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

[Grits]

Aw, thanks everyone. and all around! It means so much that you have stuck with us through this story's many long silences.

Acadian, Buffy's kindness warms a Nord's heart. His petite fellow blonde has always held a fascination for him. Even as he respects and admires her dragon spirit, her butterfly fragility makes him want to get his shield between her and danger. (Perhaps this is why he gets shot in the back so much.) How sweet and generous that Buffy is collecting and preserving bait for Jerric! When he gets there he is going to catch and cook so many fish, the cookfire smoke will make folks think an anchor has dropped. Beach party!!

Jerric found himself in Malabal Tor with Ulfe and Flash on his birthday, where he stumbled upon this spot. After thoroughly checking the falls for naked, frolicking wood elves and alas finding none, he knew exactly how he was going to celebrate: Plan B.

[Acadian]

'This spot' - Wow, Jerric's biceps are bigger than Buffy's waist!

'Plan B' - Aww, so glad Jerric got some fishing in today!

[mALX]

I just love Jerric's outfit!

[haute ecole rider]

Plan B -

Happy Birthday to Jerric! This is actually from my Skyrim character Alise. who has not yet arrived in ESO. If you may recall, she is married to Argis so Jerric holds a special spot in her heart for being so much like her hubby!

[kafn8ed]

So what happens? Can't leave Jerric stuck in that gate! It's been 2 1/2 years! I need to know!

[Grits]

Previously: County Bruma. Fighters Guild members Jerric, Kjestrid, Shamir-do, and Gjaever entered a Gate to Oblivion. They arrived in an icy, unstable realm. The Gate closed, trapping them. Jerric’s summoned frost atronach Ishckrihk located another open Gate and a possible return route to Mundus.


SubRosa: Ah, “willed” sounds much better. Thank you! I was a little surprised at how Izzy and Jerric connected in the last episode. I wonder if I will ever find a chance to contrast a daedric elemental being with an aedric one. Our Nord is a terrible spy. At least he technically made it out of County Bruma before announcing his full name!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Itchy has been fun to write. Thanks for spotting that wayward d.

Darkness Eternal: Thank you, DE! They will soon figure out where they are.

Kazaera: Thank you, Kaz! The Gate closings can be tedious in the game. I’m glad changing them up a bit in the story world keeps the danger close.

ghastley: Kjestrid is in deeper trouble than she’s ever been, but so far she’s proving her worth. She’s still not entirely sure about Jerric, though. Thank you, ghastley!

McBadgere: Thank you, McB! Here’s another one!

mALX: You got it, Alga’s “Mother Mara mild” line from the game was a warning that even though she and Honmund weren’t married, Jerric should keep his trousers buckled around her man. Poor Jerric was out of sorts with all of the “real” Skyrim Nords and attempts at secrecy. Pretty soon he would have stood on the table at the Tap and Tack and yelled, “I’m Jerric! Come and get me!” Good thing a Gate opened, he knows what to do about that! Thank you, mALX!

kafn8ed: A warm welcome, and thank you very much for the bump! I went back to this story for my NaNo project in November, and here are the results!


Next: A chilly hike.

[Grits]

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Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Twelve

The ground became rockier as they climbed. Icy grit made drifts in the lower areas. The distance felt farther than Jerric had expected. Uncertainty gnawed at his nerves. He couldn’t sink into his travel mind the way he liked.

Ishckrihk led the way, three atronach paces ahead of Jerric and to his left. Jerric wondered how long his summoning would last in this realm, since he was not taking damage and repairing himself. He knew that he imbued the atronach with a certain amount of his magicka at the summoning, but after that it was up to the frost man.

Now that Jerric was paying attention to his magicka, he noticed that the steady flow from his gulp of Jerric’s Juice potion had slowed to a trickle. He squinted ahead at Ishckrihk, remembering how the atronach had reached into his well of magicka as he formed. Here was a being of immeasurable age and experience. Who knew how many Nirn centuries had passed while Ishckrihk was in the Void, or how many lifetimes he had spent in untold realms? Did daedric entities even age? No wonder he was laughing at me.

Jerric trotted a few steps to catch up with him.

“Ishckrihk.”

The atronach angled his head knob in response. “Ck.”

Jerric decided to keep the rest between the two of them. ‘Show me your home.’

