly touched by the unspoken conversation between Jerric and Menian in which the former offered his dagger to the latter through the bars of the cage. The power of that moment was undeniable!

The rousing battle to reclaim Castle Kvatch was another high point in this story, but to me it pales in the brilliant light cast by Jerric and Martin’s journey to Weynon Priory. We see the change in Jerric when he chastises the new Emperor and sets Martin’s mind to thoughts of an uncertain future. I loved how, amid this torrent of sadness that threatens to overwhelm him, Jerric is able to maintain his sense of humor enough to ask Martin if Jauffre will let him have the Amulet in the event of Martin’s death, just to prove his point that the Emperor of Tamriel is too important to lose chasing spriggans.

The love triangle that you have developed between Abiene, Jerric, and (D)arnand adds yet another dimension to this story. Abiene’s confusion and the depth of her feeling for Jerric could be chalked up to the tragedy that has befallen him, but somehow I doubt it. I get that she has a crush on (D)arnand, but it never really seems to move her with the urgency that matches her feelings toward Jerric. I think that her heart has already made up its mind, it’s just that her brain refuses to accept it.

Which brings me to the one thing that I feel the need to call you on: I appreciate and respect your desire to leave toes un-trodden, but I have no copyright protection on the name 'Arnand.' It is a common enough Breton name that it doesn’t strain credulity that two individuals born five centuries apart would share it. If I had been here when you made the change I would have advised you in the strongest words that the forum filters allow not to do it. Now I guess I will just have to get used to calling him Darnand (dammit). In the future please don’t concern yourself with such things. You imbue your characters with so much detail that their individuality is never a question. Your Matius, Maglir, Nerussa, and Carahil are the same character that everyone else gets to play with, but they are all unique as presented in Jerric’s story. I have no doubt that your Arnand and mine would share nothing save a name, a nationality, and (hopefully) three dimensions.

I have enjoyed every moment spent catching up on this story (twice). I salute you on a story well told, and I eagerly await the next update.

Posted by: mALX Apr 2 2011, 10:55 AM

My favorite line in the chapter. Jerric stills seems a bit disoriented, but is pulling himself back from the brink of madness and exhaustion that the deadlands took him to. Awesome Write (as always !!!)

Posted by: Grits Apr 5 2011, 06:10 PM

haute ecole rider: I kept trying to get Jerric to thoroughly check out the Anvil FG’s double threat of Redguard hotness, but he would not cooperate! On their lowest levels I’m treating the guilds as kind of an employment office, I’m glad Jerric’s double membership works.

SubRosa: Yes, Jerric has some history with the FG and Rhano. His job took him back and forth between Kvatch and Anvil for years. The Rhano history that you spotted will come out in time, I'm glad you pointed it out. Carahil seemed so straight-laced in the game until her bitter rant about forgetting the little people. It’s been fun trying to figure her out. I’m glad you liked the skeleton arena idea. Pre-Dagon Jerric was a fun guy! More Arvena coming up next.

Acadian: We are in complete agreement here. (emoticon for shedding a tear for someone else’s bowgirl?)

Destri Melarg: I am amazed, honored, and skipping in circles over your comments. You read it twice! Even while you were away, you were the invisible reader that made me want to get it right. Thank you so much, Destri!

That moment with Menien in the Deadlands was one of the reasons I wanted to tell the whole story in the first place. I couldn’t just walk away from that.

I love that you pointed out the Amulet joke on Martin and Jerric’s off-road trip. The connection they made kept Jerric from just wandering away after they got to the priory, and finding his humor is what reminded him that there still is a Jerric. Of course he did wander off for awhile, but it’s a process. It almost hurts to write about their friendship, knowing that there is a big stone statue down the road. The ‘escort Martin’ bit can be handled in the game with a fast-travel, but for me it’s one of the most important parts of the story. That you described it as a brilliant light will stay with me.

You’re right on the mark with Abiene and Darnand, and Abiene and Jerric. The first relationship I think is a weak spot in my storytelling. She says she likes him, but I haven’t given her the chance to show it. I’m still looking for an opening in the story, it hasn’t felt right to work it in yet. Her confusion stems from heart vs. brain, you’re exactly right. Then she gave her lady parts a vote, and we’ve seen where that led! For the three of them, the story has really just started.

