Jerric's Story, A Nord's Adventures in Cyrodiil Options

[Grits]

Previously: Fighters Guild members Jerric, Kjestrid, Shamir-do, and Gjaever are trapped in an icy Oblivion realm. They are attempting to close an open Gate in the hope that it will take them back to Mundus. Preferably to Tamriel.


Renee: I wish I could do that with my dog! Although I’m pretty sure he’d just keep showing me pictures of cheese and rotisserie chicken.

haute ecole rider: I’m glad you’re still enjoying it! My favorite Jerric time is story time.

ghastley: A bit more! Thanks, ghastley!

Acadian: Jerric’s relationship with his ice pal has been a lot of fun to develop. I don’t want him to be too powerful or too game-y. Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. The memory of Buffy and Savlian made me smile.

treydog: I see Grits, lol! It seems that Jerric is not much of a cat person. Thank you, treydog!

SubRosa: Oh yes, and I think the inside of the soul gem in Skyim’s Azura quest looked a lot like that fortress, too. I had to use it somewhere. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: We return to County Bruma at the time right before three Nords and a Khajiit entered an Oblivion realm.

.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Thirteen

‘When you speak to Asgerd, say the word ‘ragged.’ It’s some kind of code so that they’ll listen to you. Now repeat it back so I can say you know it and get Kjestrid off my neck.’

Darnand gripped the edge of his work table. ‘A Gate has opened two miles east of Maiden Spring Trail, below the first ridge,’ he said in his mental voice. ‘I am instructed to say ‘ragged.’ Jerric—’ But the connection was already broken.

Selena stood opposite Darnand, mortar and pestle quiet in her hands. “Associate? Is something amiss?”

May the Dragon guide you. Darnand straightened, schooling his features. “Indeed. I have just received communication from Kjellingsson of Anvil. You will recall, the Associate who—”

“I remember him,” Selena said, her lips in a thin line.

“He has found a Gate to Oblivion. I must relay his message to the Fighters Guild.” Darnand began to put away his inventory materials. Forget this. It is Jeanne’s problem now. He strode out through the lobby without even capping the inkwell, nor sparing a glance toward Jeanne’s position behind the counter.

The Bruma Fighters Guild smelled of sweat, woodsmoke, and leather. A sunken area was occupied by armored individuals walloping each other while an Orsimer yelled at them. Darnand brushed the snow from his shoulders, looking around for someone who seemed to be in charge.

An Imperial separated himself from the group at the edge of the sparring floor. “May I help you?” he called out.

Darnand beckoned him over. “I am Darnand Penoit, Associate of the Mages Guild.”

The Imperial gave him an amused nod. “Mage.”

“I carry a message for your Chapter Head.”

The man held out his hand for the message. When no parchment or scroll was forthcoming, he made a go-ahead gesture.

“The message is for Asgerd.” Darnand folded his hands and assumed the square-shouldered stance that Jerric used when he was being obstinate.

“I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“I shall accompany you. This news will not wait.”

“Suit yourself.” The Imperial walked off without checking to see if Darnand followed.

Asgerd’s office was on the upper floor of the guild hall. They found her pacing in front of a desk, flipping a short metal club in her hand.

“Darnand Penoit, Associate of the Mages Guild,” announced the Imperial. He stood aside and gestured with an ironic flourish.

Darnand took a position inside the room. The Imperial closed the door on his way out.

“I have received communication from Kjellingsson of Anvil,” Darnand said. “He and his companions have discovered a Gate to Oblivion two miles east of the Maiden Spring trail, below the first ridge.”

Asgerd’s expression did not change at the news. “Do tell.”

“I am instructed to say to you, ‘ragged.’”

Asgerd strode to the door and opened it. “Nunzio!” she barked. Then she moved to her desk, rifling through some rolled parchment until she unfurled a map. “Is there more?” she asked without looking up.

Darnand filled in the few details that Jerric had supplied before cutting off their connection. “They intend to close the Gate from within,” he finished. “I know Kjellingsson. By now they will have entered the Deadlands.”

Asgerd had been making notations on sheets of parchment. She handed them to the Imperial who entered. “There’s a Gate open,” she told him. “This is for Captain Gudrid, and this is for Captain Burd. Tell Bumph to ready her team. The support group will follow. I’ll be down in five.” She looked across at Darnand. “Thank you, Penoit. Will I see you at the Gate site?”

“I will be there.” And I hope that Lildereth will be with me.

The best way to make the elf appear was generally to go about one’s business. If it interested her, she would make herself known. Darnand returned to the Mages Guild in search of his Guild Magister.

He was unsurprised to find her in the lobby patting her hair and smoothing her skirt between summoning and dispelling her scamp. “Helloooo there, Associate,” she crowed as Darnand entered.

Darnand folded his hands in greeting. “I beg your pardon, Magister. May we speak?”

Jeanne looked startled. “Y…Yes?”

The lobby was better than her office for his purpose. Darnand projected his voice in the hope that the others would gather. “A Gate to Oblivion has been discovered in County Bruma. Kjellingsson has entered it with a group from the Fighters Guild.”

“Thank you, Associate,” said Jeanne. She raised her fist into the air, then fluttered her fingers. A cackling scamp stepped through the portal that opened, dissolving immediately as it pitched forward toward the floor. “You may go,” she added. To whom she spoke was unclear.

Volanaro and J’skar stepped in through the far hall door. Selena stood in her doorway.

“I beg your pardon,” Darnand repeated to Jeanne. “What support will our Guild offer?”

“The County officials handle such matters.” Jeanne raised her fist and fixed her eyes on it as if her fingers held the mysteries of success clenched against the palm.

Darnand pointed at Volanaro and then J’skar. “There stands the most powerful Illusionist of my acquaintance. I am informed that he is also a summoner of considerable renown. Your Journeyman is known throughout Bruma for ‘blowing things up.’ Is it possible that you are uncertain whom to deploy?”

“Thanks a lot, Breton,” muttered Volanaro, eyes wide. J’skar’s response was an unintelligible hiss.

Jeanne frowned at Darnand. “You are free to go, Associate, if you wish to leave your assigned task incomplete. I have received no contract that would preclude your involvement nor encourage the Guild’s.” She lifted her hand again, preparing to cast.

Selena was the most likely to assist with minimal quibbling. Darnand addressed her. “Have you a map? I must identify the Maiden Spring Trail. I shall await Kjellingsson’s return at the Gate site. Additionally, I should like to leave a message for Lildereth. She too will surely wish to join the defense.”

He followed Selena into her workroom, J’skar and Volanaro on his heels. Darnand placed his map on the work surface and compared it to hers. “Here?”

“I suppose so,” said Selena. “I do not wander the local wilds.”

J’skar shrugged, while Volanaro gave an elaborate eyebrow flourish and shiver.

“I will find it,” Lildereth said at Darnand’s side. All four of them flinched and glared at her.

“Khajiit might almost take Lildereth for Ohmes,” J’skar muttered.

“I have a list,” Darnand said to Lildereth.

“Of course you do,” she shot back. “I know how to pack for a snow camp, Breton.” Then she gave his hand a repentant squeeze. “He will return. It’s what he does.”

Darnand squeezed back. “I shall handle our food and arcane requirements.”

“I’ll get the rest. The militia will break a trail. We’ll follow them on horseback. Meet me at the stables.”

“What shall we do about Ulfe?”

“Let’s leave her at the stables. I don’t want her mixing with daedra.” Lildereth disappeared as silently as she had arrived.

Darnand looked around at his fellow mages. “Who is coming with us?”

Selena gave her head a quick shake. “I will tally the supplies you request, but you will not catch me outside the city in First Seed unless I am in a heated carriage.”

Darnand began to write.

“This one awaits tales of your victory,” said J’skar.

“You are a Destruction trainer,” Darnand said to the Khajiit without looking up. “Join us in defense of your county. Use your ranged spells when the daedra come, and you will stay out of danger.”

“Khajiit is certain that Darnand is jesting.”

“Volanaro.” Darnand pierced him with a look as he handed his list to Selena. “Evoker. You can summon a Dremora Lord. Come with us.”

