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Posted by: Grits Aug 3 2011, 01:46 PM

Hi folks!

My characters are getting unruly, so I thought I’d make a place where I can hide from them while they fight it out. I mean, while I figure out what to do. The first time this happened, I posted http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4547, a very short story about Abiene’s Saturalia visit to Leyawiin in the year 3E432. I should have made this thread then, but at the time I still thought that every word I wrote would be the last. Someday I hope to make an offering at http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=3497, but for now I’m still too guilty of undisciplined sprawling. I’ll start a story in the next post.

As always, comments and discussion are very welcome!

Posted by: Grits Aug 3 2011, 01:57 PM

Tides, Part One

Anvil, Summer of 3E414

Jerric and Rhano knelt in the alley beside the Abecean Sunrise Bakery. “All right,” Rhano said to Jerric. “Show me the look.”

Jerric dropped his chin and gazed up at his friend. He made his eyebrows sad.

“Stick out your lip a little,” Rhano told him. “Your other lip, dummy!”

Rhano’s dignity would not allow him to debase himself for baked goods, but Jerric had no such compunction. That didn’t keep Rhano from thinking he knew better, thought Jerric. “I know how to do it!” he insisted. “It just doesn’t always work.”

“This time it has to, or no sweetroll.” Rhano glanced down the street. “I don’t see anyone we know. Go!”

Jerric slipped around the corner and into the bakery. This time of day most households had already bought their daily bread, and it was too early for the midday meal. The only other soul inside was the Breton behind the counter. She glanced up from her newspaper. “Yes?”

Jerric kept his chin tucked to his chest. He let his eyes wander over the confections, sniffing deeply in appreciation. “I don’t have any coins,” he said truthfully.

The woman made no reply.

Jerric took in another breath of fragrant air, letting it go with a little quaver. It wasn’t hard to look sad at the thought of leaving empty-handed. He pushed his lip out and slowly lifted his eyes to the shopkeeper.

Folded arms, a prodigious bosom, and beetled brows met his gaze. Steady, Jerric told himself. Nothing fancy, just keep your nerve.

After a moment the Breton let out a short bark of laughter. “Shameless, you are.” She reached for a sweetroll and handed it over the counter. “I know your Redguard friend is out there. Some day you’ll learn not to do everything he tells you.”

“He’s always right, mistress.” Jerric grinned his way back toward the door. “Thank you,” he called, brandishing the sweetroll.

“Imp!” She went back to her reading.

Jerric handed the sweetroll to Rhano and followed him down the alley toward the rear of the shop, laughing. “See, I told you!” Jerric crowed.

Rhano turned to face him, and his eyes went quickly over Jerric’s shoulder. The happiness drained from his face.

“Well if it isn’t the half-Nord sand scum and his little wolf pup,” sneered a voice behind Jerric. He turned to face it.

Three Imperial teens filled the alley. Jerric recognized them immediately. His cousin had given the biggest one a savage beating for some cruelty he had discovered. He never told the Guard what the Imperial had done, but Jerric guessed it must have been bad. The Imperial still bore the marks on his face.

“A sweetroll,” said the Imperial with mock delight. “Look, Tutius, they got us a sweetroll.”

“Hand it over,” growled Tutius. The smallest of the three, he still loomed over Jerric and Rhano.

The boys looked at each other. Rhano’s teeth gleamed in a feral grin. He held the sweetroll out to Jerric.

“Here you go, rump sniffer,” said Jerric. He bit off a piece of sweetroll and spit it up at the big one’s face. Rhano dropped the rest and crushed it under his toes.

Rhano put his shoulder into the big one’s groin. Jerric landed a few punches before the Imperials got him on the ground. He fought like a wildcat until someone lifted him to his feet. He saw Rhano in the grip of an Anvil guard, spitting blood and still swinging. “Easy, lads,” said a voice behind Jerric. “The fight’s over.”

Jerric looked back to find another guard behind him. One of the Imperials lay on the ground, holding his stomach and moaning. The big one, Jerric saw with satisfaction. He caught Rhano’s eyes and gave him a grin. Jerric saw sky as the guard pulled his head back. He jumped when gauntleted fingers probed his aching nose. “Just bloody,” the man told him. “Not broken.” Jerric stepped back when the guard let him go. “Your Ma won’t be pleased about your shirt,” the guard observed.

Jerric pulled it over his head and swabbed his face with it. “Anyway, we’re going swimming,” he declared. Hurts were beginning to announce themselves all over his frame. He tossed the shirt at Rhano and grinned at the guard, his tongue quickly checking for new gaps in his teeth.

“I’ll have your Fa file a complaint if you like,” the guard said to Rhano. His face told Jerric that he knew they would decline.

“No, thank you sir,” said Rhano, gingerly blowing his nose. He shoved the shirt back into Jerric’s hands and led the way out of the alley.

The boys broke into a jog as they made their way through the Chapelgate district and then Harborside. Rhano halted them when they reached the docks. “Which way?” he asked. “Marsh or beach?”

“Let’s go down to the sea cliffs,” said Jerric. “I heard your Fa talking about the midsummer tides. I bet there are some caves we can get to.” He glanced over the marsh, then up at the sun. “We can get there by low tide, I’ll wager.”

Two barefoot lads can squirm through a crowd twice as fast as any grown-up, thought Jerric. They broke free on the far side of the harbor and raced each other over the dunes to the beach.

Jerric put his shirt back on when the sun began to burn his shoulders. The surf is low today, he noticed. We probably won’t get dashed against the rocks. Their eyes searched the tide line as they walked. Jerric liked to pick up pebbles, and Rhano was always on the hunt for a perfect shell. Soon the weight in his pockets dragged Jerric’s cut-off trousers down his skinny hips. Admitting defeat, he piled up his rocks on the sand for later. He repeated the process at intervals down the beach.

Rhano carried one shell in his hand. If he found a better one he would pick it up, giving the first shell back to the waves. He waited patiently each time Jerric stopped to empty his pockets.

The hills rose behind the dunes as they walked until they reached a point where a rocky shoulder jutted out into the water. “Crescent Moons Cove,” Rhano breathed reverently. “Where privateers come at night to bury their treasure.”

Jerric sliced the air with an imaginary blade. “Someday I’ll swim out with my sword and bring justice to the pirates!”

Rhano picked up a dried reed and assumed a guard position. “Imperial scum!” he said to Jerric.

Those were fighting words. Jerric found another reed and attacked the pirate ferociously.

Their swords did not outlast the battle. A brief wrestling match ensued, serving to remind them that they had earlier been in a fight. A truce called, the boys stripped to their drawers and ran shouting into the crystal blue sea.

The cool water stung in Jerric’s scrapes as he swam. He resolutely ignored it. “Watch out,” called Rhano. “The rocks are really shallow!”

Jerric paused for a moment, looking down. Darker shapes were visible right under his feet. Sea weeds tickled his toes when he reached his foot down toward them. “Whoa!” he hooted. “Something swam between my knees!”

“I hope it wasn’t something hungry!” called Rhano. He rolled onto his back and spit a fountain of water into the air.

The sea cliffs rose straight out of the water, curving inland and back out to form a half-circle. A sandy beach lined the middle, cut off from the land by cliffs and water. Today the beach was a wide crescent of brilliant white. “The tide is so low!” marveled Jerric. “Look how high the caves are, we’ll have to climb up to them.”

Rhano was treading water now, looking intently down at the cliff’s base under the water. “Look there! I think it’s a cave down low. I wonder if it opens up inside above the water.”

“One way to find out,” said Jerric. He took a few quick breaths like a pearl diver, then he filled his lungs and dove under the water.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 3 2011, 02:13 PM

Oooh, I loved seeing Jerric and Rhano as boys! That Breton baker made me think of Kirsty! Her mother perhaps? Anyway, I had to laugh at how she tried to be tough but caved at Jerric's 'sad' face. I believe this:

Aah, the usual neighborhood bullies. Looks like this time the guards corralled the right culprits this time, though. File a complaint? Are y'kidding! Looks like Jerric's cousin didn't beat up the big Imperial hard enough!

And the picture of Jerric collecting rock cairns and Rhano discarding his single shell in favor of the better one is such a perfect summary of their personalities! I lurved this little scene!

That was the perfect thing to read first thing in the morning over a cup of tea.

Posted by: ureniashtram Aug 3 2011, 03:38 PM

Oh no! The three bullies! Those were the same ones who accosted my Daggerfall (and morrowind) character when he was in his teens and had himself a sweetroll! Nice reference there, Grits!

Ah, this one simply lived. It is not hard to 'delve' into their perspectives as kids. Because you know, four years ago, I was one. Heh. Wry humor at its best, Grits. At its best. Or not. Hmm.

I am hungry for more! Please, ma'am, can I have some more of this? (dons the sadface of Jerric, fails miserably) <--- Ahem. Ignore this one. I know I intend to.

Oh, and I'm still catching up in Jerric's Story. You post FAST, Grits. Too fast for me to keep up. I'm still at Kvatch!

Posted by: Acadian Aug 4 2011, 12:45 AM

A day in the life of young Jerric and Rhano. Boyz bein' boyz.

'Rhano carried one shell in his hand. If he found a better one he would pick it up, giving the first shell back to the waves. He waited patiently each time Jerric stopped to empty his pockets.'
The same thing occurred to me as did to Rider as I read this - a wonderful little snapshot into the differing personalities of Rhano and Jerric.

Engaging and easy to visualize. Nice!

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 4 2011, 09:30 AM

I couldn't stop thinking of Tom and Huck as I read this, and lazy summer days in Hannibal, Missouri. Like the others said this was the perfect little snippet to whet our appetites for more. I'm glad you posted this because it gives me the chance to comment on your writing while I'm still trying to catch up on Jerric's Story (and Maxical's, and Buffy's, and Athlain's ). Urenia is right, you do post fast!

Posted by: mALX Aug 4 2011, 01:51 PM

Oooh !!! The backstory to Jerric and Rhano's issues !!! I love the way your Jerric story is like the sun, your other stories are the planets that orbit around his main story !!! It is really a great way to give the backgrounds of people without pulling your story from its course !!! (I should learn something from that, lol) Awesome !!!

Posted by: treydog Aug 4 2011, 04:08 PM

“Your other lip, dummy!”

Grits-reading beverage control rules were in effect- but that one still caught me off-guard.

And the original Trey- the one who is still somewhere in Daggerfall- felt a touch of nostalgia over the “Sweetroll Incident.”

"We probably won’t get dashed against the rocks."

I seem to recall a similar youthful optimism when I… well, nevermind.

The entire process of “gathering versus selecting” is beautifully drawn.

I loved the entire “postcard,” and anxiously await more. (Puppy-dog eyes).

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 4 2011, 10:48 PM

Was this inspired by the Morrowind character creation quiz? "While in town the baker gives you a sweetroll. Delighted, you take it into an alley to enjoy only to be intercepted by a gang of three other kids your age. The leader demands the sweetroll, or else he and his friends will beat you and take it."

That was a fun romp through the day of two Anvil boys. It sort of reminded me of Stand By Me. I wonder if they will find a body in the caves?

Posted by: King Coin Aug 5 2011, 03:23 PM

I never thought Jerric was going to get a sweetroll!

How can anyone loom over a nord? Wait, Jerric’s a kid!

I liked how Jerric grabbed so many rocks he had to leave them behind. Hilarious!

Thoroughly enjoyed this little story!

Posted by: Grits Aug 8 2011, 04:05 PM

Thank you so much everyone for the warm response to this little story!! Frankly, things IRL have been hectic, and I wanted a little break. I am delighted that Anvil’s boys of summer have provided some entertainment.

haute ecole rider: I know they must exist, but I just can’t make a skinny baker. It’s funny, when I pictured the boys on the beach, they were already picking up their rocks and shells. Writing this was a mental cup of tea for me throughout.

ureniashtram: Yep, I had to bring the three thugs and the sweetroll into Cyrodiil. I’m going to slow down posting Jerric’s Story for awhile to maybe once a week. There are so many great stories on this board, and I want to read them all. At first I thought I would have mine wrapped up by this fall, but HAH! Giving up that fantasy is quite liberating, now I can really take my time.

Acadian: Between the rocks and shells and the sweetroll incident, I hoped to show why these two are friends. Some things are the same, some different. More boyz coming up.

Destri Melarg: Oh, Tom and Huck, I need to go dust that one off! I grew up reading my Dad’s books, so I’m sure a browse through those shelves would reveal a lot of my inspirations. Plus my own early summer days were largely free of shoes and adult supervision. I’m pausing Jerric’s Story while I post this little one, then I’ll be posting slower than before.

mALX: Your intuition is right again, the seeds of their future conflict will be sown in this story. I love the sun and planets analogy, that really made me smile.

treydog: No one can resist Dachshund eyes! I grew up watching my male relatives fling themselves joyfully into various disasters, and each time events took a turn, they were surprised.

SubRosa: Exactly! I haven’t played Morrowind yet, but I heard the rumor in Oblivion where the person says, “So I took the sweetroll…” When I found out the origin of the three thugs and the sweetroll, I knew I’d have to use it somewhere. I loved Stand By Me. I promise they will not find any leeches.

King Coin: I’m glad you liked it! I’m afraid Jerric still hasn’t learned moderation.




Tides: The Middle Part

Jerric swam down toward the shadow near the cliff’s base. He could tell before he got there that it was an underwater cavern. Excitement shivered through him as he swam under the ledge. The opening was as wide as his bedchamber and high enough for his Fa to stand up in it. The water made his vision blurry, but he could see that the cavern narrowed into darkness at the back with light far beyond. Little yellow fish swarmed around him on their startled way out to the open sea. Jerric kicked harder and swam into the darkness.

The light ahead showed him how to angle through the tunnel. A few spots were narrow enough that he could pull himself along on the rocks. Surge from the waves outside pushed him forward and pulled him back, but not enough to alarm him. He held on to the rocks when the water pulled him, then kicked ahead when it pushed.

Eels like dark places, he suddenly remembered. So do sea serpents. And there’s no room to turn around in here if I need to grab a snake. He shot forward, propelled by the thought of venomous fangs on his defenseless toes.

Jerric could hear the rush and gurgle of water against rocks ahead. The tunnel widened as he swam into filtered sunlight. Relief let his breath loose. He blew bubbles out his nose and raced them to the surface. Rhano’s head popped up a moment later, while Jerric was still gulping air.

“Sea serpents!” gasped Rhano.

“Where?” Jerric scanned the water, right hand open and ready while his left kept him steady. He pulled his feet up, just in case.

“I didn’t see any. I’m just saying, there might be sea serpents.”

Jerric rolled his eyes and splashed Rhano. “Or eels. If we see one, we might get eel pie for dinner.”

Rhano sent a wave back at Jerric. “If we see one, there’ll be dreck in the water! You’ll fill your drawers for sure! You should have seen your face when I said serpents!”

The boys dunked each other until they both ran out of breath again. Then they looked around, treading water. The chamber was shaped like a shallow, upside-down bowl, as long as a caravan wagon with its team of six horses. Light and air came down through a crack like a chimney in the low ceiling. Jerric could hear sea birds crying high above them on the cliffs outside. There was no ledge to climb on in this chamber, water slapped against the walls on all sides.

“Not much to see in here,” Rhano remarked.

Jerric pointed to a niche in the far wall. “Maybe that’s another tunnel.”

“It took all of my breath to get here,” said Rhano.

“I know! We almost didn’t make it!” Their laughter filled the small cavern.

They swam over to the side and found that the water was shallow enough to stand up. Slippery weeds and dark algae coated the rocks where the light touched. Jerric stepped carefully into the low niche, ducking his head.

“There is a tunnel,” he breathed. “I can’t see if there’s any light down there.”

“Don’t use more than half of your air this time if you think you might turn back,” Rhano cautioned. “Do you want me to wait?”

“Yeah,” said Jerric, hoping to see at least a glimmer to show him the way. “I don’t want to back up with you behind me.”

“Well I don’t want your rotten zombie feet in my face.”

Jerric decided it was too slippery to wrestle on the rocks, so he let the moment pass. Maybe he could get his feet in Rhano’s face when they reached the next cavern, if there was one.

He made sure his heart was steady and his lungs were full before he eased under the surface.

“Don’t hit your head,” Rhano advised as Jerric’s ears filled with water.

This tunnel angled downward. As soon as he was stretched out in the darkness, Jerric could see light ahead. He swam down to it, reaching forward with one hand to protect his head. Rhano is right, he thought. This is a bad place to crack your skull.

This tunnel seemed a little longer, and it was harder to move through. Jerric’s lungs were convulsing before he reached the light. He surfaced into a narrow, flooded canyon in the sea cliffs. Sunshine streamed almost straight down, leaving only one side of the cliff in shadow at the very top. That’s what a mortal’s life looks like, Jerric decided, looking up while his chest heaved. Blue sky like a ribbon.

Rhano surfaced beside him, coughing for breath. His eyes were wide and filled with water. Jerric braced a hand against the wall and put out the other to steady his friend.

“That was far,” Rhano finally rasped. “We must be getting near the shore inside this cliff.” He cast his eyes up. “I wonder if we could make it up there? I see a bunch of cracks we could use to climb.”

“I don’t know. It’s almost close enough to push against both walls. That would make it easy.” Jerric floated on his back, looking up. “I guess that would surprise some birds.”

“Maybe up ahead,” said Rhano.

“Yeah. Let’s see where this goes. I think you’re right, this crack follows the shore line.” Jerric didn’t know how he could feel which way he was facing, but he trusted it.

The canyon led to another cavern, this one three times bigger than the last and partially open to the sky. Rocks poked up above the water’s surface around the edges, encrusted above the water line with red and pink barnacles. Light streamed down through the clear water. Jerric could see brilliant green weeds waving beneath his feet. Tiny glints of orange and blue flashed through them. Little fish, he realized. Where the last chamber had been dim and empty, this cavern teemed with life. “Is it magic?” Jerric whispered.

“It’s a grotto.” Rhano’s voice was just as soft. “I wonder if a sea nymph lives here. I heard Heinrich Oaken-Hull telling Newheim the Small that he’s seen new nymphs down at the harbor.”

Jerric looked around quickly. “I don’t think it’s deep enough in here,” he said doubtfully. “What do they eat? Can they summon anything?” He wondered how big a sea nymph was. He knew that forest nymphs could be hostile if you bothered them, and their summoned bears were as dangerous as regular ones.

“You’re right,” Rhano said, relief in his voice. “I bet they only come here to look, like we are.”

The boys paddled around the cavern, pointing out wonders to each other. Sharp barnacles kept them from climbing very high on the rocks, but there was plenty to discover in the water. At first they thought the wandering shells belonged to some kind of fast-moving snail. “Nomad crabs!” Rhano exclaimed when he picked one up. They had a contest to see who could find the smallest one. They did see black and purple banded eels in the weeds, but they were as thin as Jerric’s finger and only as long as his hand.

“I’m starving,” Jerric finally said with deep regret. He wished they could stay in the grotto forever.

“Me too. And we can’t drink seawater. We should head back, I think the tide has turned.”

Jerric had a bad moment in the tunnel on the way back to the first chamber. He could see light from more than one distant source when he faced this direction. A hand on his heel told him Rhano was right behind him. The tunnel on the right looked the brightest. It’s the middle one, he thought. There was no time to debate with himself. He headed into the middle tunnel, trusting his gut.

Moments later they burst into the niche in the side of the low chamber. Jerric glared at Rhano as he wheezed for breath. “I hope you liked swimming through my piss,” Jerric choked. “What in the blazing Deadlands were you thinking when you grabbed my foot?”

“I was thinking, move your backside, frosty.” Rhano coughed right in Jerric’s face, but Jerric thought it sounded better than hearing him drown.

Jerric crawled over the submerged rocks until he could stand, then he picked his way to the pool’s edge. Rhano’s sharp cry filled the cavern. Jerric whirled to find him on his side in the niche, arms braced to hold himself above the surface. One ankle looked caught between two rocks under the clear water. As Jerric splashed and slipped over to him, his stomach clenched with alarm. Rhano’s foot was not pointing the way it should.

Rhano ground his teeth while Jerric freed his ankle. Then he let loose with a stream of cursing that would have made a sailor proud.

“You can’t swim out like this,” Jerric said when Rhano stopped for breath. “And it’s too far for me to pull you.”

“I know,” Rhano gritted. “You have to go get my Fa. He can pull me out with a rope.”

“I have to stay with you until the tide turns again so I can help you swim in here,” said Jerric. “There won’t be any rocks to hold on to. This part will be flooded.”

He could see that Rhano knew he was right. Jerric found a spot where Rhano could lie against some rocks a little less painfully. He looked around the chamber and made his plan. “We could use Llyrela’s Helm of Fin Gleam right now. Wouldn’t it be great if she popped up in here looking for treasure?”

“Yeah,” said Rhano. His voice sounded tight. “No one’s seen her all summer, though. I guess she finally struck it rich.”

They boys sat quietly. Jerric listened to the birds and the water, thinking of sunken treasure. “Maybe the sea-sirens will come for us,” Jerric said after a while. “They rescue lost sailors, and you can breathe water when you’re with them.”

Rhano’s eyes widened with horror. “The sea-sirens sing the men into the water, Jerric. They drag them down to their sea castles so they can,” his voice dropped to a dreadful whisper, “marry them.”

Jerric eyed his friend. “Uh, Rhano, I think we might be a little too young for that. So if they come for us, I think we should go.”

“Would you go with a spriggan if one found you lost in the woods?” Rhano demanded.

Jerric considered the question. “I guess that would depend on if she saw me with an axe.” He watched Rhano for a moment. “Would it help if you put your leg on me? We’ll be here for hours until the tide turns again. I guess I can stand your rotten foot.”

They shifted again, and this time Rhano’s pain showed in his ragged breathing. His skin felt a little cold. He’s only half Nord, Jerric remembered. He looked around the chamber some more, trying to think of something to amuse his friend. “The barnacles in here are up on the walls,” he remarked. “It looks like the tide band on the dock pilings. You can really see how low the mid-summer tides are when you look at the lines in here.”

Rhano pushed himself up until he was sitting. “Jerric.”

His friend’s dread froze Jerric’s skin. “What?”

“Look where the line is.”

Comprehension came with fear that clenched his heart. Normal high tide would have them floating within a few feet of the ceiling. This incoming tide would dash their heads against it, or possibly flood the chamber entirely. “What are we going to do?” Jerric whispered.

“You have to go now,” Rhano told him. “You can make it.” His face said otherwise.

“I’m not leaving you. I can keep our heads off the rocks.” Jerric’s gut told him it wasn’t true.

Rhano’s hand found Jerric’s and clung like he was already drowning. “You have to go.” Rhano’s eyes seemed to fill his face.

Rhano is right, thought Jerric. I have to go.

They arranged Rhano on the submerged rocks without speaking. Jerric moved carefully to the edge. “I’ll come back for you.” He took a few quick breaths. “I’ll make it.”

“Jerric, wait!” Jerric looked back at his friend. “Don’t eat lunch first.” Rhano’s grin looked strained in his ashen face.

“I’ll just stop for a quick sweetroll.” Jerric forced a smile. Then he turned and dove into the pool.

Posted by: mALX Aug 8 2011, 05:09 PM

ARGH !! Tales from Homer's Iliad and Odyssey!! I love it, and the setting is perfect for it to show up! My fave quote here:

Jerric's stomach obviously already a huge part of him in his early years, ROFL !!! (Now there is a line that will draw Foxy in, lol) Great Write !!!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 8 2011, 08:36 PM

What a fun little adventure! I always loved exploring new places!

Oh no! Rhano broke his foot/ankle! Ugh, and the cavern might flood with the incoming tide! Argh!

Don't leave cliff hanging too long this time! I know Rhano survives, cuz he shows up in the game, but still -!

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 8 2011, 11:40 PM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vbg7YoXiKn0 is some music to read by.

Eels like dark places, he suddenly remembered. So do sea serpents.
So do Creatures of the Black Lagoon!

Newheim the Small that he’s seen new nymphs down at the harbor.
It seems Newheim has bulked up since those old days! I wonder how much those 'nymphs' charged him per hour?

“We could use Llyrela’s Helm of Fin Gleam right now
Another wonderful little tie into the game. I suspect that rather than striking it rich, something else struck at Llyrela!

“I guess that would depend on if she saw me with an axe.”
I loved Jerric and Rhano's debate over mermaids/sirens/spriggans, especially this answer!

Well this continues to be a fun romp. With a cliffhanger ending! Now I cannot wait to see whether Jerric makes it back in time (although since Rhano is alive in the JF, I can assume he does... )



nits:
Maybe the mermaids will come for us,
You might want to go with sea nymphs here instead. The trouble with mermaids in an ES story is that "mer" means elf, so in Tamriel that word basically means elf-girls, such a Buffy.

Posted by: Acadian Aug 9 2011, 12:22 AM

This was great fun to read. Humor, adventure, breath holding, suspense and danger! You are adding some wonderful depth to both Jerric and Rhano here.

I love descriptions that give dimensions as you have in this episode. Not in conventional measurements, but it terms of something the character is very familiar with. The trick is to select comparisons that fit the character while at the same time portray the intended size with perfect clarity to the reader. You nailed it beautifully in both these passages:
'as wide as his bedchamber and high enough for his Fa to stand up in it.'
'as long as a caravan wagon with its team of six horses.'

'They drag them down to their sea castles so they can,” his voice dropped to a dreadful whisper, “marry them.”

Hee! I never thought about SubRosa's point of mermaid = elf girl, but it does make sense.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 10 2011, 01:18 AM

First there was this:

Now I know from this that the two boys are close enough to gauge what each other is thinking. Then there was this:

Now I know that all the dunking and good-natured ribbing masks a real affection that the boys have for each other

The rest of this chapter is just filled with moments like that. They draw us into a feeling of empathy with the boys. That's why I got the chills when they realized that high tide would see the chamber fill. Even though I know Rhano makes it out alive (I saw him today as a matter of fact), I'm still on pins and needles here.

Fantastic!

Posted by: Grits Aug 11 2011, 12:59 PM

mALX: It has been so hot and dry here, I keep thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if we had a nice tropical sea to go with the weather. I’d settle for the Mediterranean. I guess Jerric never lost that urgent, growing boy hunger. I know you’ve seen that in action! Thanks, mALX!

haute ecole rider: I’m glad you liked their grotto adventure. Fear not, Anvil’s future Blade trainer will keep his chin up!

SubRosa: Oh, good point about the mer-maids! I changed it. I was completely creeping myself out with the dark tunnel. I’m glad you enjoyed the little game references. It all started with the sweetroll. Now it’s time to get poor Rhano out from under the cliff. I love that song, thank you for the music! This episode doesn’t have a train, but there is a skinny boy running.

Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed the dimensions. Jerric is still likely to estimate using unconventional measurements, at least when he’s just thinking. Of course Darnand would have said, “The diameter is approximately nineteen feet, seven inches.” It was fun to imagine what a boy might think about his situation. For example, in the next section when we know that Jerric must be crusty with salt, sweat, sand, and dust, he just doesn’t notice.

Destri Melarg: I was definitely trusting in everyone’s willingness to come along for the ride, writing a story where everyone knows the end. I am delighted to hear about the chills, pins, and needles. The boys certainly don’t know that they’re going to be all right. Of course their friendship is the part that I wanted to convey the most. It means so much to hear that it's coming across.



Tides: The Last Part

Jerric’s feet flew over the sand as he ran back toward Anvil. Who should I bring to help Rhano, he wondered. First decide that, then decide which way to go.

Rhano had asked for his Fa. Jerric rejected that idea immediately. There was no way anyone could pull Rhano fast enough with a rope, and Ongve might be too broad to even make it through the tunnel. Maybe if they had a boat with a winch, then Jerric could swim a rope in, but there was no time to organize rowers or wait for the wind.

Jerric’s eyes found the lighthouse. Still too small. He let the panic drive his legs faster, and his mind cleared again.

Magic. The thought came with calm certainty. Magic would let them breathe water, and give them time to swim out. Mages have to be smart, so a mage would see that he had to help Rhano. The Mages Guild hall was right by Anvil’s Main Gate. I’ll run through Westgate to the Mages Guild, he decided.

The streets were half-full of folk on foot, even in the heat. Jerric slowed down only enough to avoid bumping anyone. Running away from shouting adults was a good way to meet some of Anvil’s city guards, and Jerric thought that he had met enough of them already. He glanced up at the sun. Well past mid-day. He would only have one chance to convince the mages. By the time he ran to find Rhano’s parents at the harbor, it would be too late.

When Jerric saw the giant evergreen oak inside the Main Gate, he knew he had almost reached the guild halls. A few breaths later, he darted under the portico of the Mages Guild and hit the door running. It swung open almost weightlessly, and he found himself leaping down an unexpected set of steps into the entry chamber. His bare feet slid on the cool tiles when he landed. A wide counter rose in front of him, holding a row of gleaming glass objects. The Altmer standing there looked as fancy as a countess. She glanced up from her book.

“My friend is trapped!” Jerric gasped.

“We will alert a member of the city guard for you, child,” she told him kindly. “This is the Guild of Mages.”

“No!” Jerric tried to explain. Organize your words, he heard his Ma telling him. “He’s trapped under water. In a sea cave. It’s too far for him to swim, he hurt his leg. I need magic to save him. You have magic! We have to hurry, the tide!”

Jerric found himself being turned by the shoulders. Blazing red eyes stared out of a gray-green face. A dark elf mage, Jerric’s mind whispered in awe. Concern filled the mer's wrinkled face. “Calm, lad. You have found help for your friend. Now tell me, where is this cave?”

Jerric blurted his story to the Dunmer. He couldn’t imagine how this old mer in a silken robe could help him, but need made him trust.

Someone put a mug in Jerric’s hands. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he tasted water, sweet and clean. “Run to the Dock Gate, I will meet you there,” the Dunmer told him. “I will only be a moment behind you.” The mage gave Jerric’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “As you said, lad, we have magic. Do not go on without me. You are the one who must take me to the cave.”