Thank you for the reassurance on the (D)arnand matter. That’s my insecurity coming out. Some things are so clear in my mind, I think I must have read them somewhere else. Then to find that I might have, yikes!!

mALX: For men and mer I think it must be a tiny bit like it is for humans and dogs, in terms of lifespan. We know they’re going to break our hearts, but we let ourselves fall in love anyway. I guess this analogy only makes sense to dog lovers!! You’re right about Jerric’s mental state. He’s still having unreal moments, sleep issues, but at the point where he can sometimes seem better, even to himself. It’s a little bit two steps forward and one step back.

What just happened: Jerric joined the Fighters Guild and picked up a contract. He stopped by the Mages Guild hall to talk to Carahil while he was in the neighborhood. He’s still there.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 2

Jerric found Felen reading in his day room off the front hall. He paused to take in the sight of the nattily dressed Dunmer. Felen’s sculpted tower of charcoal hair gave him over a foot of additional height. All that blue velvet and gold braid, and never a drop or a crumb spilled on it, Jerric marveled. “Well met, Felen,” he said warmly.

Felen put down his book and stood, smiling up at him. “Jerric, it pleases me to see you. Observe, I have closed my book and placed it out of my reach. You have secured my full attention.”

Jerric smiled back. “Thanks. I lost my Journeyman seal. Carahil said I should ask you to evaluate me before I get a new one.”

“Easily done. Follow me.” Felen led him the three steps to his alchemy counter. He retrieved a jar and opened it, handing it over to Jerric with a flourish. “What do you make of this?”

Jerric looked in. A fine, gritty substance half filled the jar. It looked like sand that was made of translucent grey glass. “Never seen this stuff before, what is it?”

Felen raised his eyebrows and gestured eagerly with the lid. “You tell me.”

“Oh, a test.” Jerric stirred the sand with his fingertip. He sent his magicka cautiously into it, now aware of what he was doing. Its properties came to his mind the way taste and smell told him what spices were in a slice of pumpkin bread. “Well, I could use it to make a potion for resisting fire damage, or for an elemental frost shield. Or I could make a poison that would silence, or cause some frost damage. Don’t know what it’s called though.” He handed the jar back to Felen. “I guess Journeyman will still pay the rent.”

“It is salt from a frost atronach. Collection is quite risky, it is very rare.” Felen replaced the jar and retrieved an ornately carved wooden box. He opened it with a flutter of magicka and grey-green fingers. Jerric watched him select an enchanted seal and inscribe his name onto the blank end. He would use that end to mark the potions he made, and the emblem on the other end to show his rank when he made them. Felen handed the new seal to Jerric. “Congratulations, Associate. You now number among the experts in alchemy.” His expression looked slightly pained.

Jerric turned the seal in his hand, delighted. “Expert! What’s the problem, Felen? Sigrid thinks I’m a natural at alchemy.”

Felen shook his head and made a sound of disapproval. “I am afraid you will find my assessment less flattering. I suggest that you are a battlefield alchemist. Long hours of toil have made you an expert. Labor you undertook primarily to relieve your stunted magicka, I imagine. I see you do not disagree. A natural alchemist possesses a passion for detail, like a baker. All variables are considered, then precisely adjusted for the best result. You fling ingredients together with a casual disregard for technique. ‘Some’ is not an accepted unit of measurement. You are a cook, not a baker.” Felen patted him absently on the forearm. “I mean my counterpart in Kvatch no disrespect. Sigrid lacks only a few decades or so of my experience, but she is a fine instructor and alchemist in her own right.”

“Well,” Jerric replied archly, “Expert nonetheless.” He raised his new seal with a grin. “Now, can I help you cook up some potions?”

Felen chortled with amusement. “I can always use your delightfully titled ‘Tame the Volcano’ potion. You will find that you are now able to add dragon’s tongue for a stronger effect. There is a large supply down in the workroom. Happily, that potion is expected to be foul tasting and cloudy.”

“As long as the symbol appears on the vial, it’s a sellable potion,” Jerric pointed out amiably. “The rest is just aesthetics.”