“I am no battlemage,” Volanaro declared. He fluttered his fingers toward the lobby. “However, if you need someone who can summon a scamp…”

* * *

The light snow was still falling when Darnand met Lildereth at the stables. They loaded their packs onto the horses. Tension made his muscles stiff, slowing the familiar task.

“We should make the site by nightfall,” Lildereth said. “This snow will clear up by then.” She lifted her little face to the gray sky. If she offered a prayer to Aetherius, it was a silent one.

Darnand got out his enchanted map as soon as they reached the trail broken through the snow by booted feet and horses. He pushed his tension down until he could feel the familiar smug satisfaction at using an arcane item. If he must admit it, the fact that few others had access to such an artifact pleased him. Years of deprivation made him appreciate what he had. Warm regard for the one who had gifted it to him raised it even higher in his esteem.

The Bruma Militia and Guard must be in a constant state of readiness for such an event, Darnand mused. He wondered if County Chorrol was similarly prepared. Abiene returned to his thoughts, studying there at the chapel. He quickly directed his attention back to the events at hand. Concern over Jerric’s fate could mire him in worries over others for whom he cared. Worry was not productive.

They had covered approximately two thirds of the distance when they met armored figures coming toward them along the beaten trail. Lildereth signaled that they should move to the side.

Darnand hailed them. “What news?”

A woman spoke as she trudged past. “Returning to the city. The Gate is closed.”

“That was fast,” Lildereth murmured. The shadow lifted from her face.

“Indeed.” An unnamed fear squeezed Darnand’s heart. “Pardon me,” he called to the passing figures. “Hello! What happened? Where are the Gate Closers? Are there injured parties?”

Lildereth flashed him a look of near panic before smoothing her features. “Hey!” she shouted. “We’re part of the support team! What are the orders?”

A mounted figure nudged her horse to the side of the trail and stopped. “I don’t have orders for you, elf. Since you’re half-sized, you have my attention for half a minute. Speak.”

“Where are those who closed the Gate? Are they injured? Why are they not at the front of your parade?”

“No one came out of the Gate,” the woman said. “They say it just closed.” She turned her head and nodded back up the trail. “You want to go look at it and see? Follow our tracks. We’ve come straight from there.”

Lildereth slid from Rose’s saddle without a word. She stood thigh-deep in snow on the horse’s far side, away from the people. Darnand joined her, the taste of metal at the back of his throat.

“What are we going to do?” Her voice barely carried over the crunching snow from the passing soldiers. She clutched the edge of his cloak in a shaking fist. “What are we going to do?”

Darnand gripped her shoulder in return. “Mount up,” he murmured against her hood. “Once we are away, we will speak. I have a plan.”

It seemed that they stood for an age waiting for the group to pass, Rose and Banner shifting their feet while the lightest of snows drifted down. Darnand watched Lildereth’s face become a mask. Tears clumped her lashes together.

Then they were alone in the silent forest.

“I am going to reopen the Gate,” said Darnand. He held up a hand to forestall an argument, but Lildereth looked both horrified and hopeful.

“Can you do that?” she gasped. “Ha! What am I saying, of course you can.”

“It may not work,” Darnand hedged, “and we may get caught by either Brumese officials or the daedra.”

“Or the Legion,” Lildereth put in. She gave a wild laugh.

“So I am going to need a diversion,” Darnand finished. “Not you, I want you ready to deal with whatever goes wrong.”

“Those two idiots at the guild. What else? For the ritual? Hump it, let’s be honest. I mean what do you need me to steal?”

“I shall tell you as we ride. You can get everything from the guild stores that I recently inventoried. The critical element is the stone bearing Dagon’s sigil. Thanks to Jerric, I am spoiled for choice. Other than that, one must possess the knowledge of where to raise the Gate in this realm to create a portal to the appropriate location in one’s target realm. Whoever opened the Gate in the first place has already accomplished the link. The ritual is simple for this sort of portal. After all, it must be performed by the most mundane of cultists.”

Lildereth slowly shook her head. “‘The ritual is simple?’”

Darnand looked at the gray sky, then back the way they had come. “What is our best course of action? I believe that we will return in the dark.”

Lildereth nudged Rose back onto the track to Bruma. “I could follow this trail blindfolded, so put that from your mind. Jerric said time moves slowly in the Deadlands compared to here. Hopefully he won’t have gotten far before you get it back open.” She spoke over her shoulder. “So I’ll come with you to the Mages Guild. If there’s something they won’t give you, I’ll take it. If there’s someone who won’t help you, I’ll Charm them until their head swims. If you need the heart of a Countess or the blood of some strange thing, it’s yours. We’ll keep our camp supplies packed. There’s no telling how this will play out.”

Thank Stendarr for this elf. Darnand knew that this was the moment for encouragement and a light remark, but their supplier of such was presently absent.

Lildereth set the pace through the snow, freeing Darnand’s attention to plan his every step in Bruma.

“We shall prevail,” he finally managed.

Lildereth responded with a silent salute.

[ghastley]

At first I thought, "there are Oblivion worlds with two gates, they just came out the other one". But then it dawned on me that Darnand isn't in the habit of closing them, so he doesn't know that.

Carry on, and don't pay any attention to my confusion.

Very accurate depictions of the Bruma mages.

[SubRosa]

Looks like the amount of help I expected from the head of the Bruma Mages Guild. It was a little disappointing that none of the others was willing to step in though. But not surprising either. So it is up to Lil and Darn.

I did enjoy Lildreth's Batman-esque appearance...

Uh oh, something else closed the gate! Of course Darnand is going to re-open it! Simple, and brilliant. Hopefully no one else will find out and think they are Mythic Dawn. Jerric is lucky to have friends as loyal as the two of them.

[Acadian]

Eeep! We are in unfamiliar territory – a closed gate with Jerric & Co. presumably still inside. What manner of magicks is this?!? Thank Kynareth’s wings we have the mind of a well-schooled mage with the boundless devotion of dedicated friends to figure out the solution.

’The Bruma Fighters Guild smelled of sweat, woodsmoke, and leather. A sunken area was occupied by armored individuals walloping each other while an Orsimer yelled at them. Darnand brushed the snow from his shoulders, looking around for someone who seemed to be in charge.’ - - A concise but spectacularly rich and evocative scene you paint here! And as friend SubRosa sagely points out, the FG readiness to help stands in disappointing contrast to the cowardly mages of the Bruma MG.

’Warm regard for the one who had gifted it to him raised it even higher in his esteem.’ - - I can’t help but feel I should know who gifted this enchanted map to Darnand. . . but I’m embarrassed to report I do not know. Jerric? Lil? . . . Buffy? Abiene?

’A mounted figure nudged her horse to the side of the trail and stopped. “I don’t have orders for you, elf. Since you’re half-sized, you have my attention for half a minute. Speak.” - - Is it possible to be furious and laughing at the same time?

“I am going to reopen the Gate,” said Darnand. He held up a hand to forestall an argument, but Lildereth looked both horrified and hopeful.’ - - I wanted to stand up and cheer the bookishly brilliant and brave mage!

’If there’s something they won’t give you, I’ll take it. If there’s someone who won’t help you, I’ll Charm them until their head swims. If you need the heart of a Countess or the blood of some strange thing, it’s yours.’ - - Not to be outdone by Darnand, Lil readily demonstrates her own courage, determination and devotion here.

Wonderful episode!

[Grits]

Previously: Darnand and Lildereth learned that the County Bruma Gate had closed, trapping Jerric in an Oblivion realm. Darnand has a plan to reopen the Gate. He and Lildereth started back to Bruma to prepare. Meanwhile in the icy hills on the other side of the Gate that has closed, Jerric and the Fighters Guild team are making their way to a Sigil Tower that he assumes is holding a different Gate open. They hope that closing it will carry them back to Tamriel.


ghastley: Sorry about the confusion. Between me changing the game a bit and then waiting 2-3 years between updates, that’s on me! I have a lot of affection for those Bruma mages. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: Stay tuned for more from the Bruma mages! Being mistaken for the Mythic Dawn is definitely on their minds, especially Lil’s. She is very much the outsider when it comes to Jerric’s Blades business. Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Abiene gave Darnand that enchanted map when the gang was all together in Anvil for Saturalia. He shows it to Jerric one night camped on the Kvatch plateau after Jerric has been ghost hunting in the city, in Chapter 12. This stuff was posted so long ago, I should have mentioned that detail in the intro. I’m sorry about the confusion. I am delighted at your response to Darnand and Lildereth’s heroic moment. Thank you, Acadian!