Ishckrihk’s head tilted back and then forward again.

‘Your place of origin,’ Jerric explained. ‘The realm where you… spawn..?’ He imagined all manner of young creatures and placed them in the eye of his mind for Ishckrihk to view. Then he recalled what he had told Kjestrid. Instead of young creatures that change as they grow, he pictured snakes and fish hatching and then becoming larger versions of their younger selves.

Jerric’s mind filled with images in reply from the atronach. He struggled to keep his feet moving as he concentrated.

In Ishckrihk’s vision he stood atop one of many cliffs that curved like ribbons impossibly set on their narrow sides. Crystalline spires jutting up from the ground towered over him, bathed in light from a blue-green sky. The height took his breath. Then he realized that he didn’t need to breathe.

The ground was smooth. Hard but made of flowing shapes. In contrast the ice spikes were all angles. A keening sound began. He felt an answering vibration build inside him.

The spikes began to move.

“Jerric!” Kjestrid shouted.

His real eyes opened to the cold as something yanked him backward. Jerric scrambled for balance, wheeling his arms in the air. They had reached the edge of a sharp decline. It wasn’t a cliff, but it would have been a bad fall.

Ishckrihk’s faint light glimmered ahead and down the slope.

“Did you try to walk me off the edge, ice man?” Jerric yelled at him.

Ishckrihk’s head lump turned in imitation of a mortal’s. He lifted his arms up slightly from his sides.

“What was that about?” Kjestrid demanded.

“I forgot I was walking,” said Jerric. “Uh, that is to say, I asked him… Well, he’s not from here, I don’t think.”

Kjestrid snorted. “You said it.” She began her descent, cutting the sides of her boots into the slope.

Gjaever took a position between Jerric and Ishckrihk.

“Jerric said that he does not think,” Shamir-do explained. The Khajiit had bundled his head in such a way that his ears and whiskers still stuck out. His eyes squeezed in catly humor.

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks for the catch.”

“Gjaever had the honor.” Shamir-do gestured for Jerric to move ahead. “But now this one guards Jerric’s back.”

The terrain looked more difficult than it was to traverse. When they reached a point below some far bluffs, the wind became easier to ignore. The mountains and volcano that Ishckrihk had shown Jerric did not become visible to their eyes. Eventually Jerric decided that landscape lay behind the bluffs, as they had dropped in elevation while walking.

The magicka from his potion had stopped its flow. Jerric noticed a slow but steady drain. It was coming from Ishckrihk.

Jerric called a halt. “There’s a situation.”

He waited for them to gather around, Gjaever maintaining his defensive position.

“Keeping him summoned drains my magicka. I have a good supply of my potion, but—”

“What’s your plan?” Kjestrid asked him.

“I want to keep him, at least for now.”

“All right. You’re in charge of your magicka. We’re used to getting along without a lot of spells.”

Jerric weighed his waterskin of Jerric’s Juice as they resumed their walk. He had as much as he could take without poisoning himself, but experience made him wary. He decided to let his reserve get low rather than sipping at the potion. After all, many daedric creatures used magical attacks that he might absorb, including Ishckrihk. The thought of his guildmates’ reaction to his inviting the atronach to attack him with frost almost made him grin. Then the image of Kjestrid bleeding out for the lack of a healing spell brought him back to the moment.

“Ishckrihk,” Jerric called out. “That way, toward the lower pass, right?” He gestured as well as picturing what he meant for clarity. “I’m sending you back for a bit. But stay ready.” Whatever that means to a disembodied being in the Void.

At the affirmative reply, Jerric dispelled him.

They stopped to rest more often than Jerric thought necessary. Rations were consumed without discussion. They left the blowing salj behind and climbed through the pass to a high plain of grey ice. In the clearer air distant mountains became visible, pale streaked with red and black. Lava flows, Jerric decided. That explains the fog. Where the grey clouds cleared, white stars gleamed in a black sky. “This is starting to look familiar.”

An orange speck appeared over their left shoulders as they walked. “That’s the other Gate,” Jerric pointed. “We’re getting closer to the Sigil Tower.” He hadn’t realized the depth of his doubt until the sight proved Ishckrihk true.