As Jerric worked his way back toward the harbor, the mage’s words kept his purpose clear above the fear that sped his feet. Don’t change the plan, he told himself when he reached the Dock Gate. You are the one who must bring the mage to Rhano.

Jerric spent only moments dancing with impatience before a dark elf approached him. “Lead the way, lad,” the mer said.

Jerric stared at him. This Dunmer wore a faded linen tunic and breeches. His silver-streaked hair was tied at his neck.

“Make haste, lad! I will keep up.” The mer released a swirl of magicka from his fist.

It’s the mage, Jerric realized. He’s using spells to be fast. Jerric whirled toward the gate and took off running again.

When they reached the sea cliffs, Jerric was gasping for breath. The Dunmer dropped his shoulder bag on the sand and began to quickly organize his supplies. He buttoned potion bottles into his pockets.

“That rope’s not long enough!” cried Jerric, jumping with urgency.

The mer gave him a solemn look as he worked.

It’s not for leading Rhano out, Jerric realized with a sickening lurch. It’s for trussing his body in case he’s… Jerric sprinted into the sea and started swimming.

The surf had picked up considerably. Jerric worried that silt would cloud the tunnel, obscuring their way out. He cast his eyes up and saw no clouds. Maybe the light will still show us, he thought. Jerric had never been inside a chapel, but he knew what his Fa would say. Kyne, bless us with sunlight.

“I see the cave,” the Dunmer called from the water. “Go back to the beach, lad! I must reserve the potions for your friend.”

Jerric knew he should obey. He took a few quick breaths. I told him I’d come back for him, Jerric thought. I told him I’d make it. The first thing he sees is going to be me.

The Dunmer’s shout was lost under the waves as Jerric dove.

The surge pulled harder now, but it pushed him as well. Jerric’s pounding heart demanded more air, and his chest heaved with effort. Should have waited outside, he realized as water leaked into his nose. His head burst through the surface as a wave crested inside the cavern, sending his face frighteningly close to the rocks.

Rhano had wedged himself into a crack high in the wall. Jerric could see his head and shoulders above the water. The Dunmer surfaced between them almost immediately. Rhano glanced at him, then his eyes went back to Jerric.

“Potion,” gasped Jerric, struggling to snort the water back out. He had no time to feel relieved.

Rhano’s reply was made incoherent by his chattering teeth. By the time Jerric reached them, the mage had a potion bottle in his hand.

The mer’s red eyes were not pleased when he looked at Jerric. “Go when your wind returns, and not before,” he told Jerric. “I want you to swim out first, in case you have difficulty. I see that your friend here is a brave lad, and he will be right behind you. You need not fear for him. Getting yourself out safely is now your only concern.”

Jerric had never felt so foolish. He grabbed the edge of the rock to hold himself steady. When he was finally ready, the Dunmer administered the potion to Rhano.

Rhano cooperated without questions. “It will turn the water to air as you breathe, lad,” the mer told him. “You will see clearly. If something should alarm you, close your eyes and do not struggle. I will pull us out by gripping the rocks. I need you to hold on to me. Are you able?”

Rhano nodded. Jerric pushed back to the middle of the pool. “See you out there,” he said, then he dove to the tunnel at the bottom of the cavern.

A pale green light touched the rocks under the water, and Jerric realized that the mage was the source. He wondered what the mer had seen on the way in that made him warn Rhano. Best not to think about it, Jerric decided. He kicked against the surge with all of his strength. Best not to put your hand on it, either. He shuddered every time he had to reach into blurry darkness.

Shadows gave way to open blue water, then the cloudless summer sky. Jerric closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun while he caught his breath. The waves lifted and dropped him playfully. After a moment he opened his eyes and looked around. Rhano and the Dunmer were not with him.

By the time Jerric had started to fill his lungs to dive back down, he saw their heads break the surface near the beach. They swam underwater, he realized. Maybe that was easier than fighting the surf. Relief made his limbs feel weak. He rolled onto his back and kicked for the shore.

Jerric felt calm again by the time he reached them. Rhano sat shivering on the sand, his face tight with pain. The Dunmer knelt beside him. “The bone is broken, but it will be easy to heal,” said the mer. “May I?”

Rhano tried to pull away. “No! My mother…”

“They don’t trust magic,” Jerric explained. “We’re in a lot of trouble already. I know we won’t be allowed in the sea caves any more. I guess that’s all right, though. But if you healed him… They would be more mad.”

“I expect the sea caves have lost their appeal for your friend,” the Dunmer said gently. Jerric saw that Rhano’s bleak face held more than pain. “Allow me to splint the ankle, and we will carry him home.” Rhano nodded to the mage. “This is going to be uncomfortable,” the Dunmer warned him.

Rhano’s fingers felt stiff and cold. “Zombie hand,” Jerric whispered. Rhano didn’t smile, but at least he squeezed back.

The mer carefully adjusted Rhano’s ankle. “That’s nothing,” Jerric said to cover Rhano’s gasp. “See that scar on his arm? A bone was sticking out, and he hardly even cried.” The Dunmer began binding Rhano’s leg. “You do it like my brother,” Jerric told him.

“The Anvil chapter of my guild specializes in teaching restoration magic,” the mage remarked. “However, I imagine a Nord lad might have more experience with this technique.” His red eyes looked friendly again. “I am pleased that you approve.”

“I’ll carry you,” Jerric told Rhano. His friend’s silence was beginning to worry him. The Dunmer hoisted Rhano onto Jerric’s back, and they began their slow progress down the beach. Jerric stepped carefully to avoid jarring Rhano’s ankle. “I’ll pay you back,” Jerric told the mage. “It might take a long time, though.”

The Dunmer walked along beside Jerric as if they were simply out for a stroll. “Do you lads live in Anvil?” he asked. His tone sounded mild and companionable.

Jerric decided to do the talking. “Rhano does, but I’m from Kvatch. I’m staying with him for the summer.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be ten in Sun’s Dusk,” Jerric told him proudly. “Rhano turns ten next month, but I’m already bigger than him.” He waited for Rhano to point out that he was faster, but he stayed silent.

The mage looked them over with an amused smile. “I expect that will not change. You are blessed by the Atronach, lad. Do you know what that means?”

“I won’t have any magicka,” said Jerric. “It’s all right, I’m going to be a caravan guard.”

“You will not have any magicka of your own, but there will be many ways you can acquire it. Has no one explained this to you?”

Jerric shook his head. Part of him resented the implied criticism, but most of him felt desperately curious.

“Think of it this way,” said the Dunmer. “Each mortal is a vessel of a different size that can hold magicka. Most of us fill up slowly like a well.” He paused, looking over at Jerric.

“But I’m not a well,” Jerric guessed. “I’ll never fill up. How is that a blessing?”

“You can fill up, lad. You might gain magicka from a potion, or from an Ayleid well. Some stones collect magicka that you might learn to use. But the most important way, the way that will be useful for a caravan guard, is by reaping the magicka from the spells of others. You might absorb any sort of magical attack, even curses that are intended for you. When you absorb the magicka, you take it away from the spell. Then the attack cannot hurt you.”

Jerric felt awe prickle over his skin. “So when my brother Rothmund got burned by a hedge wizard, that might not happen to me?”

“It will still sometimes happen,” the Dunmer told him. “You will never know in advance which attacks will harm you, and which will provide you with magicka. There are spells and enchantments that can increase a person’s chance of absorbing an attack. Perhaps you will want to learn about them when you are older.”

Jerric could tell that there was more. He saved his breath for walking.

After a moment the mage continued. “I mentioned that everyone is a vessel of a certain size. Nords tend to begin as smaller vessels, but with effort they might make themselves hold more magicka. The stars gave you a gift, lad. If you choose to study magic, you will begin with power that might rival a young Altmer's.”

Jerric halted, stunned. He felt Rhano’s arms tighten around his neck. “Jerric, no,” Rhano whispered.

The Dunmer stopped and looked back at them. “Where do you live, lads? I shall see you to your door, but I imagine your explanations will be easier absent my presence.”

“Westgate,” Jerric said. They began walking again. “We won’t tell a lie, sir. Ongve might come to speak with you, that’s Rhano’s Fa. We’ll have told him the truth.” Jerric swallowed the lump in his throat. He would get a thrashing over this adventure for certain, as Rhano would when his leg healed. Ongve had heavy hands and the conviction that discipline was as important as nourishing food. Jerric’s own Fa was far more lenient with him. “I said I’d pay you back, but I don’t know how. Do you have any work I could do?”

The Dunmer looked him over as they walked. Jerric braced himself for ridicule, but the mage’s voice stayed kind. “You look strong enough to split wood for the kitchen, but I have a better idea, if you are willing. Come to the guild hall and ask for me. The meadows are full of alchemy ingredients in the summer, and there are never enough hands to gather them. I will instruct you on their proper collection, and apply what you earn as credit toward the potion I used. Does that sound acceptable?”

“Yeah,” Jerric breathed in relief. His manners returned in a rush. “I mean, yes, sir. Sera. Thank you.” he felt a grin split his face.

The mage glanced over with an answering smile. “Master Relas,” he said.

“Yes, Master Relas. I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 11 2011, 02:01 PM

Ooh, I luuurve Master Relas in this! He is just as I imagined him!

Wonder what it was Rhano saw on his way out to make him so untalkative? Not a good thing, I suppose.

If you've been having hot and dry weather there, no wonder you've been writing about seaside adventures! For me the antidote for that kind of weather is to write about mountains, cold and snow. Works every time! Of course, when it's dark and freezing cold outside in the middle of January, I love to write about warm seaside places! Like Anvil.

Jerric's determination to be the first face Rhano sees is admirable, though by that point I imagine Rhano would be happy to see any friendly face.

Well done!

Posted by: mALX Aug 11 2011, 04:31 PM

@ Grits - I don't have time to read this right now, but I'll be back to read it when I get home tonight (or tomorrow morning if the trip gives me a headache, lol - truth, I get "road eyes" after long drives, lol).

Posted by: ghastley Aug 11 2011, 05:02 PM

I'm not quite seeing how a water breathing potion is acceptable magic, but healing isn't. Rhano's parents wouldn't know he'd been injured in the first place, so both leave him in the same state in which he left home. This way makes the use of the potion come out in the open, so I'd have expected the logic to have been "we've started, so we have to finish" with the use of magic.

However, I'm not a ten-year old kid thinking it through.

Posted by: Acadian Aug 12 2011, 12:31 AM

A heart pounding episode until Rhano was safe! You beautifully maintained what felt to be a most appropriate pacing as Jerric flew here and raced there. Necessarily your descriptions had to be light, but they nevertheless unobtrusively and fully immersed us into what was happening.

Then, as much as I love Jerric and Rhano, Master Relas stole the show! I heartily echo Rider's praise for how perfectly you portrayed him here. Wow!

Master Relas' explanation of the atronach birthsign, in terms that were both encouraging and appropriate for a ten year old, was magnificent and it was truly beautiful of him to fill the young Nord with reasonable hope and expectations.

I loved how Rhano was so sober and quiet that nothing could get him talking. . . UNTIL the possibility of Jerric becoming a mage rose its horrifying head!

I have no problem distinguishing alchemy from the other magical disciplines. I can see where rangers, foresters , wood elves, thieves and even farmers might perhaps become quite skilled with it. In fact I can see that those who would eschew spellcasting might readily embrace alchemical alternatives. Plus, escaping that water cave was notably more important than healing a clean ankle fracture. Although I see wise ghastley's point, it was certainly not a concern for me as written.

Posted by: Destri Melarg Aug 12 2011, 05:05 AM

Interesting point. My own understanding of Redguard thinking on the matter is that it has to do with the fact that a potion is the magicka distilled from the essence of plant or animal. In that sense it is more akin to science than magic. Even the most magic-phobic Redguard will swill a healing potion if he needs it. A potion still qualifies as magic in the strictest sense, but it is not drawing upon some arcane internal force in order to bend (or break) the laws of nature.

Of course I might be completely wrong.

Acadian already mentioned my favorite part of this episode. I could just see the look on Rhano’s face at the suggestion that his beloved friend might someday become *gasp* a mage.


Is this Relas’ tactful way of insinuating that Nords are dumb?

Posted by: mALX Aug 12 2011, 06:22 AM

So this is the beginning of Jerric's interest in magic. The scenes were very visually written, and the Dunmer - really interesting how he cued in on Jerric and knew he'd be curious about the magic. Your descriptions of how the magic works, the birthsigns, and the diffs between magic and potions was absolutely perfect !!! Awesome Write !!!

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 12 2011, 07:54 PM

Running away from shouting adults was a good way to meet some of Anvil’s city guards, and Jerric thought that he had met enough of them already.
This was not only cute, but also explains why Jerric does not go to the nearest city guard and ask for help. Like Teresa, he has learned not to expect anything from them but trouble.

The Altmer standing there looked as fancy as a countess.
We do not have to guess who that is!

Felen to the rescue! You never know when you're going to need a good strong potion. Like this. How like Jerric to dive in ahead of the dark elf. Even after told to wait outside.

I see that Rhano, or his parents at least, possess the classic Redguard prejudice against magic. It seems that Rhano managed to avoid picking up the same opinion. At least not to the same degree, as we see him help Jerric spar with Darnand's summonings when they are grown-ups. Perhaps this experience taught him to look at magic a little differently?

Posted by: Grits Aug 12 2011, 09:45 PM

The story is over, and thank you for reading it! I appreciate the thought-provoking comments and discussion very much. I plan to get back to Jerric’s Story next week. I ended up dumping an entire chapter. It was painful, but I’m moving on.


haute ecole rider: I hoped you would like Master Relas! For all of his velvet and powder, I see him as someone who would spring into action. After all, Carahil has no tolerance for mages who are useless in the field. That’s why I had him lead the Anvil guild’s expedition to Kvatch after the attack. You are so right, I’m sure Rhano would have even gone with the sea-sirens by the time Jerric got back. Of course, Jerric’s decision-making process hasn’t changed much since he was nine. Whatever Felen and Rhano saw, it was bad enough to keep Felen from offering Jerric a potion. Two freaked out kids in a narrow underwater tunnel would be a little much for him to handle.


mALX: Exactly, Felen looked at this wide-eyed Nord kid and saw a future battlemage. Of course if Jerric had announced that his ambition was to join the Weavers Guild instead of being a guard, the conversation might have gone differently. Also Jerric demonstrated an independent way of thinking by going to the Mages Guild for help, not to mention the disregard for his own safety that would allow him to eventually jump through an Oblivion Gate. Happily for Jerric, Felen could see the potential in his behavior.


ghastley: I’m really glad you brought that up. The water breathing potion was just less unacceptable than letting yourself drown. The main issue that the boys were worried about was getting a mage involved. The potion saved Rhano’s life, but healing the ankle would have been unnecessary. At their age they wouldn’t have the judgment to decide that alteration and healing aren’t as bad as summoning or illusion, they would just have been told to stay away from spellcasters. I didn’t mention it in the story, but I think the Mages Guild at that time would still be loaded with necromancers. That would make all mages extremely suspect to folks like Rhano’s mom who already have a deep mistrust of magic users.

The second thing is that both boys have a sense of honor that won’t allow them to lie, and in their minds not telling Rhano’s parents what happened would be a kind of lying. So healing the ankle and not mentioning the incident wouldn’t work for them. Jerric offered to pay for the potion not to hide it from Ongve, but because he felt responsible for bringing the Mages Guild into the situation. The boys know each other well enough to not need to discuss it. Many kids would have gone the way of the cover-up, which is why Jerric mentioned to Felen that they would tell the truth. In the end the boys would have been punished for putting themselves into the situation more than for saving Rhano with a potion. Ongve would have insisted that Jerric fulfill his promise to Felen, which would result in him spending even more time with the mages. Good for Jerric, upsetting for Rhano’s mom.


Acadian: You make a good point about potions vs. spells. I think alchemy works much better as a regular skill in a magical world the way you describe it and the way I think it will be in Skyrim. I’ve gone the way of drawing mystical properties out of the ingredients in my story, but Darnand came up with an answer for me to fix it, I think.

You picked out the moment where Jerric and Rhano’s troubles begin. It will be another eight years and a bit before they join their guilds, but after that whisper Jerric starts keeping some things to himself. I’m so glad Felen stole the show! Now you see why he has such a soft spot for the battlemage and reluctant alchemist that he recruited. Thank you for your kind words about Felen’s character. It was fun to show why he means a lot to Jerric.


Destri Melarg: All I know about Redguard thinking and magic comes from Trayvond the Redguard in the game, so I was interested to hear what you have learned. I think a potion in Hammerfell would be more trustworthy than a potion in Cyrodiil, where necromancy is at this time still accepted. Even a healing potion could come from a human heart, or a fortify health potion could contain zombie flesh. Some of it would also depend on the potion. An invisibility potion would still be tampering with the mind, for example. The families’ caravans would certainly carry a supply of healing potions, and I would expect at least some of their guards and scouts to use enchantments. But kids often overhear much more than they are told, and the talk at Rhano‘s house about magic users would probably be negative.

Poor Rhano, I’m sure he worried that his buddy would head straight out to the cemetery and start digging up bodies. That moment that you and Acadian picked out was pretty much the reason for the story, so I am very pleased that it stood out for you.


SubRosa: Rhano definitely shares his mother’s mistrust of magic, and that’s the basis for his future conflict with Jerric. When Jerric joins the Fighters Guild after Kvatch and asks Rhano if he will be able to get over it and train him, he means get over Jerric being a battlemage. It took an army of actual daedra burning Kvatch to the ground to get Rhano to cooperate with training against a summoned dremora. Carahil had a similar change of heart when she recommended that Jerric go to Chorrol and learn more about daedric conjuring.

I’m glad you liked the line about meeting too many guards. I’m sure Jerric earned every cross word he got from them.

Posted by: King Coin Aug 13 2011, 02:47 AM

That fun adventure sure turned sour.
I wouldn’t be in there that’s for sure.

---------------------------

Hoo I wonder if Rhano hates magic like most Redguards do.
Jerric shoulda woulda coulda stayed out like the dark elf said.
“Do you lads live in Anvil?” He’s looking for payment lol.
Ah hah. So Rhano disapproves of magic. That explains the cold shoulder in the fighter’s guild that I recently read.

-----------------------------

What a nice little story
It lays a little ground work on how Jerric became a battle mage as well.

Posted by: treydog Aug 14 2011, 01:08 AM

This was simply a wonderful break- as well as showing us how Jerric and Rhano became who they are. Short stories are among the hardest to write- and you do it with all of your considerable talent.

Others have ninja'd my favorite quotes (darned short dachshund legs!) so I will content myself with

S.G.M.

Posted by: Grits Jul 15 2012, 08:06 PM

Jerric’s Story has accumulated a lot of characters, many of whom have names that are longer than their roles. Plus there are a couple of little stories floating around with some of the same characters. I made a list of them mostly to keep myself from using the same name twice (or giving the same person two different names, sorry about that Simeon), but here there are in case anyone wants to refresh their memory in the years between a character’s appearances.

Posted by: mALX Jul 15 2012, 08:12 PM

GAAAAH!!! Where's the list? Urk?

Posted by: Grits Jul 15 2012, 08:18 PM

.

A listing of original characters with mention of any significant connections to Bethesda's characters. As long as there's a story to tell, this will be a work in progress.



Abiene Metonne: Breton woman born under the sign of the Ritual, healer, eldest child of the Metonnes of Leyawiin, younger sister Sidette.

Achille Penoit: Breton man of Chorrol, Darnand's older half-brother, only child of Ranier Penoit and his first wife.

Adrien Metonne: Breton man of Leyawiin, husband of Solene, father of Abiene and Sidette.

Aelindor: Bosmer man, former head of the Mages Guild's Skingrad chapter.

Agda: Nord woman of Hrotanda Vale, smuggler.

Alba Olivera: Imperial woman of Chorrol, city guard Constable.

Amber: Imperial woman of Bruma, guild prostitute.

Anette Lavois: Breton woman of Weye, Dionne's daughter.

Antistia: Imperial woman of Skingrad.

Asgerd: Nord woman of Bruma, chapter head of the Bruma Fighters Guild.

Balbus: Imperial man of Anvil, unemployed, romantically involved with Honoria.

Banner: Darnand's bay gelding.

Bertille: Breton woman of Anvil, cook for the Mages Guild.

Bog Trawler: Nord man of Anvil, longshoreman.

Brocchus: Imperial man of Kvatch, prison guard.

Bryndis: Nord woman of Bruma, guild Prostitute.

Bugshat: orc man of Bruma, cook at the Bruma Fighters Guild.

Burrus: Redguard man of Anvil, Anvil City Guardsman.

Carla: Breton woman of Bruma, guild Prostitute.

Carmia: Imperial woman of Gnoll's Meeting Camp, mother of Faustino and Lavina, cook.

Cordus: Imperial man of Cloud Ruler Temple, retired Blade, mender, executive in charge of laundry operation.

Darnand Penoit: Breton man born under the sign of the Apprentice, mage, only child of Ranier Penoit and his second wife, older half-brother Achille.

Daron: Redguard man of Kvatch, retired Fighters Guild trainer, blademaster.

Delain: Breton man of Cloud Ruler Temple, Caroline's son.

Dionne Lavois: Breton woman of Weye, mother of Anette.

Domitius: Imperial man of Garlas Malatar, necromancer, killed by Lildereth.

Donrehdil: Bosmer woman from Silvenar, Thaurron's late wife.

Fandius Terentius: Imperial man of County Bravil, nephew of Count Regulus Terentius.

Faustino: Imperial boy of Gnoll's Meeting Camp, Carmia's son, Lavina's older brother.

Fidella: Imperial girl of Kvatch, employee of The Rambling Rose Bathhouse and Brothel, aspiring prostitute.

Fjirsten: Nord girl of Kvatch, eldest child of Kolr and Svanja, Hrolgar's older sister, Jerric's niece.

Flash: Prior Maborel's paint horse.

Foul Festia: Toothless Imperial woman, drifter.

Fullo Macula: Imperial man of Anvil, Fighters Guild porter.

Fylkr: Nord boy of Hrotanda Vale, Valdi's brother.

Garond: Breton man of Cloud Ruler Temple, Blades smith.

Gerd the Unknown: Nord woman of Hrotanda Vale, smuggler.

Gjaever: Nord man of Bruma, Fighters Guild member.

Glafeviel: Bosmer woman, Journeyman of the Mages Guild.

Gudrid: Captain of the Bruma County Militia.

Gwylen: Brown-eyed and dimpled Bosmer woman of the Imperial City, Apprentice of the Mages Guild, works at the Arcane University.

Hastus: Imperial man of Chorrol, bathhouse proprietor.

Hegen: Nord man of Hrotanda Vale, smuggler.

Hjordhild: Nord woman of Anvil, head cook for the Mages Guild.

Honoria: Redguard woman of Anvil, baker, resident of Westgate, romantically involved with Balbus.

Hrolgar: Nord boy of Kvatch, youngest child of Svanja and Kolr, Fjirsten's brother, Jerric's nephew.

Igren: Breton man of Hope Valley, community leader and kahve farmer.

Ilmerion: Altmer man of the Imperial City, necromancer, resides at Ilmerion Manor in the Talos Plaza District.

Ilonea: Imperial woman of Leyawiin, wife of Revilius, the Metonnes' housekeeper.

Ipean: Jesan Rilian's horse.

Irmarus Hetarian: Imperial man of Kvatch.

Ishckrihk: Jerric's summoned frost atronach.

Jaan: Nord man of Bruma, smith at the Bruma Fighters Guild.

Jerric Kjellingson: Nord man of Kvatch, born under the sign of the Atronach, battlemage, youngest son of Kjelling and Sonstra, older brothers Rothmund and Petr, older sisters Selka and Svanja.

Jytte: Nord woman of County Bruma, County Bruma Militia member, killed in battle at the Maiden Springs Gate.

Kip: Jerric's chestnut gelding.

Kjelling: Nord man of Kvatch, Sonstra's husband, father of Rothmund, Petr, Selka, Svanja, and Jerric.

Kjestrid: Nord woman of Bruma, Fighters Guild member.

Lason: Redguard man of Gnoll's Meeting Camp.

Lavina: Imperial girl of Gnoll's Meeting Camp, Carmia's daughter, Faustino's younger sister.

Lildereth: Bosmer woman, Journeyman of the Cyrodiil Mages Guild.

Livius: Imperial man, Legion soldier, veteran of the Battle for Kvatch.

Llyrela: Dunmer woman of Anvil in Jerric's youth, owner of the enchanted Helm of Fin Gleam.

Lorna: Imperial woman of Leyawiin, hairdresser.

Luco Nufurio: Imperial man of Kvatch, Jerric's friend since childhood.

Mahvash: Redguard woman of Cloud Ruler Temple, Blades smith.

Marcellus Illio: Imperial man of Anvil, constable of Anvil City Guard.

Marsten: Nord male of County Bruma, County Bruma Militia member.

Masavo: Imperial man, Legion archer, veteran of the Battle for Kvatch.

Matilene: Breton woman of Gnoll's Meeting Camp, prostitute.

Meja: Nord woman of Kvatch, husband Rothmund, son Willem; Jerric's sister-in-law.

Melandiril: Altmer man of the Imperial City, employed by Ilmerion.

Mivanu Brenos: Dunmer woman of Blacklight, Redoran Guard Captain.

Nahdari: Khajiit woman of Valenwood, Lildereth's childhood friend.

Nereli Llandam: Dunmer woman of Mattapi, local militia scout, member of House Redoran.

Nunzio: Imperial man of Bruma, Fighters Guild porter.

Ongve: Nord man of Anvil, founding partner of Running Wolf Postal and Freight, Shasana's husband, Rhano's father.

Orianne Fournier: Breton woman of Chorrol, owner and proprietor of the restaurant House of Fournier, wife of Thierre Fournier.

Paetus: Imperial man, Legion soldier, veteran of the Battle for Kvatch.

Perien: Breton man of the Imperial City, Apprentice of the Mages Guild, works at the Arcane University.

Perius: Imperial man of Bruma, Fighters Guild member.

Precious: Jerric's summoned scamp.

Ranier Penoit: Breton man of Chorrol, sons Achille and Darnand.

Raufin: Nord woman of Mattapi, local militia member, deceased.

Revilius: Imperial man of Leyawiin, husband of Ilonea, the Metonnes' handyman.

Rhea: Nord woman of Bruma, Fighters Guild member.

Rose: A horse.

Rothmund: Nord man of Kvatch, wife Meja, son Willem; Jerric's older brother.

Rudy the Squint: Redguard man of Kvatch, Jerric's friend since childhood.

Rullus: Imperial man of Weye.

Sa-Teega: Argonian man of Gnoll's Meeting Camp, hedge alchemist.

Sandrine: Breton woman of Kvatch.

Servilla the Serpent: Uniquely gifted Imperial of Skingrad, prostitute of The Colovian Rose.

Shair-Do: Khajiit man of Bruma, warrior of the Bruma Fighters Guild.

Shasana: Redguard woman of Anvil, Anvil partner of Running Wolf Postal and Freight, Ongve's wife, Rhano's mother.

Sidette Metonne: Breton woman of Leyawiin, Abiene's younger sister.

Simeon the White-Pate: Nord man of the Imperial City, founding partner of Running Wolf Postal and Freight.

Slim: Jerric's summoned skeleton.

Solene Metonne: Breton woman of Leyawiin, wife of Adrien, mother of Abiene and Sidette.

Sonstra Hammer-Helm: Nord woman of Kvatch, Kjelling's wife, mother of Rothmund, Petr, Selka, Svanja, and Jerric.

Svanja: Nord woman of Kvatch, wife of Kolr, mother of Fjirsten and Hrolgar, Jerric's older sister.

Svaknar: Nord male of County Bruma, County Bruma Militia member.

Talenris: Dunmer man of Leyawiin, mage.

Terniroth: Bosmer man of Anvil, porter.

Therius Aiello: Imperial man of Kvatch, Jerric's friend since childhood.

Thierre Fournier: Breton man of Chorrol, owner and proprietor of the restaurant House of Fournier, husband of Orianne Fournier.

Thursten the Long-Eye: Nord male of County Bruma, County Bruma Militia member.

Tilenwen: Bosmer woman of Kvatch, ostler.

Tonio: Imperial man of Bruma, scullery lad at the Bruma Fighters Guild.

Torellius: Imperial man of Bruma, Fighters Guild member.

Tulia: Imperial woman of Anvil, clothier, owner of Tulia's Threads.

Tutius: Imperial man of Anvil in Jerric's youth, teenaged thug.

Ulfe: A dog.

Valdi: Nord girl of Hrotanda Vale, former Akkvit smuggler.

Vania: Imperial woman of Anvil, housekeeper, mother of five girls.

Vanildil: Altmer woman of the Imperial City, Apprentice of the Mages Guild, works at the Arcane University.

Venco: Imperial man of Weynon Priory, Blade, monk in the Order of Talos.

Vito: Imperial man of Bruma, cook's assistant at the Bruma Fighters Guild.

Willem: Nord man of Kvatch, mother Meja, father Rothmund; Jerric's nephew (two years older than Jerric).

Yanerion: Altmer man of Anvil, healer born under the Ritual, Mages Guild member, Abiene's student.








.

Posted by: mALX Jul 15 2012, 08:33 PM

Holy Cow, there are some names I don't recognize on there! Thank you for making this list, when there are long gaps between chapters (HINT HINT) people tend to forget their favorite stories! (URK ... brazen hint - MORE MORE)! ROFL !! Seriously, this is appreciated.

Posted by: King Coin Jul 15 2012, 10:58 PM

That's quite a list Grits! I'd never be able to keep track of that many characters.

C'mon Grits, we are eagerly waiting for another installment of Jerric & Co.

Posted by: Grits Jul 15 2012, 11:12 PM

Exactly, I am utterly failing to keep track of them! This helps me, too! I’ve been writing all afternoon. It’s been fun.