Next: Darnand's plan.

.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Fourteen

Darnand entered the Mages Guild Hall to the hiss and stink of Jeanne’s scamp. He paused to allow Ulfe and the invisible Lildereth through the door. In any other chapter attempting such a simple trick would be foolish. Here no one felt the responsibility of vigilance.

The reception hall was empty save for Jeanne and her intermittent daedra. Clinking glassware told him that Selena was occupied in her workspace. “The Gate to Oblivion is closed,” Darnand announced as he strode past, glancing around for J’skar or Volanaro. He could not allow Jeanne to needle him with demeaning questions about his inventory task. Leaving her in a pile of greasy ash would be satisfying but was no way to advance his cause.

Volanaro and J’skar had dined together in the lower level. Both of their plates were empty, but they lingered over beverages.

Darnand closed the door quietly and sat down at the end of the table between them, leaning in as if to share a confidence. He spoke first to forestall whatever droll comments they were preparing to make. “Gentlemen, I have for you a challenge the like of which you will not see again.”

Volanaro lit up like a child on Saturalia morning. “Do tell,” he said, rubbing his palms together.

“This one listens,” purred J’skar. He fondled Ulfe’s ears as the great hound examined his empty plate.

“The best part is that you will be in no danger of discovery,” Darnand continued. “You need only provide the diversion,” he said to J’skar, “and you must simply cast your prank disappearing spell on me,” he said to Volanaro, “and I will open the Gate.”

Volanaro poked Darnand with his elbow, chuckling. “That has the makings of a humorous tale, but you are an amateur, my friend. To convince me that you are serious, your story should have at least some hint of plausibility.”

J’skar smoothed his whiskers. “This one was not pranked at all, Breton.”

“No,” Darnand said, “that wasn’t the prank! The Gate to Oblivion has closed! I am going to reopen it.”

Now Volanaro looked annoyed. “What part of this is amusing to you? People die in these Gates. If you think I would find that funny, you have misjudged me.”

“Listen to me,” Darnand tried again. “That Gate closed with the Fighters Guild group inside it! By now the whole city knows. If you lot ever left these walls you would know by now, too. Kjellingsson is trapped in there. Kjestrid, the blonde warrior with the big sword, and Gjaever the mountainous redhead are trapped in there. Shamir-do,” Darnand searched his memory for Jerric’s description, “the jaguar Khajiit is trapped in there. Would you leave them to die and do nothing?”

J’skar’s claws scraped shallow grooves in the tabletop. “This one is much aggrieved. Kjellingsson deserves a better fate. But what would you have us do?”

“There’s nothing we can do!” Volanaro cried. “Curse it, why did they go in there?”

“Lower your voices!” Darnand hissed. “I tell you, I have a plan. However I trust no one to help but you.”

J’skar leaned back in. “What about the Bosmer, Lildereth?”

Darnand fought the urge to summon his daedroth and leave them fighting it. “Of course Lildereth is helping. Much of our plan is her making, and even now she is doing her part. Will you please listen to me?” He looked at each of them in turn, waiting until they had settled. “First, I trust that even if you choose to stand by and do nothing while our friends perish horribly in the Deadlands and their souls are possibly consigned to eternal slavery, you will not betray me to any authorities.”

Both Volanaro and J’skar looked disgusted at the idea. Neither interrupted.

“I have the materials to reopen the Gate,” Darnand continued. “I believe that I know enough about the ritual to force it open, though I admit mere study may not be sufficient to the task.”

“That must have been hard for you to say,” Volanaro smirked.

Darnand ignored the remark. “I have defended a Gate before while Kjellingsson went into the Deadlands to close it. Now that it is closed, the Gate site will be guarded. They will not let me approach the site, much less conduct a daedric ritual upon it. What I need to make this attempt is a diversion that will draw the guards away, and concealment while I open the Gate.” He sat back and looked between them.

The Altmer’s eyes narrowed. “How will you conduct the ritual?”

“I suppose you will not simply trust me? Very well. I possess a sigil stone already inscribed by the hand of Mehrunes Dagon. The enchantment to create a translimnal portal with the necessary circumpenetration to pierce Oblivion resides within it. Awakening the stone to its purpose requires the incantation be spoken with harrada root while the runes are inscribed with a stalk of blood grass.”

“What does that mean, ‘with harrada root’?”

“I will hold the powered root in my mouth as I speak, and,” Darnand made a gesture in front of his lips, “blood from my weeping tissues will infuse the words. The active sigil stone will then transport itself through the limnal barrier to the lock which has already been prepared in the Deadlands. We know it is there, because a Gate has already been opened on that site. As Kjellingsson describes it, the limnal lock is located at the top of a Sigil Tower. Assuming that I have survived, I will contact Kjellingsson and inform him that he is free to return through the Gate. Along with his companions.”

“All you need is harrada root and blood grass?” J’skar asked. “That seems too easy.”

“And a sigil stone,” said Darnand. “Do you know anyone else who has one?”

“How do you know all of this?” Volanaro demanded.

Darnand’s patience evaporated. “You have a copy of Limnal Bridges right downstairs on the reception hall shelves, at eye level.” He gestured above his head to indicate Volanaro’s height. “Are you telling me you have spent eight hours every day for years standing in that chamber, yet you have never read it?”

Volanaro leaned forward, conspiring again. “My spell of Mischievous Concealment will allow you to approach unnoticed and conduct your ritual. I doubt these mage-fearing locals will use life detection magic. Your incantations may be heard, but you will not be seen until I dispel the effect or a full day has passed.” He flipped his hand back and forth. “Give or take. We never tested the limits, preferring instead to maintain the illusion that J’skar had completely—”

“Thank you,” Darnand interrupted. “You have given me hope that we might save them. I know that the spell will require all your resources. If only I could think of a clever diversion…”

J’skar shot to his feet, lashed the air with his tail, then quick as a blink hunkered down at the table again. “Friends,” he clasped his palms together, “this one shall cast a variety of daedra into the woods from Volanaro’s scrolls! The guards will give chase! In this way we will have our diversion, but this one’s magicka will be in reserve in case something goes awry.”

Volanaro leaned back, a sly smile on his face. “Why, J’skar! How cautious of you.”

J’skar’s ears flicked backward. “We will be outdoors, my friend. Caution is called for.”

“What sort of daedra?” asked Darnand.

“Scamps!” J’skar exclaimed with glee. He gestured toward the Altmer, whose smile had become insufferably smug. “In honor of our glorious leader’s eternal scamp project, Volanaro has created scrolls to sell to all of Bruma’s most mundane, onion-smelling, mushroom-eared, and clod-footed citizenry!”

“At a huge discount,” Volanaro put in. “Even the smallest child can have a scamp at its heels, and a better one than those produced by Bruma’s Guild Magister!”

“He has made enough to fill the streets with scamps!” chortled J’skar.

“Not all of the streets,” Volanaro said, inclining his head in feigned modesty.

“Mad as Sheo’s corset. It is a wonder you two have not been strung up.”

“They are harmless, of course,” J’skar amended. “They prance, they,” he giggled, “scamper, they shoot sparks from their claws and fart multi-colored bubbles, but they do not attack people.”

“I have combined the summoning spells with illusions such as those used at New Life Festival,” Volanaro confided.

“Have you sold many of them?”

“None,” Volanaro frowned. Then he brightened just as quickly. “But if anyone comes in to shop, we are ready!”

This mer can create daedra with customized abilities, yet he sits in this hall inventing jester’s tricks. Darnand pushed aside his recriminations and addressed the Khajiit. “How will you—” He whipped back around to Volanaro. “This hall’s spellmaking altar is functional?”

Volanaro crossed his arms over his chest. “If I got caught using something like that, I could be expelled from the Guild.”

Darnand considered that he might be in the throes of a vivid but ridiculous dream. He turned back to the Khajiit. “J’skar, tell me your plan for the diversion.”