“Indeed.” Felen’s expression looked slightly pained again. “Since these are intended for sale, I must remind you to refine the mixture until each potion fits into only one vial. We cannot expect our customers to drink from the alchemy apparatus, as your hapless patients undoubtedly have.”

“Battlefield alchemist. You said it yourself. I’ve never had someone complain about my technique while their life is bleeding out on the ground.”

Felen’s expression grew serious. “Apologies, Jerric. It seems more important to strive for perfection in the safety and comfort of one’s guild hall.”

“Don’t worry about it, Felen. Do you know I’ve been drinking my magicka potions out of an old water skin? Ha! Thought you’d like that. You’re right about everything you’ve said. I’ll be back later to make those fire shields. Right now the Fighters Guild has me on a critical rat killing mission.”

“Will you want the coin or credit?”

“Coin, please. I have bills to pay. Say, do you know where Arvena Thelas lives?”

“The Rat Lady, I certainly do. Oh my, Jerric, you cannot mean you are to kill Arvena’s pet rats! She does go on about them.”

“Pet rats? I don’t know, I’ll make sure I ask her. Who keeps rats for pets? Is she part goblin?”

Felen chortled again. “No indeed. Any explanation I might make will pale beside the experience of meeting the lady herself. Follow me to the door, I shall send you off in the correct direction.”

Jerric made his way through the morning crowds without turning any heads. He realized that without his Kvatch Wolf to identify him, he was just another Nord in a busy port town. The anonymity gave him some comfort.

Jerric’s knock was answered by a slim, well-dressed Dunmer woman. Her white hair was streaked with glistening strands of silver, and her bright red eyes gleamed in her narrow, turquoise face. Jerric thought she looked like some sort of living jewel. Although certainly a somewhat wrinkled jewel.

“Ahhh… You must be from the Fighters Guild,” she cooed. “Good. I have a problem. It has to do with the rats in my basement.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m Jerric.” He guessed that this must be the right place.

“That’s right. Rats, in my basement.” Her voice reached a higher pitch. “And something has been killing them! It’s horrible. My poor babies! You must do something! I don’t know what I’d do without them. Their little pink noses, their scaly little tails. Please, get to the basement and find out what’s happening!”

Jerric felt seized by Arvena’s sudden urgency. He pushed past her and headed around into the ground level room, guessing that the basement lay behind the only door there. He was right.

“Please, save my little rats!” Arvena’s anguished cry followed him down the stairs. An enraged snarl rose up to meet him. Agitated squeaks sounded a note only slightly higher than Arvena’s wail. Jerric briefly imagined Azzan holding his sides with laughter. Then he turned a corner, and his humor fled. The image of Azzan was replaced by one of Arvena with her throat torn out. She did indeed have rats scurrying about her basement, and she also had a mountain lion. The lion lunged back and forth between the terrified rats, seemingly unable to choose which one to eat.

Jerric didn’t think, he just drew his borrowed sword and went for the lion. “Shut the door!” he shouted up to Arvena. Her answering shriek was drowned out by a yowl from the big cat. When it turned, Jerric drove his blade in behind its shoulder, angling his body so he could take its fangs on his shield.

The lion dropped to the floor like a stone, leaving Jerric stunned at his own foolishness. His shield was at Morvayn’s, along with his armor and the rest of his gear. He had taken on a mountain lion without even the protection of his Woad. What was the expression, he tried to remember, it’s better to be lucky than good? He knelt and ran his hands regretfully over the dying lion. It looked sickly and weak, but still capable of mauling an elderly Dunmer lady. He wondered what could have brought it in out of the sunlight to die here underground.

Jerric cleaned the iron blade, then he took a look around the basement. Four rats appeared to be in comfortable residence there. He found their silver water bowls and food dishes near a large nest of rugs and chewed up cushions. He knelt down and held out a piece of cheese, hoping to coax the rats to him. They’re pets, just like Mojo, he told himself. And if they give me a disease… well, they won’t be the first.