Posted by: mALX Jul 15 2012, 11:20 PM

** mALX taps foot, looks at watch numerous times **

Posted by: Acadian Jul 16 2012, 12:15 AM

Thanks for the wonderful listing! I know what you mean about the need to keep good notes on the supporting characters we create. I'm so looking forward to reading more of the Jerric story!

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 16 2012, 01:28 AM

Very neat to see the Who's Who of the Jerricdyll. I keep similar notes on all the major characters in the TF, along with little things like how stuff works, what things cost, holidays, a tamriel calendar with birthsigns, food, etc... But I do not go to the length of listing every named character who has ever appeared. Here are my FG entries:



************************************
Fighters Guild

The leader of the entire guild is Vilena Donton, and her title is Guild Master. Her second is Modryn Oreyn, the Guild Champion. Local Chapters are led by a Guild Commander, and their second is a Vice Commander. Rank and file members are simply known as Fighters.

Full members of the FG are identified by a amulet which all are given in the shape of the FG logo, a red kite-shaped shield with a white sword pointed downward. These also have a minor (5%) Shield enchantment on them. THey always wear them while on official business.

The FG has a branch in the Imperial City, located in the Arena District. This is led by Vilena Donton in addition to her duties are head of the entire guild. her second, Modryn Oreyn handles the day to day operations of the IC chapter. Because of this the Chorrol chapter has entirely new characters as Commander and Vice Commander.

The Bravil FG participated in the Defense of Bruma. There they lost most of their chapter. The only survivors were Pappy, Tadrose, and Vincent (Tavian did not go).

The Fighters Guild typically does the following types of jobs:
Armed and Unarmed weapons training.
Bodyguarding and security for short-terms (i.e. not permanent)
Capture of wanted criminals when regular authorities are not able to (bounty hunting).
In addition, according to the charter with the Empire, all FG members are expected to capture known criminals if they are given the opportunity.
Killing magical beasts/goblins/minotaurs that threaten remote communities
Working with people during kidnappings, either delivering ransoms or making covert attacks to recover victims.



************************************
Gaius "Pappy" Vitellus
Gaius "Pappy" Vitellus leads the Bravil FG, having the rank of guild commander. He is in his early forties, with short black hair gowing grey at the temples. His eyes are blue, and he is handsomely featured. His body is lean and trim in spite of his age, with perfectly sculpted muscles. He was born from a rich commoner family in the Imperial City on the 25th of First Seed (March) 3E390.

He is a former Primus Pilus who was run out of the service because of his chronic insubordination and freewheeling attitude when it came to scrounging supplies for his troops, especially illegal Nordic Whiskey. He joined the legion at 18 (3E408), his father securing him a centurion's position in the Fifth Legion in Cyrodiil, leading the Cohort on the Waterfront. He was transferred out after making enemies with then Legate Titus Vibius. He went to the Sixth Legion in Skyrim. During an uprising in the province, Pappy took command of the garrison of Whiterun and held the city against attacks by a vastly superior rebel army. Because of this the rebels were unable to sieze control of the province, and the next year a relief army from Cyrodiil came to his rescue. For this he was awarded the Grass Crown.

He was transferred to High Rock after that, receiving a promotion to Primus Pilus in the bargain. However, he punched the legate of his Legion, and found himself transferred to Elsweyr. Near the end he took another legate for all his money in a poker game (rumor has it he slugged that legate too, but he did not). He was finally forced to resign in 3E423. Afterward he went to the Fighters Guild and rose through their ranks because he is smart, resourceful, a natural leader, and just plain good at killing things. By 3E427 he was the Guild Champion. However, he did not get along with the Guild Master Vilena Donton at all because of his cockiness, dislike for authority, and free-wheeling attitude.

In 3E429 Modryn Oreyn engineered his downfall by convincing several members of the IC chapter to come forward and file formal charges against Pappy, claiming he favored certain female members with choice contracts in return for their sexual favors. It was true that he slept with more than one member of the IC chapter, but he never assigned contracts on that basis, only on the ability of the members. That did not matter though, as it gave Donton the pretext she needed to remove him and pack him off into semi-exile in Bravil - the least desireable chapter in Cyrodiil. In the meantime Modryn took Pappy's place as Guild Champion.

Pappy makes an excellent father figure for Teresa, in no small part because he is such a reprobate. But also because he genuinely cares for the people under him and feels responsible for them. His experience gives him a wisdom that youngin's like the others in the FG cannot match. He calls the young FG members meatheads while he is teaching them all the sneaky tricks of how to beat the enemy and stay alive that they do not teach in Legion school.

He is also a superb chef. He learned to be because as he will say himself "When you are stationed in as many gods-forsaken holes as he as been, you either learn to like the taste of stale hardtack and weevils, or you learn to make something else to eat." Being a resourceful person, he learned. I think his specialty is seafood. Clams, crab, fish, etc...)

In combat he wears a Legion cuirass with a grass crown etched upon the breast (enchanted with 12% Shield Spell), a legion helm, and Orcish boots, greaves, gauntlets and shield (enchanted with a 12% Fire Shield spell) and carries a Nordic broadsword named Hardrada (Nordic - Hard Counsel)(enchanted with Disintegrate Armor). It has a long double-edged blade with Nordic runes going down the center reading "The Warrior's Wisdom is Hard Counsel". The handgrip is made of grooved whalebone, and the wide crossguard is of carved gold, and the wide pommel of a lobed design. He wears a Ring of Firewalking that gives him a 30% resistance to fire, cancelling out his weakness to it.

He knows some Apprentice level Restoration spells, including Cure Disease, and Fortify Strength and Endurance. He was born under the Lord birthsign, giving him the ability to Restore Health 6 points for 15 seconds (90 points total) multiple times per day (at a cost of 50 magicka - very efficent). It also gives him a weakness to fire at -25% (note that his Ring cancels this out).

Pappy's Rule #2 - Never pass up an opportunity.
Pappy's Rule #3 - Don't push your luck after you've won.
Pappy's Rule #5 - If you can't out-talk them, outguess them. If you can't outguess them, outrank them.
Pappy's Rule #10 - Never fight a battle you cannot win.





******************
Tadrose Helas
Tadrose Helas a 29 year old Dunmer armorer at the Bravil FG, having the rank of guild vice-commander. She was born on the 9th of Hearth Fire (September) 3E404. She is orignally from Morrowind, and unknown to anyone she is a member of House Indoril. Her real name is actually Tyrela Indoril. She is the daughter of the House leader, and was being groomed to take her place. She has raven-black hair styled in elf-braids, and the blue skin and red eyes of all her race. Her body is scarred. She has one on her left forearm from a dagger stab, gotten in a knife fight. She has an arrow scar in her stomach. There is another scar from an axe in her upper left leg. The skin over the small of her back is discolored, too light for the rest of her skin. That is from a lightning bolt she suffered at Bruma.

In 3E421 (when she was 17) she fell in love with Balen Dres the son of House Dres' leader, and a year later she was pregnant. Sort of a Romeo and Juliet kind of situation. But one where there would not only be a scandal, but the child would actually be in the position to inherit the leadership of both houses. That would be something that both were willing to kill to prevent. They were found out by her own house, but the circumstances were hushed up to avoid the scandal. Her child was to be killed after birth, as it was so far along that aborting it would endanger Tadrose as well. She gave birth to Sere on the 15th of Evening Star (December) 3E422. But in fact her maid Arvela (who was skilled in illusion magic) switched her child with that of an already dead infant, so that it appeared to be a still-birth. Her real child was sprited out of the country in secret by Arvela.

On the 1st of Morning Star (January) 3E423 Tadrose left Morrowind, supposedly in self-imposed exile. But in reality she was leaving in order to be close to her child - now named Seryne - who was taken to Bravil by Arvela. Arvela changed her name to Marilesa and joined the Mages Guild. A year later she married a Dunmer man named Tolvele Sathendas in the city, and they have raised Seryne together ever since. Only she and Tadrose know the true circumstances of Seryne's birth. Tyrela took the name Tadrose, and never told her family she was going to Bravil. Taking a circuitrous route, she has done her best to make sure her family have no idea who she really is. But she is still afraid they might someday find her, and that is why she is not raising her daughter herself. To protect her, she is letting Arvela/Marilesa raise Seryne as her own, never to know that Tadrose is her real mother and what her actual heritage is.

There Tadrose joined the Fighter's Guild and learned to fight, so that she would never be helpless again. In time she became an armourer as well. She completely throws herself into her work, as it takes her mind off what happened. Her only escape is that she usually takes her lunch near the Lucky Lady statue, where she watches Seryne and the other children play. She will have nothing to do with men thanks to what happened. Still, in spite of all of this she remains a friendly, and generally positive person. She is glad that she can at least still be near her daughter and watch her grow up, and most of all that she will be safe.

In combat Tadrose wears a full suit of Elven armour and carries a Claymore of Flames named Anganar "Forge" (Elven Claymore as base plus fire damage), and her boots have the Water-Walking ability. She know the Apprentice Level Restoration spell - Heal Major Wounds, and the Apprentice Level Alteration spell Defend (shield 15%), an Apprentice level Lightning Bolt, and an Apprentice level Recharge Item. She does not have a great deal of magicka however, and using any of these spells depletes most of her energy. As a Dunmer she has Fire Resistance of 75%, but as she has changed her name and renounced her family, she cannot summon an ancestor guardian spirit. She was born under the Lady birthsign, giving her heightened endurance and willpower. As an elf, she has her period only twice a year, on the solstices.

Tadrose's room at the Fighters Guild
The Dunmer's chamber contained the same, plain furnishings that all of their rooms did. There was a bed, dresser, mirrored wash basin, and combination dressing table and desk. Her elven armor grew from an arming rack in one corner, and Anganar was sheathed beside it. There was little else however. The walls were bare of adornment, but for a single low bookcase packed with worn volumes. A ceramic vase stood atop it, sprouting bright yellow flax. Alongside it lay a bared arming sword of ordinary grey steel. Its handle was wrapped in pewter wire, and its pommel was a simple disc of metal. The single window in the room faced west, and through it Teresa could see the lowering sun filling the mountains with red and orange light.



******************
Vincent Galien
Vincent Galien is a 19 year old Breton male with long, wavy brown hair and brown eyes at the Bravil FG. He was born on the 22nd of Last Seed (August) 4E414 He is one of the only surviving members of the Bruma campaign, although he had only joined the guild shortly before that. He is a light-hearted person and likes to joke and otherwise act the fool. In battle he wears a full suit of steel armor and shield, and carries a fine steel longsword. Out of battle he wears a Forester's tunic, huntsman's pants, and pigskin shoes.

He knows the Novice level Restoration spell Heal Minor Wounds. As a Breton he has a Resistance to Magic at 50%. He was born under the Warrior birthsign, giving him a bonus to his strength and endurance.

Vincent's bad jokes:
Two ogres are eating a jester, one looks to the other and says "does this taste funny to you?"
Why was the werewolf arrested in the butchers shop? He was chop-lifting.
Which monster eats the fastest? The goblin.
What do you call a mosquito in a tin suit? A bite in shining armour.
Why do vampires have no friends? Because they're a pain in the neck.
What do vampires cross the sea in? Blood vessels.
A blind rabbit and a blind snake ran into each other on the road one day. The snake reached out, touched the rabbit and said, "You're soft and fuzzy and have floppy ears. You must be a rabbit." The rabbit reached out, touched the snake and said, "You're slimy, beady-eyed and low to the ground. You must be a conjuration teacher."
How do wraith's like their eggs? Terror fried.
Why did the troll eat candles? For a light snack.
What do you get if you cross a troll with a cat? A town that is free of dogs.






******************
Tavian
Tavian is the FG porter in Bravil. He is a teen Imperial boy who is anxious to grow up and become a hero. Pappy and the other fighters have taken him under their wing and are teaching him the trade, and keeping him out of trouble. He wears a green wool shirt, light brown linen pants, and pigskin shoes.






******************
Storm-Tail
Storm-Tail is a male Argonian at the Bravil FG. He was born on the 12th of Sun's Dawn (February), under the sign of the Serpent. He is a new recruit of the Bravil FG. He wears a suit of elven armor and shield and wields a Akaviri Katana, all of which belonged to his father. It is an enchanted Akavari Warblade, damaging health, fatigue, and magicka. Out of combat he wears a Forester's shirt, black pants, and cowhide shoes. His father was a member of the Bravil FG who died at Bruma. Storm-Tail is trying to live up to his father's name and be someone that he would be proud of

At the beginnng of the story he knows the Novice level Illusion spell Illuminate (Light in a 10' radius). As an Argonian he has a resistance to disease, is immune to poison, and can breathe water. Born under the serpent, he can poison others on touch.





******************
Chance
Chance is a male Redguard at the Bravil FG. He is also a new recruit in the Bravil FG. He is young, and stowed away on a ship from Sentinel in Hammerfell seeking adventure. He wound up in Bravil with no money and no where to go, so he joined the FG. In battle he wears steel armor and an orcish shield and carries a Dwemer mace named Ncharcasti. Out of battle he first wears a dark shirt, black pants, and cowhide shoes. Later when he gets money he upgrades to a burgandy linen outfit. As his name implies, Chance is a gambler, and will bet on nearly anything. He also has a very high Luck attribute, although things do not always go his way.

Being from Sentinel originally, Chance's family were Lhotunic (progressive followers of King Lhotun - http://www.imperial-library.info/content/pocket-guide-empire-third-edition-ra-gada-hammerfell ). His father Destri was a warrior in the King's service. Basically just a grunt. He was stationed in Dak'Fron, which is on Sentinel's border, at the edge of the Alik'r Desert. Ayaan-si, High Prophet of Elinhir, had called upon the True Crowns of the north to rebel against Lhotun, and financed a number of forays against the borders in Bergama and Dak'fron. He also stirred up dissent in Dak'Fron itself, resulting in a group of protesters haranguing a lone Redguard warrior guarding a supply depot in the evening. A Lhotonic officer saw what was happening, and took more men to reinforce the lone soldier. Destri was one of them. Things turned ugly, and the crowd began throwing stones. No one is sure who struck first, but in the end the protestors were massacred, with thriteen dead and twice that seriously wounded.

Afterward the city was on the verge of exploding into rebellion, and it was called the Dak'Fron Massacre. To keep the peace, King Lhotun ordered a scapegoat. Destri, unliked by his captain, was picked. He was summarily tried and convicted of murder and inciting a riot, and was scheduled for public execution in Dak'Fron. However, his old compatriots did not like what was happening, and broke him out of the prison the night before his execution. He only had time to give one a quick word to pass along to his family. Then he fled into the desert, taking with him his Dwemer mace - Ncharcasti - which had been a family heirloom since the days of Cyrus.

He knows no spells at the beginning of the story, as as a Redguard he resists disease and poison at 75%. He also has the adrenaline rush power that he can use once per day to fortify his strength, speed, endurance, and agility by 50 points each. He was born on the 4th of Last Seed (August), making his birthsign The Warrior.

Chance is popular with women, and has even been known to date two of them on the same night, at the same time. However, he keeps going back to one girl, Eutropia, who is a chambermaid in the castle. He will never admit that he loves her though.





******************
Ancodil
Ancodil is a 19 year old male orc at the Bravil FG. He was born on the 18th of Sun's Dusk (November) 3E414. Unlike other orcs, he was raised by two Altmer, Eilonwy and Orintur of the Cheydinhal Mages Guild. As an infant he was found on the doorstep of the Cheydinhal Chapel one day, Eilonwy and Orintur took him in and raised him as their own child. As such he has been given an exceedingly good education, and is a refined gentleman through and through. He greatly enjoys poetry, plays, music, and dancing. He is even learning to play the lute (although not especially good at the beginning). He has absolutely no talent for the use of magic however, much to the disappointment of his parents. He did learn he has a talent for something however. Crushing things. At over 6'6'' tall and a mountain of muscle, he carries a Warhammer of Rending (Elven Warhammer- disentegrate armor) that is named Persuader ("Lambercuru" in elvish). and a Stalwart Cuirass (Dwemer Cuirass- Fortify Endurance), plus a regular Dwemer boots, greaves, and gauntlets. Out of combat he commonly wears a blue silk outfit.

He knows no spells and has never been able to successfully cast one, in spite of having spent a semester at the Arcane University. He flunked out. He was a disaster at all forms of spellcasting, and his attempts at alchemy left a horrific odor in the classroom. As an Orc he has a resistance to magic at 25%, and he was also born under the Atronach birthsign, giving him a 50% spell absorption as well.

He owns a horse, a gelding named Glacier. He is a blue roan Bruma Quarter Horse. To help him carry his weight, Ancondil has a saddle enchanted with a Expert level Feather (400 lbs) completely negating his weight.





******************
Valerius Nasica
Valerius is an Imperial male in his mid twenties. He was born on October (Frostfall) the 8th. He has short black hair and black eyes. Valerius is a patrician, his family living in a manor in the Talos Plaza district. As such Valerius himself is a knight, and served at Bruma. After the battle Claudia Vinicianus developed a crush on him. Another patrician whose family was a friend of his own, she was sixteen and convinced she was in love. She tried to run away with him, but he would have no part of it. However, her older brother (and guardian) Flaminius learned they were together and tracked them down. He found the two together and assumed the worst. Valerius took full responsibility, and insisted that he had tried and failed to seduce Claudia in order to protect her honor. Flaminius called him out to a duel, and Valerius refused. Valerius was branded a coward, and blacklisted from high society. Afterward he became a mercenary to make ends meet.

Born under the sign of the Tower, he has natural-inborn armor the equal of leather. In combat he wears a full suit of glass armor, and carries a glass arming sword and shield. He also owns a Friesian gelding named Fidelis "Faithful".




******************
Morghak gra-Durug
Morghak is a 18 year old female orc. She was born on the 17th of Midyear (June) 3E315. She stands six and a half feet tall, and is bound in muscle. Her long, light brown hair is tied back from her head in a braid, and she has the yellow eyes of all orcs. She wears a necklace with a golden eagle pendant (the symbol of Trinimac). In combat, she wears a full suit of Orcish armor and shield. She carries a Dwemer hand axe as her primary weapon, plus two smaller throwing axes.

Morghak is from an Orcish noble family in the Wrothgarians. She grew up in the shadow of her older sister Urzoth, who was her mother's favorite. Everything that Urzoth did was always right, and everything Morghak did was always second best (at least so it seemed to her). Finally when Urzoth was made a knight in Gortwog's court, she could take no more of it. Running away from home, she made her way to Cyrodiil by chance as much as anything else. Like other orcs from Nova Orsinium, she follows the ancient elven god Trinimac (not Malacath).

There she became a gladiator in the Arena, rising to become one of the top seeds. It was there that she met Agronak gro-Malog, and the two fell in love. He entrusted her with finding the proof of his noble birth in the ancient castle of Crowhaven. Instead she discovered an Imperial who was a vampire, and killed him. She discovered a journal in the Lord of the castle's bedroom, and took it back with her, hoping it might have some clues to Agronak's birth. It explained more than she had bargained for. The vampire had been Lord Lovidicus, the master of the castle, and Agronak's father. Morghak did not know what to do, and went to Ysabel for advice, telling her everything and showing her the journal. Ysabel advised her to destroy it, and never say a word. Morghak agreed, and told Agronak that she found nothing in the old castle. However, a Redguard gladiator named Sulesa was eavesdropping on the converation with Ysabel. She stole the journal while Morghak slept, and gave it to Agronak. Afterward he became despondant and suicidal, and Sulesa challenged him for the championship. They fought on Frostfall (October) the 23rd. Agronak did not put up a fight, and let her kill him in the Arena, making Sulesa the new champion. Morghak immediately challenged her to a duel.

They fought on 30th of Frostfall (October) during the Emperor's Birthday celebration. Morghak won, and killed Sulesa with a combination of blows that first disarmed her, then delivered the coup de grace immediately afterward. This gave her the nickname 'Avenger'. It also created a controversy that the fight should have stopped before she killed Sulesa.

Afterward, Morghak was directionless. She had never mourned Agronak, as she had been too consumed by revenge. But killing Sulesa gave her no sense of catharsis. She only felt empty and numb. She quit the Arena the next day. The Arena managment decided not to investigate her killing of Sulesa, as they felt it would be bad for the business. Not knowing what to do with her life, and quickly becoming frustrated and overwhelmed by her fans in the Imperial City, she got on the first ship in the Waterfront. It turned out to be a packet bound for Bravil. She arrived a day later (4th Sun's Dusk - November), and went to the Fighters Guild looking for work.

As an Orc she has a resistance to magic at 25%. Also since she was born under the sign of the Steed, she has increased speed, endurance, health, and athletics.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jul 29 2012, 12:33 AM

So Pappy was in Julian's Legion in Skyrim! No wonder she knew of his Grass Crown when she spoke to him at Bruma!

My Demon Spawn of Satan kitty cat (ironically named Trinity after the Holy Three) adored that last joke of Vincent's: What do you get if you cross a troll with a cat? A town that is free of dogs. His response was "Hell, YEAH!"

Grits, what a good idea to list all of the characters in Jerric's story as a separate post so it's there for quick reference. I haven't needed to do it so much for OHDH, but I might need to do so for my next one (which is about half-done and shaping up nicely, if I may say so).

Posted by: ghastley Sep 16 2012, 11:32 PM

I'm not sure if this little episode belongs on this thread, but it's definitely a stand-alone piece that doesn't fit anywhere else!

The inspiration for this bit of silliness was that I was testing some of the Devilish and Divine mod. That borrows a lot from Vilja in features, and a major one is the companion commentary on events. As part of that, there's a complex script involving an invisible headless dead sheep and a lot of checks on the current cell, active quests etc. Mine gets even more complicated than Vilja's because there are two companions, and sometimes they talk to each other, and sometimes to the player.

Anyhow, instead of them saying "Help, my script is broken" or something sensible as a default, they say ...

-----------

"My hovercraft is full of eels," said Diablita

We were all preparing to swim back across to the island with the strange door to the Shivering Isles, so it seemed a totally appropriate thing for one of them to say.

I mean, we've met that Tove the Unrestful in New Sheoth, and "Hovercraft" describes what he's trying to make pretty well, but what in Oblivion are "Eels"? OK, it was Diablita that said it, and we still haven't worked out where her race originates, so maybe it's part of the folk-lore that her mother passed down. Judging by Tove's description of how his boat will work, I guess it/they must be some kind of caliper. Is it a pair of eels, like you have a pair of calipers, even though there's only one? Can you click them together, and go places?

It still didn't make a lot of sense, but I think that the Shivering Isles are beginning to affect the sisters. Some of the things they've been saying have been a bit wistful, and perhaps she was thinking of poor Tove when she said that. If we did have a boat like he's trying to make, we wouldn't have had to swim. Mind you, a regular boat would have been enough, without it flying, too.

What was it Tove said when we met him?

Sorry. I keep forgetting that most people don't remember when we'll meet in the future. Wait, this is yesterday's future. I'm the one that's confused. Anyway, you're going to help me find calipers and tongs. No point in denying it. You've already agreed tomorrow

Diablita acted like she understood what he meant. Maybe she did, and she was talking about the time when Tove had succeeded and she had one of his contraptions. Which would be in the future, and she'd be remembering that.

Maybe there are eels inthe future. We'll ask Sontaire about it when we get there. She seems to get along with Diablita quite well, although she just hates Angeline, for some reason. I'd rather ask her than Tove. Talking to him leaves me with a headache. And she sees Tove every day, so maybe she can interpret for us.

Of course, Sontaire's got her strange side, too. Just about everyone in Bliss does. It's just that hers makes sense, even if she does take it a bit too far. Silanu would understand her perfectly, if she was making a business out of it, but I guess it's just a hobby for her. Anyway, if anyone knows what eels are, I'm sure it's Sontaire!

Posted by: Grits Sep 16 2012, 11:48 PM

If she said her hovercraft was full of eels immediately after the swim, I’d really be worried! Water-walking rings for everyone!

Posted by: King Coin Sep 21 2012, 06:50 PM

Love the nonsense dialog.

Posted by: Grits Oct 7 2012, 09:29 PM

In an attempt to organize my scribblings I have written up a few things about Jerric's Tamriel. The task of presenting them falls to Darnand. I'll update as we go through the story. As always please feel free to post anything at all in this thread.


Darnandex


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=86

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=87

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

Posted by: Grits Oct 7 2012, 09:31 PM

.

First, a note about languages: Since TEV 4 Oblivion takes place in Cyrodiil, I’ve made the assumption that everyone is speaking Cyrodilic unless otherwise remarked upon in the text. That means that everyone’s English words are meant to be Cyrodilic, just translated into English. So words and phrases (made-up and otherwise) in languages other than Cyrodilic are written in italics, since they are a different language from the rest of the text.

Where I couldn’t find clues in lore, I have completely guessed about how Tamriel’s languages are supposed to sound. If anything is an actual naughty word in some language, oops. Also, I just added things here as the characters described them, so some weirdness will occur. For example when Lildereth described Valenwood’s silverbark trees, she did not give their name in Bosmeris. So the silverbark tree appears as a Cyrodilic term, even though the trees are native to Valenwood. As always, comments and discussion are welcome.



Bosmeris

Duwoh el E: Early spring, the second of five seasons; the time of empty bellies.

Furibari: Evil spirits.

Gin-jiru: Silverbark tree, a gigantic tree native to Valenwood. Capable of some communication with Bosmeri tree-shapers.

Mudin-ta: Insult, one who wastes things.

Nunkadai: Tribal concept, “I am because we are.”

Shen shi nui: Insult, stupid or insensitive person. Literally “an elderly sloth’s anus.”



Cyrodiilic

Diggerbee: Ground-nesting, parasitic wasp. Adult size four inches in length.

Drum-belly spider: ambush predator found in caves and ruins. Bites and spits venom. Can take an adult Bosmer, but not a Nord.

Kahve: A dark, stimulating beverage brewed from ground, roasted beans and served just under the boil. Yep, you guessed it.

Mothwood trees: understory, pink spring flowers.

Northern Sunshine: A dry, hoppy lager brewed in Bruma.

Sawnut trees: understory, white spring flowers.

Silverbark tree: A gigantic tree native to Valenwood. Capable of some communication with Bosmer tree-shapers.

Skitt: Excrement.

Terramancy: The magic of soil, rock, and mineral including its shaping on a large scale. Terramancers range from practitioners of simple miners’ magic to hermits who some say commune with the very Earth Bones.

Treerat: Arboreal, herbivorous rodent native to Cyrodiil. Picture a Kaibab squirrel with a body as long as Jerric’s forearm.



Dunmeris

Sommehlel: imbeciles.



Nordic

Akkvit: Winterhold whiskey.

Fikken Orkey: an exclamation meaning one has received unwelcome or uncomfortable attention from Old Knocker, used like “We’re screwed.”

Koocha: lady parts.

Salj: Dry, granular snow.



Yoku

Ran alai: small cake of sweetened cheese in a slimy white sauce (Jerric’s description).

Rota chatapay: crispy fried vegetable roll.





.

Posted by: mALX Oct 7 2012, 10:39 PM

That Shen shi nui's Koocha has Treerats!

Posted by: Grits Oct 7 2012, 10:48 PM

ROFL! Holy skitt, pass the akkvit!

Posted by: mALX Oct 7 2012, 11:22 PM

Is that Treerat Skitt on that Ran alai or are those raisens?

Posted by: Acadian Oct 8 2012, 01:04 AM

What a treat! Another guide to Jerric’s world. Your surrounding context in Jerric’s tale has made the meaning of many of these fun words already clear - testimony to your superb storytelling skill.

Buffy's gonna have to start packing a Nord along to keep those Bosmer-eating spiders at bay!

Posted by: Grits Dec 4 2012, 10:20 PM

For Aravi, a little scene from between the worlds:

___

Darkness had fallen early as it did in Evening Star. Three friends gathered to share the warmth of each other’s company in a fire-lit study. The Breton sat bent over correspondence. The Nord paced the floor with more speed and vigor than a small chamber should allow. The Bosmer perched on the hearth, wine goblet in hand and feet drawn up out of the way. She watched her friend with some amusement. Jerric thought best with his entire body in motion.

“You’re wearing out the carpet,” Lildereth observed.

“Do not attempt to ease his mind,” said Darnand. “The wind from his passing helps my ink to dry.”

Jerric stopped in his tracks. “Say, if it’s more wind you need, I could—”

“No!” cried the elf before he could rearrange his trousers. “I’ve already cracked the window. If we open it any more it might snow in here. You knew we were going to be indoors tonight! Why must you eat the food they put out in taverns? Spicy bean dip and cabbage rolls, for the love of Mara!”

“So, no lentil soup for dinner?”

Lildereth snorted. Jerric resumed his march.

“It’s nearly Saturalia,” he finally said.

Darnand did not reply. Lildereth gave him enquiring eyebrows.

The Nord sounded exasperated. “Well, is someone going to have a party? Will Aravi be able to make it? I’m not sure if I should send her gift, or wait and hope that we see her. I should have thought of this before. I know she likes to swim, and wet fur won’t keep her warm.” He tugged a fistful of hair in agitation. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well,” said Lildereth, “first you should show me what you got her.”

Jerric produced a small package.

“Oh how lovely!” Lildereth exclaimed. “You chose this yourself?”

Jerric grinned. “Yep. And I enchanted it.”

That got Darnand’s attention. “You enchanted something? Let me see. A Frost Shield charm! This is a strong enchantment. How did you...?”

Jerric flushed. “Uh...”

Darnand’s face turned white. His eyes bugged out. “You used a Sigil Stone?!”

Lildereth plucked the chain from Darnand’s hands and held it against herself. “I’m glad you got her gold instead of silver. Wait a moment, Jerric, this isn’t a necklace.”

The Nord hitched up his trousers. “Belly chain.”

Now Darnand looked flushed.

“That’s hot,” said Lildereth.

“I know. I tried to use two moons, but it looked like a pair of bosoms.”

Darnand found his voice. “Then you could have called it the Belly Chain of I Hope to See You Naked.”

Lildereth snorted. “That part goes without saying.”