“After Volanaro prepares himself with this one’s assistance and covers you with Mischievous Concealment, this one will walk forward and hail the guards.”

“I shall accompany you,” Volanaro said to J’skar. “They will have no way to detect that I have depleted my magicka.”

“Aha!” said J’skar. “This one gives you the honor of using the first scroll!”

“Yes!” Volanaro cried, slapping the table. As Darnand massaged the bridge of his nose, the Altmer lowered his voice and continued. “I shall use the first scroll before you hail them, and then as we approach I shall alert them to its presence!” He made a dramatic wave. “Daedra! Daedra in the woods!”

“Then this one will use another, in the opposite direction!” J’skar raised a palm to Volanaro, who struck it with his own.

“Stay together so that the guards don’t accidentally shoot you,” said Darnand. “You are certain that the scamps will not attack?”

The Bruma mages shared a glance. “Not entirely certain,” Volanaro admitted.

Selena spoke from the doorway. “You will need horses.” She stepped in and shut the door behind her. “Don’t give me those looks, I could hear you three from the corridor. Associate, do you know what Lildereth is doing?”

“Yes,” said Darnand, hoping that he did.

“Then I didn’t notice a thing. I’ll stay behind and handle Jeanne.” She tossed a jingling pouch onto the table. “For your mounts. You can pay me back later. You’ll want your cloaks and your weather charms, you two. Get moving! You have a pack of warriors to save.”

Darnand placed an arm across his chest in a spontaneous salute. “Selena, if I may beg a favor…”

Her look reminded him that she was acting out of duty, not affection.

“My dog,” he said hastily, placing a hand on Ulfe’s warm back. “We had intended to leave her at the stables, but if we should not return…”

“Do you wish me to confine her while you are gone?”

“For three days. Then let her come and go as she pleases, just provide her with food and water whenever you see her. If she finds us at the Gate after that, it should already be over.”

Selena nodded. “Stay safe, magisters.” She coaxed Ulfe out of the room.

Volanaro and J’skar had risen from the table. “We will meet you in the lobby in two hours,” Volanaro said to Darnand.

“We will meet outside in twenty minutes,” Darnand corrected. He decided not to tell them to act naturally. No doubt Jeanne was used to turning a blind eye to their antics, lest she spend her days reprimanding them rather than insulting the air with scamps.

[Acadian]

Despite the perilous situation and high stakes, this episode absolutely bubbled with humor!

“This one listens,” purred J’skar. He fondled Ulfe’s ears as the great hound examined his empty plate.’ - - This passage struck me for its well-crafted details that help set this scene so nicely.

It took him a couple tries, but Darnand finally got just the right mix of appeal to duty and prank to draw Volanaro and J'skar into helping his quest.

Wow, Darnand’s plan is impressive and I was delighted to see the pair of misfit mages contributing a great deal to its likelihood of success. Volanaro will cloak Darrnand with that trademarked Mischievous Concealment spell while J’skar provides a distraction. And what a distraction I expect it shall be, as the mage-cat fills the forest with multicolored bubble-farting scamps!

I quite chuckled at the scrolls crafted to ensure every dog, child and their brother could conjure a better scamp than the guild’s worthless guild-magister.

[ghastley]

Jeanne gets a bit a bad rap in the game for using a minimal spell, but since you get the XP just from casting, regardless of the spell power, she's actually being very efficient. Still, that's about all I can in her favour.

If the scamps are "better than Jeanne's" they could be a problem. How big a bubble could they produce if they all conspire together?

[SubRosa]

Leaving her in a pile of greasy ash would be satisfying but was no way to advance his cause.
But still, no reason not to leave her a pile of greasy ash...

I loved Darnand's description of opening an Oblivion Gate.

What a brilliant idea to outdo the Guild Master with scamps, better than hers! That got me thinking that maybe the reason Jeanne's scamp always vanishes after a few moments might be because she cannot keep one longer than that. She can only handle a spell with a 3 second duration...

[Grits]

Previously: Darnand and Lildereth secured help from Bruma mages Volanaro, J’skar, and Selena. They plan to reopen the Gate, allowing Jerric and the Fighters Guild team to return to County Bruma.


Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! This section with Darnand and the Bruma boys was lots of fun to write. It just took a threat beyond “warrior's work” to get them moving.

ghastley: Darnand agrees about Jeanne’s probable intention with her scamp spell, and Atronach Jerric could learn from her about efficient practice. In Jerric’s world the Bruma MG specialized in Necromancy until the recent ban (which now includes any summoning of undead on Guild property), so she’s legitimately working on a new skill. Yikes, Volanaro’s scamp army floats away in a giant rainbow fart-bubble! Where will they land?! Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: I’m sure there is a pile of ash somewhere in Jeanne’s future. I got to do some fun research with Darnand on the Gate ritual. Sounds like Jeanne’s scamp is a premature evacuator. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: In the Oblivion realm.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Fifteen

The cold was taking a toll on Shamir-do. If he faltered, any one of the Nords could carry him. Jerric decided that while his impulse was to put some of his own clothing on the Khajiit, the group would be better served by keeping three of the four of them in better condition than compromising a second for little return.

They left the high plain and descended into a broad, long valley. The wind became a cold breeze. Occasionally distant pops and cracks sounded in the mountains, Jerric guessed from unseen ice movement. They began to see more black jumbled rocks poking up out of the snow.

The next rest break was only for Shamir-do. Jerric chafed at the delay. Rather than glaring at Kjestrid while they waited for the sands in her mental hourglass to shift, he spent the time kicking down through the strange, loose snow around one of the outcrops. “This was lava once.”

“What’s on your mind?” asked Kjestrid.

“If we’re in the Deadlands, there should be fire under here. I’ve never seen part of Dagon’s realm that didn’t have lava and the land, if you can call it that, breaking and moving around. Rock slides, lava flows...” He looked around for he was not sure what.

Kjestrid punched him in the chest. “Kyne’s blood, you’re on to something!” She pointed to the edge of the closest ridge, where fog drifted along the ground. “Over there!”

A short trudge brought them across the valley. Jerric still had no idea what Kjestrid had in mind, or what she attributed to his idea.

She directed the group to a place where steam leaked from fissures in the bluish-grey surface. “Here,” Kjestrid said. “Step carefully. There may be a cavity underneath, don’t want to fall through. I’ll stand watch. Shamir, you watch that way. Gjaever, you and Jerric dig through this… snow.”

Jerric pulled the skitt shovel from the side of his pack and got busy. Kjestrid’s intent soon became clear. Dibella’s kitten, she means us to dig down to where the rock is hot. By the time he was thigh-deep in a trench, he had a thought. “Hold, Gjaever! Let’s give our ice man a turn.”

The frost atronach roared through his portal with a sound of ice shattering. Once fully formed, he stood for a moment taking in the scene. This time when he moved his hand-spikes together and inclined his head, the greeting included all of them

“Ishckrihk.”

“Kuhk-kick.”

“Here’s the thing,” Jerric said, “Unless you can find something for us to burn, we’re going to dig down and see if the rock is hot under there.”

Ishckrihk inspected the trench with a gesture so human it was eerie on his featureless head-blob. Then he stomped a short distance away and shot his arm into a longer appendage, sinking it into the snow. He swept it to the side, causing a burst of salj that obscured his next action. The leaking fog turned to steam, trickling out rather than misting, but not hissing out on a rush.

“It is hot under there,” Jerric said. He decided to celebrate with some elk jerky.

“Shamir-do!” Kjestrid called him over. “Hop down and see if that’s a good spot to rest.”

Shamir-do was soon nestled against the rock. Jerric noted that liquid was trickling away under the snow. He tested it against his tongue with a gloved finger. “That’s not water,” he declared, spitting it out. He looked at the frost atronach. “What is this?”

The resulting jumble of images sent him retching to his knees. He managed to swallow down the stringy bits of jerky before they could escape his mouth. “For the love of Mara,” he choked. “All right, let’s try that again. Slow down! Don’t show me the whole thing at once.”