The rats appeared to be unhurt, so he looked for the mountain lion entrance. He found it around a corner at the back of the basement, next to the rat privy. A large hole in the foundation had once been repaired with loose blocks, which were now moved aside. An area outside the foundation had been excavated and covered from above with loose boards. Daylight slanted down between the gaps. It appeared that someone had been using the opening to shovel rat droppings up into the yard behind Arvena’s house. Jerric could see that the lion had simply pushed through the boards to gain access to the basement. He headed back upstairs to report to Arvena.

The Rat Lady greeted him with wringing hands and a tragic expression. “Well, what have you found? Did you take care of my babies? What was going on down there?”

“Ma’am, do you have four pet rats?” Arvena nodded eagerly, and Jerric breathed a sigh of relief. The lion had looked hungry enough to have swallowed one whole. “Well, I found a mountain lion attack- uh, chasing them. Don’t worry, I killed it. The rats look fine.”

“A mountain lion?” Arvena’s voice began to climb the scales again. “In my basement? But… How? That’s not possible. But, it happened! What if there are more? What if it wasn’t alone? Where there’s one there will be more. Find Pinarus Inventius. He’s a hunter, and knows this area inside and out. He’ll know what to do.”

Jerric made sure she was finished answering her own questions before he spoke. “I think you should let me block up that opening, or get someone else to do it right away. Do you have someone who comes to clean? They might need to find another way to get the rat ski- that is to say, rat droppings outside.”

Arvena did not appear to have heard him. “Please, go find Pinarus, and those mountain lions!” She was wringing her hands so hard, he thought she might hurt herself.

“All right. I’m going to tell the Anvil Guard, too. In fact I’ll show them the lion. I bet they’ll wonder how it got inside the city.”

The city guardsmen Jerric passed in the street were able to direct him to the Inventius house, but none was willing to take responsibility for the animal Jerric had slung over his shoulders. He discovered that if anything garnered more attention on the streets of Anvil than his Kvatch Wolf, it was a dead mountain lion.

A sleepy-eyed, heavy-jowled Imperial answered Jerric’s knock at the Inventius house. “Yes?” the man asked with a remarkable lack of interest.

Jerric shifted his burden. “Uh, I’m a… I’m from the Fighters Guild. I went to kill some rats, but she had a mountain lion. In her basement. She said to talk to you.” The Imperial continued to stand there. “I’m Jerric,” he added.

“Pinarus Inventius,” the Imperial finally responded. “Hunter. Funny, it's always 'rats' for the new associates. Is it some initiation test or something?” Before Jerric could answer, the man waved him to the side. “Put that around back, I’ll deal with it. I have a contract with the city for such things. Although mountain lions… that’s odd. But if they’re around, I can find them.” Jerric walked to the rear of the Inventius house and eased the lion carcass to the ground. He looked around to discover that Pinarus had followed him. “Come with me,” the Imperial offered. “A hunt will do us good, and maybe make that old nut feel better.”

Jerric sighed and glanced down at himself. His Ma had been right about him, he decided. He never could make it through a full day without ruining a new shirt.

Posted by: mALX Apr 5 2011, 08:09 PM

The conversation between Jerric and Felen was wonderful - my fave line in it:

ROFL !!!




ROFL !!! If that is in game, I have missed it !!!


Great rendition of that quest, and as always an Awesome Write !!


*

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 5 2011, 08:43 PM

I loved your version of Felen, though he is a little more - prissified - than mine. Still, he is a delightful person and brought a smile to my face as he spoke to Jerric and tested his alchemical knowledge.

And the classic 'rats' case! You've captured the old bat wonderfully!

Posted by: Cardboard Box Apr 5 2011, 09:09 PM

Well put.

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 6 2011, 12:50 AM

Observe, I have closed my book and placed it out of my reach. You have secured my full attention.


We cannot expect our customers to drink from the alchemy apparatus, as your hapless patients undoubtedly have.
I loved the entire exchange between Felen and Jerric. It was as delightful as it was instructive.

And if they give me a disease… well, they won’t be the first.
Doh!

In fact I’ll show them the lion. I bet they’ll wonder how it got inside the city.
This is what never made sense about this quest to me. Are we to believe the lion jumped over the city walls? Or maybe it climbed them with a rope and pitons? Or perhaps it simply walked through the front gate disguised as a Khajiit? As much as I have always liked this quest, and wanted to put it in the TF, I could never come up with a plausible explanation for a mountain lion wandering around inside a major city. However, I just came up with a new idea on this old quest. Scribble, scribble, scribble...