Jerric coiled the chain carefully in its box. “I’ll send it to her today. Darnand, you can write the note for me. Elf, you pour us some more wine. I’ll sit down so the dog will come back in here.” Jerric plopped to the floor with a crash. “Ulfe! Come here, girl. It’s safe now.” He looked up after a few moments of lolling with the hound. “Come on you two, get busy. Who’s ready for dinner?”

Posted by: King Coin Dec 4 2012, 11:39 PM

OMG I love it Grits! Icy Dip I can see Lildereth holding it and realizing it's not a necklace.

“That’s hot,” said Lildereth.


Thank you very much Grits. You know I've got my eye out on Nexus for it.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 5 2012, 01:26 AM

Speaking for an elf who has been similarly gifted by Jerric with a toe ring of resist frost, I can imagine how thrilled Aravi must be! She is definitely a belly chain kitty and Jerric is so thoughtful to realize that not everyone is as frost proof as he. As brief as this written delight was, the terrific trio of friends plus super pooch each benefited from the magic quill of dear Grits to fully display their unique charms.

What a beautiful gift, and congratulations to the lucky Aravi!

Posted by: mALX Dec 5 2012, 01:57 AM

*

Hey, how come Buffy and Aravi both got presents for Saturalia and I got squat again? Not just the toe ring, Jerric gave Buffy some kind of Naked Juices potion too! Do I have to sing for a present around here?

*

Posted by: mALX Dec 5 2012, 02:07 AM

*

Who is this Jerric person that brought me no present on the celebration of my birth, and again now during the Saturalia? Where is my present from him? Take him to the dungeons, where he can join the others that need to reconsider their gift list for Saturalia next!

*

Posted by: mALX Dec 5 2012, 05:24 AM

*

Jerric promised me a bottle of Shadowbanish Wine long before Saturalia last year, what's taking him so long? I made a special Oxtail stew just for him, it won't keep forever you know! I've got my eye on the sundial and my foot tapping, he'd better show by the start of this years Saturalia festivities!

Posted by: Grits Dec 14 2012, 07:08 PM

Between the worlds, Saturalia preparations continue…

___

Jerric set the pitcher down and reached back into his pocket. “Take a look at this,” he said to Lildereth.

She watched warily until he placed a velvet bag on the table. Then she opened it.

“Is this an anklet? Pretty.” She gave it a shake, and their ears were tickled by the tinkling of tiny bells. “Who is it for?”

“Maxical.” Jerric leaned back with a grin.

Lildereth looked appalled. “You’re giving her cat bells?!”

“Gods, no! At least I hope that’s not how she’ll see it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She likes Eyja’s laugh so much,” he explained. “Now she can make that sound too.”

“She might not like to make noise when she walks,” Lildereth pointed out. She jingled the bells again. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth.

“I thought of that,” said Jerric. “You know Maxical likes a prank as much as I do, and there’s a reason they say ‘as curious as a Khajiit.’ So when folk get used to hearing bells when she walks, they won’t even think it could have been her when she doesn’t wear them.”

“An usually devious idea,” Darnand remarked.

Jerric flushed. “All right, someone else thought of that part for me. I just thought it would look nice on her little, uh, foot.”

“How will you enchant it?” Lildereth slipped the anklet back into the pouch.

“A charm to fortify her resistance to diseases.”

Darnand shot Lildereth a look. The elf snorted. “Are you planning to put the moves on her, Nord?”

“What? No! I doubt she’d be interested. I mean, I may have some skills and possibly a slight dose of the pox, but I sure don’t have any Mysteries. Besides, with the— Wait, do you think I would have a chance with her?”

Lildereth shook her head. “The pox? Don’t you know sixteen ways to cure diseases?”

Jerric winked and reached for his belt. “I need a second opinion. Say, Breton…”

“Not in one thousand eras,” Darnand said without looking up. “Get some poor healer to examine it for you.”

Lildereth filled her goblet and passed the bottle to Jerric.

He took a swig. “What are you getting her, elf?”

“Spa weekend. Abiene and I are organizing it. We hope that all of the girls will come.”

Jerric’s jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over. “You just gave me my present.”

Darnand closed his book. “I have written a spell for our Maxical,” he announced.

Jerric was still incapable of speech.

Lildereth asked with a slanted eyebrow.

Darnand reached for his goblet. “Summon Shirt,” he said.

Posted by: McBadgere Dec 14 2012, 07:18 PM

That's just funny right there that is... ...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: mALX Dec 14 2012, 08:32 PM

*

WOO HOO! Thank you Jerric! I love the ankle bracelet's tinkling bells, now everyone will ask what that noise is and I can show off my present! And I really appreciate the spell, Darnand, that will save me a lot of embarrassment, I'm sure! Thank you Lildereth! Can't wait for the spa day with all us girls getting together, that will be the best day ever! Er, hope Janus Hassildor doesn't fly over, the sight of all us girls soaking in the hot springwater together may cause him to crash land again!

*

Posted by: King Coin Dec 14 2012, 08:48 PM

Well, her present seems appropriate at least. Darnand's spell sounds useful too.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 15 2012, 01:19 AM

This was a joy to read! Such wonderful interaction (as always) among your characters as they conspire by the fire to produce a trio of magnificent gifts for Maxical! Each gift was brilliantly appropriate for our delightful little white kitty.

Posted by: Grits Dec 29 2012, 08:26 PM

So that's how it really started!!

Posted by: Grits Dec 29 2012, 08:27 PM

Here’s a day in the life of Sonstra and Kjelling. (Just this one post.)




Spring of 3E403, Kvatch


Sonstra clipped a final sprig of thyme and straightened with a sigh. One hand pressed the ache in her back. Breakfast was not yet on the table and already she wanted sleep. Perhaps it was time to consult with a healer.

She stepped into her bustling kitchen, handing the basket to the cook’s apprentice. With an extended family living entirely under one roof, household help was her fondest luxury. While one meal was being served another’s preparation was already underway. And it took a team to keep up with the laundry.

Sonstra’s daughter-in-law Meja stomped heavily into the room, baby Willem on one hip and a hand under her gravid belly. Nursing while already pregnant again was taking a toll. She looked as tired as Sonstra felt.

Sonstra reached for her grandson as Meja trundled past. Little Willem squealed in delight and slapped his hands on Sonstra’s cheeks. Soon he would be toddling into every kind of mischief. Sonstra smiled and nuzzled her grandson. Every age brought its own delight, but this was one of her favorites.

An escalation in the clamor from the dining chamber told her that platters were hitting the table. “Selka!” she called into the corridor. “Breakfast! It’s getting cold! Bring your sister!” A faint shout echoed down the stairs in reply. It didn’t matter what had been said. Every morning was the same with her girls.

Thunder on the stairs announced her eldest son’s approach. Rothmund leaned down to kiss Willem’s head and Sonstra’s cheek on his way into the dining chamber. The meal passed as always in a noisy rush, with household staff, assorted Running Wolf employees, and the occasional surprise guest sitting shoulder to shoulder with the family. Sonstra spied an unfamiliar young man blushing furiously and attempting to hide behind a kahve pot. Now who does that one belong to, she wondered, glancing around the table. She gave Willem another morsel from her plate.

Her younger son Petr met her gaze with a slow smile. He knew, and he would tell her. The gleam in his eye promised quite a story, if they could both find time for him to tell it.

The diners hustled empty plates to the scullery, then scattered on their way to school, task, or office. Meja took her son from Sonstra’s arms.

“Lie down when he naps today,” Sonstra suggested. She gently removed her sleeve from Willem’s fingers. “You could use more rest. When you care for yourself, you’re caring for my grandchild.”

Meja gave her a quick nod. The girl was still not entirely comfortable in Sonstra’s presence.

“I’m going to the chapel this morning,” Sonstra told her. “You’ll have the house to yourself. Put your work aside and enjoy the quiet.”

“Yes, Mother Sonstra.” Meja waddled away, humming to the baby.

Sonstra ground her teeth. This needless formality was Rothmund’s doing. Her eldest seemed to have sat upon a stick at an early age and never gotten around to removing it.

But it was true that she was partly responsible for Meja’s unease. The young woman’s blatant fertility was a grain of sand in Sonstra’s eye. The last time of her moons had come and gone with no sign of Mara’s flower blooming. Sonstra had to admit that her cycles had ended. Though she and Kjelling had not planned for more of their own children, having the choice removed was the first taste of her age’s bitter medicine.

The gods gave us two boys and two girls, she chided herself. You should be grateful. No more envious glances at the poor girl’s belly.

The morning’s tasks were accomplished with brisk efficiency despite an occasional light-headed feeling. Sonstra dressed for a day out in the city. She always spoke to Mother Kyne under the sky, but she went to the Chapel of Akatosh to make the rest of her devotions.

A damp wind blew warm over the walls and through the city. The sun made a jewel out of every new leaf and budding flower. Kvatch stood formidable on her tower of stone, but within was a garden in the sky. Sonstra walked under trees alive with songbirds’ raucous wooing and tried to forget the stillness within her own body.

Two men were stepping out of the chapel as she approached. They exchanged polite nods, and one of them held the door for her. The chapel seemed as dark as a cave after the bright morning. Candle smoke, incense, and the smell of old books and musty offerings tickled her nose.

A Nord boy stood just inside bathed in the flood of light from the door. He turned his head and grinned as if he knew her. Then the door closed, leaving Sonstra blinking in the dim interior. By the time her eyes adjusted, the boy was gone.

She shook herself. There were many things said of old women who imagined things. Few of them were good.

Sonstra began her progress around the chapel’s shrines. Peace filled her as it always did when she made room for it. She spoke her devotions in the Imperials' words, but all the while her heart sang to the gods of her childhood.

Afterward she reluctantly made her way to the chapel's Halls of Healing. She and Kjelling had left their families behind in Skyrim. They had faced every challenge of partnership and parenthood side by side through the years without the guidance of elders. The best they could manage was to make different mistakes with each child, but somehow they were all still together. Her Kjelling would be no help with this change of life, however. And as far as she could tell, Imperial women got their herbs and advice from healers.

In the healing hall Sonstra followed a white-robed attendant to a curtained alcove. The young Redguard walked with the grace of a swordswoman. She had gentle eyes, Sonstra noticed, and the dark, elegant brows that were the envy of every blonde.

“I am Oleta,” said the girl. She swept the curtain closed and gestured to a chair. “What brings you here today, mistress?”

Sonstra blinked at her. This child must be the healer, she realized. Great.

“It’s nothing, really,” she started. Then she gave herself a mental shake. Don’t be silly, and do not offer insult by underestimating her experience.

Oleta smiled. “I have only recently taken my vows, but I am fully qualified.” She sat down and gestured to the other chair again. “I’m from Anvil. I lived there all my life.”

“I’m Sonstra.” She took the seat. “Business takes me to Anvil often. Did you train at the Mages Guild or at the chapel?”

“Both.”

The women spent a few moments talking of small matters. Oleta quickly put Sonstra at ease.

“I’ve come about my moons,” Sonstra finally admitted. “My cycles have ended. That’s not the problem, though. I’m just so tired all of the time now, and my back is achy. I’ll admit that I’ve put on a little weight. I don’t mean to complain, but… Well, are there herbs I’m supposed to be taking?” She felt her cheeks flush. “I don’t know why I even bothered you with this. I’m sure it’s all just what happens at my age.”

Oleta took Sonstra’s wrist in her cool hand. “May I ask how many winters you have?”

“Five and forty. My moons flower should have bloomed weeks ago, but there was nothing.”

Oleta nodded. “With your permission, I would like to first examine you with a spell. Then I’m sure I will have some questions.” She took Sonstra’s hands. “Do you have children?”

“Four children, one grandson, and another grandchild on the way.” Sonstra tried to feel the spell, but she couldn’t tell if anything was happening.

“How many pregnancies?”

“Just the four, and all were healthy. Lady Mara has truly blessed me.”

Oleta let go and leaned back in her chair with a smile. “Our Lady has blessed you again, Mistress Sonstra. Congratulations. You are with child.”

Sonstra could not have related what happened next for all the trees in Valenwood. She found herself standing out by the fountain, hands pressed to her waist.

Another child. Tears filled her eyes. I would never have asked for this, she thought, and now I know just how much I wanted it.

A moment later she remembered that her Kjelling did not enjoy surprises. Of course he wouldn’t even think of asking her to end the pregnancy. The only question was how much he would growl before he smiled.

A solid meal would help. There was no time to go home. Sonstra headed for her favorite grocer.

An hour later she was spreading a feast on Kjelling’s desk at the Running Wolf office. Cold meats, boiled eggs, crusty bread, dried fruits, and small wheels of cheese she could cut with her pocket knife. Kjelling opened a jar of the ale he kept chilled in an enchanted drawer. They ate their meal in comfortable silence.

Sonstra found that she was famished. She finished first as always. Kjelling reached for another loaf as she leaned back and wiped her fingers.

“I would like you to build a high chair for the family table, husband. We will need another before Meja’s baby is through with Willem’s.”

Kjelling spoke around his bread. “Two more grandchildren? If Petr’s been careless, let him build it.”

Sonstra smiled to herself. “It is indeed a proper task for the expectant father. You should also build another cradle.”

Kjelling grunted a reply, eyes on his meal. Then he froze with a turkey leg in the air and his mouth hanging open.

A junior clerk dashed in, trailing parchment and apologies. He fled as soon as he had exchanged one pile of invoices for another.

“At your age?” Her husband had found his tongue, but as usual his wits were a few steps behind. “I thought you were taking moons potions!”

Sonstra twisted her napkin, fighting the familiar urge to strangle her love with it. “Every child is a miracle, but perhaps this one especially so.”

He completely missed her tone. “There is a fair bit of silver in that golden head,” he objected, nodding at her as if to make clear that it was not some other fading blonde he spoke of.

“It is my turn to choose a name,” Sonstra declared, changing the subject.

Kjelling crossed his arms over his chest.

“I would honor your brother,” she said. “You know it is right, Kjelling.”

They hadn’t spoken of him in decades. In a flash Kjelling’s face showed the weight he still carried. Guilt and honor. Love and sacrifice.

Her husband made a broad, cutting gesture. “Out of the question. That name would bring my family down on our heads.”

“Are County Kvatch’s birth announcements read so far away as Skyrim? Don’t you think by now your mother will have passed beyond caring?”

Kjelling’s beard bristled in the way that told her he thought his mind was made up. “After what has been lost so that we might simply live, how could we take the chance? Though my heart grieves for Jyrik, I would not risk it.”

“Change it, then, in a way that we will still know. Make it look like a Cyrodiil name.” Sonstra placed her palms over her belly.

Kjelling scowled down at his plate, hands gripping the table’s edge. “Change it as we did with Rothmund’s? No one was fooled.”

“The honored dead can see us from Sovngarde, Kjelling. For years he has watched over us. I would have him know our hearts. Let him hear us speak his name with love every day that we have left in this life.”

“You may well carry another girl.” Kjelling stood abruptly and stalked to the window.

In her mind Sonstra saw the towheaded lad from the chapel, facing away but turning his head to look back at her. Light streamed over him like the hand of a god. He stood slim and strong and gangly as a pup, with golden eyes like Kjelling’s and a smile like the sun.

She carried a boy child. Her heart knew it was true.

Sonstra walked over and leaned into Kjelling, resting her face against his chest. Their arms slipped around each other in the way that made her feel whole. Their joy had always come with trouble. Sometimes they ran and sometimes they faced it, but always together.

Peace filled her heart. As in all things, this man would give her anything.

“Jerric,” she said, and a squeeze told her that he agreed. “If we have a boy, we’ll call him Jerric.”

.

Posted by: Acadian Dec 29 2012, 09:19 PM

What a beautiful and oh so relevant short story!

I detect a certain first-hand familiarity with the hustle and bustle of a busy breakfast table.

‘This needless formality was Rothmund’s doing. Her eldest seemed to have sat upon a stick at an early age and never gotten around to removing it.’

There was so much to love in this story. First, was letting us gradually figure out for ourselves who this story was about - via the bread crumbs buried within those quarter million words of Jerric’s story. Then to see, through Sonstra’s eyes, Kvatch in her pre-crisis glory. And a young priestess named Oleta, just starting out in her healing career!

Sonstra captured our hearts in the first short paragraph. Then, despite introducing many characters in a limited number of words, you did each one of them justice - yet so delicately that we barely noticed as Sonstra flowed through her morning.

Sonstra and Kjelling perfectly conveyed the loving comfort that only years of experience together can bring.

Yes, his name shall be Jerric!

Posted by: mALX Dec 29 2012, 11:08 PM

I am back home, but without a working PC. Will come back to read this when I get something working here, my laptop isn't very good for reading. Urk!

Posted by: ghastley Dec 30 2012, 10:04 PM

Kjelling grunted a reply, eyes on his meal. Then he froze with a turkey leg in the air and his mouth hanging open.

It appears that Jerric doesn't take after his father. Nothing would have stopped that turkey leg!

Posted by: King Coin Dec 31 2012, 09:26 PM

ghastley hit the line I liked the most! Thanks for sharing this day in Jerric's family's hectic household! To imagine that after all that she still desired another child. Strong woman she was.

Posted by: mALX Jan 1 2013, 10:22 PM

Loved this little detail thrown in, you couldn’t have expressed her emotions on this more eloquently!



Uh…do I detect Jerric’s inherited personality? Is this late gift Jerric on the way? HA! I knew it !!! Absolutely LOVED this little insight into Jerric’s beginnings!!!!!!! Awesome Write!

Posted by: ghastley Jun 3 2013, 09:33 PM

This thread needs a bump, so I hope Grits doesn't mind a postcard from Clark. This is a snippet that never quite fit into anything else.

---------

Clark's Tales of the Bear Riders were being published by the Black Horse Courier's press as a subscription. The public could purchase each monthly chapter separately, and then have them all bound into a single volume when the series was complete. He'd already sent them the Claudia chapter, and it was just appearing in the bookstores around Cyrodiil.

He met Simplicia in the Market District, on his way to sign copies at Phintias' First Edition. She thanked him for the mention she'd got, as the one who told the Champion about Claudia in the watch-tower. "I'm famous now, and that makes people a lot more generous," she told him.

He hadn't used anyone's real names in the story, but it seemed that everyone knew who he meant. He asked if that got her any extra trouble from the watch-captains, as they hadn't appeared in quite the same light in the tale. "Oh, no, they're too busy keeping out of sight now everyone knows what they're like!" she laughed. "And the patrolmen see it the same way as the public."

There was a line of people waiting at the door of the First Edition, with a couple of extra watchmen keeping them in order. Inside, Phintias had put a stack of copies next to the small table in the corner, which was cleared off apart from a quill and inkwell. He seated himself behind it and nodded to Phintias to let the first customers in. They filed past Phintias, who took their money and announced their names, so he could make the inscriptions personal.

It seemed that everyone in the city came through over the next few hours. His hand was tired, and he'd worn out a dozen quills, before the last one left. There were only a handful of copies left from the pile he'd started with. He took one and wrote Simplicia's name on it, before signing his own.

She was delighted to have her own copy. "Most people just assume a beggar can't read," she told him. "I'd have bought one myself if it didn't mean going into a shop. I don't like being inside. I always feel like the walls are closing in on me. Silly, but I can't help it."

Simplicia was worried that she had nowhere to keep it dry. She just had a sack that she kept her food in, and it didn't matter if vegetables got a bit damp. The sack was just to keep them clean. He was going to get her a chest from Jensine's but Simplicia stopped him. If she had anything that locked, people might think she had something worth stealing. Not all thieves were in the Guild, and some of the freelancers would even steal from beggars. He fetched a small crate instead, one that had held flour, and had a lining to keep out moisture. That was perfect, and he put it under her sack at the head of her bedroll.

Posted by: mALX Jun 3 2013, 10:05 PM

I LOVE this! Not only is Simplicia one of my favorite game characters anyway, but Clark publishing his memoirs and having a sold out "book signing" for them - you had me in stitches and touched at the same time (for him getting Simplicia that crate) - Awesome Write !!!

Posted by: Grits Jun 4 2013, 12:57 AM

mALX said it for me too, it’s great to see Clark’s success in the big city! Getting the special crate for Simplicia was so sweet. He has a real touch with the ladies.

I loved getting a postcard from Clark!

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 19 2013, 01:02 AM

I have a postcard from Cyrodiil. This is a scene that came to me a few nights ago, that I wanted to get down on pixels while it was still fresh in my mind. It will fit somewhere into the Aela fic, probably as a prologue. I am not sure the exact date yet, except it takes place in the spring or summer


Aela - There Goes The Neighborhood

?, 4E001

Aela stretched out on the warm sand of the beach, wearing nothing but a linen wrap around her small breasts, and a similar strip of cloth around her hips. She shut her eyes against the bright rays of Magnus overhead, which delightfully toasted her pale skin. Her arms reached out to either side, and her slender fingers dug through the amber grains of sand below. She let her breathing slow, felt her body relax, and sent her thoughts drifting through the beach underneath her.

She felt Bawnwatch Island stretching out around her. The sand turned to black topsoil as it receded from the waves of Niben Bay. Hard stones slept within the dirt's cool embrace. So too did the twisting roots of cottonwood, sycamore, and willow trees that dotted the long, crescent-shaped island. She felt the foundations of the deserted village's small homes pressing down upon the ground near the center of the isle. They were just south of the small ridge that ran the length of the isle like a spine, shielding the settlement from the north wind off the bay. The wooden piles of the bridge that connected one corner of Bawnwatch with the mainland to the south bit down into the soil like teeth. Yet the land endured it all with grace. In fact, the dark, rich ground gladly nurtured the life which sprang from its breast. At the same time it slowly absorbed the cold, hard rock and unliving wood that thrust down into it. In time, Nirn would have its way with all.

Aela was greeted by the spirits of the island. There was the soft, dark energy of the soil, contrasted by the hard, flinty essence of the deep rock. Then there were the bright, playful flower spirits, the somber quintessence of the trees, and the humble life force of the brush. About them all glowed the hot and vigorous animal spirits: patient Turtle, bounding Rabbit, sly Rat, wise Serpent, watchful Eagle, and hungry Raven. Finally she felt the sylphs riding the winds high above the island, and the undines frolicking in the deep waters of the bay.

Aela let the physical world slip away as she danced with the spirits. She could think of no other way to describe how she interacted with the vital essence of the world. No words were spoken, even conscious thought became inadequate. There was nothing but the deep, powerful feeling of kinship that resonated within her as her divinity joined with that of Nirn. She felt the threads that bound her to everything else in the world. Her fingers played along those strings, and the music filled her soul with rapture.

Magnus rode higher in the sky as she danced, and Nirn rolled away underneath his fiery gaze. However, the music of Aela's dance was interrupted by the grinding of cold, dead wood into the warm sand of the beach. Human feet crunched deeply into the ground a moment later, each step resonating through the membrane of sand that covered the looser soil and hard rock beneath.

Aela opened her eyes and breathed deep. Rising to a sitting position, she felt the physical world spin about her. Bracing herself with one hand in the sand, she held the other to her head until the spell of dizziness passed. Squinting in the glare of the sun, she stared down the beach at the dory that had been pulled out of the water less than twenty paces away. Leaning over it was a man with the pitch black hair and olive skin of the Nibenean race. He wore the threadbare clothing of a peasant, and lifted a simple wooden toolbox from the innards of his boat. As he turned to face her, Aela saw that he was young, perhaps not even two decades old, but his body was lean and solid with muscle.

http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/3567/cap114.jpg

He stared as Aela rose to her feet. The Breton Witch took a moment to brush the sand from her backside, and found that he was still staring when she was finished. That is when she remembered that she was practically naked. But Aela did not fool herself into thinking that he was dumbstruck by her beauty. Aside from her long, brown hair, her body was a far cry from the ideal feminine form. Where other women were shaped like an hourglass, she was more like a minuteglass. She was taller than most women of her race, her shoulders were too broad, her hips too narrow, and her breasts too small.

http://i.imgur.com/ptjCdzb.jpg

Instead she imagined that like any fine, upstanding Imperial, the image of a scantily clad woman must come as a shock. It simply was not proper for a woman to be so attired in the presence of a man after all. Or perhaps he was horrified by what he beheld?

"What brings you here fisherman?" Aela frowned as she walked to the peasant. She found her gaze traveling to his left arm, to the midpoint between wrist and elbow. There was something there that tickled at her memory. Calling up her magicka, she felt the energy burn hot behind her eyes as she stared at the Nibenean's arm. She saw through the warm, healthy flesh, to the strong bone underneath. There it was, the telltale ghost of an old break that had cut clear though the bone, now knit back together so well that naught but a faint line remained to whisper the tale. Whoever had healed that had been very good, Aela considered, very good indeed.

The Nibenean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and tried again.

"Greetings," he began. "I'm from Thistledown, my name is-"

"Severus," Aela interrupted him. "Severus Afer. I remember you now. You broke your arm - what was it - five years ago? You've grown since then."

"Aye," the young man lowered his head sheepishly and ran his fingers through his hair. "When I fell out of that tree, I thought I might be able to fly, if only I could manage to miss the ground. Didn't work though…"

Aela stifled the urge to laugh at Severus' unassuming humor. She knew that peasants did not come for social calls. They only came to Bawnwatch if they needed her healing. Since he looked healthy as an ox, she imagined it must have been someone else in his family that was ill.

"So is it a potion you need?" She decided to cut to the chase.

"No, not at all," the fisherman said. He stared back at her, almost expectantly, or was it almost dreadfully? Aela came to realize that he was afraid of her. It was no great revelation. Thanks to the propaganda of the Mages Guild and Imperial Church, she knew that the word 'Witch' struck fear into many peasants. They were 'rogue mages', immoral, unskilled, heretical, and untrustworthy. Worst of all, Witches like her cut into the profits of both Imperial organizations…

Aela knew that being a two-spirit only made it worse. Few humans seemed to be capable of even imagining what it was like to be born into a body that did not match one's identity, or that it was even possible. "The gods made you that way, so you should be happy that way," was the usual mantra. How dare anyone gainsay that? It was no surprise that the only time people like herself appeared in bard's tales or plays it was as villains, or comic relief.

"So what brings you here?" the Witch asked.

"The village." Severus licked his lips again and nodded to the broken down houses rising up at the edge of the beach. "I'm here to work on a house."

"You what?" Aela blinked once, twice, and wondered if she needed to heal her ears.

"I'm going to repair one of the houses," he repeated, "in the old village."

"What are you talking about?" Aela stared back at the strange man.

The Nibenean's fingers clutched hard around the wooden handle of his toolbox, enough for his knuckles to show white. "I am here to stay," he repeated. "I'm going to live here, with my family."

"You can't do that." Aela felt the words spill from her tongue before she even had a chance to think about them. "Turn around, get in your boat, and get out!"

The fisherman stood his ground however. "I will not," he insisted. He pointed to the crumbling stones of one home with a callused finger. "That house was in my family for generations. I grew up there. It wasn't until the mudcrabs came that we all had to leave. I got a right to live here, as much as you do."

"So now that I've gotten rid of the crabs, you're coming back." Aela felt a volcano rising within her. Standing with her hands on her hips, she spat lava at the young man.

"No, No, No!" Aela waved a finger in his face. "This is my home now. I led the crabs back to Castle Irony. I killed the vampires there. I made this place livable again. You are not going to drive me out of here!"

"I never said you don't have a right to stay here," Severus gave back evenly. "All of us folk from up and down the coast know what you've done, and what you've done for us." Now he rubbed his once-broken arm absentmindedly. "But there's plenty room here for me, my wife, and our baby. We aren't gonna do nothing to get in your way, of whatever it is you do out here."

"And how long until more of you come here, and I start hearing about how it's not safe to raise children around me? Because I'm unnatural? Because I'm a Witch? How long before the snide remarks, the hushed laughter, and the curled lips? How long before I have to go, or else?" Aela felt her face burn with a heat that had nothing to do with the sun, and did her best to keep from shaking with rage.

"No one will ever count me as one of the wise," Severus said. "I'm just a dumb fisherman. But it seems to me that maybe if folk got a chance to know you, they might feel a bit more hospitable. Instead you sit here all alone on this island, and leave people to make up stories about why. We don't know a thing about you, and cause of that people get scared, and their stories get scarier."

Aela ground her teeth as she stared back at the man. Part of her wanted to reach out with her magicka and rip his heart from his chest. But she knew that she could not do that to a defenseless man. Whether or not he knew it was another thing. But even if he did not, he was still not budging.

"Why can't you go someplace else?" Aela grumbled. "You must live somewhere now, go back there. There's villages all up and down the coast, go to one of them."

"I'm the third born son of a fisherman," Severus explained. "The eldest inherits our house in Thistledown. I get nothing. My other brother went to serve in the Bravil Guard. Another one's in the clergy down in Leyawiin. I'm lucky I've got this boat. But that's all I've got. I don't have two drakes to rub together, and I got a wife with a baby on the way. There ain't no room in that house for us, not with my parents, my brother, and his wife and kids. I've got no money to buy land, and I won't build a house in the middle of nowhere and get my family killed by goblins or bandits. I've got nowhere else to go."

Aela fumed. Severus told a believable tale. It was one she had heard - and seen - played out all of her life. She was a firstborn herself. She would have inherited her family's estate and business in Wayrest if she had only remained male, and in her family's good graces. Her younger brothers would have had to live at her sufferance, become wandering mercenaries, or join the priesthood. It was the same for all younger siblings in every human land.

But this was her home, hers! After all that she had done to make it so, it was not right for someone else to come along and intrude, to force themselves into her quiet, peaceful life. She had the right to live without the constant stares, the muttered jibes, the sneers, and the self-righteous hatred that so many humans had for anyone that was different from them.

Clenching her hands into fists, Aela turned from the fisherman and stormed up the beach. Her fingernails dug into her palms, turning the skin red underneath by the time she finally reached out to open the door to her home and stomp inside. Sighing, she stripped off her sandy underclothing and pulled on a plain flax bodice and skirt.