When Kjestrid called another rest, Jerric broke the silence. “Soon we’ll get to the settlement. We’ll be able to tell which one is the Sigil Tower by the fire coming out the top. It runs up through the middle of the tower like a column. When we take the stone, we won’t be burned. It’s arcane fire. Don’t let it touch you until we have the stone, though. Then it will pull us in and carry us out.”

Kjestrid worked a bit of jerky to the side of her jaw. “Tell us more about that.”

“Well, we’ll be, uh, not solid. Like ghosts. The fire is hot but it won’t be able to burn us.”

“Ghosts can burn,” said Shamir-do.

Jerric gave him a look, unsure if the cat was worried or just annoying.

“How will we all..?” Kjestrid’s half-question hung in the air.

“You grab the stone,” Jerric told her, “and we’ll all hold on to you.”

“Good plan,” said Kjestrid. She gestured with the dried meat. “Jerric will take the stone, and we’ll each hold on to him.”

Jerric decided not to argue. When the time came, whoever was left standing would deal with the stone. “How are you doing with that ring?” he asked Kjestrid. If he had worn a life-detection charm for this long, he would be hard-pressed to move for all of the vomiting.

“It takes some getting used to,” Kjestrid admitted. “I can almost ignore your life signs now. Like you can talk over a pack of kids playing until your own baby cries.”

“You have children?” Perhaps she had adopted some. Jerric could picture Kjestrid naked as clearly as if they still sat in the steam hut. His navel check had never failed him.

“No.”

He nodded at her hand. “Are you still wearing it?”

“Aye.” Kjestrid raised a gloved fist. With her other hand she stuffed the rest of the dried meat into her mouth.

Jerric put his attention to his own meal. Breakfast felt like another lifetime.

“Have you seen anything alive?” he asked after a moment. “The range isn’t great, so the smallest thing could be worth looking at.”

Kjestrid shook her head, chewing.

“This one has smelled nothing,” Shamir-do put in. He sat on his haunches with knees raised, ever ready to spring up. His tail lay still across his lap.

“You staying warm enough?” Jerric asked him. “This place looks dead, but I’d wager that under this snow we’d find something to burn.”

Shamir-do dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Rest is good but cold, and moving is warm but tiring. Kjestrid sets a good balance.”

Jerric glanced over at Gjaever. The big Nord looked like he might nod off into sleep, but Jerric was not fooled.

“What kind of things have you seen in the other realms?” Kjestrid asked. “I want to hear it from you.”

“The places I’ve traveled are all parts of the same realm,” Jerric said. “There are mountains, rocky hills, volcanoes, and rivers of lava. It’s hot and smells like… Like wind from a forge mixed with dust and meat. Our dead don’t rot the way they do at home. They bubble and seep, but I’ve passed the same bloated horse months apart. It never split open.”

“What kind of animals are there? Do they have wildlife?”

“You could say that. Clannfears sometimes move together in herds like grazing beasts. Daedroths seem to have their territories, like bears or the solitary minotaurs you find. The dremora put the scamps to work, though. I’ve never seen them without some task that they’re doing.” He wiggled his fingers. “It’s the thumbs.”

“Do they fight each other? What do they eat?”

“That’s a good question. I’d like to know how to get them to fight each other. I’ve seen scamps play with, uh, meat, and I’ve seen clannfears nip at bloodgrass. Where the dremora dwell they have these blood fountains for healing. Well, they’re in the towers. Not sure how to describe what the dremora are doing there. I’ve not seen any place that makes me think they sleep or cook or eat. Even their… kills are displayed like trophies or something. They sit, though. I’ve seen plenty of chambers with benches where they sit and who knows what they’re doing.” The black rooms in the towers with their red light and flayed mortals hung like decorative objects haunted his dreams. Now they threatened to appear in his waking vision. “Look, you have all seen some skitt in our line of work. This is going to be worse. There is nothing we can do for anyone here except close the Gate so they don’t get company.”

Gjaever had turned to watch Jerric. His eyes looked like a spirit in a mountain.

“How do you know their blood will heal?” Kjestrid asked.

“I found out by accident. Makes sense, dremora hearts make strong healing potions. So do xivilai hearts. They look like mortal hearts only,” he made a gesture, “bigger.”

Shamir-do let out a hiss that sounded like magesss.