A fun episode as ever. I have always loved the Rat Lady. I can't believe the fuss people make over a few rats...

Posted by: Destri Melarg Apr 6 2011, 02:27 AM

I agree with hautee and 'Rosa, the entire exchange between Felen and Jerric was sensational. As was your handling of the first part of this very weird quest.

My favorite part of this chapter, however, is how Jerric so thoroughly and completely describes and encapsulates Pinarus Inventius by mention of his 'jowls.'

@SubRosa - It was always my understanding that the lions burrowed their way under the city wall. I know you never find a hole, but it makes more sense than going over the walls.

Posted by: Acadian Apr 6 2011, 03:03 AM

Felen patted him absently on the forearm. “I mean my counterpart in Kvatch no disrespect. Sigrid lacks only a few decades or so of my experience, but she is a fine instructor and alchemist in her own right.”
Whew! I'm glad to see no disrespect toward the lovely and talented Sigrid!

The scene with Felen and Jerric was fabulous. You really brought Felen to life and I simply love what I shall now think of as 'Alchemy - Jerric style'.

He realized that without his Kvatch Wolf to identify him, he was just another Nord in a busy port town. The anonymity gave him some comfort.
I hear ya, Jerric. Fully understood.

Who keeps rats for pets? Is she part goblin?”

Sometimes it is simply wonderful to see a well-known quest completed from the perspective of someone else's character. My goodness, you did beautiful justice to this!

“Please, save my little rats!” Arvena’s anguished cry followed him down the stairs.
Passages like this create a truly immersive feel here. It is a simple sentence but one that pulled me right behind Jerric going down that staircase. Almost a magical creation of the feeling one gets doing this quest in the game.

Rat privy - how clever. Sure enough, if you put four rats in a cage, they will reliably all pee in the same corner.

Well, I don't want to finish off my comments talking about rat pee, so let me simply tell you how much fun this episode was to read!

Posted by: Thomas Kaira Apr 9 2011, 02:25 AM

Chapter 9.1:

A very interesting twist on the Anvil Recommendation quest. Those two battlemages are never any help at all! Good that Jerric the Lion was there to save the day!

It is very clear that Jerric is not taking to his responsibilities as a hero very well. He's just running on an adrenaline haze at this point, and it is certain that he is not very sure what he wishes to accomplish. He's just... there, closing gates with not a single though to his own safety. This is quite typical behavior for someone who is unsure of what they are living for, and Jerric certainly qualifies now. He has had his family torn away from him and he cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel Jauffre convinced him to enter. All he has left now is Flash, and I'm not sure he is in any state to lose him, as well. That might just be the final straw for his sanity, which is currently on the fringe of earning him an invite to Dementia. Hopefully, he'll bounce back, but that is a long, hard road to walk, as I feel he is not going to be very willing to accept the fact that his family is now dead.

Posted by: Grits Apr 11 2011, 07:15 PM

mALX: The rat privy is a Grits embellishment. I figured they have to go somewhere, and that led to how the hole in the wall got there in the first place. Anvil has some quests that really need more explaining!!

The line you picked out from Felen really captures my vision of him, thank you! I love the excellent names for things that other people come up with in their stories, so Fire Shield had to have a new one. Thank you, mALX!!

haute ecole rider: Oh, Felen! I mean, that outfit! Those shoes! He’s definitely a peacock in my version. But he rolled up his velvet sleeves and led the Kvatch relief effort from the Anvil MG, no doubt keeping his hair pouf upright throughout. I’m glad Jerric’s affection for him (and mine) came through. Arvena is a character that I wanted to present unchanged from the game, she is a riot!

Cardboard Box: I wish I could take credit for that line! Pinarus said it when he was stepping out of his house in the game. In full daedric armor, no less. I guess Jerric was standing close enough to him to trigger a rumor. I couldn’t believe it!

SubRosa: When I pictured Jerric and Felen in Felen’s little alchemy nook, the whole scene jumped to life on its own. I’m glad it worked! Now I can say without spoiling anything that Jerric is not a natural alchemist.