Staring out the window, she watched as Severus strode up the beach to the empty house across the street from her. Setting down his tools, the young man rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He started by gathering up all of the rotten thatch from the long-collapsed roof and throwing it to one side. Then he went to work repairing the damage that ten years of wind, rain, and plant life had wrought upon the untended home. He started by cutting down the ivy and other vines that had crept up the walls, wormed their way through the crumbling mortar, and dislodged or loosened many stones.

The Nibenean clearly had his work cut out for him. Soon he stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his waist. His bared chest glistened with sweat as Magnus rose ever higher and brighter in the sky. Yet he toiled on, pausing only rarely to take a sip of water from a skin before continuing on with his work. In time he had cleared away all of the invasive plants, and began piling up the fallen or loose rocks from the walls.

He certainly had a lot of nerve to come out here, Aela thought. She could only imagine the tales the farmers and fisherfolk told about her. Yet still here he was, resolute in his desire to make a new life for his family.

"There is nothing that can stand in the way of an honest man." Aela recalled the old Imperial saying. Not that Imperial and honesty were words often associated with one another…

Aela sighed as she continued to stare at the interloper. What was she going to do? She could try to scare him off, but that had hardly worked so far. She could make life so unpleasant for him with snide remarks and insults that he might finally grow exasperated and leave. But she was not going to stoop to the same level as the people - students and faculty alike - who had tried to run her out of the University. So what did that leave her with?

Either fight it or embrace it, Aela thought. Which would it be?

Setting her jaw with firm resolve, she strode out from her home and crossed the street to where Severus worked. He looked up as she raised a fist skyward, and gaped as a disc of blue energy formed in the space between them. It fell to the ground a moment later, leaving a colossus of stone looming within its wake. The archaean stood as tall as the houses around them, and his body was entirely comprised of rocks fit together into the rough shape of a man. With a grinding of stone upon stone, the small mountain turned to stare expectantly at Aela.

She nodded to Severus and the house he was working on, and the nirn spirit lumbered into motion. The ground trembled as his massive feet ate the distance between him and the Nibenean. The fisherman dropped the stone he was carrying, and held his hands out before him to ward off the giant.

"Now just wait," he sputtered. "There's no…"

The archaean ignored him however, and reached down to pick up the stone the fisherman had dropped. The spirit swept it into the pile of loose rocks that Severus had built, then scooped a mass of them up into both of his granite paws. One more titanic footstep took him to the side of the building, where he proceeded to lay out the stones upon the battered walls. Each stone melded perfectly into place with the others around it, and Aela could see that the nirn spirit was reshaping them with his magic as he went, as well as creating fresh mortar between the pieces.

She knew that in no time at all the archaean would have the walls restored to their original condition. To better than that in fact. No mortal builder could work stone like a spirit of the land. Afterward she could ask a tree spirit to rebuild the timbers of the roof, and lay on fresh thatch. She imagined that the exterior would be restored before Magnus fell from his zenith. Then there would just be a matter of furniture, and cleaning the interior.

"Thank you kindly," Severus extended his hand to Aela, "neighbor."

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 19 2013, 02:20 AM

What a great postcard! Aela seems to possess what I could only call "Earth-sense". A sixth sense that makes all that is good (and bad) about the land around her as palpable as any taste, smell, or sight. And a trans-gendered character...truly unique. You deftly touched on the prejudices of "normal" folk, and just as deftly showed how Aela could rise above that with her own actions. Great stuff here Ms. Rosa!

Nit - Instead you sit here all alone on this island, and leave people to make up stories about why. We don't know a thing you, and cause of that people get scared, and their stories get scarier."
I suspect you meant to type "about" between thing and you.

Posted by: Grits Jun 19 2013, 03:33 AM

An Aela postcard, yay! What a fantastic idea to have nirn spirits repair the house.

I think this would work very well as a prologue. Aela’s thoughts reveal a lot about the culture in her Tamriel as well as about Aela herself in a very natural way.

This was fascinating to read.

Posted by: Acadian Jun 19 2013, 07:43 PM

SubRosa, nice to see a snip from Aela’s fic! A vicious circle, is it not? Aela has isolated herself because she feels shunned and misunderstood; yet her very isolation perpetuates her feelings of persecution. A wonderfully creative step in the right direction as she reluctantly calls Rocky the Stone Golem into play for construction duty.

Nits: ’That is when she remembered that was practically naked.’ - - Missing a ‘she’ before ‘was’.
"Thank you kindly," Severus extend his hand to Aela, "neighbor." - - Extended vs extend of course.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jun 20 2013, 06:28 PM

A delightful episode on a lovely island! I always wondered who lived there, and thanks to you, now I will always think of Aela whenever I go there in-game.

Yes, you did well to illustrate the prejudices and short-sightedness of humans (and mer, in some ways). And you did very, very well to show how the typical reaction of the targets of such discrimination tend to feed the stereotypes instead of working to counteract them. Bully for Aela for calling up Rocky the Builder to help her neighbor instead of fighting! Embracing change is a challenge, but will pay off in the long run for her, I suspect.

I have to admit that I've been missing Teresa's updates, and am waiting for the next one. There is a next one, right? Though how you can top that latest episode is kind of difficult for me to imagine!

I have to edit the team's business plan today, so forgive me for not putting on my editor's hat for you. I'm going to be cross-eyed by the end of the day!

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 21 2013, 08:18 PM

ThatSkyrimGuy: Aela also appears in the TF, though not until the later chapters. I have always found her to be one of my interesting characters to write about, because she is such a complex person.

You will also see her ability to commune with the world in the TF as well, when Teresa starts doing it. Though she does not have the experience or magical skills as Aela does. It is not really a special gift, just a byproduct of how they practice their religion: Witchcraft. In the TF, it is something all Valenwood-born Bosmer naturally do as part of their spirituality, as well as anyone else who follows that path. Just how deep of an experience they have depends on the person of course.

Thanks for the nit. Those are the types that tend to slip by me, where it is not a misspelling, but something missing.


Grits: I am glad you liked it. That story was inspired by what you said over in the TF about Aela maybe moving out of her hermitude on Bawnwatch Island and getting more involved in the world. That got me thinking, if Aela won't go to the mountain, maybe the mountain should go to her? So I decided to force her into dealing with people.


Acadian: Aela is indeed caught in a nasty circle. Being around people exposes her to their prejudices, and not being around them only feeds their prejudices. Sometimes there is just no happy option.

You had me laughing about Rocky. What a perfect name! Or maybe he could be The Rock Dwayne Johnson.


haute ecole rider: I always think of Aela when I go to Bawnwatch now too. It's too bad the island is so small in the game, otherwise I would put a house there.

Writing about Aela tends to bring out a lot of her experiences with prejudice. It is something that she can never completely escape from so long as she is around people, and is a major force in her behavior

I do have one more chapter left in the TF. After that I do not plan on any more. I am not sure when I will get it done though, as I have an idea for an Aela and Ungarion prequel in my head right now that I think I will get down on pixels first.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Apr 1 2014, 10:45 PM

Postcard! An excerpt from one of my stories titled Tomorrow is Promised To No Man. This is part one. I'll post part two later on

Primo clutched his belly with one hand while he held an empty sack with the other as he trekked through the Great Forest with a tremendous pain knotting over his stomach. He walked weakly through the thickness of the shrubs tangled around his pigskin shoes. The wool covering the sides of his body offered little protection against the invasive branches that occasionally poked out to scratch him, as if saying his presence was unwelcome here.

The smallfolk hereabouts shunned the place; it was said to be haunted by the ghosts of people who were killed by some fell beast that had dwelled there. Primo heard about the legends of the forest, and about the victims, but ghosts did not frighten him. He used to hide in the crypts of Bravil when he was little, and play games of and monsters and maidens in cemeteries. Yet even so, the hair on the back of his neck stood up whenever he wandered deeper into the forest. He was thankful it wasn't night. Bad things happened at night.

The midday sun was enough to warm his skin from the gentle breeze blowing past him.

How strange, that even a breeze is making me uncomfortable, Primo thought. I guess being nearly starved to death makes everything pleasant feel that way. I wish I had some food. But beggars can't be choosers.

Primo pushed his way out into the clearing, past the overbearing congregation of trees and plants that nearly suffocated him. The ground beneath his feet gave way to greener and smoother pasture, and he realized he came into another person's territory.

A farm, he noted. He stopped, releasing his hand from his belly for just a second as he watched the pleasant sight before him; sheep, goats and cows wandered freely within the confines of a large wooden fence , while oxen plodded along the riverbank in search of grass. Not too far off he could see a lone cottage sitting there, smoking from the roof.

Smoking . . .

Fire . . .

Cooking . . .

The Imperial boy smiled widely. "Thank the Divines!"

His thanks could be doubled as his eyes saw a garden just beside the cottage. The garden could only have been blessed by the gods themselves. It was full of vegetables; carrots, garlic, leek and lettuce, potatoes and tomatoes. Not counting what he could find if he saw the other half had the cottage not obscured his view.
Primo cast a cautious look around him as he did many times before in the cities. But instead of guards or Imperial soldiers, he saw the fleeting glance from the grazing livestock all around him that were far too concerned in the grass beneath their noses than a starving lad in their midst.

In this part of Cyrodiil there were little guards and men of the law. No figures of authority to throw him in jail should he be tempted to grab a few crops. Most of the people here were commonfolk: crofters, fieldhands, fishermen, sheep and swineherds, the sons of innkeeps and traders, masons and tanners. There were no snotty highborn lords or merchant princes or counts here that would have him sent to the noose for so much as looking as a steaming chicken breast.

Here . . . they'd be too busy blaming it on foxes and rats.

They were poor folks, just like him. No bright future, no hopes of any grandeur. It wouldn't be right stealing from them. But he'd been so hungry, though, and the farm before him was too much a temptation. The bread and cheese he had stolen from an inn had given out six days ago, back in the thick of the wood many miles off.

They are farmers, thought Primo after some consideration. They have a home and food . . . I don't.

When his hunger demanded action, Primo sprung into a low sprint as he rushed to the cottage. The sheep scattered from his presence as he ran past them to the side of the building. The windows were open, and the smell of burning meat waved out of them to tempt his nose with tantalizing promise. His stomach reacted to it by crying and rumbling. The smell of roast mutton drifted from one cookfire, and at another he saw a boar turning on a wooden spit. He peeked further in and saw a man working it.

A tall man.

A very tall and muscular man.

Primo's eyes grew bigger as he analyzed the brute from head to toe. By Azura's teats, could one call this a man?

The Imperial in the cottage was the biggest Imperial he'd seen in his life. He looked to be in his mid thirties. He had straight black hair that hung down to his shoulders, and his skin was brown and leathery from a decade of exposure to the burning sun. There was nothing about his appearance to suggest he was a man of wealth or importance, yet Primo could sense his calm inner strength. The man's arms were as thick as his own head and through those arms veins ran under his skin like rivulets. His chest was broad and massive and hairy, but no visible scars were there. From what Primo could see, the man's face was clean-shaven yet it was thick with shadow. Even the inside of his ears seemed to be growing a lot of hair that looked more like fur than anything else.

His clothes were modest. His faded brown shirt was mended here and there with old leather patches, he had a woodman’s axe slung across his back. There was a patch of deerskin on the right shoulder, and the brown sackcloth pants he wore was frayed.

He was oblivious to Primo's presence as he focused on rotating the pig in the fire. Just beneath the giant was a timber wolf that had the attributes of a dog. The canine, too, was too busy slobbering at the sight of a spinning pig than the boy watching them through the window.

Sometimes, Primo thought, being ignored isn't always bad.

Primo bent again, and decided that it would be best to act now. While the man was inside, he could grab the crops and stuff them all in the sack and turn upon heel and bolt the hell out of there.

Alright, Primo. Go to the garden, steal the veggies and run as fast as you can.

The lad swallowed hard and took one more peek. The man was still there, rotating the swine while the vicious-looking wolfhound watched.

Now or never.

Primo ducked and snuck around the cottage and hopped over the fence and into soft soil. The farm was large and the garden was no different. The man probably wouldn't notice a few missing crops. Though he was skinny and malnourished, he had the unshakable confidence in himself that he could carry a heavy sack of food in his back. He had strength for that.

Primo began plucking the food from the dirt, ripping carrots and lettuce and everything else the black ground had to offer. One by one he stuffed them in the sack as quickly as he was able, only looking back to check if the giant man and his hound was there.

They weren't.

The lad smiled despite the feeling that his heart would give out from beating so fast. He would feed good today.

After two minutes or so Primo had a full sack of food. He tied the top and hauled it over his back. The hard part was done. All that was left now was to run into the forest, make for Lake Rumare and eat his food under the bridge. Maybe kill a mudcrab or two to add to the meal.

Damn begging for coin. Thieving is much more productive, yet risky.

Primo made his way around the cottage to make a dash for the direction where he came, but stopped just behind the corner of the house when he saw the man standing over a chopping-block. His huge hand dropped a heavy log that Primo knew for certain only two hands would be able to carry yet he did it effortlessly.

The man dropped the thick wood and raised the axe that was in his hand. The axe went high above his head, stood there for a second and came down with such quickness that Primo thought he had blinked. The thick wood chopped cleanly in half and the stub of the block splintered at the force of the blow.

Divines, this man is strong!

Primo watched the man do it once more and the sheer strength and speed was dumbfounding just as it was intimidating.

I better get out of here. I hope the man isn't quick on his feet as he's strong with that arm.

Primo turned around to run when he came face-to-face with a wrinkled muzzle and a set of white canines. He dropped the sack, fell back on his rump and began scrambling backwards. The hound was there, snarling at the thieving intruder. He wasn't happy and he was obviously hungry.

That makes two of us!

Primo scooted back and back while the dog advanced forward, jaws snapping and saliva spitting in all directions. The hound's eyes were wide and savage and mad. Its bark was loud, too loud.

"Shhh," Primo whispered reaching into the sack. He grabbed a potato and tossed it at the dog's snout. "Shhh. Here, take it."

The dog didn't so much as look at the vegetable. But it only enraged him more.

When he crept closer, Primo closed his eyes. He felt something grab him from behind. A pressure thickened and tightened around his neck and he was compelled to reopen his eyes. He was being dragged from the ground and the hound was running to pounce on him. Primo yelped but before the dog could bite him he felt his feet lift from the ground and up in the air.

"Down," said a harsh, throaty voice.

Primo tried to squirm but the grip on his neck was too strong. He kicked his feet to break free but to no avail. He was being taken away. "No, wait. I'm sorry! Sorry!"

Everything happened so quick and so fast that Primo had trouble registering it. All he felt was the weight loosen around his neck and the hard crunch of his chest on the chopping block. He looked up and saw that same Imperial man raise his axe in the air.

Primo froze. He couldn't move. He couldn't say a word. He didn't even blink.

The axe dropped.

It came down hard and swift.

Primo felt nothing but the wind in his ear and the sound of metal against wood. He looked to his side after a moment and saw a patch of his brown hair severed from his head, spread about the axe's sharp tip.

His hand flew to his head and felt a missing patch of hair there. I almost died. I almost died! He could've killed me!

He looked up at the man, and his face was even more terrifying than the dog. His eyes were a bright tint of honey, and his face was expressionless. Neither angry nor happy. Just plain.

The man folded his arms across his chest and stared down at him.

Everything darkened. Was it because the giant eclipsed the sun or because he losing consciousness?

Primo couldn't focus. The beating of his heart was louder than before, and he was quite sure his bladder failed to contain the fluids. His pants were soaked.

Apologize, Primo.

"I," he swallowed. "I . . . I . . . I . . . I . . ."

The Imperial stared. Not a word came from his lips. He didn't move a muscle. He could've been a statue.

A statue that just almost took my head off.

"You're trespassing," the man finally said low but gruff voice. "You came here uninvited. You tried to steal my crops."

Primo was at loss for words.

The Imperial bent down, snapped the axe from the wood and held it over his shoulder. "Lost your tongue, you little runt? Thieves that stole from me lost a lot more than that. What's your name, boy?"

"Pri--Primo."

The man sized him up. Surely thinking how skinny of a runt he was. How his arms looked like thin sickly branches in a winter's cold or how twig-like his body was. Maybe he was thinking how easy it would be to kill him then and there. The man's piercing eyes lowered, and so did his hand. He grabbed Primo by the collar of his shirt and hauled him up to his feet. His grip released, and Primo's legs felt like rubber.

"How old are you?"

"Twelve." Primo answered the Imperial. The man kept his eyes on him, and only occasionally looked from one direction to another all around him. Attentive and alert. Maybe he was looking to see if there was anyone else there. Maybe accomplices that would threaten to steal his food.

"You look hungry."

Primo's stomach just remembered, and so did he. He nodded gently, still feeling the hot mess between his legs and further down at the sides. He felt his face flush at the yellow puddle gathered around his feet.

"Get my crops from that sack and bring them inside."

Inside is where there's meat to be had.

The thought of hot food made Primo's belly rumble, but he didn’t trust this man. Not everyone who spoke to him friendly was really his friend. Especially after they nearly damn decapitated him over some lousy crops.

What he might be really doing is trying to lure me inside so he can cook me! But would he need to try and use words? With big hands like that, all he could do is just toss me into a damn cauldron and stir me as stew.

He thought to say no to the man, but because of his hunger and his fear, he only obliged. He nodded, picked up the full sack and walked to the side of the man's cottage. When he turned around, the man was there staring at him with those eyes of his. The dog, standing at the man's side like a loyal hound, did just the same.

They uttered no word or sound but the look in their eyes said Don't you dare try to run. If you do, we'll catch you.

The lad felt a cold in the pit of his stomach.

See Primo, this is what hunger gets you.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 2 2014, 12:13 AM

Umm, from the frying pan into the fire?

The boy's name puts me in mind of Chinese and Korean naming customs - it was not unusual for the kids in the family to be named Number One, Number Two, etc, especially among the poor farming families.

Posted by: Grits Apr 2 2014, 01:27 AM

Hmm, I think I recognize the giant Imperial. We shall see! Hopefully Primo will get a meal and not another free haircut!

Posted by: treydog Apr 4 2014, 02:25 AM

Yes- well... (shuffles feet and looks around). First- many thanks to Grits for creating this space. And for allowing the rest of us to borrow it. Which I plan to do in just a moment.

The first character who appears in this "not-a-story" should be familiar to some of you... As to the work itself, I have no clear idea of where it will go, if anywhere. And that is my reason for putting this fragement here. Happy reading!

----------------------------------------

Somewhere, Divayth Fyr was laughing. The ancient wizard had understood the price of immortality, and the long list of things one should not do with it. Like fall in love. Or father children. It was all ash now, ash and dust.

“Baria,” he whispered, marveling at how a wound could hurt so much, even centuries later. It was another “miracle,” a wound so painful it should have been fatal, but was not. That would have been too easy. His hand strayed to the well-worn hilt of his dagger, squeezed convulsively, and then relaxed.

“That door is shut,” he reminded himself, as he had done before, times beyond counting. She had exacted that promise from him, the last promise.

“Swear to me. Swear! Upon your honor and upon your love for me.”

And, of course, he had. He could deny her nothing. Even so, he had courted death in a hundred provinces, in a thousand ways. But… he could not bring himself to cheat, to close his eyes and welcome the end. He was no justiciar, to quibble over petty points. It did not matter what hand held the blade, if he simply gave himself to it.

So he continued, even though scars covered scars and faded with time. Time. Yes. The great enemy. More elusive even than death. It was Time that brought him here, or rather the avatar of Time. Akatosh. Whispers came to one who had all the days of the turning of the Mundus to listen, to sort, to link myth with legend with rumor.

The Empire tottered, poised on the edge of collapse. Once he had vowed to dance on its grave, but now… now he knew there was something worse. Which was why he found himself crossing the Jerall Mountains, following a scrap of history so thin as to be transparent. Or perhaps, if the words of the seers were true, it was his blood calling him home. No matter the reason, Trey was going to Skyrim.

Akavir was long ago, but he still remembered the Tsaesci. Even after he got over being startled by their appearance, he had trouble with their way of thinking. Except for the part about honor and obligation. That he understood, even if he was never entirely certain what impulse had sent him to that place, beyond a desire to go far from Morrowind.

And so he had missed most of Dagon’s War; had not been there to help the children. It was just as well, though. How much help did they really need- from a reformed thief who despised the Empire and refused to even carry a sword? So they found themselves in the middle of the crisis- just as their parents had done 20 years before. But at least they had had a bit more choice in the matter- if anyone who had fallen under the gaze of the Daedra ever really had a choice.

He wondered where they were now and what they were doing. Giving fits to the Thalmor, most likely, if it was up to Athynae. And his son- well, Athlain might have resigned from the Legion, but he had not given up all he had learned on his way to a knighthood. If Athynae was looking to put a spoke in the wheel of the Thalmor wagon, Athlain would be right there beside her, White Gold Concordiat or no.

One could serve the Empire without agreeing with all its decisions. And councils were more limited in their choices than individuals. If the youngsters were trying to tie a kink into the Thalmor’s bellies, maybe he would meet them, and lend a hand. It would be good to see them, even though it would probably break his heart all over again.

He was so distracted by thoughts of that imagined reunion that his first hint of the ambush was the blade leveled at his throat. He did some rapid calculations- the sword was steady and it had not spilled his life- yet. So- a professional- and one who wanted him alive. Which meant it was time to be very still- a promise was still a promise, no matter how many years had passed. Only his eyes moved, studying the hand that held the blade. Olive-skinned, battle-worn, with a few scars among the calluses. An Imperial. Confirmed a moment later by the calm voice that commented, “Don’t know what you think you are doing here, Breton, but this is a Stormcloak smuggler’s route. And my orders are to catch anyone coming across the mountains. Now that you’ve sprung our trap, my patrol has our quota, so we’re going to bind your hands and load you on the cart with the rest of the bag.”

The Legion veteran suited word to deed and then told his men, “Mount up; we’re going to Helgen.”

Posted by: haute ecole rider Apr 4 2014, 05:17 AM

And so Trey (and our little hot-diggety-dog doggie!) are heading off to Skyrim next? Hmm, could be very interesting!

Posted by: McBadgere Apr 5 2014, 10:45 AM

I do loves that "Not-a-Story"™ hugely...So short and yet the history it hints at - the A&A-Team kicking Dagon's nuts...arse...Self back to Oblivion etc...Plus Trey's personal stuff...Was pretty awesome stuff that...

Love it!!...Hope there's more to come... ...

Posted by: Grits Apr 12 2014, 02:53 AM

My heart ached for Trey by the end of the first paragraph. Wherever this goes I’m grateful for the glimpse of those years between Vvardenfell and Skyrim, even after he sat in his stronghold and wrote My name is Trey.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Apr 12 2014, 06:11 PM

Small, bare feet ran through the cobblestone streets of the Imperial City. The smell of spices and cooked meat filled the air, and the sound of sauted vegetables filled the ears of the small Breton girl. The streets of the Imperial city were littered with food places, places to eat in a hurry, to eat outside, to take food home. Carts with pastries, exotic foods and any number of dishes you could think of were torture to the orphans of the streets.

The tiny girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes watched as her target bought his food. She waited a moment before following as he briskly walked towards the gates to the Talos Plaza District. She followed behind him at an idle pace, keeping an eye on him. The guard stopped her at the gate.

"No."

"Please? The smell hurts my belly."

"Then go to the next district."

Fat tears rolled down the girl's face as her target slipped through the gates. The waterworks then became real as her chance for a meal disappeared as the gates closed. The guard looked guilty and knelt, his steel armor creaked.

"What's your name?"

The girl sniffled. "Samara."

"Samara what?"

"Samara Sage."

"What's your last name?"

She shrugged. "Mama and Daddy are dead."

"And where do you stay?"

"The orphanage near the prisons."

"Tell you what," he stood up and reached into the pockets under his greaves and pulled out five septims. "Take this," he knelt again, "and buy something from one of the carts. Something you've always wanted."

Samara eagerly took the money with a huge smile, her red, blotchy face now lined with joy. The gaurd stepped back to his post as the girl scurried off.

"That child won't survive the streets, Victus," his companion said. Victus turned his head and looked at the other guard.

"I'm going to speak with the Captain about the conditions of the orphanage. They receive funding from the city, there shouldn't be children looking like her wandering the streets if she stays there. The inspections officer is being lied to."

"Or he's pocketing the bribe money."

"There are four groups you never steal from. Orphans, widows and widowers, refugees, and the elderly. The city can dress it up all they want, but I'm not going to stand for this."

"You'll learn. The government is the bow, and the Legion is the arrow fired. We do what we are told."

"She wouldn't be stealing and pickpocketing if things were ran the correct way." I did not join to watch innocents die while we sit idly by. I thought the Legion stood for something?

Victus finished his shift and walked towards the guard barracks. He changed out of his gear and headed to the All Saints Inn, where he ordered a bottle of beer. He kicked back at a small table for one in the corner and watched. Most of the patrons didn't recognize him out of uniform, but those who did stayed away from him. He knew it was for the constant professional and paranoid demeanor the guards were encouraged to have, but as far as he was concerned, the steel was meaning less and less to him.

He drank one more beer before heading out, his mind wandering slightly. The tall, white-stoned buildings had kept him feeling safe and secure as a child, even when he grew up in the orphanage. The same orphanage the little girl had come from. He wondered if the same Imperial woman who had beat him as a child was still allowed to beat the other children.

He felt ill when the bruises on her arm had sprang up in his mind's eye. Were there bruises, or were they just a projection of his own experiences? Victus couldn't immediately recall any bruising on her arms.

He fell into his bed at the barracks and fell asleep without pulling the covers over himself.

Posted by: SubRosa Apr 12 2014, 07:02 PM

Vae Victus! That was a nice little piece, which immediately made me think of a young Teresa of the Faint Smile.

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Apr 12 2014, 07:26 PM

I only read a little bit of Teresa. I know she was a beggar, but that's it lol

Posted by: Grits Apr 12 2014, 07:44 PM

I was reminded of Teresa, too! Fortunately for Samara Victus has a gentler approach than Vols. This was a nice bit of background for Samara. Is this the character you’re playing in Oblivion now?

Posted by: Elisabeth Hollow Apr 12 2014, 07:48 PM

Samara is in "At My Feet," but sea much older.

Posted by: Grits May 12 2014, 05:06 PM

(This is just a page from the Darnandex, a supplement to Jerric's Story.)

Main Quest

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=22
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=50
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=86
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=99
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=105
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=136
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=616


Mages Guild Recommendations

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=178
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=558
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=730
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=946


Fighters Guild Quests

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=200
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=246


Daedric Quests

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=544
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=595 (unfinished)


Miscellaneous Quests

http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=56
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=52
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=288
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=498
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=379
http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=42

Posted by: Grits May 12 2014, 05:25 PM

Places that are in the same location but different from the games:


Brina Cross/Brina's Crossing: A market village at the junction of the Gold Road and the road to Sutch.

Fort Virtue: An operational Legion fort and naval station. Commercial traffic and public ferries use the adjacent docks.

Gnoll's Meeting Camp: A bare-bones way station operated by former bandits.

Kvatch Mages Guild: Specializes in Alchemy training.

Sutch: It's a real city.

Weye: A market town hosting wholesalers every Tirdas and Fredas.




You won't find these in the games:


Hope Valley: A Breton kahve farming settlement in the high valleys north of the Orange Road and east of Hrotanda Vale.

Mattapi: A Nord and Dunmer village in the mountains above Blacklight.

Pottersville: A village of clay miners and potters east of the Kvatch plateau.

The Riptide: A tavern located at the Anvil harbor's east end.

Tannertown: A settlement of leather workers northeast of the Kvatch plateau.

Troll Rock Lane: A dirt track connecting a series of farmsteads in County Chorrol including the Odiil Farm.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal May 21 2014, 03:07 AM

Hmm. New places. Cyrodiil is never a small place, is it?

Great places and clever names! Look forward to more, Grits, seeing these places in the post in description, that is.

Posted by: Grits Jul 24 2014, 11:47 AM

(Still adding to this...)

.

3E403

Spring, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=58

20 Sun’s Dusk, Jerric is born


3E414

Summer, Jerric and Rhano’s http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4803&st=1


3E432

Evening Star, Abiene’s http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4547


3E433

Sun’s Height, Jerric’s Story http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543

25 Last Seed, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=22, Imperial City

28 Last Seed, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=37, Aleswell

3 Hearthfire, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=45, Chorrol

4 Hearthfire, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=52, Odiil Farm

7 Hearthfire, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=56, Weye

12 Hearthfire, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=65, Skingrad

15 Hearthfire, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=86, Kvatch

28 Hearthfire, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=161, Weynon Priory

6 Frostfall, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=167, Cloud Ruler Temple

11 Frostfall, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=172, Jerric begins to wander

20 Sun’s Dusk, Jerric turns 30

4 Evening Star, http://chorrol.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=4543&st=178, Anvil




For quick reference, the Tamrielic Months and their Gregorian Equivalents
Morning Star / January
Sun’s Dawn / February
First Seed / March
Rain’s Hand / April
Second Seed / May
Midyear / June
Sun’s Height / July
Last Seed /August
Hearthfire / September
Frostfall / October
Sun’s Dusk / November
Evening Star / December

Posted by: Acadian Jul 24 2014, 12:47 PM

As soon as I saw Jerric's birthday, I raced to the wikilore page to translate it to 20 November and put in in my calendar. Then I got to the end of your post and saw that you had already anticipated what I would do. Then I did a face palm.

Thanks for posting this little slice of JerricLore!

Posted by: Grits Jul 24 2014, 06:15 PM

Thank you for being such a wonderful and supportive friend!

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 24 2014, 06:44 PM

And if you want a quick reference of which birthsign corresponds to which month:

bah, it refuses to keep the formatting no matter what I try. If you quote the post you will see it all formatted.

Posted by: Acadian Jul 24 2014, 10:08 PM

Oh I completely forgot about the birth signs. Jerric's an Astronaut of course so naturally he was born in Sun's Dusk. Just like Buffy = Mage/Rains Hand. And that means, I guess, that Methie (at least in TF) was born in Second Seed.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Aug 11 2014, 03:32 PM

Great stuff Grits. Peaked my curiosity.