Jerric closed his eyes and let himself sink into Ishckrihk’s images. As in the last vision that Ishckrihk had shared, he stood on a high place. The air was perfectly clear, so clear that he wondered if there was air at all. Light glistened through the limbs of a dozen frost atronachs, gathered in a rough circle. If the attitude of their head and shoulder ice sections could be described in human terms, they peered into a pale blue-tinted pool. Something moved within it.

He shook himself free of the vision, but it lingered for a disturbing few seconds before his eyes cleared. “I don’t get it,” he said to Ishckrihk.

“Try again,” Kjestrid offered. “We have time while Shamir-do warms up.”

This time Jerric found himself in Ishckrihk’s vision surrounded by ice-blue light. He-Ishckrihk rested in a firm matrix of clear material. The light rippled slowly as if he was under water. He rose without effort, uncertain if he was being pushed upward or lifted. A dozen frost atronachs stood in a circle around him. As his perception broke a surface, he was able to see them all without turning. When Jerric’s stomach heaved he tore his awareness back from Ishckrihk’s before he had to swallow his snack yet again.

Hands on knees, Jerric waited for the world to right itself.

“Well?” asked Kjestrid.

Jerric lifted his head. “One more time.”

Ishckrihk made a low, booming sound. He tilted his head stump up to the sky.

“This one knows the feeling,” Shamir-do wheezed at Ishckrihk from the trench.

“Welcome back,” Jerric laughed to the Khajiit.

Shamir-do climbed out. “This one is refreshed.”

As Jerric focused his attention back on the atronach, a sound like distant thunder rolled down the valley. At the same time the ground shook just enough to be worrisome.

‘Jerric!’ Darnand’s mental voice bit through Jerric’s thoughts. ‘It is I! Gods help me, it worked!’

“Darnand? What in rutting hells?”

“Where?” called Kjestrid, scanning in a circle.

“Not here. In my head. He’s— Give me a minute.” Jerric clenched his teeth to remind himself how to speak. ‘You figured it out! This is going to change everything! You are a star, Breton!’

‘I— What is your meaning?’

‘You reached me across the Void! How did you find me? Am I in the Deadlands?’

‘Yes, my friend. We are both in the Deadlands.’

Jerric’s eyes fixed blankly on the snow began to water. ‘What have you done?’

‘I have rescued you.’ Panic warred with triumph in Darnand’s mental tone. ‘Are you far from the Gate? I have reopened it so that you may return.’

“Godsdammit!” Jerric said and thought. “Go back through before the pods eat you. Watch your step, there’s a trap in the ground. By the Nine, now I have two Gates to close!”

‘I cannot return the way I came. Though it was not my intent to do so, I have traveled with the stone to the limnal lock. I believe I am in a Sigil Keep. I am presently rendered invisible by Volanaro’s spell, but I fear magical detection. Jerric… Please hurry.’

Jerric spoke to Kjestrid. “There’s a situation.”

‘I will not be able to defeat these foes. I shall conceal myself until you and the others— Oh. I am discovered.’

‘We can’t even see your tower!’ Jerric silently shouted. ‘I can’t reach you! Take the stone and hold on! The fire will carry you back out the way you came.’

‘Not while you and the others remain. I shall attempt to escape and hide until… No good. Tell Abiene—’

“There’s another Gate open! Don’t let yourself be captured! Take the stone, we’re not trapped! Take it! Darnand!”

Darnand’s presence was abruptly gone, leaving a silence as if a door had just slammed shut. Jerric let his breath out in a rush. “I think he made it.” He looked over to find Shamir-do’s eyes alternately popping open and squinting against the cold. Gjaever had his head turned away, likely searching for something to fight. Kjestrid looked murderous.

“Did you hear some of that?” Jerric asked. Breton, you’d better not be dead.

“Your mage came through the Gate. And you told him to close it.” Kjestrid visibly mastered her ire. “We have traveled farther than you thought we would need to, and we still haven’t seen your tower. Are we not trying to leave this realm?”

“Not that way. He doesn’t need to die in a Sigil Keep, and we don’t need to leave a Gate open. Besides, we’ve come too far to return. And now we know that this is the Deadlands. That’s helpful. It’s not a part that I’ve seen, but this is Dagon’s realm.”

“How do you know that?”

“He used one of our sigil stones.” Jerric scraped some ice from his beard. “Damn it all, I hope the guards don’t kill him when he falls back into County Bruma. Maybe Volanaro’s spell will hold.”

Kjestrid and Gjaever exchanged a look. “What exactly do we know that will help us?”

“Well. Everything that I’ve told you, and what you’ve heard from Asgerd, is, uh, probably true. About this place.”

“So helpful,” said Shamir-do. “Much more helpful than an open Gate.”

Jerric turned on him. “Listen, cat—”

“Someone will have noticed your mage’s activity,” Kjestrid interrupted. “We need to stay low. Walk along the edges going forward. See less but not be seen.”

“All right.”

Ishckrihk seemed to know what was needed before Jerric gave the order. He bowed to Kjestrid, turned and bowed to Jerric, then burst apart into a thousand gleaming shards.

“So much for staying low,” Shamir-do muttered.

“What was he trying to tell you?” Kjestrid asked Jerric.

Jerric kicked at the grainy material. “I think they’re made out of this. There are a lot of cold places in Tamriel. Dagon could be making an ice army.”

They all looked back the way they had come, mountains and hillsides covered with the alien not-snow. After a moment Jerric motioned them to the low ridge across the bottom of their new valley. At Kjestrid’s nod, Shamir-do took the lead. Kjestrid followed at Jerric’s side, then Gjaever.

.

[ghastley]

I'm really liking that this Oblivion World is different, and thus provides new challenges that nobody is prepared for, including the second Gate and the not-exactly-snow.

Darnand has so far had no nett effect on Jerric's situation, having had to close the Gate he re-opened, but he does now know that there's a second gate, so I'm assuming that will be his focus next. I look forward to seeing what he and Lil do with that information.

And Itchy's always the star, but this place is made for him, or is he made from it?

[Acadian]

This is getting very epic!

You really bring the sense of bone-chilling cold to life - brrrr.

Yikes! The rescuees must now rescue the rescuers it seems.

Oh, and good tip Jerric learns from Itchy – Don’t eat the yellow grainy snow.

[SubRosa]

Hmmm, what a strange part of the Deadlands. It looks like it has a polar vortex as well...

The frost atronach roared through his portal with a sound of ice shattering.
This was a great introduction.

Brilliant idea by Kjesty to dig down to the warm parts. I am guessing that is ash rather than actual snow? Or Daedra juices? Izzy's mental projections reminded me of how they describe what happens when a daedra is killed and reforms in the waters of Oblivion (or something such).

Zoinks, Darnand's plan seems to have backfired!

[Grits]

Previously: Darnand reopened the Gate, accidentally traveling to the Sigillum Sanguis. Jerric told him to close it again. He and the Fighters Guild team are still in a cold part of the Deadlands.


ghastley: Poor Darnand’s efforts have gone completely unappreciated! I imagine he has wanted to try opening a Gate since the first time he touched a sigil stone. This has been a fun Oblivion World to write. Thank you, ghastley!

Acadian: Ha! Itchy was ready to dump Jerric into the snow if he didn’t catch on to what he was saying. Of all the mortals to get summoned by! Thank you, Acadian!

SubRosa: That’s exactly what Izzy was trying to tell Jerric. The snow is a bunch of frozen daedric creation gunk like the azure plasm pools in Coldharbour (and possibly other realms). Darnand is going to have to add “I am not a daedric cultist” to his standard denial. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: Let’s get out of here.

.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Sixteen

“There,” Jerric said. “That’s a Sigil Keep.”

The three Nords and Khajiit knelt looking down from their ridge onto an endless broken plain. Lava flowed like rivers through snow-dusted, rocky hills. An island housed a cluster of towers, one glowing red-orange at the top. At the base of its bridge stood an open war gate. Two smaller towers flanked the gate.

“Shamir-do, go take a look,” Kjestrid said.

Shamir-do disappeared between the rocks. After a moment Jerric saw him making his way down, hidden from all but the highest tower.

“That’s too far for life detection to work,” said Jerric.