A new idea, yay!! I love to hear scribble, scribble scribble… You would think that urban lions would have caused more fuss than a few sweet little pets. What’s next, slaughterfish in the mermaid pool?

Destri Melarg: Felen and Jerric clicked in a way I would not have predicted, I suppose they share the capacity to enjoy people. I love that you picked out Jerric’s jowls observation, because I learned that at the school of Destri’s Interregnum! The guard with the bad teeth? Inspirational! I’m glad you liked the first part of the quest, the next part gets even weirder.

Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed Jerric and Felen. I expect a Dunmer of Felen’s age has seen it all, but he’s still not tired of it. 'Alchemy - Jerric style,' I am delighted!!

I’m glad you’re enjoying Jerric’s charging in to save the rats mission so far, this quest is right in his wheelhouse. He’s certainly not one to over-think a situation. I don’t think you’ll be surprised at how this one ends up, either.

Thomas Kaira: You’re right, Jerric had not been sticking with the plan, nor did he resist the temptation to lose himself in those Gates. He saved Darnand from a terminal case of freezer burn, but who knows if he would have stayed on the road all the way to Anvil if Darnand had not been there to walk with him. I’m glad you’re still reading.

What just happened: Jerric has been busy helping Arvena with her Rat Problem. We left him on the doorstep of Pinarus Inventius, about to set forth on a lion hunt.



Chapter 10: Septims, Part 3

Jerric sat at the dining table in the Fighters Guild hall, working his way through a stack of ham sandwiches. Most of the Anvil chapter had gathered to share a few pitchers of beer and exchange tales of the day. Sten the Ugly refilled Jerric’s mug and slid it back to him. “So, did you find the mountain lions?” Sten asked him.

Jerric took a deep pull from the mug. He closed his eyes as the cold brew washed down his throat. It’s been too long, he thought. Vigdis kicked him under the table, bringing his attention back to the room. “We found them,” Jerric answered. “A family group, like Pinarus thought. The big female was injured, looked like the younger ones were hunting for her. Maybe daedra drove them down toward town. The marks on her looked like scamp claws, and she was burned. Anyway, we found a bunch of chewed up bodies. The Guard is working with the Legion to find out who they are.”

“Folk have gone missing along the road to Brina’s Crossing,” mused Azzan. “We’ve blamed it on the daedra. I suppose some of them could have been lion kills.”

“I suppose,” Jerric replied. “They were in bad shape. The lions were. Hungry. Don’t know how they got over the city wall, but that’s not my problem.” He took another long drink. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to run around the outside of the city and take a look. Could be a tree down against the wall or something. Yeah, tomorrow I’ll go check.” The others were giving him a variety of looks. “What?”

Azzan snorted. “Well, was she happy when you told her you killed the lions?”

Jerric shook his head. “You would think.” He continued to tell them the story.


Arvena yanked open the front door at Jerric’s knock. “You’ve got to take care of those mountain lions!”she shrieked into his face.

“We did! We—”

“You think you’ve gotten rid of them all?” she cried. “You do? Well, you haven’t! There’s one in my basement right now! Go get it!”

Before he had time to think, he found himself pelting down the basement stairs again.


Jerric had plenty of time to tackle another sandwich while his guild mates howled in delight. Even Rhano finally cracked a smile. “So you killed that one, too,” Rhano guessed. “And hauled it over to Pinarus I bet, like a good little helper. That doesn’t explain how you missed lunch and dinner.”

Jerric gave him a level look. “Well, there’s more.”


Arvena met him at the top of the basement stairs. Her narrow hands fluttered over her hair and gown, smoothing away her agitation. “Thank the gods you killed that thing,” she gasped. “This is ridiculous! Someone’s out to get me, to get my poor babies! I’ll bet it’s that Quill-Weave next door.”

“What..?” Jerric started to ask, then he mentally kicked himself.

Arvena’s brilliant eyes narrowed, and her voice cracked with anger. “She’s the one. She’s never liked me or my sweet little pets. I know it’s her, I’ve even seen her sneaking around in back of my house at night. She thinks she’s so smart. She and all the other women. I’ll show her! I want you to keep an eye on her. Find out what she’s up to.”