Subrosa, are those birth signs and months correspondence Lin lore? Just curious.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 11 2014, 04:27 PM

Yep. I got it all off I the Imperial Library and the UESP Wiki. The wiki had the TES months and their Gregorian counterparts, and I think it was the IL that had the birthsigns by month.

Of course there is the Serpent sign too, which doesn't have a regular month. It can pop up at any time.

Posted by: ghastley Aug 11 2014, 06:11 PM

Signs to months is in the in-game book http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:The_Firmament - you can't get any more canon than that. It's been in the game since Morrowind at least.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Aug 12 2014, 03:28 AM

Hmmm. Can't believe I missed that. I've read it before. Thanks.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 20 2014, 01:55 PM

My dear Jerric,

As Sun’s Dusk the 20th will soon herald the anniversary of your birth, I hope the courier carrying this letter and gift is able to find you for a timely delivery.

My gift to you is a small pale blue aetherial fragment that I have named ‘Jerric’s Stone’. It fully recharges your magicka – but unlike a welkynd stone, is not destroyed in the process. After use, however, the stone requires a full day to refill itself with magicka before it can be used again. You don’t want to know how I came by it, but the stone is a byproduct from the creation of Azura’s Star ages ago. Happily, an aspect of the reusable nature of the Star lingers within this fragment. My hope is that, as an atronach battlemage, you will find it useful. If Jerric’s Stone turns the tide of even one battle for you, then I shall know I chose wisely.

Superian and I are still traveling Skyrim. As I’m sure you know, winter arrives early and rides a harsh wind in this Nordic land. With every snowfall, I am grateful for the resist frost toe ring you so thoughtfully gifted to me several years ago.

Please convey my warmest regards to Darnand, Abiene, Lildereth and your stable of wonderful animals.

With great affection, Buffy

Posted by: Grits Nov 22 2014, 03:42 AM

20 Sun’s Dusk
Whiterun


Jerric breezed through the Bannered Mare’s front door and headed straight to the bar. Hulda glanced up from her mopping. She did not look surprised to see him. “Hungry, tired, or just plain thirsty?” she asked.

“I’m two out of three, and you can guess which, I’ll wager.” Jerric shouldered in between two patrons and leaned on the bar.

“The usual, then?”

“Yep. A pitcher of ale and beef with bread and a side of horker loaf, with mead and venison stew while we’re waiting. And some Honnigbrew mead. And an apple. Two apples. Better make that three apples.”

Hulda raised a brow. “We? It’s not all for you this time?”

“Well, yeah. But I’m going to sit over there with my friends. They likely ate hours ago.” He gestured to where Lildereth sat at a table, a wine goblet at her elbow. The elf’s scowl seemed to be working. In the crowded tavern no one had managed to steal her extra chairs. “So we’ll be waiting for me to get my dinner,” Jerric finished.

Hulda started to turn away.

“Hold on a moment. I need to write a letter. Do you have some parchment I could borrow?”

Now Hulda’s other brow went up. “Borrow ? Write?”

“Uh, and some ink and a quill?”

The innkeeper gathered the materials and walked off to arrange his meal.

Jerric viewed the bar top. Crumbs swam in a sea of spilled mead and wine. Hulda’s efforts at cleaning could not keep up with the locals’ excesses tonight. This town knew how to celebrate Warrior’s Festival. He cleared the clutter off of a nearby side table and smoothed the parchment sheet.

Be careful, he told himself. Take your time so she can read it. He doubted that Hulda’s good graces would extend to more supplies if he made too many mistakes.

Jerric reached into his pocket for the gift Buffy had sent to him. Jerric’s Stone rested on his palm like a chip of pure sky. Magicka tickled his hand as it flowed steadily into the stone, refilling it. The tavern’s sounds and smells faded to the background as he thought of the little elf with dazzling blue eyes who had been so thoughtful and remembered his birthday.

He set the stone beside his hand and carefully dipped the quill.

Dearest Buffy,

Next time I see you get ready, because I’m going to hug you off your feet. The courier found me this morning right by the bridge over the White River. I got a chance to try your gift out right away because I was on my way to a job and as usual had about enough magicka left to heal a hangnail. I guess you know that spot’s a good place to find bandits. You would not enjoy the noise and mess my frost runes make, but they sure got the job done today. The road’s a little safer now at least for a few days and I didn’t even get my blade wet thanks to the magicka from Jerric’s Stone.

Buffy, this is the part that may sound womanish. You know how it is with the days like birthdays when some of the ones you love can’t ever be there with you again. I started off this morning fighting back that feeling. Then you remembered my magicka problems and thought of me on my birthday, and I don’t have the words for how much that means. I will use Jerric’s Stone every day even when something’s not trying to end my life, and each time I will think of you with thanks for your gift which is a true treasure. Even more precious is your kind heart and your friendship.

Now I think that’s enough of that kind of talk. I’m glad to hear you’re keeping warm. We’re staying in a little house in Whiterun this winter next to Adrienne and Ulfberth’s shop. You should come stay with us when you and Superian are passing through. There’s plenty of fresh air even with all of us in there breathing it on account of the gaps between the walls and the roof, and the gaps in the walls, and I’d guess also the gaps in the roof. Maybe that’s how the house got its name. But it has a big fireplace and we have piles of furs so it works out all right.

Everyone says hello right back to you. Darnand had a lot of questions he wanted me to ask you about Jerric’s Stone but I think we can skip all that and let him figure things out himself. We’ll raise a glass to you tonight, and I’ll drink a beer for Superian.

Thank you, Buffy. You made me grin so much it hurts.

Love from your friend,

http://i.imgur.com/dlwhRJ0.png

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 22 2014, 04:41 AM

Happy birthday to Jerric, and his stones. When I was at the grocery story today I noticed that People Magazine voted him sexiest man alive.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 23 2014, 12:07 AM

I'm simply delighted that Jerric both enjoyed the thought and is able to make good use of Buffy's gift. Our hope was to reduce the amount of Jerric Juice the big Nord has to schlep around all the time without making a gift that was overpowered.

I hope no one else made the mistake I almost did. You see, when I saw Jerric's signature on his letter in bold, I just took that as a way to make his sig stand out. For some reason, it didn't occur to me straightaway that it was a link. Happily I got myself sorted out. Buffy and I were treated to not only a fabulous shot of the sexiest man alive, but I am in awe of your skill with poses, photoshoot setup and especially that you actually crafted Jerric's Stone for your game!

It is wonderful to know that Jerric and Co spent his birthday safe and sound at the Bannered Mare - one of the very nicest taverns one could ask for.

As far as Buffy's reaction to Jerric's letter and picture. . .

Posted by: Grits Nov 3 2015, 07:06 PM

Here is a postcard from Valdi in Rorikstead at the dawn of the Fourth Era. It doesn’t go anywhere or do anything, it just is. ESTROGEN WARNING: There are no werewolves in this story. If you are squeamish about female bodily functions, you might just give this one a miss.


Blood Moons

The sun went down behind the mountain before I heard his feet on the porch stairs. I could tell because the back windows had gone dark. He shouldered the door open with boots in one hand and grocery sack in the other. I felt my face get warm, and that tight feeling came into my chest.

“Hello, my love,” and he gave me that smile.

My tongue still got tied up in knots whenever we saw each other, whether it was first thing in the morning or after a time apart. Today it had only been a few hours. I’d tried not to think about him all afternoon, which made it seem like forever.

“Did you get some rest?” he asked. “It’s gonna be a late night. Pa says Jouane told him be ready for a raid. Don’t know how he knows, but he knows.” He dropped the sack on the side table and shoved his boots underneath. His axe went on the rack by the door.

Harvest time meant raiders until the crops had all been carried to market by the caravans. No matter how far he roamed, Erik liked to be home by autumn to defend his village. Our village, I kept telling myself.

My fingers were tangled up in work, cheesecloth and string and little wads of tundra cotton all arranged at one end of our big kitchen table. I emptied my hands and climbed over the bench, my eyes full of him. I didn’t say I missed you, or I want you, or any of the love talk that you hear on a Loredas night at the Frostfruit Inn. I just walked into his arms and kissed every bit of skin I could reach, and then I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him some more.

He tasted like Mralki’s Autumnfest ale and smelled of woodsmoke. I ran my hands up under his tunic and he yanked my collar to get at that spot on my neck. Next thing I knew I was laid on the table with my work scattered everywhere and both of us fighting with my belt. I should have learned by then not to wear trousers around the house.

There was a thump downstairs and something rolled. We froze. Then there was a noise like someone kicking at a door frame. Which was probably exactly what was happening down there.

“Dammit,” Erik muttered. “I forgot She was here.”

She was my friend, hadn’t been for long but we’d been through the kinds of things together that make you invite her to stay with you as long as she likes, as long as she needs. And then you remember that you should have checked first with your husband. Erik has my back in this like he has in everything else that has happened since the first day we set eyes on each other. That only makes me feel worse when my choices pain him.

Also, until recently, She had been a vampire.

Erik put me back on my feet as easily as he’d stack a bundle of kindling. I watched him toss tufts and string back into the basket while I straightened my shirt. I had been making little pouches of cheesecloth stuffed with tundra cotton. They’re good for soaking up blood.

He picked one up by the dangling string. “You’re making moon mice already? Didn’t you just..?” His eyes rolled up as he counted days. Erik is no scholar, but I ain’t either.

“Yes,” I said, holding out the basket. “I won’t have my time again for six weeks or so. Not until Masser is waning. These aren’t for me.”

He dropped the moon mouse into my basket, face blank.

“They’re for Serana,” I told him.

“Oh gods,” said Erik.

“She hasn’t had her cycle in a thousand years, I’d wager. I don’t know what they used back then, but I’m sure she hasn’t thought about what she’ll use now.”

“Oh gods,” he said again. “What makes you think..?”

Erik has a way of not saying the lady words but still getting the message out. I can’t blame him. His Ma died when he was born, and he grew up without a sister to torment.

“Women tend to cycle close together when they’re under the same roof for long,” I explained. “I just finished mine. I guessed that hers would start back up some day. And she’s been so snippy and tense. I mean, more than usual.” Serana’s transition from vampire back to Nord had not been easy on her.

Something broke against the stone floor downstairs. Something that had been glass.

“Oh gods,” said Erik. “Sweet Mother Mara.”

Folk always want to pin lady troubles on Mara, even though it’s Kyne who made us. The way it works with women and elven lasses I’ve always thought a male must have come up with it. The elves are lucky and don’t get theirs as often, but that means fewer elves. Some Nords say that’s also lucky. The elves seem to suffer more with it, though. At least Lildereth does. But then I don’t know a lot of elves, so maybe it’s just her. And once I think on it, it’s mostly the rest of us that she makes suffer.

“She might want a length of sheepskin instead,” I thought aloud, “with the fleece boiled clean and the hide side oiled against leaking through.”

Erik’s scars and freckles stood out like ink, his face had gone so white.

“Sorry,” I said, sort of surprised. Erik wasn’t shy about anything at all once the clothes came off, and a little moon blood had never slowed him down before. Probably because he wasn’t the one who washed the linens.

He sat down hard on one of the chairs we had drawn up to the fireplace. I don’t think he planned to. “Don’t be sorry,” he told me. “You’re the one who thinks of things and I’m the one who’s sorry. What if we have a little girl some day? We could have a pack of girls. You’ll be the best Ma there ever was, strong and kind, teaching them your way with sun-fire and a shield. And I’ll just be there to… What do I know about girls? I’ll be there to chop wood and scare the boyfriends.”

I sat down in the other chair before my knees gave out. What kind of Ma will I be? The kind who drags her brats through hideout and cave, always ahead of the law but always looking over her shoulder? I’d grown up wild. That was all I knew. I couldn’t even tell him he was wonderful, my mind was so full of how I was nothing.

We’d never had this talk before. I was still making my teas the way Abiene showed me to keep my womb empty, still counting the days in fear when my time was due, terrified it hadn’t worked. Had he been counting days too, hoping we’d made us a child?

“Erik,” I croaked. My throat was all funny. “Love.”

He took my hand and squeezed it. I could see he remembered about my family. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. His face was strong again. “When you’re ready, when we’re ready. Or when the time comes and surprises us. We’ll figure it out together.”

I could hear Serana’s hard heels coming up the stairs. It bothered Erik that she wore boots in the house, and now it bothered me, too. But I felt awkward saying something, and I know he never would since she was my friend. She was already breaking things. Maybe this was a good time to tell her.

Serana appeared by the shield rack. Her knuckles showed white on the stair railing. I could see that lust on her face, the same as in her vampire days when she thought I wouldn’t see her blood hunger. She had left her vampire appetites behind, but she sure was hungry for something now. And her human eyes were fixed on my man.

I was standing in between them before I knew I’d moved. What the hells is this? I drew a breath.

Serana bent her neck to look around me at Erik. First she hissed, then the words came out in a whine. “Did you go to the bakery? Did you bring back something sweet?” She paced over to the bookcase, her hands restless on her arms and lower back. “Gods, I want some iced cakes. What did you buy at the market? By Molag’s maul, I have to have something sweet!”

Erik was out the door before his chair finished tipping over. His boots still sat by the door.

“He’s going now,” I told her. “He’ll bring back something salty, too, I’ll wager.” I motioned for Serana to join me at the table so we could talk.

I wasn’t much for hugs and touching, but Serana relaxed as soon as I put my hands on her back. I wasn’t much of a smiler, either, but I couldn’t help it when I thought of Erik running barefoot down the street. He’ll be the best Pa there ever was, strong and kind, teaching them his way with an axe and bow. When the time comes we’ll figure it out together. And we’re going to be just fine.

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 3 2015, 09:05 PM

Looks like I guess the meaning of Blood Moons had nothing to do with Werewolves!

She was not too hard to guess at either. I love how she is She. At least its not Valdi's reanimated sister in the basement (though an ex-vampire is close).

I don't have to guess what the tundra-cotton cloths are for either.

Hope they have plenty of chocolate at the market!

Posted by: Acadian Nov 3 2015, 11:38 PM

Gosh there was so much to like here as you explored a perhaps overlooked consequence of transitioning from Daughter of Coldharbour to Nordic woman with more than a thousand or so years of possibly pent up hormones.

The aspects of fertility that Valdi shared with us dovetail perfectly with previous glimpses into this area shared by Abiene, Teresa and Buffy. The elven implications were particularly close to home – fertility comes infrequently and more harshly. I also loved Valdi’s observation of what Buffy has experienced; indeed, every spring and autumn, she and her almost constant companion Superian come into ‘heat’ on the same internal clock.

Moon mice! Poor Erik!

*

And finally, let me comment on your current ‘Distracted’ screenshot of the month. I don’t know whether I envy Jerric or Lil more.

Posted by: mALX Nov 4 2015, 12:35 AM

Aw, nice screen! ("Distracted") I didn't know you were doing that too! (like Acadian)

Posted by: Grits Nov 19 2015, 04:43 PM

SubRosa: Yikes, no Clarissa in this basement! Serana may have been demoted to mortal, but She will always be a bit larger than life. Thank you!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I love spending time with Jerric and Lil. Each seems to make the other even more who they are. How sweet that Buffy and Superian share a cycle.

mALX: Thanks, mALX!

Posted by: Grits Nov 20 2018, 01:52 PM

Svanja and the Ghost Fox

Once upon a time about thirty years ago there was a lass called Svanja. She lived in Kvatch with her sister and two brothers, five cats and three dogs, and Ma and Pa who loved them. Svanja was the youngest because this was before I was born.

This lass had a kind heart, a strong will, and a mouth full of sass. She also had a fair amount of energy, even for a Nord child. Sometimes her loving Ma and Pa and two brothers and sister could use a break from Svanja. At those times if school was out and she was willing, Svanja got to stay with Ongve and Shasana in Anvil. She loved them as family.

Shasana and Ongve were hand-fasted in the old Nord way as Ongve did not care for priests and their chapel weddings. Still childless at the time, they possessed the patience that comes of restful sleep. They lived in Anvil’s Harborside district where houses were small and close together. Folk grew flowers in pots and kept their windows clean. Shasana and Ongve did not have to keep a close eye on Svanja.

One of Svanja’s visits took place during a particularly hot and dry summer. County Anvil summers are always hot and dry, so you can imagine that if it was memorable, it was rutting hot. Svanja had passed her ninth winter. Back home in Kvatch she had been given an axe and begun to learn how to use it. She had a good pack, sturdy boots, and an excellent sense of direction. Svanja had also become a decent shot, but she left her bow behind when she wandered. Svanja loved animals, even the mean ones, and had no taste for hunting.

Shasana had a friend who lived in Brina’s Crossing, a village straight north of Anvil but farther by road. On this day Shasana gave Svanja a basket to carry to her friend. Whatever was in the basket is long forgotten. Maybe Svanja never knew. Anyway, who cares why one lady sends a lass with something to another lady? Only the two ladies, that’s who.

Svanja had half the day to get there and half the day to return by nightfall. Few folk traveled after dark when all manner of miscreant and beast came out to hunt. The occasional Legion patrol could not be counted on to save someone foolish enough to walk alone at night.

She hopped out of bed that morning when the first of the fish carts rumbled by. Svanja didn’t mean to go out the Dock Gate and take the long way around the city walls, but that’s where her feet went. Skipping along the harbor as the stars faded, she noticed that the tide was out. That meant tide pools on the rocky strand past the lighthouse. With such an early start she surely had time to see what gifts the sea had bestowed overnight. The breeze off the water wasn’t quite cool, but it was still a breeze. Svanja pulled off her boots and socks and was soon creeping through the tide pools.

Spider stars picked their way through the crevices, lifting their legs three at a time. Tiny fish flashed pink and silver as they darted through the salt lettuce. Delicate sea horses clung to marsh grass roots, nipping at the water strider bugs on the surface. In one pool Svanja found a baby diamond-backed skate and gently carried it to the surf.

A fish eagle’s call drew her attention out to sea. A cloud bank had formed low against the western horizon, painted all the colors of Aetherius by the rising sun. Morning was well underway, yet here she lingered far from the road to Brina’s Crossing. Svanja’s young legs made up some time, running over the dunes at an angle to meet the road. She spent the journey alternately jogging the flats and walking up the steepest parts, always staying within sight of someone.

Shasana’s friend offered Svanja a late lunch, and of course she accepted. It can be certain that Svanja thanked her hostess, carried her dishes to the scullery, and did not run while indoors. This is known because Svanja’s Ma raised her well. By the time Svanja stepped back onto the road, shadows stretched along the ground.

Home before dark, she thought. The long way by road would make her late. Svanja was a good girl, but at nine winters she was not thinking of Shasana’s and Ongve’s worry when she failed to return by nightfall. She was thinking of dire wolves prowling the hills, mountain lions slinking through the hollows, and bandits high on the outcrops over the road, all waiting for dusk to begin their hunts.

There was also the matter of ghosts. Some said that ghosts were always around us, you just couldn’t see their nature unless it was dark. Some said that ghosts would never hurt the righteous. And some said that ghosts were not to be feared unless they were angered. But if you were dead, Svanja reasoned, wouldn’t that make you angry?

Svanja crossed the road and climbed through the rocky verge until she could see Anvil’s red tiled roofs and the lighthouse peeking out between the hills far below. On a clear day she might see all the way across to the shores of Valenwood. But today was no longer clear. The cloud bank had moved over the sea toward Anvil. Now it filled the western sky, towering over a flat, dark base. This morning’s breeze had turned to a wind that hissed through the dry grass, answered by grumbling thunder. The air felt heavy and smelled of cookfires.

Svanja began her descent straight south through the hills. Her brother Petr had told her of a stone mouse that ran up his trouser leg and turned to itchy dust when he clapped a hand over it. Svanja doubted the truth of that story, but she’d seen enough serpents and lizards to be cautious with her footing. Gusts of wind blew the plants across her path, making it hard to see where she stepped. When she spotted a game trail winding slightly east across the hillside but generally down, she took it. At a level spot Svanja paused to tie the rain cover over her pack. Wet hair wouldn’t bother her, but she didn’t want her supplies to get soaked.

Kneeling in the dust she saw a flash of orange-red on the ground ahead between the waving grasses. Svanja stayed still for a moment, watching. When whatever it was didn’t move, she crept forward to investigate, wary that it may spring at her.

The grasses parted to reveal a fennec fox, its small leg caught in the cruel jaws of a foothold trap. Flesh had torn from bone in its desperate struggle, but now the little creature’s pain and fear were over. Its antics would never grace County Anvil’s golden hills again.

Svanja freed its leg, her eyes clouded with tears. She followed the chain to where a ring secured the trap under some rocks. They were too heavy for her to move, so she smashed at the links with her axe until they broke. Her last stroke cracked the axe head from its handle. With a curse, she flung the trap away down the hill. Her broken haft sailed after it.

The little fox was with Kyne now. Svanja made a soft bed so that its body wouldn’t lie twisted in the dust, then smoothed its fur from nose to tail once she laid it there. “I’m so sorry, dear one,” she whispered.

An antelope leaped over her head from the rocks behind, landing in puffs of dust and springing away before she could yelp. Seven more followed, ignoring the Nord child in their panic. Svanja squinted against the wind and saw smoke low along the hills. Too much for a camp fire. The storm behind it showed angled slashes of rain. Svanja turned and began to jog along the game trail, a nameless worry nipping her heels.

Thin squeaks and chitters drew her attention to an outcrop above her track. When she held her breath to listen, the clatter of brittle wings sounded over the wind. Nixads! Svanja scrambled up to find a flutter of the aerial creatures in distress, one of their number tangled in a snare. She had never been so close to one. While a part of her shivered with delight, she approached carefully. In pictures they were drawn with sharp nails and beak-like jaws for crunching bits of the magicka-infused stone they favored.

Svanja knelt to look, gently swatting away the three that buzzed around her head, screeching and scratching. “Stop it, you!” she murmured. “I’m no mage, stealing your gem chips. I’m here to help!”

The snared nixad’s complaints rose to a shrill keen as she bent over it. An upper section of its wing had snapped at the strong edge and torn through the membrane. Ma insisted that her wandering daughter carry strips of linen for a splint, a bundle of poultices for wounds, and one healing potion for emergencies. Svanja was a good girl and listened to her Ma, but she wasn’t so good that she replaced supplies as soon as she used them. Upon unrolling her kit, Svanja found herself with only one poultice and the healing potion.

“Your wing is broken, small one” she told the nixad. “I’ll heal you.” Her clever fingers made quick work of the snare. The injured nixad thrashed and bit as she freed it, but when she pressed the poultice to its straightened wing, it stilled. Magicka heals quickly. The nixad began to trill.

The others stopped their attack immediately, joining their voices in celebration. When Svanja opened her hand the healed nixad twirled into the air. She laughed along with their bug song as they swooped up and away.

A clap of thunder drove the smile from Svanja’s face. Storm clouds had overtaken her. The campfire smell was stronger. When she stood up to look, she saw that the band of smoke reached from the foothills below to the slope above her, too far for her to escape up hill. Orange light glowed at its base. Svanja picked up her pack and began to run.

More animals dashed past her now, too many for her to count. A new noise sounded under the wind’s roar, as loud as the growling thunder. It was the voice of the fire.

A woman’s scream jerked her attention to a short distance down the hillside. Svanja’s reckless scramble toward it turned into an uncontrolled tumble. Her pack caught on something and yanked her to a stop, legs sliding over the edge of a pit. The scream came from below as Svanja hoisted herself back up, horrified at her mistake. There was no woman in the pit. That cry came from a mountain lion. When it screamed again, Svanja saw fangs as long as her hand. She knelt shaking at the edge, a lump in her throat. If she let the lion out, it could kill her.

The lion leaped up at her, clawing for the edge. Svanja lunged away as it fell back down, her own shriek lost in its cry. “No, no, no,” she moaned, first crawling and then limping away down the hill.

Something was wrong with her knee. Svanja rummaged for her healing potion. The ground was alive with small rodents and the reptiles who fed upon them, all fleeing the fire. A badger trundled past, bumping against her in its terror. A boar followed, knocking her to the ground. When the lion screamed again, Svanja’s pack slipped from numb hands. She turned back to the pit.

Smoke stung her eyes as she searched for a branch that would hold the big cat. The first she found was too heavy for her to move. The next was too short. Then she saw a sturdy sapling on the ground, perhaps cut and left unused by the trapper.

Her knee collapsed when she tried to drag it. Svanja clutched it with one arm and braced her strong leg against a rock, pushing and pulling her way along the ground. Now the wind carried ash and heat. Breathing through her tunic helped. Svanja’s world narrowed to the tree and the lion pit. One rock at a time, one push at a time, she reached the edge.

The great cat escaped as soon as the tree dropped down, so swift that Svanja missed its leap. Its golden belly flashed over her, then she was alone with the wind and fire. Lightning flashed an instant before the thunder, but the rain was not coming fast enough. She looked into the pit, empty now but for the branches and tarp that had concealed it. Should she slide down and hope that the fire would pass over? Should she try to find a rock to climb on and hope the flames didn’t reach?

Svanja was a caravanner’s daughter and had the vocabulary to prove it. She used it now to curse the trapper who had caused such pain. She cursed the hedge mage or hunter whose careless fire raced toward her driven by the wind. And she cursed her fear when she dropped the pack with its healing potion. She would never find it in the smoke.

But this Nord was not finished yet. The branch that had been too short now helped her rise. She angled her path downhill but also across the slope to gain more distance from the fire. Even dragging a leg, Svanja was quicker than some creatures. A spine-footed tortoise marched along, soon to be cooked alive in its shell. Svanja picked it up and rolled it into her tunic. They passed an orange and black mottled jewel lizard next. She tucked it beside the tortoise. New purpose drove her forward. As she lifted a young spotted sloth to her shoulder, Svanja spied another small shape through the smoke. A fennec fox stood watching her. It trotted away a few steps and turned to look back.

Svanja limped after it, near panicked by the heat and roar at her back. When her path was blocked by a boulder, Svanja heard a sharp yap from above. The fox stood atop it, looking down at her. For a moment it disappeared, then popped back up. It barked again, ears pricked forward.

“But that’s uphill,” Svanja coughed. She turned and took a few lurching steps down.

“Arp! Arp!” The fox stood in her way, four feet firmly planted and ears pinned back. Its tail lashed the air. “Arp!”

“All right!” Svanja cried, her throat raw. “Show me!”

The fox led her back to the outcrop and around to the uphill side. By now the fire’s roar nearly drowned out the booming thunder, and lightning barely pierced the smoke. The fox yapped again, then jumped down a crack under the boulder.

Svanja knew a hundred reasons not crawl into a dark crevasse. Now she knew one in favor. She clutched the lizard and the turtle through her tunic. The sloth had such a grip on her neck that she feared it would choke her. She lay down flat and the four of them slithered after the fox.

Dark, cool, and the trickle of water. Svanja cradled the turtle and the lizard, finding them both un-squashed. She placed a soothing hand on the dusty sloth. Overhead the fire sounded like an arena on Loredas. The fox stood alert, looking up at the crack through which they had come. A soft blue-white glow surrounded it.

Svanja wondered if Ma would give her doll away, and who would get her books. Snowball would have to pick someone else’s shoes to barf in. She thought about Sigur Evinsson with his quiet ways and kind smile. They were supposed to grow up and get married and have three strong children all red-haired like their pa. Now poor Sigur would never know because Svanja hadn’t told him yet. Most of all she thought about the fire. How long would it hurt while she burned?

After the fire passed, the rain came. Svanja had to shift her position when the trickle below became a rushing stream, but the cavern did not flood. The lizard crawled away while Svanja was sleeping. When a ray of sunshine pierced the cavern’s gloom, the sloth released Svanja’s neck and began its slow journey up the rocks. The turtle waited until Svanja had climbed out and placed it on the mud before emerging from its shell.

Shasana did not scold her for being late, for breaking her axe, or for losing her pack to the fire. She simply lifted Svanja onto her back and carried her down the blackened hillside. That afternoon Ongve made his first visit to a chapel of the Divines.

Some say that when you see a ghost and a ghost sees you, a little piece of your soul travels with it. Svanja couldn’t say why she searched the hills above Anvil every time she came to stay with Ongve and Shasana. She searched over the winter holidays with her two brothers and her sister, who were for a time quite happy to put up with her sass. She searched in the spring when the grass grew back green, and in the summer when the hills turned golden again.

After Svanja finished school and took up her work, she still returned to walk the hills when she visited Anvil. In time her husband with his quiet ways and kind smile joined the search at her side. Later she brought their three strong children, two red-haired like their pa and one blonde like her mother. But Svanja never saw the ghost fox again.

Posted by: TheCheshireKhajiit Nov 20 2018, 03:49 PM

^
That’s a nice little story G! Very timely given the horrible fires over in Cali.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 20 2018, 09:08 PM

What a wonderful treat to see a new short story from you! You have absolutely lost none of your delightful ability to enthrall with words.

Jerric’s �voice’ as storyteller is perfect – just rough-edged enough to remind us who is narrating.

And a wonderful story it is! The brave little Nord saved by the ghost fox that she took the time to care about and give a proper send off to wherever little foxes go when they die. Svanja may be young and small but she displayed a heart as big as all the Gold Coast as, despite the mortal dangers of fire and fangs, she saved every troubled critter whose path she crossed.

The ending was perfect. Bittersweet but left me with a smile. Beautiful work, my friend!

Posted by: SubRosa Nov 20 2018, 10:48 PM

That was a wonderful tale about Grizzly Adams Svanja and the Ghost Fox. In a short period you painted a very clear and vivid picture of her. Best of all, throughout it all she remained true to her character, right to the bitter end. Which is what saved her. Well done!

Posted by: treydog Nov 21 2018, 01:00 AM

Your talent is undiminished. The sights and thoughts and events make me long for wander along the shore and the hills of my childhood once more.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 21 2018, 04:24 AM

Oh, and Happy Birthday to Jerric today!