“Darnand is not a necromancer,” Jerric told him. “But some of his books have— never mind.”

“They told us about dremora,” Kjestrid said. “But not about xivilai.”

“Big half-naked grey fetchers. Horns. They cast a lot of spells. They can absorb a lot of spells, too. Tremendous reach. Swing a war hammer with one hand. But they don’t like frost, so maybe we won’t see them here. And they work alone. Not like the dremora.”

“Frost or frost magic?” Kjestrid asked.

Jerric blinked at her. “You make a good point. I don’t know.”

“It is said that the Hero of Kvatch ate the hearts of his enemies to give him power,” said Shamir-do.

Jerric pointed his apple at the Khajiit. “Savlian Matius does not eat people.”

Kjestrid snorted. “We all know who they’re talking about.”

“You’ll get to hear your own names whispered when we get back,” Jerric said. “I hope you don’t have to eat any hearts before this is over.” He tucked the apple core into his pack, reluctant to leave anything of home in this realm.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 3 2019, 11:22 AM

[Renee]

Yeah, that would be gross, I agree. Hope no hearts get eaten.

Hee hee Jerric communicates with an atronach, through mind-pictures! Wish I could do that with my cat sometimes.

[haute ecole rider]

The only hearts worth eating are Daedric Hearts! ;P

Enjoying this still! Glad you got back into this over November . . .

[ghastley]

I suspect that if this was the Nano project, instead of an interruption to it, that we might be getting a bit more than one episode.

WOOOOTTT!!

And Renee, daedra-heart-eating is Buffy's party-trick, not Jerric's.

[Acadian]

What a delightful New Year surprise!

I found myself reaching for hat, scarf and gloves during this perilously frigid trek. Brrrr!

How very Jerric to follow his curiosity with a question to Itchy Creek then become dangerously distracted by the images that Itchy provided. You have wonderfully developed the details of Jerric’s relationship with his frosty pal – to include magicka management as a significant consideration, given the Nord’s blessing/curse birthsign.

“Rest is good but cold, and moving is warm but tiring. Kjestrid sets a good balance.” - - Shamir-do is a wise cat.

“Savlian Matius does not eat people.” - - True, that. Buffy only knew him to nibble – and gently – on one small elf. . . .

@ghastley - Hee! Buffy certainly led Raminus Polus to believe she had eaten the heart of a dremora. . . but only her paladin knows for sure.


Nit? “I want keep him, at least for now.” - - I know this is dialogue but did Jerric omit a ‘to’ before the word keep?

[haute ecole rider]

*Snip*
And Renee, daedra-heart-eating is Buffy's party-trick, not Jerric's.

No, no, this is Julian’s specialty! Cut them up like sweet pepper and eat ‘em raw . . .

[treydog]

Christmas is complete. Books- check. New games- check. Food- check. More Jerric- WOO HOO!

Let me get this quote out of the way first because I just can't help myself- I blame story-induced giddiness...

Icy grit made drifts in the lower areas.

And I see Grits, working in at the keyboard, and that warms my furry heart.

“Ghosts can burn,” said Shamir-do.

Jerric gave him a look, unsure if the cat was worried or just annoying.

An eternal question regarding cats- at least in my experience.

The whole description of the Oblivion plane is worth quoting- it says as much about Jerric as about the scenes he describes.

And the closing- which I am going to quote because it is too good not to:

“It is said that the Hero of Kvatch ate the hearts of his enemies to give him power,” said Shamir-do.

Jerric pointed his apple at the Khajiit. “Savlian Matius does not eat people.”

Kjestrid snorted. “We all know who they’re talking about.”

“You’ll get to hear your own names whispered when we get back,” Jerric said. “I hope you don’t have to eat any hearts before this is over.” He tucked the apple core into his pack, reluctant to leave anything of home in this realm.

Such wonderful characterization and poignancy.

[SubRosa]

Looks like Itchy comes from a place not too different from Kal-El's, except for the lack of a red sun. But Superman would not try to walk someone off a cliff. Obviously Frostman plays by different rules...

I liked your world-building of Jerric's magical-fuel limitations concerning keeping Itchy around indefinitely. It helps keep magicians from being overpowered.

We all know Buffy is the one who eats Dremora hearts! Just ask Raminus Polus.

[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.

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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.

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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.