Jerric nodded his head as he swallowed his last bite of ham. He chased it with beer. “Of course I did what she asked,” he continued. “Go ahead and laugh. I stayed behind her house for five hours, hiding in a bush. Yeah, hiding. I guess it started working when it got dark, because sure enough Quill-Weave sneaked around back and left a piece of meat on the ground. Lucky for me I had to take a piss. I saw her when I stood up. Otherwise I’d still be under that bush, probably asleep by now. Anyway, it was her.”


Jerric stepped over in front of the Argonian, blocking her passage. “Yes?” she asked nervously, taking a step back. “What can I do for you?”

“I know what you’re doing, Quill-Weave. It has to stop.”

“You know what?” she demanded, glancing rapidly to her left and right. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never go skulking about…” She began to flick her fingers as if they were wet. “Fine. You’ve got me. I figured if I left some rotten meat outside, the nasty little things would come out, and the guards would take care of them.”

“Mountain lions followed the scent. They broke into her basement. She could have been killed.”

“Mountain lions! In her basement? I just wanted to lure her vermin outside! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, except the rats. Please, don’t tell her! And, if you can keep this our little secret, I can make it worth your while. There’s a bit about acrobatics I can teach you. Give it some thought.”


“You could use some help with your footwork,” Rhano told Jerric.

“Yeah. I sure hope I can find someone else to train me.”


This time when Arvena answered his knock she stepped back, allowing Jerric to walk into her sitting room. He looked toward the cellar door, almost expecting another crisis.

Arvena’s demeanor remained calm, at least for her first question. “So, did you follow her? She’s behind it, isn’t she? Tell me what you found out!”

“Quill-Weave was behind it.”

“I knew it. That s’wit! Oh, I’ll get her. You just wait! Must have taken some fast talking to get her to confess.”

“Not really. I’m not so good at that. I guess the part where I stood there in the dark being a Nord was enough to get her talking.”

“Maybe I can teach you a little bit more about how to talk to people. You could present yourself in a more professional manner. And, of course, I need to give you your payment.”


Sten thumped his fist on the table, sending Jerric’s plate briefly into the air. “Dammit, Vigdis! All the gold I’ve given you to train me, and I just needed to stand in the dark being a Nord!”

Vigdis reached over and slapped Jerric’s arm. “Now you’ve cost me. No Nord will ever want to improve their skills if they need only wait until nightfall!”

Huurwen wiped the tears from her eyes. “Take comfort, friends,” she laughed. “A new career in nocturnal diplomacy awaits each of you.”

Azzan shook his head, directing his comments at Jerric. “Well, I don’t know if you’re dumb or honest. Or maybe she’s just nuts. I have your payment from the guild. Thelas already settled up with me. Sounds like the coin she gave you is her special thanks, or maybe you did something else for her. Ha!”

“I did haul two dead lions away,” Jerric admitted. “And I gave her a hand in her bedchamber. By the time she finished with me, I’d sweated off the blood and started to beg for mercy.”

“Is that what happened to your shirt?” asked Llensi. The Dunmer raised a mug gracefully to her lips.

Jerric looked down at his bare chest. “Skitt! I left it at Arvena’s. Well I’m sure not going back for it. She’ll talk me into putting a new roof on her house or something.”

“It is Evening Star,” Llensi remarked.

“So I’m told.”

“Fear not,” Huurwen told him. “You are not the only Nord at this table who cannot keep track of their clothing.”

“Yeah,” said Sten. “You’d think we wouldn’t mind, but Vigdis has more hair on her chest than you do.”

Huurwen spoke over the laughter. “I believe you were telling us how your client exhausted you in her bedchamber.”

“A lady like that has better taste,” Rhano pointed out. “What with rats for pets, and all.”

Jerric grinned ruefully. “She had me shift two big wardrobes in there. Looking for a lost rat toy. Then I couldn’t get them back just right. Turned out the fetching thing was under a chair the whole time, so in the end I left her happy. I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll hear of it, though. That Quill-Weave is a writer, she’ll likely put a rat-humping Nord in her next book. You can say you knew me when.”