Posted by: mALX Nov 21 2018, 09:18 PM

Aw, this was a really nice surprise! Also: Happy Birthday to Jerric!

Posted by: Grits Dec 1 2018, 02:08 PM

TheCheshireKhajiit: Thanks, Khajiit! My mom and I once stumbled into the aftermath of a forest fire. It was a unique kind of scary.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Jerric’s first draft had a lot more of his flavor of speech, but a lot got cut when I tightened things up to fit the story into one post. I’m happy to hear that it still sounded like Jerric. He had a great birthday. Thank you for the good wishes!

SubRosa: Young Svanja seemed so real to me that I couldn’t really tell what was coming through in the story, which made editing tricky. I thought immediately of Teresa when Svanja turned out to be such a nature lover, I’m very glad that you liked it. Thank you, SubRosa!

treydog: Me too, long free days where no one wondered where we were and there were no cell phones. Thank you, treydog!

mALX: Thank you, mALX! He had a great birthday.

Posted by: treydog Jun 12 2019, 07:22 PM

So here is another installment from the earlier (mis)adventures of Athynae and Athlain. Or mostly, Athynae's younger brother, Rahvin Sarethi. Hope you all enjoy this little bit of "before the Bloodmoon Main Quest" madness.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One Fredas morning, I went to see Rahvin. As breakfast (with its attendant sweet roll dessert) was over, I knew he would be in the rickety structure he proudly referred to as “The Lab.” The capital letters were understood from the way he uttered the phrase.

It was never a good idea to just walk in- there was a good chance you would get shot at, engulfed in, or otherwise assaulted by his latest “experiment.” On this particular day, before I even tapped on the door, I could tell that things were going worse than usual. First, the odor emanating from the gaps in the wooden plank walls was of a... quality... I had never encountered before, not even in the guar pens. Second, I could hear Rah talking to himself. That wasn't unusual, but this time it sounded as if he was... chanting? That could turn out very badly. If he had found an old scroll or spell book, we might have Daedra running loose in the streets. Although interrupting him in mid-recitation might be more dangerous than awakening his older sister- an act often compared to kicking a sleeping dragon- it was necessary. So I stepped to one side of the door, just in case, and knocked loudly.

The chanting stopped and nothing emerged for some time, other than a few more wisps of evil-smelling vapor. At last, Rahvin's voice answered, sounding more distracted than usual. “What?”

“Is it safe to come in- or are you still writing poems?” I admit it; I liked to tease him, because he took everything “scientific” so seriously. He made up for it by being a really good person, and by participating in word games with me. Much to the disgust of almost everyone else in our families, we both loved puns and would go on long “pun runs,” which Aunt Serene said were “evidence of the decline of education, civilization, and sanity.” But she smiled when she said it, so we kept it up. And it also drove Athynae to distraction, which was an additional bonus.

He ignored my jibe, as he usually did, and called, “Athlain! Come in. I have a... ah... situation... here and could use your help.”

That was the point at which someone else would have remembered an important appointment somewhere, like possibly Balmora or maybe even Summerset. But Rah was my friend and there was a note of distress in his voice that I could not ignore. So I went in.

The lab- sorry “The Lab,” was in an even greater state of chaos than usual- beakers and vials were overturned; streaks of some dark substance ran across the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling; papers were strewn all over; and in the midst of it all was Rahvin, sitting on the floor with his hands in front of him, appearing as if they were clasped in prayer. Before I could even think of what to ask first, he gestured with his hands, which were still held tightly together,

“Lizards,” he said, as if the word was a curse, followed by, “glue.”

At the mention of “lizards,” I made a more careful scan of the room. Rahvin was a brilliant, fine person, and a good friend- but sometimes his scientific shorthand could be misleading. When he said “lizard,” it might mean anything from a tiny gecko to a Daedroth. But nothing seemed to be moving in The Lab; especially no green, 8-foot tall, mouth-filled-with-pointy teeth creatures from Oblivion. And that meant I could focus on the second part of his cryptic remark. A close look at his hands showed that they were, indeed, glued together.

There were times to rush ahead and times to consider carefully. This, I decided, fit in the second category. Rah with his hands disabled was Rah unable to make the problem worse. So I grabbed a stool, checking first for any explosives, adhesives, adversarial animals, or other potential problems that might prove detrimental to my well-being and/or appearance. “I think you should begin at the beginning.”

“It was like this,” he began. “I have been working on a new kind of secret ink, one that works like regular ink, unless it is used with special paper- which I have also been working on. It's that blue paper over there,” he pointed with his chin, but I decided it was better to stay in the relatively clear space where I was. “Anyway, one of the ingredients for the ink is made from some Bitter Coast insects, and it has an... acrid odor.” For Rahvin to acknowledge that anything he worked on actually smelled was a major admission, so it must have been truly, monumentally bad.

“So, apparently the desert lizards around here; you know, the light-colored ones.... Apparently, they really like those bugs. So they have been sneaking into The Lab and knocking things over and leaving tracks everywhere. And I couldn't catch them. So I decided I would use some of the paper that didn't work to patch the gaps in the walls. But to do that, I needed to makes some glue...,” his face was a study as he admitted, “which smelled worse than the insect parts. But I think there may be a commercial market for it.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And actually, the paper-making is pretty smelly, too.”

He made as if to rest his chin on his hands, but thought better of it before he made his predicament worse. Not being able to talk with his hands was obviously making things hard for him. “So I glued the paper up last night, figuring that would keep the little beggars out.” He shook his head. “But when I got here after breakfast, they had just... gone ahead and pushed their way in. Except they got stuck to the paper and were all over the floor. And... and they were pretty annoyed- I could tell. Some of them had even... pulled their own tails off trying to get free.” He looked sad as he said that part; Rah, for all his scientific turn of mind, was a champion of all creatures, especially the small ones. “I mean, I know that they will grow back, but... still.”

“So, I... ah... thought maybe I could re-attach the tails, with some of the glue. And there's an oil that's safe, but acts as a release agent for the adhesive. So I took some of the oil and some of the glue and started trying to turn the lizards loose, and give them back their tails, but they were still pretty agitated and... anyway... they're gone, and I got my hands stuck together and they all scarpered off. So... if you could bring the release agent, I would appreciate it.”

I sat in stunned silence for several minutes before I could speak. At last, after looking around, I said, “So let me get this straight. It all started because you had inky stinky pink lizards leaving black tracks all over the shack. You couldn't catch them because they were careful (and because of the numerous gaps in the walls). So you accidentally made blue gluey traps which snared the critters and caused them to become annoyed and lose their tails, thus turning them into angry, sticky, tricky, truncated inky stinky pink lizards. This made you sad. And then your own problem arose when you tried to re-attach the tails with your new glue and got stuck, turning yourself into a blue, new glued reptile retail adhesive Sarethi.”

He looked thoughtful as I finished my summary, and then pointed out plaintively, “But the glue isn't 'blue,' the paper is.”

At that point, there was nothing more to say, so I poured the release agent over his hands and got ready to help him clean up The Shack- sorry- The Lab. And that was when 'Thyna appeared.

“What in the name of Azura have you been doing in here, Rahbrat? This place smells even worse than it usually does. You missed morning tea, so I figured something was up.” She smirked at me and added, “And seeing as your partner in misfortune and mayhem is here, it must have been spectacular.”

I shook my head vehemently. “Oh no- not this time! For once, I got to the scene after the mayhem was managed. At least Rahvin has the courtesy to not involve me in every one of his 'great plans for a really fun adventure.' Unlike some other Sarethis I can think of. And he also didn't douse me with all the foul-smelling substances he concocted.” No, as a matter of fact, I was not over the “let's hunt cliff-racers- you be the bait” incident, nor was I ever likely to be.

“Fine! But since this one was not my fault, I would still like an explanation. Just in case I need to explain the 'not my fault' part to anyone.” She had folded her arms and was going to start tapping a foot any minute. Everyone who knew Athynae recognized those danger signs.

“You probably want to sit down for this,” I advised, “and... look where you sit before you do.” Yes, there was a small part of me that briefly considered letting 'Thyna get glued to something. But the kinder, better, and above all- sane- part reminded that other one that she would eventually get free. Once she was seated, I summed up Rahvin's adventures in invention and invasion and attempted interdiction of insect-seeking outdoor inhabitants. And at the end, I just couldn't help myself, “So, you see, it was all because of the angry sticky tricky truncated inky stinky pink lizards that your brother turned himself into a blue new glued reptile retail adhesive Sarethi.”

Athynae's eyes had crossed by the time I got to the end, and she opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out. And that allowed Rahvin to again point out, with the long-suffering air of a scientist whose feelings are hurt when others fail to meet his standard of accuracy, “Yes, yes; it's all true. Except that the glue isn't blue. And also, once I used the oil to let them loose, they got really slippery.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “And now that I think about it, those lizards had short legs and no visible necks. I think they might have been... skinks.”

I inhaled deeply and began, “He thinks they're skinks; which would mean....”

Before I could get any further, Athynae held up a hand. “Don't! I'm still considering whether to kill you or die laughing. Or possibly both.”

I tried, and probably failed, to look innocent, but could not help saying, “Oh no, I wasn't going to say anything about slick pink skinks; I was just wondering if I could make one of them into a stylish pendant for you. A really slick neckless pink skink necklace? What do you think? ”

The resulting bruise was definitely not pink, but somehow she had managed to make it look like a lizard- or possibly a skink.

After we had calmed down a bit, we started to clean up The Sh... ah, The Lab. It was going fairly well, as Rah had made plenty of the solvent to counteract his glue. I was impressed that he had actually had the foresight to do that- he was incredibly smart, but sometimes he would get so focused on one thing that it could have... unfortunate consequences. Our current situation being a prime example. As we worked, having to fetch water from the well every so often, I looked around and tried to gauge my distance from Athynae before I commented, “You know what would really help in here? A sink, I think. Except what if the water attracted the lizards? What if the slick pink skinks came to the sink to get a drink?”

I had forgotten that distance was not a barrier to 'Thyna- if she could see me, she could throw something and hit me. At least it wasn't a glue pot- or the stinky skink ink. However, it was the last, nearly empty bottle of solvent. Rahvin smiled and said, “Not a problem! I can mix up more- I just need to check the formula first.” And it was then that we discovered that the solvent formula was glued, face-down, to the top of his work table.

Meanwhile, 'Thyna had another concern. “So... these... slightly not-red lizards of yours,” not only would she not wear the color, she also had trouble saying the word, “where did they go- exactly?”

“What do you mean, NayNay?”

“I mean your sh... Lab backs up against Skar, which is where our house is, which is where my room is, which is where my bed is. So if any of them ran into the ventilation shafts...,” she twirled a throwing star in her fingers before concluding, “and one of your icky slick formerly sticky yucky lucky plucky lizards slides into bed with me....”

He looked stricken and pointed at the throwing star, “You wouldn't! You wouldn't hurt an innocent skink! Besides, they're really small....”

Her smile would have caused a slaughterfish to consider becoming vegetarian. “Oh, I wouldn't hurt the lizards... You, on the other hand- I will deliver you trussed up like a caught cliff-racer to the red-headed dastardly duo.” And then her mind caught up with something else he had said and she added, “So- if the skinks are 'really small,' does that mean they are.... 'dinky?' ”

Rah remained oblivious as I fell to the floor, weak from laughing. “You should be safe I would think. The insect ink is the link to the skinks.”

And, as usual, Athynae got the last word, “You should be less concerned with what you think, than with what will happen to you if my room is invaded by your angry slick quick formerly sticky tricky truncated inky stinky dinky pink skinks!”

Posted by: ghastley Jun 12 2019, 08:28 PM

I'm now wondering what IRL situation inspired this. And did it involve six thick thistle sticks?

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 16 2019, 09:08 PM

I just came off of re-reading The Case of Charles Dexter Ward for the dozenth time, and your description of The Lab immediately got my hackles up for Mythos-related danger. The odor, the chanting, I wonder if he has a worn copy of Borellus in there...

A very amusing interlude with dinky pink skinks, blue paper, and Sarethi glue.

Posted by: treydog Jun 22 2019, 04:43 PM

@ghastley- It started with the phrase "sticky lizard"- which I don't remember the context for. And then it just kind of scarpered off on its own from there. Growing up, I did have occasion to catch our local variety of skinks- https://www.tn.gov/twra/wildlife/reptiles/lizards/common-five-lined-skink.html. And they can "lose" their tails as a defense mechanism- and then grow them back. For the rest- it is what happens when you turn a former English major loose with a word processor....

@SubRosa- I think this next installment will fit in with your feelings of creepiness crawling. Rahvin is usually pretty good about avoiding "things that man (or mer) was not meant to know," but sometimes his thirst for knowledge gets away with him. I am glad that it caused a smile or two- it was certainly fun to write- and to picture in my head.

-------------------------------------------
Somewhere outside of Ald'ruhn, Vvardenfell

The two boys tumbled out of the opening in the hillside, their exit punctuated by a rumble of falling stone and a gout of dust that covered them from head to foot. “Remind me again how I got involved in this?” coughed the larger one.

Two days earlier

I found Rahvin in his lab, which was not surprising. He was there any time he did not have to be somewhere else, and would have slept there if Aunt Serene had not drawn a line about it. Of course, saying he was “in” the lab was a bit of a misstatement. It had only taken a few explosions, releases of noxious fumes, and infestations of escaped creatures in Sarethi Manor to get him banished to the outside wall of Skar. There he had set up a makeshift roof and a couple of additional walls that were almost sturdy enough to deter an anemic scrib. Considering the frequency with which the walls were blown down- or sometimes knocked down, by people rushing to escape one of his “tests,” it was just as well. Regardless, he was usually there, unless he had been forcibly reminded that his presence at family meals and lessons was not “optional.” The only exception was weapons training. Whenever 'Thyna reminded him it was “time to practice,” he dropped whatever he was doing and grabbed his bow. When I say “dropped,” it is not a figure of speech. I should know, since I helped put out a number of the resulting fires.

But on this particular day, he was not burning, boiling, or blowing up anything. Instead, he was slumped on his stool, chin supported by both fists and his elbows propped on the table to either side of a tattered book. If I had inherited any of Mother's artistic skill, I could have done a painting or sculpture of him and called it The Scientist- Dejected. The hair sticking out at odd angles just added to the scene of misery.

“Hey, Rah. If the story is that sad, just read a different one.”

He didn't look up at first, but continued his morose glare at the pages of spidery writing, as if he could transform what they said by sheer force of will.

“Hello Athlain. No, it isn't 'sad,' it's just....” He stopped and looked up suddenly, his eyes alight with a new- and probably explosive- idea. “Athlain! Good! So I found this old... journal, and it gives directions to a t... a cave that is almost certain to hold the ing... some really interesting artifacts.”

“So?”

It was usually his older sister that roped me into dubious and dangerous adventures, but I still had painful memories of going to lessons covered in purple fuzz, thanks to one of Rahvin's “really good ideas.” I was actually interested in exploring this cave, especially if it had been forgotten. But the thing was, others tended to have an interest in caves too, like smugglers and bandits.

“And where is this cave? Skyrim? Akavir? And what's in it besides 'artifacts'? Dragons? Vampires? Giant deadly Dwemer constructs?”

Rahvin's enthusiasm did not waver in the face of my questions. “That's just it. The entrance isn't far from here. And better still, it was blocked by a rock slide a long time ago.” His eyes drifted up and to the right. “So there's almost certainly probably nothing in there to be worried about.” He casually added, “You could bring that staff Mother has been teaching you to use- if it will make you feel better.”

What I felt like was that I was being... herded. Rah knew I was happy to have finally found a weapon that I could actually use- and one that let me keep Athynae from beating me during every practice session. And he also knew that I had always hoped to make a significant discovery of some sort. So it sounded good, but it never paid to give in too easily.

“I don't know, Rah. Who else is going?”

Because it was entirely possible this was one of Athynae's “adventures,” and that she had put him up to asking so I would be less suspicious. But he waved his hand dismissively, “Oh it would just be us- unless you don't want to be part of The Expedition.”

I could hear the capital letters, and felt my resolve slipping. “Let me think about it.”

He shrugged as if it wasn't all that important, and started sorting alchemy ingredients. That went on for several minutes and then he paused and asked me, “You have archery practice tomorrow, right?”

I looked at him as if he had grown another head- not as far-fetched as it sounds, if you had seen some of his “experiments.” “You know I do- you're supposed to be there with me. And what does that have to do with anything?”

He nodded absently, his hands still busy. “Right. Yes. So... how about this? If I score better than you, you go with me to the... cave.”

Rahvin was more naturally adept with a bow than I was, but I had managed to stay close through diligent practice. I wasn't in Athynae's league, but then almost no one was. But on the other hand, I wasn't so hopeless that people had to evacuate the range when I shot. Still. “And what about if I win?”

He didn't quite laugh, but his lips twitched. “Ah... If you win, you get all my desserts for a week.”

“Two weeks,” I countered, and stuck out my hand.

“Done,” he answered, and shook on the bet.

That should have been all the warning I needed; Rahvin might miss meals, but he never missed dessert.

The next afternoon found us on the archery range, and I was amused to see that Rahvin had equipped himself with a new bow-string and was examining the shafts and fletching on each of his arrows with a critical eye. In that moment, he resembled his older sister preparing for a tournament competition, instead of someone engaged in a friendly wager. Of course, his desserts were on the line, which probably explained his competitiveness. And it also probably explained the fact that he beat me by a good ten points. I didn't like losing, but the prospect of doing some exploring was enough to soothe that minor irritation. Athynae was occupied with a handful of wild guar that had been brought in, and was spending almost all of her time at the stable.

So it was that I met Rahvin at his lab far too early the next morning. When I surveyed the pile of “essentials” he had gathered, I understood why we were meeting there instead of Sarethi Manor. Anyone seeing all that equipment would have deduced that Something Was Up.
“I thought you said the cave was nearby.”

“It is.” Rahvin's voice back came from somewhere in the mountain of supplies. “In the hills northeast of here.”

“And how many pack guar are you planning on using? And how will you get them out of the stable without Athynae noticing?”

His head popped up from behind a crate like a startled scrib, hair sticking out in all directions. “Pack guar? I didn't think we would need...,” his voice trailed off as he looked from me to the mound of gear.

I leaned on my staff and pointed to the travel pack strapped across my back, “Food, water, a few potions and bandages. We aren't going to invade Elsweyr, are we? I like the Khajiit.”

He chewed his lip and looked at the accumulation again. “Well, no. But....”

I straightened up and pointed. “Same things I have. Food- plus a little extra in case things go longer than we expect. Water, because you always take clean water. Some potions- but not your entire stock! Maybe a small shovel and a pry bar.” I had gone on enough, “Come on. It will be fun,” adventures with his older sister to know how to prepare. “And bring your bow; that's racer country.”

When I mentioned cliff-racers, his face lit up and he started digging through the sacks and boxes. “I can test my new Cliff-Racer Repellent formula!”

“Ah... how do I put this? 'No.' No Racer Repellent, new or otherwise.”

The thing was, the evil-smelling concoction actually sort of... worked. It also tended to stay on your skin for a month or more and... ate holes in your clothing. Not to mention that it caused every scrib and kwama forager in the area to think you were a member of the opposite gender- if scribs and foragers had genders. But... no. Just no.

At last, minus the repellent and enough other equipment to have supported the garrison at Fort Moonmoth for a year, we left Ald'ruhn. The going was easy, and we would have made good time, except for Rah's need to stop and examine and catalog every bug, bush, or flower we passed. He also frequently consulted the notes he had made from the old book, explaining that the tome itself was “too delicate to carry into the field.” I was just happy I had packed enough food for several meals, and that we had left near first light.

Once we got into the foothills, Rahvin stopped to take sightings of several mountain peaks and turned us a bit more east. Satisfied with what he saw, he picked up his pace toward the mouth a a ravine that cut deep between two of the hills. When we reached the terminus, he sat down in the shade and pointed to a pile of stones that lay against the slope. “That should be it. Just roll those rocks out of the way. The slide doesn't appear very deep.”

“And what will you be doing?”

He waved an airy hand, “Oh, you know. Making observations; taking notes- that sort of thing.”

I pushed the shovel into his outstretched hand and said, “How about you take this shovel and observe me using the pry bar while you dig, instead?”

Between the two of us, we were able to clear most of the debris. As we got deeper, I thought some of the stones seemed to have been worked, and possibly even had partial inscriptions etched into them. But Rah did not seem interested, so I just got on with the work. After an hour, I stopped to drink some water and Rah picked up the pry bar and poked idly at an upper corner of the rock pile. It collapsed inward with a clatter, revealing the entry to an underground chamber. There really was a cave behind the slide. With renewed energy, I took the shovel and enlarged the opening to the point that we could get through.

“You brought a lantern, right?” He looked sheepish and then stared at the ground. “Torches, then?”

“Ah... ummm.....”

I stopped shifting rocks to look at him squarely. “You set out to explore a cave, and remembered to bring half-a-dozen notebooks, twenty pens and brushes, four colors of ink... but no light source?”

He kicked at a small rock, “I packed several. They were in one of the boxes you made me leave behind.”

I grabbed my hair with both hands to keep them from reaching for his throat, and growled. “I told you to leave the box behind, not the lanterns. Because that box also had saws, hammers, and enough lumber to build a small house!”

He didn't respond, but began flipping through one of his notebooks. “Ha!” he said, finger pointing to an entry. “And not far from here, either!”

“Would you care to... enlighten me?” I couldn't resist the pun.

He grinned back in appreciation. “That is precisely what I intend to do. All we need are some fire fern leaves and some scathecraw branches. Along with a few drops of my fire-breath potion- it's still experimental- we can make torches.”

I was torn between admiration at his ingenuity and wanting to ask why he thought we needed to carry an... untested... fire breath?... potion with us. Admiration won, and I volunteered to go get the other things he needed. I had some experience with the thorny scathecraw plants and figured I would be less likely to get skewered- or sidetracked. I also wanted to put some distance between myself and Rah when he opened a potion that might just catch fire if he looked at it sideways. For a wonder though, the impromptu torches worked a treat and didn't even give off as much smoke as regular ones produced. We smiled at each other and headed out of the midday sun and into the gloom.

After the first fifteen feet, the floor and walls became smooth and uniform. So it probably had been a bandit cave at some point. If so, the inhabitants had abandoned it or perished long ago, and should not trouble us. When we had gotten thirty feet in, the narrow tunnel gave way to a more open chamber. Rah made as if to press ahead, but I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Even though it appears empty, we should still observe the rules for entering unknown ground. That means I go first with my staff and you wait for my signal.”

He grumbled a little, but agreed; even when we didn't think there was an actual need, we followed the rules. Both of us had gotten bruises from Athynae when we had failed to do so. Her lessons tended to stick with us... sometimes for weeks.

I took a firm grip on my staff with my right hand and raised the torch higher with my left, then approached the opening. I paused before stepping out of the tunnel, trying to see everything. Shadows ran away along the walls, and I saw a pile of bones scattered to one side. It appeared that my surmise about the inhabitants being caught by the slide had been correct. I continued my scrutiny, trying to avoid staring into the flame of the torch and further destroying my night vision. Details swam into focus- a couple of large, low stone rings in the floor, filled with some kind of dark, powdery dust; some decorative urns along the walls; a stand or podium of some sort. The individual pieces suddenly snapped into a coherent whole and I hissed over my shoulder, not taking my eyes off the room.

“Rah? Since when does a 'cave' have ash pits? I thought those were used to burn the bodies of the ancestors, so their spirits could strengthen the Ghost Fence. But then that would make this a... tomb?”
As the word left my lips, I did turn all the way around to glare at Rahvin.

He avoided my gaze and mumbled, “Ah. Well. Yes. That is... you see...”

Whatever it was I was supposed to “see” was interrupted by a rattle, like pebbles striking the ground. Fearing a new rock fall, I looked back into the room, where the “pile of bones” was reconstituting itself and rising from the ground and... screaming... as it lurched toward me. In the pause between the screams I had time to hear Rahvin gasp from where he had come up behind me. I couldn't spare a glance for him- the ambulatory escapee from a graveyard was coming too quickly. In that moment, something- training, or reflex, or abject terror- took over. I tossed my torch at the skeleton and used the now free hand to shove Rah back down the tunnel. I took a step back after him, blocking the entry with my own frail flesh. Then I grasped my staff in both hands and waited.

Undead are almost all vulnerable to magical or silvered weapons. The helpful voice that sometimes popped into my head was back. I thought in reply, “That's nice. Too bad I don't have one.” The voice continued, as if reading an entry in an encyclopedia, Skeletal undead range from actual animated skeletons to bonelords to bone golems. Because they have little or no soft tissues, blunt weapons are favored for use against them. Hoping that Rahvin would stay put, I took a long step back into the chamber and swung my staff horizontally at about shoulder height. The blow caught the skeleton right on the side of what had been its head, interrupting it mid-scream. I put everything I had into that swing- shoulders, wrists, and hips. And it worked. The skull flew from the spinal column and ricocheted off the opposite wall. A second later, the rest of the bones dropped back into a heap.

And as for me, I turned and ran, shoving Rahvin ahead of me all the way out of the tomb and into the light of day. There was a rumble behind us, and a fresh fall of rock sealed the entry once more. I stood up from where I had collapsed, untangling myself from Rah and my staff, and began brushing the dust off. He stayed on the ground, his eyes huge and his face whiter than the bones of the grinning tomb guardian we had faced.

“That was an animated skeleton!” he gasped at last.

“Yes. I noticed.”

“But it was screaming.”
“I noticed that, too.”

He sat up with a frown of concentration on his face. “But, how? It didn't have any lungs, or a tongue, or vocal cords, so....”

I picked up my staff, looking at it with a new respect. “It also doesn't have any head, which is probably what saved us. And I am not going to go back to ask it about any of the other stuff, either.” There was a long, tense silence before I went on, “That was an ancestral tomb, wasn't it? And you knew it was a tomb before we even started.”

“Well... yes. But... it probably has artifacts in it, too. And it was lost, like I said.” He finally stood up and looked me in the eye. “I needed some ingredients to test some new ideas- gravedust, bonemeal, ash salts. Do you have any idea how much the apothecary supply merchants charge for those?”

“No. But I think we both have a good idea as to why they charge what they do, don't we?” I tried to be angry, but I was too exhausted. I could feel my body starting to shake with delayed reaction. But Rah was already off on another tangent.

“A skeleton! And you... I mean... you just stood there, like nothing was ever going to come past you. And it was screaming fit to bring down the ceiling on our heads, and you... you stalked in there, like it should have been afraid of you. And then the staff went “whoosh” and “crack” and its head went sailing! You know, I bet I could invent a game out of that. Of course, I'm not sure how we could get the skeletons to participate- and I would have to do something about the screaming; that's really unnerving. And I don't know how they do it anyway. But...” He ran down and his eyes got wide again as he stared at me like he hadn't ever seen me before. “But you saved my life, Athlain. Even after I deceived you into going into a tomb.”

I picked up my staff and my pack and said, “Yes. Yes I did. So you can give me all your desserts for the next three weeks.”

A shadowy shape rose up from the side of the ravine, from a place where I wouldn't have thought a pebble could have hidden and a voice dark with menace said, “I don't think either of you will be getting any desserts for some time.”

Rah goggled and gasped, “Unc.... Uncle Seth?”

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 24 2019, 02:39 PM

Ah, the poor Scientist Dejected. Just waiting for a hapless victim to come along and get roped into ingredient-hunting in a cave.

Athlain seems to be hitting all the high points of what is likely to be found in said caves. Besides ingredients of course...

I am so used to Athlain being a mace man, that I forget he started out with a staff. I guess when it comes down to it, he is just a blunt instrument...

Everywhere is racer country!

Good thing no one brought the lanterns...

Uh oh, it's not good when the piles of bones get up. It looks like Rahvin had the worn copy of Borellus after all. It's a good thing Athlain has his vorpal staff, that goes whoosh rather than snicker snap. Or does it just snicker?

A fun little childish escapade that definitely went too far. Thankfully Athlain was able to rise to the occasion.

And Seth Rogan at the end!

Posted by: treydog Jul 6 2019, 02:06 PM

@SubRosa- Rahvin is fun to write. I admit to a fondness for distracted scientist types, especially the Wile E. Coyote sort....

And Athlain wishes he had more of an "edge," but he is a bit too generous for his own good.

Athlain's fear of undead doesn't help much either when the dry bones get up and dance.... And I have a feeling the staff (or at least the wielder was going "Oh crap!" or similar sentiments).

Seth Rogan- as a matter of fact, he WAS part of that assassination plot in Korea.... hmmmm...... At least it wasn't Mike Meyers- THAT would have been more frightening than the skeleton.

----------------------------------------------------

My feelings about guar could best be described as “mixed.” The wild ones could be almost as dangerous as their alit and kagouti cousins, and even domesticated beasts could be unpredictable. “Unpredictable” and “out-weighing you by an order of magnitude” is not a good combination. But then there was Cos Mear, who had been my companion since he was a baby. 'Thyna and I had found him beneath his dying mother's body while we were wandering the Grazelands. When we freed him, he had bleated at me and head-butted my midsection. It was the start of a wonderful friendship. Funny how so many of my friendships started with me being bruised or battered.

I had spent the first several nights after that with him, but fortunately for my sleep schedule- and my aroma- Lumhara, Athynae's racing guar, decided to “mother” the little lump of scales and claws. Of course, with care and regular feeding, he did not stay small for long. He would never reach Lumhara's size; the males rarely did, but he still grew large enough to carry me within just a few months. Better still, his calm presence made him ideal for working with captured wildlings or even abused animals that we took in.