“Shamir can see a torchbug against a bonfire,” said Kjestrid. “He doesn’t need life detection. Now tell me about what you can see.”

“Those small towers house the war gate controls. They’ll be open inside with a ramp spiraling up and something guarding it. Across the bridge the approach looks clear, which means fire turrets. They’re spaced so there’s some overlap in the target areas. Imagine a circle with a fire turret in the center, a little larger than…” Jerric searched his memory for the terms.

“The radius of the circle is that distance plus a bit,” said Kjestrid.

“Yeah the radius. There will be mines where the turrets can’t reach. Sometimes those idiot scamps set one off, which I guess is why they don’t concern themselves when they hear me crashing around out there.”

“If you set off a fire turret or a mine, no one comes to investigate?”

“Not so far, and I’ve been hit by a number of them. It’s arcane fire. I can absorb it sometimes. I stay away from the mines, though. They explode with fire and some kind of…” he made a blowing-up gesture. “It hurts.”

“The pressure wave,” Kjestrid suggested.

“Yeah. Don’t get caught in the, uh, pressure wave. Sometimes I think I should have stayed in school.”

“How would you do this alone?”

Jerric’s eyes returned to the war gate. “As much as I’d like to kill everything that moves, I’d avoid fights if I can. When I get to the top of the Sigil Keep where the stone holds the Gate open, there’ll be dremora in there with something big as backup. I have to be fast for the last push.” Jerric shifted his weight to the other knee. “That war gate should be closed.”

Shamir-do returned. “A clannfear and a scamp dead on the ground. Two arrows, two kills. This one did not go into the towers.”

Jerric lunged to his feet. “Dammit, I let us sit here and stare at that open war gate. Someone came through here already. From wherever that Gate is open, must be. They’re going to close it, same as us. Forget the guard towers, whatever’s in there is dead. Now we’re in a race.”

“We’ll go in pairs,” Kjestrid said. “Shamir with me on the right, you two on the left. Jerric and I will run first. Gjaever, tell Shamir what Jerric said about the traps. You know these?” She made a quick series of gestures at Jerric with her left hand.

“Yeah.”

“Watch me. See there?”

Jerric gave her the signal.

“Good.” Kjestrid motioned that they should go.

A dremora lay dead on the bridge, and empty chest pieces from fire atronachs littered the ground outside the Sigil Keep. They followed a blood trail inside.

Shamir-do knelt at a discarded shield. “That is not daedric,” he said over the thrumming fire.

“Bonemold,” said Kjestrid. “Leave it.”

The interior looked familiar. Jerric drew the group into a nook, near a spider daedra carcass. “We’ll go through passages and chambers around the outside, then we’ll end up back in this central core. In here we can be seen from the ramps above. Let’s hope whoever’s ahead of us is dead. Shamir leads if we get to a dark section. Watch for traps. We run.”

Jerric felt an odd anticipation in his chest. The dread of losing his team to the Deadlands became a specter dancing outside the circle of his cares, unable to touch him. Even the thought of Abiene was like a memory of grief, without the familiar ache. I’m going to die in flames, he remembered. Maybe today.

The doors opened at his touch with their meaty, tearing sounds. Kjestrid, Gjaever, and Shamir-do followed, for once not trying to protect him. Bodies lay scattered in the first open chamber, two dremora and six others in fur and bonemold armor. Jerric checked for a pulse at the neck of one Dunmer, but found none. The others were obviously dead where they lay. He moved on without speaking.

Shadows moved above as they circled the flame pillar. Soon they would get to kill. Jerric led them into the next set of outside chambers.

A claw trap of the type triggered by a floor plate held a dead Nord, pierced through her armor. Her blood was still wet but not dripping. Jerric ignored the hollowed-out bodies hung from support pillars. Their entrails had been pulled into an intricate web to form a canopy, but not recently.

Coming back out onto the central ramp they surprised a black-robed dremora. Jerric put Redeemer through her chest before she could cast. He stood on her throat while she died, glancing back at his companions. Gjaever had his axe in hand, attention focused down the ramp. Kjestrid knelt and looked ahead, so smooth and sure that she could be in her own home. Shamir-do looked up the central pillar. He signaled that there was something above them.

Perhaps all of the other mortals were already dead. Jerric decided not to count on it. He moved to the inside wall and ran on.

Another shadowy chamber choked with bodies and reeking of death. Jerric stepped over the daedra and checked for life in the fallen Dunmer. As he bent, Kjestrid drew steel.

“That one is still upright,” said Shamir-do. His arrow pointed at the shadows beside one of the membranous windows.

“Drop it and come forward,” Kjestrid barked.

A figure wearing bonemold plates over leather armor stepped into the flickering light. She placed a dagger on the floor. “You’re not cultists.”

“Who are you?” Jerric said.

“Nereli Llandam, House Redoran.”

Jerric pointed at the bodies with the tip of his sword. “Why aren’t you dead?”

“I’m the scout.”

“Anyone else left?”

“No.”

Jerric sheathed his blade. “I’m Jerric. Why—”

“Explain yourself, Llandam,” Kjestrid said.

Nereli made a vague gesture. “We were sent in to close the Gate. There were too many of us. They saw us coming. Who are you?”

“Bruma Fighters Guild,” Jerric said. “The Gate we came through closed. Was that your doing?”

“No. We came straight to this tower. The frost atronachs got some of us out on the snow. Once we got in here we stopped carrying our dead. I found the Sigillum Sanguis but couldn’t get to the limnal lock. I came back to wait and to see if anyone had potions.” At the last, she nodded at her fallen comrades.

“What’s guarding the sigil stone?” Jerric asked.

“I saw three dremora and a daedroth. There’s too much light to sneak past. If some left I was going to try running through.”

“Why not go back out the Gate?” Kjestrid asked. She still held her sword casually at the ready.

“We were ordered to close the Gate or die trying,” Nereli said. “By now the House Guard will be on site. There’s only one way I’m getting out of here.”

Jerric glanced at Kjestrid. Once they were engaged with the daedra in the Sigil Keep, there would be nothing to stop Nereli from grabbing the sigil stone and leaving them stranded.

Kjestrid gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. She spoke to the Dunmer. “What can you do?”

“I can shoot.”

“Any spells?”

Nereli shook her head. “My ancestor guardian may come to defend me, if I have a chance to pray first. I never know if she’ll listen.”

Kjestrid stepped close enough to look down at Nereli. “I’ll give you time to pray.” She pointed at Jerric. “He’s going to take the stone. He’ll wait until we all have a hand on him.”

Shamir-do hissed.

“Shamir-do is right,” Kjestrid said, keeping eye contact with Nereli. “I could end you here and not risk that you’ll cross us. If you move for that stone before Jerric gets to it, I will.”

Nereli lifted her chin. “Yes, sera. Thank you.”

“Let’s—”

Gjaever interrupted with an urgent gesture. Shamir-do melted into the shadows. Kjestrid grabbed Nereli’s arm and pointed Jerric to one of the pillars.

As he concealed himself, four scamps entered the chamber followed by a dremora. Its voice sounded like jagged stone grinding on metal. The scamps began moving Dunmeri corpses, one lifting the shoulders and the other at the feet.

Kjestrid motioned for Jerric to stay, but when the dremora howled he stepped out from behind his pillar. Shamir-do shot two of the scamps. Nereli shot the other two, almost as swift as the Khajiit. Gjaever rushed the dremora, cleaving its head and one shoulder nearly from its body with his heavy axe.

Jerric walked over to examine the dremora. “No armor. Just a tunic. I haven’t seen this before.”

“He would have low status,” Nereli said, retrieving an arrow. “Directing a scamp work party.”

Nereli soon got another chance to prove herself. She put an arrow under the chin of an armored dremora from her position lower on the ramp. As it staggered toward them clutching its neck, Kjestrid stepped up with her greatsword. She spent a moment thrusting it through the gaps she found in its armor, Shamir-do at her side. The dremora finally toppled, the impact drowned out by the pillar of flame.

On the ramp outside the Sigillum Sanguis Jerric called a halt. He gestured to the domed ceiling with its mouth-like opening in the center for the pillar of fire. “That skin stuff is the floor up there.”