Azzan spoke. “We knew you when you were an Associate. I’m promoting you. Congratulations, Apprentice.”

Jerric raised his eyebrows. “That was fast.”

“Worried? I guess closing Oblivion Gates isn’t as hard as it sounds. If you don’t think you can handle it, I can send you tagging along with Pinarus again.”

“No, thank you,” Jerric replied fervently. “I need another contract. Do you have any pet mudcrabs that need looking after?”

“I’ve got something. You’ll want your gear back from Morvayn first. Talk to me when you get it.”

Sten drained his beer mug and stood, sliding the clay pitcher toward Jerric. “I’m turning in. You staying tonight, Jerric?”

“No, I guess I’ll head home in a bit.” He glanced over at Rhano. The Redguard gave him a small nod, but didn’t speak. “Better finish off this beer first.”

Vigdis shoved her chair back. “Who has the swamp tonight?”

“Rufrius,” said Llensi. “He is still out on his date.” Jerric gave her a quizzical look. “The bedchamber adjacent to the barracks, we call it the swamp. It has a door, so you can imagine it is much in demand. When no one of rank is passing through, of course.”

“You share that room for..?”

Rhano snorted. “We take turns using it, for privacy. Fullo makes sure the sheets are changed every week, right Fullo?”

“Whether they need it or not,” confirmed Fullo.

Azzan stood and headed for the stairs. “I’ll go get your gold, Jerric.” The dining room emptied until only Rhano and Jerric remained at the table. Jerric poured the rest of the beer into their mugs. He sat back and waited.

Rhano was the first to speak. “You been over to see Mother and Fa?”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, I think.”

Rhano nodded. “Mother asked me to invite you for Saturalia. She wants you to spend the night, like we’re still kids or something.”

Jerric looked across at Rhano for a long moment. “So, are you going to get over it and train me? I need your help, Rhano.”

“You have the coin?”

“Not yet. I’m working on it.” Jerric couldn’t read Rhano’s expression.

“I know some people who have work,” Rhano finally told him. “Maelona, she’s a Redguard. Short hair, real pretty. Sits under that tree in Westgate all the time. Maeva up in Whitmond. Her no-good husband ran off on her.”

“I know Maeva,” Jerric said. He made a gesture in front of his chest. “The Buxom.”

“Yeah, well they’re down here now. The years have not been kind.”

“Thanks, Rhano.”

“You know my Fa will hire you.”

“I know, and I’m grateful. It’s just that I’m not going to be here long.” He could tell Rhano knew what he meant.

“They want to see you, Jerric.”

“I’ll go. I should have gone already. It’s hard, Rhano.”

Azzan came down the stairs and dropped a small leather bag on the table next to Jerric. “Here you go. I guess you’re not ready for credit.”

“Not until I get my gear back, then I’ll want some training. I need to talk to you about that, Azzan. Have you thought about what I said?”

“I’m not ready to make that decision. Think about your terms, maybe we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Jerric drank the rest of his beer. “I’m headed home,” he said.

He’d had enough drink to loosen his mind, but not enough to numb it. Black thoughts began to rise up as he made his way along the empty beach. He could feel the abyss inside him, now that he had left the busyness and chatter of other folk. He knew how easy it would be to look into it and lose himself in darkness. A cold sea breeze cut through his thoughts, and he clung to it.

It really is Evening Star, he thought. He gave himself a sniff and winced. I’m already cold, might as well get clean. He stripped down and dove into the sea, scrubbing the rest of the dried blood away with sand. One of his rings kept him from drowning, and the other assured him that there were no threats approaching. He swam until he thought he might be able to sleep.

As he headed up the beach with his trousers in one hand and his boots in the other, he noticed light in the windows of his hut. By the time he reached his front porch he knew that someone within had built a fire. The someone’s pinkish glow appeared to be sitting in his chair with their feet tucked under them. Jerric pushed the door open and stood there on the threshold, dripping. She sat with one of his books in her lap and a clay cup at her elbow. Her smile started to warm him from the inside out.

He dropped his boots by the door and grinned back at her. “Abiene,” he said.




(Edited to add clarifying statement.)