The sudden development of using guar as mounts had caused an equally explosive growth of the infrastructure to support them outside the walls of Ald'ruhn. Stables, paddocks,and exercise and care facilities spread to cover more area than the original town. Under Aunt Serene's careful management, the formerly barren hills and valleys had become as verdant as the Grazelands far to the north. It was hard for me to credit the descriptions of blasted, ash-covered terrain related by those who had lived to see the end of the Blight. Regardless of recent history, the combination of good grazing, humane practices, and official sanction had turned Ald'ruhn into a hub for all things related to guar-riding. Harness and saddle-maker stalls sprang up like mushrooms following a spring rain. A track was laid out running past Fort Buckmoth all the way to the former Ghost Fence and back.

Soon, everyone with a “guar problem” or a “problem guar” came to my formerly sleepy home town. It was as if a form of madness had afflicted almost everyone, and I tried my best to avoid the contagion. And, excepting my bond with Cos, I had been successful- until the aftermath of the “Tomb Incident.” My sentence for that little adventure was a general restriction to the house when I was not fulfilling the other part- stable duty. I had always handled all of Cos Mear's care, including cleaning his stall, getting his feed, and even tending him when he acclimated some of the difficult guar that came our way. But that was the limit of my involvement in what I privately referred to as the “Guar Madness.” There were plenty of people more suited and also more inclined to spend every waking- and even some sleeping- moments in the stables. I preferred less... aromatic environs. Of course, my parents were aware of my- “extreme” was the word Mother used- devotion to personal cleanliness. So, when the Tomb Incident was revealed, it was to the stables for me. For one full month.

It was Mother's idea, mostly, but when I protested, my father was less than sympathetic. “I spent the first years of my life in a stable, if you will recall. And I slept there. You will get to sleep in your own bed every night, provided you clean up beforehand. I will make sure there's plenty of water waiting outside the house for you.” He appeared to be suppressing a smile as he added, “And you should wear some old clothes- which you might also want to leave outside before you come in.”

Thus it was that I found myself wearing a disreputable striped shirt, threadbare canvas trousers, and a battered pair of boots, all while wielding a shovel and pitchfork, and trying to avoid splattering myself. Feeding the herd was not bad, other than the weight and odor of some of the feed. I could at least console myself that hefting the sacks and buckets was building muscles. But there was also the fact that some of the animals, apparently following the lead of Athynae's racer, Lumhara, had taken to spraying half-chewed bits of food at me. It was either a sign of affection, or more likely, their idea of fun.

However, the... byproduct... of their diet was another matter entirely. If Rahvin and I had not been forbidden to converse for the duration of our punishment, I would have set him to work on a knotty, not to mention smelly, problem- how was it possible for an animal to produce thirty pounds of waste from ten pounds of food? But that metaphysical discussion would have to wait. Another mystery that perplexed me by the second day was the apparent absence of Athynae. She normally spent every possible moment in the stables, to such an extent that Aunt Serene had finally been forced to issue an edict- “No sleeping in the stables, except in the case of an emergency.” And the corollary was that it was up to Aunt Serene to decide what constituted an 'emergency,” and also that, “But Lumhara gets lonesome,” did not count. But a bit of observation, something my father had encouraged me to practice more diligently, gave evidence that 'Thyna had been around. Lumhara's stall was always clean when I got there, and her feed and water were always fresh. But where was Athynae? Why was she not taking every opportunity to tease me about my “new-found dedication to the care of guar”?

I sighed and put the tools of my incarceration away, glad to have another day over with. Only twenty-eight to go. But just before I could make good my escape to less pungent places, the person about whom I had just been wondering appeared from some hidden corner of the stable complex. “Lainie! I need your help! The eggs have all hatched, but the babies are ignoring my attempts to feed them. They won't eat and if they don't, they'll die! Why are you just standing there?” And she turned back to the door of the room from which she had emerged.

I was “standing there” because I was deciphering her rush of words, and also because I was gazing with forlorn longing at the sunlight streaming through the doors that offered escape. With another sigh, I turned away from freedom and trudged after her. The “eggs” she mentioned had been found in a Hlaalu smuggler's wagon a week or so earlier. Apparently the fool was trying to carry them to the mainland. While Aunt Serene and her other daughter, Bree, were engaged in investigating the “business” side of the smuggling, 'Thyna had become the self-appointed “egg tender,” a job that became necessary as soon as it was discovered that the eggs were viable. Even if the original nest could have been found in time, a faint hope, the mother would have rejected the stolen eggs due to their having been handled so much.

So Athynae had been minding the eggs, a measure that became necessary because none of the females in the stable were currently nesting. In fact, we generally avoided bringing nesting guar into the stable complex because there were too many chances for trouble. Any of the “ladies” suspected of being about to bear were taken to one of the herders for care and so that they could raise their offspring in a less stressful environment. Once they got a bit more independent, the herders took over the hand-raising to keep them tame. In any event, with no “mother guar,” available, 'Thyna had been keeping the eggs warm, turning them as needed, and watching their progress for several days. And now it appeared her efforts had been rewarded. Five newly-hatched guar. Wonderful. Up until that time, Cos Mear had been the youngest of the creatures I had ever dealt with. In fact, as far as I knew, this clutch was the first ever to hatch in Ald'ruhn. And now, Athynae Sarethi, expert on all things guar, needed my help? She had asked, I could do no other but to answer. I squared my shoulders and entered the tack room. What else could I do? The hatchlings were in this fix through no fault of their own. The tiny creatures needed me and I could not turn away. A "true knight"- according to all the stories- helped the unfortunate, the helpless, and the downtrodden I had kind of hoped that meant a girl my age or younger- but still....

We got into the tack room, where 'Thyna had built a sort of "nest"- a raised mound of clean sandy earth, bounded by boards to hold it together A pile of small, dark-striped shapes was curled within on fresh straw I did a quick count- five And all of their little rib cages were rising and falling- so they were alive- for now. A stove held kettles of water, kept warm enough to maintain humidity. When I got close to the nest, first one, then another- then all of them, raised up and started a high-pitched cheeping. They opened their mouths wide, displaying purple tongues and gums.

“Um... 'Thyna? Why are they doing that?”

She smiled and put a hand on my shoulder, “They’re hungry and they want you to feed them. They wouldn’t do that for me. This is fantastic, Lainie! Look how sweet they are!”

I made to step back, replying, “Good. That's what you wanted, so I can just....” At my movement, the little oval heads tracked me and the cheeping increased in volume. And the friendly hand on my shoulder became a push in the back.

Athynae said firmly, “No. What I want is for them to eat. I already knew they were hungry. You're the first person they have responded to. I thought about asking Rahbrat, but he would turn it into an... experiment. And anyway, it appears that they want you to feed them.”

I resigned myself to my fate. “Fine. Hand me the bucket and I'll toss them some grain.” If we could finish up soon, I would still be home before dark,

“Ah. No; that's not how it works. Their little bellies can't handle grain yet. I have made a mash for them, and you have to scoop it up and put it in their mouths.”

“Um... well then, hand me the bucket and the scoop.”

There was a long pause that told me I wasn't going to like what came next. And I was right. “There is no 'scoop,' except for your fingers. You take a small lump in your hand and....”

I interrupted her explanation, “I do what when now? They have teeth! How about I just hold the bucket for them and let them dip their little, toothy snouts in there?”

“What part of 'hand-feeding' do you not get? You have to take a lump of mash in your hand and stick it into the baby's mouth and push it into their throat until they swallow. Remember when we watched the mama cliff-racer feeding her babies?”

I recalled the incident all too well and the memory caused my stomach to lurch. “You must be joking,” I hissed.

Athynae's cheeks flared and she thrust the bucket into my hands. “No, I'm not. If they don't eat, they will die! Is that what you want?”

As a matter of fact, I did not want that to happen, nor did I want to live the rest of my days knowing I could have done something and chose not to. I took the bucket and knelt before the mass of squirming, cheeping reptiles, telling them, “Settle down, you lot. I know it smells bad, but the good news is, there's plenty to go around.” Whether the words made any difference to them or not, I don't know, but they calmed immediately, tracking the bucket of foul-smelling... stuff... with their tiny heads. With a shudder, I stuck my hand into the gooey mess and pulled out a clump of something unspeakable, which I then shoved into the first gaping purple maw. I swear the eyes crossed, a reaction I could understand, but then there was a spasm and a swallow and the goo disappeared. And I had been correct- they did have teeth- really sharp ones. But what were a few- or not so few- minor cuts among friends? I moved to the next, and the next- repeating the process of “scoop, shove, swallow, grunt, nip” until the bucket was empty. Five mouths finally closed and ten beady eyes began to droop shut as their owners sank down into a pile of striped scales and bulging bellies.

It had been moderately awful, but at least it was over. I let out a pent-up breath and spoke over my shoulder, with faint hope, “So... I'll see you tomorrow, then?”

Athynae was already over by the stove, creating odors that would have been more at home in her brother's laboratory. She shook her head even as she stirred slimy things in with smelly things. “They will need to be fed again in two hours, so there's no point in you going anywhere. There are some blankets you can use if you need to rest.” She stopped what she was doing to give me a dazzling smile. “Their metabolisms are really fast at this stage; that's why it was so important to get something into their stomachs. And they will need a lot of food to start with, so they can finish developing. I'll send a runner to let Aunt Baria know. We can do this, Lainie. Now that you've gotten them to take food, it will be easy.”

I laughed hollowly. “Easy. Right. Also smelly and disgusting. And who elected me for this anyway?”

She pointed the ladle at the nest of little snoring shapes, “They did.”

My legs were starting to cramp, and I made to stand only to hear a distressed “mewl” rise from the nest, followed by a small, scaly head. I put my hand down and the little devil snuffled at it and settled- after grasping my fingers with his front legs. It was going to be a long night. “You think you could bring some of those blankets over here? I don't think I will be going anywhere for a while.”

[To be continued]

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 6 2019, 05:00 PM

With all of this ranching, Athlain is starting to look like John Wayne to me.

Athlain is a true knight in shining guar poo!

It looks like he is the guar-whisperer. A very sweet tale of fatherhood.



Nits:
They’re hungry and they want you to feed them[.] They wouldn’t do that for me.
One of those hungry guar ate the period between the sentences.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jul 7 2019, 06:09 PM

Aww! This brings back memories of feeding hungry hatchlings at the wildlife rehab center! They always knew when you were going to feed them and wake up from a sound sleep to chirp madly and reach ceilingward with gaping maws. At least they didn't have teeth . . .

Posted by: treydog Jul 10 2019, 07:41 PM

@SubRosa- I have a feeling he is going to walk funny, at least. And despite his protests, he does rather like the critters- but he has to pretend to be grumpy just to declare his individuality. And I got the baby guar to... expel... the missing punctuation point. They will probably gobble some more if I don't watch them....

@haute- I was thinking of your veterinary experiences as I wrote this. And I also decided to go with the idea that dinosaurs -> birds and that guar are warm-bloods.

And now, the conclusion of this... messy tale... or should that be "tail?"

---------------------------------------------------------------


A sound interrupted my rest; it was not sleep, because noxious odors had always kept me awake far more certainly than loud noises. This sound was not loud; it was somewhere between a soft belch and a cough. I raised my head enough to see a tiny face looking back at me, with what I could only describe as a quizzical expression, similar to Rah working on a particularly perplexing chemistry problem. The mouth opened, letting out another small belch, and I started to grin. However, my impending good humor was wiped away, or rather inundated, when the mouth opened wider and let loose a torrent of... whatever it was that the little ba... beast had decided not it no longer wanted in its stomach. If it had smelled awful going in, it was ten times worse coming back up. I jumped to my feet and flailed around, using words that I imagine Athynae did not realize that I knew.

For her part, she sat up from where she had been sleeping, did some indefinable thing with her hands that made it look as if she had just brushed her hair, and stifled a laugh at my antics- and probably my language. “Oh- I forgot to tell you. The mash is not an exact formula, so their little tummies can't digest everything. They get the nutrients they need and … um... get rid of the rest. It's perfectly normal.”

Anything I might have said in response would have set the air on fire, so I just pointed to the water bucket. She had the kindness to bring it to me, and also the fortitude to avoid laughing as I wiped my face, but her eyes were dancing. I had just finished cleaning myself when I heard several more “urp... hack... blechhhhh” sounds from behind me, and felt something coat my lower legs and feet. “It just gets better and better, doesn't it?” I muttered.

Athynae put both hands over her mouth and spoke between them, her words so muffled I could not make them out.

“What?” She shook her head from side to side, still keeping her hands over her mouth. Her shoulders were also quivering and I got a feeling of impending doom. “You are going to have to tell me eventually. Think of it this way- just like those little... monsters over there,” I pointed to the babies, who were watching my arm-waving with avid interest, “Better out than in.”

'Thyna finally took a deep breath and composed herself, with what appeared to be a supreme effort. “Interesting that you said that. Because... if they are finished digesting, which is what this indicates,” she pointed at the mess that splattered my boots and legs, “that means we- and by 'we', I mean 'you', need to stimulate the... ah... other end of their digestive systems.”

I crossed my arms and shook my head. “Oh no. Not a chance. I stuck my hands down their little gullets so they would eat, but there is no way in Oblivion I am putting my fingers in their....”

“Of course not, you scrib-brain! That would probably kill them!” She calmed herself and spoke more quietly. “What you need to do is gently massage their little abdomens with warm towels to stimulate their colons and bladders. When you do, nature and muscles will take over, and they will feel much better.”

“I, on the other hand, will smell much worse,” I muttered.

Of course, her elven hearing caught my protest. “Oh, I don't think that's possible.”

The next several days were a nightmarish repetition of the first one- making... baby guar glop, stuffing it into their gullets, letting them process what they could, and... expel what they couldn't. And for the entire time, I was confined to that small room. Whenever I made any attempt to esc... leave for a moment, one of the tiny beasts would awaken and alert the other four, at which point they would all start cheeping. The first time it happened, we heard a loud banging coming from out in the main stable and Athynae had to go and check, because I was obviously trapped. In a few minutes, I heard the pad of large feet coming toward the door, and watched as Athynae came in, holding a lead rope. She stepped to the side, and Lumhara's massive head poked through the portal and turned so as to bring an eye to bear on the nest. She took her time, seeming to inspect every part of the arrangement, before turning her gaze on me. She held eye-contact for a long moment, then gave a derisive snort and shook her head vigorously. “I take it that is a comment on my parenting skills,” I said, interpreting her actions.

Athynae agreed, “She probably wonders why you aren't in the nest with the babies. Now that she seems more or less satisfied, I will get her back to her stall.” She paused on the threshold, “I would strongly suggest you don't try to go anywhere.”

I was beginning to forget what the sun looked like- and what fresh air smelled like. That room had become my prison. I wondered if it had been this bad for my father and Aunt Serene in the Imperial Prison. Surely not. At least they weren't confined with five tiny, hungry, incontinent little monsters. Athynae did as much as she could- taking over my cleaning duties in the other parts of the building, bringing in fresh bedding and food for the hatchlings, and clean water and food for me as well. The one time she tried to assist with the actual feeding, the ungrateful little wretches snapped at her and huddled around my knees, eyeing her with dark suspicion. I know that bothered her, especially since she was usually much better with guar than I was. And because it reinforced the fact that I couldn't leave the room, I did not find it in the least amusing.

Yet another crisis presented itself when she brought me clean clothes. Because I had avoided doing stable work, I did not have much in the way of “suitable”- that is, ready for the rag pile- clothing for my current situation. But 'Thyna, with her usual resourcefulness, was able to find some shirts and trousers that would not be any less valuable for being exposed to... that particular environment. The problem arose when I pulled off the thoroughly disgusting striped shirt I had been wearing for three days straight. As soon as I had it off, the babies began carrying on as if their tails were caught in a steel trap. Athynae recognized the issue. “Put the shirt back on, Lainie! If you take it off, they can't 'see' you and they are wondering where 'Mama' went.”

“Just paint stripes on my skin! Please don't make me put... that... back on.”

“And what happens when you wash? And we don't have time anyway- Lumhara and the other girls will tear this place apart if you don't do something quick!” She was right, I could hear disturbed bugling and banging coming from the stalls. Holding my breath, I pulled the disgusting article back over my torso and crouched beside the nest. The hatchlings gave contented sighs, along with some... presents for me.

My voice was gloomy as I looked at my best friend, “Please find me some more striped shirts. I'll pay for them. If I can wait until the little... creatures doze off, I can probably change without causing a catastrophe. As for the old clothing....”

She shook her head, “We are friends, Lainie, but... there's no way I am touching those clothes, not even to burn them.”

I couldn't really argue with that. I had been wearing them, and I didn't want to touch them either.

By the fifth day, there was considerably less regurgitation and they had also figured out how to take care of their other... needs... without assistance. We set aside an area for that purpose, and they got fairly good about using it, except for the smallest one, who seemed to choose her moments to have “accidents.” Better still, they were able to take feed from bowls instead of requiring someone- that is to say, me- to stuff it into their mouths. They were also getting larger; two of the biggest reached to above my knees, and the others were not far behind. Less frequent feeding meant I got to rest a bit more, and that gave me time to think about my other requirement- I desperately wanted a chance to wash thoroughly, instead of the “bucket baths” I had been taking ever since this ordeal began. The lavender that Athynae had used to scent the water, out of kindness- or more likely, self-preservation- could only go so far. What I wanted was a long, hot bath- but I would settle for dousing myself at the pump outside the stable. With that goal in mind, I waited until my little scaly watch-lizards had dropped off to sleep following their afternoon meal. Athynae had escaped earlier, mumbling something about “needing to exercise Lumhara.” It might even have been true, but all I knew was, she could leave whenever she wanted and I couldn't.

Just to be safe, I hung one of the spare striped shirts over a chair and placed it where it would be visible from the nest. Then, moving as stealthily as any burglar, I eased out the door, being careful not to let it slam shut. Luck continued to smile on me, as the stalls were empty, their usual inhabitants having been turned out for exercise or grooming or socialization. The sun beckoned from the back door of the stable like a long-lost friend and I crept toward it on feet that felt suddenly light enough to dance. This was going to be perfect- a quick nip outside, a wash, some fresh air- and then back to the dungeon. But I would be clean! Still moving quietly, I checked outside. Athynae was atop Lumhara in one of the training rings, working on knee signals to get her to turn, stop, or accelerate. Once they had those mastered, 'Thyna would be able to use her bow while mounted. But for me, it meant they were focused on their task- not on the door or the pump.

I had just reached that blessed fount when I heard an odd noise from Lumhara's direction. I looked to see the golden guar facing me, every line of her body the definition of “alert.” Athynae was also looking my way, or actually just a bit behind me. She pointed and started to say, “Don't you think it's a bit soon for a wa....,” when the words were snatched from her mouth as her guar lunged for the paddock fence and cleared it in a single bound. It was a testament to 'Thyna's skill that she managed to keep her seat. As for me, I was paralyzed by the sight of several hundred pounds of guar charging toward me. Just before she arrived, I got my muscles unfrozen and turned to dodge back into the stable. And there, also mesmerized by the charging beast, were the five hatchlings. Visions of trampling carnage flashed through my mind as I dove to shield the little monsters who had been the bane of my existence for the last five days.

But the impact I was dreading never came. At least not to my escaped charges. I felt the ground shake and the breeze of Lumhara's passing and turned just in time to see her knock one of the wildling males completely off his feet. That accomplished, she placed a hind foot on his neck and raised her head, bellowing a challenge that must have been heard in Maar Gan. He had the good sense to remain completely still, until Lumhara gave him a shake and rumbled a low warning.

“Lainie! Get back inside, right now!”

I looked with longing at the water pump, only scant feet away, “But...”

“Now!”

With a sigh, I turned back into the stable, watching as the babies turned to follow me. Well- four of them did. I counted them off, calling the names I had given them as I went, “Filbert, Gilbert, Lilbert, Wilbert... Where's Fafnir? Fafnir!” The smallest hatchling was looking at Lumhara with what I could only describe as... admiration. Meanwhile, the look Athynae was bestowing upon me was anything but admiring.

“You can't give them those names! You do know that three of them are female, right?”

I glared back at her. “So? I'm their 'Mama,' so I can name them whatever I like. I did have some alternate names--- Barfy, Poopy, Pukey, Sneezy, and Sh...”

“No! Never mind! Fine! Just... get them back inside, please.”

I turned to lead my parade of fellow escapees back to our cell, and again, Fafnir lagged behind. Lumhara released the male with one last warning shake and stepped carefully over to where the smallest hatchling stood, stretching as far up on her hind legs as she could. Athynae's guar leaned down and give her tiny duplicate a snuffle and a lick, then nudged her toward the rest of us. And as we walked (or waddled) back to the tack room, Lumhara paced after us, for all the world like a guard or an escort. When we finally got back to the doorway, Lumhara had to nudge the little F bomb (as I called her because of her apparently premeditated flatulence) into the room. She then turned to face the doors and went into the “starting rest” stance that she used at the beginning of a race.

After that, things settled down. It was only a couple of more days until all of them had gotten independent enough to not need me there every second. They even started accepting food from Athynae, which was a major breakthrough for all of us. As for me, I finally got to go home, where I had to explain to my father why I had needed to rent a room at the Ald Skar Inn.

“Because they wouldn't let me use the bathing facilities unless I did. And then, after the third bath, they started charging extra for the hot water, so I used my Firebite spell to heat it for myself. And by then, I was so exhausted that I actually needed the room.” He nodded his understanding finally, his expression solemn, although I think his eyes were twinkling. I added, “Oh. There's a pile of... things outside the front gate. Nobody should probably touch it until I can get some lamp oil and 'Thyna can come by with her bow and some fire arrows.... For now, I am going to take a bath. And then probably several more.”

And, even though I had grown to detest striped shirts, I had no choice but to wear one every day when I went back to the stables. Because if I didn't, a certain quintet of guar, who should have grown out of it, set up a terrible ruckus. And their names were Lady, Dancer, Strongheart, Hopper... and Fafnir.

Posted by: Grits Jul 11 2019, 05:32 PM

The inky dinky stinky pink skink hijinks was great fun to read! I adore Rah as Athlain affectionately sees him.

Oh my gosh, The Dejected Scientist and his Expedition had me in stitches. Four colors of ink! Athlain had a stellar moment almost inventing the head-sailing game. I loved Rah’s awed retelling. Uncle Seth! That was the perfect ending!

Good times in the guar byre! “Push it into their throat..” Yikes! I love that little F-bomb’s name stuck. Poor Athlain, guar rescue sounds as exhausting as any other animal rescue, only with a much higher volume of muck.

(A nit: It looks like some italicizing went haywire in the paragraph where Athlain names the sweet darlings.)

I love these postcards from Ald’ruhn!

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 12 2019, 06:31 PM

Guar feeding habits, perfectly normal...

Ooh, guar presents!

That was a nice touch of 'Thyna exercising with Luma. Many people think riding animals are like machines, they can just hop on one, turn the key, and ride off. But the fact is that riders need to spend time working with their mounts, so they can learn be comfortable with each other, and to understand one another.

That was a sweet little interlude of Athlain's mommy days in the stable. I am sure he will using the stilt striders for all his transportation needs after that!

Posted by: ghastley Jul 12 2019, 06:40 PM

I have visions of someone getting a striped shirt as a gift at the next holiday where one does that sort of thing.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 21 2021, 08:58 PM

By Dibella's silky britches! I've gone and let Buffy miss acknowledging Jerric's birthday by a day! Buffy and I hope the big Nord had a wonderful day, filled with mead, cake and undaunted plunder boxes.

Posted by: Renee Nov 24 2021, 01:54 PM

Yeah, hope you had a good one, Jerric.

On my old phone I actually had several of my characters' birthdays in there. Kahreem is September 3rd I think, for instance. But that phone bit cyberdust and I haven't continued the habit. I still have 'em all written down though, or typed up into Notepad pages.

I guess it's easy for you, eh Acadian? You only have one character birthday to remember, and I know she's in April. April 19th, right????

Posted by: Grits Nov 24 2021, 02:01 PM

Thank you, friends! Jerric did have a fun dungeon birthday with plunder boxes to open. He got a kick out of everyone getting plunder presents on his birthday!

Posted by: Acadian Nov 24 2021, 03:15 PM

Glad Jerric had a nice birthday!

Yes, Renee, Buffy's birthday is April 19.

Posted by: mALX Nov 24 2021, 05:27 PM

Aw, I missed Jerric's Birthday! Sounds like he had a great one! Happy (belated) Birthday, Jerric!

Posted by: treydog Apr 6 2022, 01:36 AM

So here is a (very short) snippet from my current writing project. In which one of the characters, Sigrid Guldmanen, explains how she came to leave home.

-------------------------

Sigrid stared off to the north for a moment before she explained, "Weel, it was all doon to Wilhelm Hrodbert, my far cousin. The sea near to oor village had just froze o'er, an' so they was bettin' on when it would be safe to cross on the bay on the ice. So that was when Willy Rob said... 'Hold me mead an' watch this.' As ye might expect, his ability to gauge the thickness o' the ice was... nae sa guid. Still, t'would o' been all right- I think.... he had enough drink inside o' him that he weren't feelin' the cold when he broke through. A' course, we tossed him a rope, ye ken. And he grabbed it.... But then, the spekhval grabbed him... I s'pose he looked like a valtaross or such like, splashin' aboot like he did."

I nodded sympathetically. "So you came here to get over the grief?"

"Nay. Or perhaps I did. Ye see, everyone felt I should o' stopped the idjit fra bein' a idjit. It was easier ta leave than ta tell 'em that I woulda had to have drowned his da afore Willy Rob was born ta manage tha' trick. A' course it didna help that I asked if they were wantin' me ta fly oop ta the moon and bring 'em back some cheese ta go wit' their whine... “ So here I be. Bryn followed. Said he had ta 'Look oot fer his near-sister.' Oh aye. It only made sense tha' the onliest man in the village with the sense ta bang two rocks together should leave. They had already lost their idjit. And the competition fer his replacement was goin' ta be fierce."

Posted by: Grits Apr 6 2022, 12:49 PM

Thank you, treydog!! I love it!

Posted by: Renee Apr 7 2022, 01:37 PM

Looking forward to your writing project, Trey. What sort of accent is that Sigrid is speaking?

Posted by: treydog Apr 8 2022, 12:15 AM

Oh- that's "Mock-Scots." (Kinda like the "Mock Swedish" spoken by the Muppets' Swedish Chef.) Everyone knows ™ that RPG Scandinavian/Norse/Nord/Lannach/Norlander characters speak with a Scots brogue- sometimes slipping into Irish (if the writer has dialect dyslexia). This is apparently due to the fact the Americans find a Scots accent inherently humorous- and also because (other than using a lot of umlauts), have no idea how to illustrate a Norwegian or Swedish dialect.

Posted by: Renee Apr 8 2022, 01:11 AM

I find Scottish accents alluring. Thanks for the explanation.

Posted by: treydog Apr 8 2022, 01:41 AM

Well yes- that too. My "source" is mostly Terry Pratchett's Nac Mac Feegle. If I ever get the books done, there is a fair amount of Sigrid (as well as the "near brother" to whom she refers). He manages to call Athynae a "gret wee harridan" and get away with it- mostly because she isn't sure what he meant.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 20 2022, 08:23 PM

My dear friend Jerric,

I am delighted to realize that today marks the anniversary of your birth. I consider myself a lucky elf to know you. When you’re around, you always make me feel safe, protected and like a lady. I find that remarkable because I know that such gentlemanly behavior does not come naturally to you. I take it as a high compliment indeed that you always manage it around me. I assure you that your consideration for me is returned in full measure and I count myself lucky to know you.

Here's hoping for a wonderful day full of mead and ladies also full of mead. And deep water over the edge of the cliffs you so love to jump off.

Affectionately, Buffy

Posted by: Acadian Nov 20 2023, 04:42 PM

Dear Jerric,

Another birthday for you! Fortunately for us Tamrielites we don't really age, do we? Here's hoping your day is full of sweetrolls, cool streams and shade from tall trees.

Your friend over the years,
Buffy

Posted by: Grits Nov 29 2023, 07:43 PM

Dear Buffy,

Your birthday greetings found me in a land of red rocks, tall cactus, and even taller palm trees. I had been wandering a while looking for a way to get around a ridge with a minimum of broken legs, when I came across a rockslide that had filled in a narrow valley. I could hear water and Flash could sure smell it, but there was such a tangle of brush it would have taken me half the day to hack through and then maybe still have to dig for it. So instead we spent half the day getting up past the slide. There we found a clear green pond with water birds and rushes and tiny plump fish that glitter blue in the sun. We drank our fill, then I made camp, and then we drank our fill some more.

I spent that night in the peaceful company of my horse and my dog. There was no waterfall that I could see, but the sound of it under the rocks was still a comfort. I lay back and watched the sparks fly up from my fire like a stream of light while the stars showered down from Aetherius. Coyotes sang on the ridge and crickets made their racket in the rushes. Then Ulfe started to snore. By Mara, she really lets them rip. I wondered if she’d cause another rockslide.

Then your kind birthday wishes reached me and for a moment I felt like you were right there across the fire. Your friendship is a treasure I hold in my heart. Shade and sweet water to you, dear Buffy.

Your friend,

Jerric

Posted by: Renee Nov 30 2023, 05:53 PM

Buffy, eh? Ha. So... you're the slight elf I've seen here and there, from a distance and sometimes up close. Roaming around Cyrodiil on your fancy steed, tempering your latest fancy bow, assisting those who need it, and punishing those who get in your way. Uh... 'tempering'. Probably not the correct term. Hey, I'm not the adventuring type! Prob'ly I'd shoot myself before I could hit anything with that gleaming piece on your back.


http://s936.photobucket.com/user/xenaclone/media/4f7c9bd8-5f65-45cc-92c8-e0c166afebfd_zpscf8a3248.jpg.html


You don't know me, but now I know you, and uh.... maybe we should keep it that way. I've been known by many names: Kasmir, Vincent the Spice Merchant, Bargo the Redguard, and so on. But my real name's gotta stay a secret for now. Just until that guard over there stalks off. Guards, ya know...?

Hmm. Seems like he's looking right at me. Uh oh. He is! Hey, gotta run. You know how it is! ... Hmm, well maybe you don't.

Posted by: Acadian Nov 30 2023, 07:41 PM