“Tell me about the dremora,” Kjestrid said to Nereli.

“Two of them are robed, one carrying a staff and one a mace. The other is armored and has a battleaxe.”

“No bows?” asked Jerric.

“No.”

“Gjaever, Jerric, and I will get their attention,” said Kjestrid. “Shamir-do and Nereli, stay together and shoot the mages. Gjaever will close with the armored one. I’ll dance with the daedroth.” She looked at Jerric. “They call you Mages Bane. I hope they’re right. When you three are finished with the robe-wearers, come support us. I’ll leave it to you to prioritize. Questions? Here’s your chance to pray.”

Nereli dropped her other knee to the floor and bowed her head. Shamir-do fiddled with his arrows.

Jerric took a swig of Jerric’s Juice. He focused on his Woad until it settled over him like a second skin. Ishckrihk would have trouble getting through the door, he reasoned. Then he remembered the atronach stomping at full speed through the trees. He could simply flow under the door frame. Jerric opened the portal for him and readied his shield.

Kjestrid watched through the open doorway while the flames roared and the wind howled across the hole in the tower ceiling. She signaled Jerric left and Gjaever right.

Ishckrihk’s footsteps made the already vibrating floor shake. Jerric watched his footing as he ran up the rib-like stair spikes. The membranous ramps curved down to meet the ring-shaped floor on the side opposite him. One of the mages and the armored dremora stood near the ramp. The other mage and the daedroth must be above, Jerric reasoned. Or Nereli’s information was false, or perhaps the guard had changed while they had been fooling around with the drudge and his scamps.

When the mage lifted a fist, white light flowed down his body. The warrior started around to the left. Gjaever moved to intercept her. An arrow arced up from the stairs and skimmed the mage’s shoulders, making his magical shield flash at the impact. While Jerric ran toward him gathering frost into his hand, the mage made a casting gesture at Jerric. Then he gripped his staff in both hands, moving the end in a circular motion. A clannfear stepped through the portal that opened, at the same time the sound of shattering ice came from behind Jerric and his frost hit the mage. The clannfear turned its horns toward Jerric. A glance back confirmed that Ishckrihk was gone.

Shock was a better weapon than frost against the clannfear, and making physical contact with it would result in hurting him as well. Jerric put his back toward the wall and sent a bolt of lightning into the clannfear.

Another arrow arced up, this one piercing the mage’s side. Gjaever closed with the armored dremora on the other side of the fire column. Kjestrid ran past them and toward the high platform.

Their two archers should be able to handle a wounded mage and its summons. Jerric dodged the clannfear’s charge, then lifted his shield and ran at the mage. As the mage’s fire blinded him, Jerric ducked behind his shield and knocked him onto his back. It took two staggering steps for him to recover his balance. Then he ran up the ramp after Kjestrid, the magicka absorbed from the mage’s spell singing through him.

The daedroth stood on the platform near the sigil stone. Kjestrid approached it with her arms out, weapons shouldered. The daedroth shook itself as a shield spell settled over its scales. Kjestrid yelled something at it. The daedroth opened its jaws and belched a gout of flame.

Jerric realized that he was also yelling. The daedroth was alone with them on the platform. Where was the other mage?

When Kjestrid saw him, she reached back for her sword. Jerric sent a bolt of lightning at the daedroth’s midsection. Shamir-do pelted up the far ramp, Nereli on his heels.

“Gjaever?” Kjestrid shouted at him. As the daedroth swung its clawed hand at her she ducked under, momentum carrying her through a shoulder roll to her feet.

“Archers!” yelled Shamir-do.

Kjestrid was on the wrong side of the daedroth. As it turned with her, Jerric slashed at its hip. The daedroth’s tail sent him sprawling. Gjaever appeared mid-air jumping over the daedroth’s tail. He yanked Jerric to his feet and with a mighty heave pushed him toward Shamir-do and Nereli by the sigil stone.

“Kjestrid!” Jerric yelled.

Somehow she was there, shoving her chest against him. “Take it!”

“My sword!” Jerric’s hand was empty. Kjestrid caught his shield arm. An arrow flew past their heads, then another.

“Come on!” she yelled into his ear. Shamir-do’s answering howl cut through the shrieking flames.

Jerric reached for the stone. Something hit them hard enough to make him stagger, but he grabbed it. As the world turned to fire, someone screamed.

[ghastley]

Somehow she was there, shoving her chest against him. “Take it!”

Clark would have misunderstood this.

And are you allowed to have a cliff-hanger indoors?

[Acadian]

Finally, something Jerric recognizes and knows how to deal with as they sight a sigil tower. I was glad to see the newcomer Dunmeri bowgirl quickly earn her keep as the group ascends.

’Its voice sounded like jagged stone grinding on metal.’ - - Indeed, an eerie sound you can never forget.

A heartpounding battle for the stone. It seems with the stone in Jerric’s hand, the gate will close. Who survives is another question. We can hope that each of Jerric’s party had latched onto a piece of Jerric but we shall see. Darnand and Lil’s fate is another question entirely.

[SubRosa]

I love the juxtaposition of the rivers of lava flowing through the snowy hills. It makes me think of Iceland.

Looks like Jerric et al. are not the only ones hunting daedra.

Ewww, dremora art with the intestines. That reminds me of the 'gut gardens' one of the Ayleid Kings was said to have.

Dunmer are inside the Sigil Keep? They must have come from another gate, one terminating in Morrowind. Very neat wrinkle.

This reminds me of the old days playing Oblivion. I used to love taking characters with Reflect Damage against Clannfears. Then I would just block, and let themselves kill themselves by battering against me.

Now that was a rousing brouhaha to get the sigil stone. I hope everyone makes it back. Even if it is without their sword.

[mALX]

Are you writing Jerric again???? GAAAAAAAAAAAH !!!! Let me download another "Text to Speech" reader and catch up!!! I can't see the forums anymore; Acadian usually sends me a Link to anything I should see = he probably was so excited you were writing again that he forgot to tell me!

"I'll be back!" (said in Arnold's voice).

[Grits]

Previously: The Bruma FG gang found a Dunmer on the way through the Sigil Keep. Jerric has the sigil stone in hand.


ghastley: I’m sure Kjestrid would not have described herself chest-first, but that’s how Jerric experienced it. Thank you, ghastley!

Acadian: It’s a good thing there is so much Jerric available for grabbing. Also good thing they did not all latch on to Shamir-do. His poor tail! Thank you, Acadian!

SubRosa: Iceland was the exact inspiration for this part of the Deadlands. I watched a video of lava flow in the snow and thought, hey what if… The Ayleid gut gardens were where the daedric decoration idea came from. I figured the dremora had probably been around during those times, too. Thank you, SubRosa!

mALX: I hope your text reader works out for you. Let me know if it doesn’t. We could have a live reading on discord or something, lol. I’m glad you’re still read / listening to the story!


Next: Where are we?

.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Seventeen

Darnand paced back across the cell. The iron bands on his wrists felt cold enough to burn, draining his magicka.

J’skar groaned from behind the stone wall to his left.

“Peace, my friend,” whispered Volanaro from the cell opposite. “Eventually they are going to question one of us. Do not draw attention to yourself, lest it be you!”

“Many thanks,” Darnand muttered.

“Hush, all of you,” said Lildereth. She winked into view outside Darnand’s cell. Before he could speak she had the door open, hands at his wrist restraints. When she released the clasp, magicka began to flow like honeyed tea down a raw throat. “Drink this.” She placed a vial in his hand. “It’s some of Jerric’s Juice.”

Darnand was so grateful for the potion, he didn’t even try to strain the clumps with his teeth. The trickle became a flood.

Lildereth addressed the other two mages. “I mixed up your arrest documents. It will be a while before they sort it out, and by then someone will have come to speak for you. I’d put you in different cells to buy time, but that won’t make a difference. You’re the only Khajiit and Altmer in here.”

“You are not leaving us?” Volanaro gasped.

“I’ll let you out, if you like. Then you can be fugitives like us.”

“This one will stay put,” hissed J’skar. “But if a dark elf caravan comes to town, do not let this one be sold to the Dres.”

“House Dres has renounced slavery,” Lildereth told him, taking Darnand by the arm. “I doubt they will make an exception for you. You two really should look at the Black Horse Courier now and then.” In the central corridor she turned back to them, a gentler tone in her voice. “J’skar, Volanaro. You did well. Trust that you will not come to harm. Thank you both.”

“Lildereth,” Darnand began.

“Just follow me. I already packed us up. Quick and quiet, like I’ve shown you.”

“I must—”

When the elf slid a hand down his wrist, his worries faded away.

“I know,” she murmured. “You can’t help him from in here and he can’t help us get out. Wait until we’re clear.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t speak again until you see the horses.”

***

Jerric felt before he could hear or see. Weight pushing him down, an uneven surface beneath him. The smell of blood and burned hair. Damp air touched his cheek. In his ear a garbled cursing, while from below a muffled wail.

“Shor’s stones,” Kjestrid wheezed. “If you’re alive, get the hells off me!”

“Gjaever,” moaned Shamir-do. “Dark moons.”

As the black blotches swam away to dots in front of his eyes, Jerric caught a glimpse of Gjaever’s beard. The weight lifted with a muttered apology.

“He’s alive,” said Jerric. “By the gods, you’re heavy. Did we get the elf?”

“You got her.”

Kjestrid began to thrash beneath him. He rolled over, legs tangled up in the pile. The sigil stone vibrated against his chest like a wounded hornet.

Cheers sounded all around them, trailing off into silence. Jerric spent a moment looking at the clean blue sky while the others got up. Snow-covered mountains rose to one side of his view. As someone pulled him to his feet, he saw arched and pointed rooftops in the distance below. And beyond, an ocean.

Gjaever’s guild surcoat and cuirass were a smoking ruin. He pulled them off from the front, exposing tattoos that glowed blue even in the sunlight.

The people gathered around had to be the Redoran Guard that Nereli had mentioned. Nereli walked over to speak with three of them. Kjestrid put her back to Jerric on the left, while Gjaever took a position on his right. Shamir-do pressed against his back as they stood together. The guards kept their weapons in hand.

“I guess she has some explaining to do,” Jerric said.

“This one will not go into custody,” Shamir-do hissed.

“No one is taking you anywhere without us,” said Kjestrid.

Gjaever hawked a wad of phlegm onto the scorched ground.

Nereli walked back over to them. “There is some discussion that you may be cultists. It would go a long way to establish trust if you surrendered the sigil stone.”

Jerric started to object, but Kjestrid pressed a hand against him. “We will discuss that with whoever is in charge of rewarding us for your rescue and arranging our accommodations.”

Nereli bowed her head. “I have not described the situation as a rescue.”

“Think about it,” said Kjestrid. “My team survived and yours did not.”

Nereli turned back to her superiors.

“I’ll go with you this time.” Kjestrid handed Redeemer to Jerric, then stepped forward to the three officers at Nereli’s side.

“How did..? Gods, do I owe that woman,” Jerric said to Gjaever and Shamir-do. He made deliberate eye contact with the nearest guard while he sheathed the sword he thought lost. “I guess we’re in Morrowind. Anyone speak Dunmeris? I’ve picked up a few phrases, but…”

“As we are not in a brothel, this one doubts they will help. Gjaever was stationed here.” Shamir-do turned to the other Nord. “Tell this one, friend, what do the greyskins say when they put the chains on Khajiit? Shamir wants to know whom to kill first.”

“Uh,” said Jerric.

One of the guards said, “We all speak Tamrielic, sommehlel.”

“That means ‘imbecile,’” Jerric explained. Then he had a thought. ‘Darnand!’

Two attempts to reach him yielded only silence. Jerric took a gulp of his magicka potion and tried again.

‘I am here.’ Relief permeated Darnand’s mental voice. ‘Where are you?’

‘Morrowind, I think. We all made it out, but the— I’ll tell you the rest when I know more. What happened in Bruma?’

‘I forgot that though invisible I would leave tracks in the snow. Lildereth released me from the Bruma dungeon and brought me to the road where… Oh. Lord Martin wishes me to convey… They are pleased that you are alive.’

‘Me too. Where’s my dog?’

‘Asleep before the fire. Lildereth has gone to assist Volanaro and J’skar in Bruma. I do not know if she will be admitted to Cloud Ruler Temple upon her return. These Blades are slow to trust.’

‘Well, make sure to tell them you are not a necromancer. You should say that a lot.’

A moment passed without either speaking. Jerric began to piece together what Darnand had said.

‘Flash is here with me,’ said Darnand. ‘I asked Lildereth to bring the rest of your belongings up from Bruma, if only to give her occupation. As before she will be intercepted on the road.’

‘You’ve met Martin.’

‘Yes. I am with him in the library.’

Jerric recalled Martin’s knowledge of the Sanguine shrine that he shared on their flight to Weynon Priory. He had also confessed to unconscionable and dangerous deeds, and the deaths of friends. Martin and Darnand might not be the best influence on one another.

‘Get someone to take a message to Asgerd,’ Jerric said. ‘I’ll tell you more later, but she’ll want to know we’re alive.’

‘I will do so. I would ask that you keep me apprised of your situation. Lildereth… is overstrung. Her attempts to locate Cloud Ruler Temple earned the Blades’ attention. Their failure to capture her infuriates Grandmaster Jauffre.’

‘Breton, what are you asking?’

‘I know not.’

Darnand’s words in the Sigil Keep when he thought he would die now returned to Jerric’s mind and stuck like a burr. Tell Abiene, he had started to say. Tell Abiene what? He decided not to bring that up now.

Coward, he cursed himself.

Kjestrid’s return made him break the connection.

“We’re in the Velothis.” She nodded at the distant rooftops. “That’s Blacklight. Nereli and her team came from a village not far from here. That’s where we’ll go for now.”

Nereli had joined them. “I’ll get you a room at the corner club, if I still have a job there. B’vek, most of our staff just died in that Gate. I guess he’ll have to keep me.”

“You’d lose your job for closing the Gate?” Jerric said. He’d heard that the Dunmer were a bunch of daedra-worshipers, but that seemed brazen even for a dark elf. “Is your boss a cultist?”

“You outlanders wouldn’t understand,” said Nereli. “He’s not a cultist. His wife died in there, too.”

“There’s a Fighters Guild hall in Blacklight,” Kjestrid said. “We won’t need to stay here for long. Gjaever, let me look at that.”

Three welts crossed Gjaever’s back from shoulder to hip. Across the middle the skin had broken enough to weep but not freely bleed. Gjaever tolerated the scrutiny for a moment, then began cutting the straps and buckles from his ruined cuirass.

“Bring the whole thing,” Kjestrid told him. “Once we’re indoors we’ll see what we have left. Maybe I can use some of it.”

Jerric realized that Gjaever’s bow and pack were gone. He caught Kjestrid’s eye and tilted his head at the big Nord.

“His Woad. We’ll talk later.” Kjestrid pressed her forehead to Shamir-do’s. Gjaever did the same, clapping a hand on Jerric’s shoulder to bring him into the circle.

“If you are ready,” said Nereli, making a polite gesture. “We’re on foot. This is no country for guar.” She led them to a position in the departing Redoran Guard’s procession.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 21 2019, 01:17 AM

[Darkness Eternal]

So great to see you posting again, Grits! This Bruma installment has been fun to read. I am particularly fascinated with Jerric's ventures in Oblivion! So awesome that you've returned!

[Acadian]

’The iron bands on his wrists felt cold enough to burn, draining his magicka.’ - - Null iron! Like you, I instantly borrowed the concept as soon as McBadgere posted it in one of his episodes long ago.

Lil’s arrival and actions were wonderfully consistent with what we’ve come to expect from the mysterious elf.

’Jerric started to object, but Kjestrid pressed a hand against him. “We will discuss that with whomever is in charge of rewarding us for your rescue and arranging our accommodations.” - - Jerric has many redeeming qualities but trying to explain his way out of a pickle is not one of them. Brilliant rescue by Kjestrid here.

You tantalize with some interesting crosscurrents here that have always flowed mysteriously among Jerric, Abiene, Lil and Darnand. Heh, I expect none of the foursome truly understand their emotions regarding the others.