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

[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.

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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?

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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.

[Renee]

Wow neat, so Darnand and Jerric can communicate from a distance too. Where is Darnand? I know he's in jail, but which province?

That Sigil Stone raid is pretty intense!

[ghastley]

Let me see if I've followed all this.

Darnand re-closed the gate he opened, so he popped back out near Bruma. I assume he is in jail for the re-opening, and suspicion of Mythic Dawn membership, although it could just be for the "distraction" with the scamps.

The other gate was near Blacklight, which is a loooong way away in mainland Morrowind, over the border from Windhelm. Presumably the distance is less through the Deadlands, as there's no need for the gate locations to "match" anything. If anyone points this out to Darnand, he could become the inventor of dangerous shortcuts .

I assume Jerric and Co. are suspects, because they weren't part of the crew that went into the Blacklight gate, and so could be the cultists that opened it. Jerric naturally assumes he's guilty of something, because he usually is.

[SubRosa]

Ninja Lil comes through with the boys in prison, as expected.

I am reminded of a comic book pile of villains on top of a superhero as Jerric and company gather their wits back on Nirn. Except of course Jerric does not hurl them off in an explosion of superheroic might!

Mountains to one side and ocean to the other. Uh oh, they are not in Bruma anymore. Sounds like Morrowind.

I love Gjaever’s enchanted tattoos.

And a lovely Dunmer welcome. It will be interesting to see how things shake out in Blacklight. At least they are not too far from Bruma, as things go.

I loved how Jerric's errant thoughts of Abbie slipped through the mental communication. Good thing he's a manly man, and put the damper on that!

[Grits]

Previously: Jerric landed in Morrowind. Darnand made his way to Cloud Ruler Temple.


Darkness Eternal: Thank you, DE! This departure from the game has been fun to write. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Acadian: McBadgere’s writing continues to inspire me. The other day out of the blue I remembered how one of his characters tricked their captors into letting him out of the carriage so he could open a gate and free some neglected animals (horses?). This was very much a Lil and Kjestrid episode for me, so I was delighted to see that you mentioned both of them. Thank you, Acadian!

Renee: Thank you, Renee! Darnand is in Bruma. He had not been to Cloud Ruler Temple before the last section. Darnand and Jerric can communicate over distances using a conjuration spell. Similarly Darnand and Abiene can communicate using the crystal ball that he gave her for Saturalia, but it’s not as reliable.

ghastley: You are correct on all counts, and you have anticipated Darnand’s next idea. I’ve changed how the Gates work a little from what the game books tell us. In Jerric’s world the initial more complicated ritual makes the connection between specific locations, and the sigil stone opens the portal. That’s how he could use a sigil stone from a different tower to reopen the Maiden Springs Gate. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: When I was writing the scene Jerric surprised me with the intrusive Abiene thought. He is good at compartmentalizing things, but as soon as he and Darnand were confirmed to both still be among the living, his question popped right back up. The Plan has him thinking that subject over much later in the story. Leave it to the characters to screw up The Plan. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: After five and a half years, we have reached a new chapter!!

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Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part One

“Is that a bug?” Kjestrid poked at her breakfast.

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “You going to eat it?”

Kjestrid transferred the food to Jerric’s plate using her fork and the barest tip of a finger. Her face looked like she was trying not to make a face.

“It’s an ash hopper leg,” Jerric told her. He crunched through the shell to get at the meat. “I think they mean to honor us with this Dunmer food. Must have come a long way in a wagon. This isn’t ash country.” The meat was fibrous but tender, like well-steamed crab. Kjestrid didn’t look like she would welcome more discussion on the subject, so Jerric kept that observation to himself.

Shamir-do scraped some of his food onto Kjestrid’s plate. “Here, this one cannot finish his kwama egg. Khajiit went too deep into the sujamma last night.”

“Thanks.” Kjestrid shoveled in a few forkfuls. “These are funny eggs. What kind of bird is a kwama?”

Jerric mimed antenna by wiggling his fingers. “They’re a kind of big, uh…”

“Bug,” Shamir-do finished.

Kjestrid put down her fork and carefully swallowed. Then she gave her plate a small shove.

Nereli joined them at the table. “We’re ordered to leave in an hour. Will you be ready?”

“Do we have a choice?” asked Kjestrid.

Nereli lifted a shoulder. “If you give Captain Brenos the sigil stone, she might let you go. You’re not in custody.”

Shamir-do’s ears had flattened when the Dunmer sat down. “This one is not in custody, but also not free to go. Is this how the Dunmer give up their slaves?”

“We don’t own any slaves,” Nereli explained, as if to a child. “No one in this village did, and my family never has.” She reached for the kahve pitcher. “We’re too poor.”

Shamir-do’s tail lashed the air as he lifted from his seat.

Gjaever’s chair made a loud scrape along the floor. He strode to the door without comment. Shamir-do followed, hissing.

Nereli glanced between Jerric and Kjestrid. “What?”

“Was there anything else?” Kjestrid asked her.

“I’m coming with you to Blacklight,” said Nereli. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

Jerric looked at her. No conversation topic came to mind.

“You’re leaving Mattapi,” Kjestrid said. It wasn’t a question, but it was better than the silence.

Nereli nodded at the door. “Yes. My pack is over there. Last night I traded most of my things for the supplies I gave you. And a handful of coins. Not much to show for all my years in this place.”

Jerric had assumed that the few items had been donated by villagers. “Uh, thanks.”

“I owe you my life,” said Nereli.

Jerric filled Kjestrid’s kahve mug. While she gave it a suspicious glare, he emptied the pitcher into his own. “It’s not good, but at least it’s from real beans,” he said to Kjestrid.

Nereli warmed to that subject. “Sorry about the food. It’s all from tins in the back of the pantry. Raufin would have cooked a Nord breakfast for you. Too bad she died.”

“In the Gate?” asked Jerric.

Nereli nodded.

“I’m sorry about your friends,” Jerric said. “Those that stayed here don’t seem happy that you made it back.”

“That’s why I’m leaving. Every house reminds me of someone I left behind in the Deadlands. Every face I see tells me that they’re thinking of loved ones whose bones will never rest with their ancestors. Surviving wasn’t a victory for me. It’s a shame I’ll never erase, or ever forget even for a minute as long as I live here.”

Nereli’s losses were too close to his own. Jerric shared a glance with Kjestrid. She made a little grimace. Jerric answered with a slight lift of brows. Elves.

“What will you do in Blacklight?” Jerric asked.

“I’ll find work at a corner club. Or maybe the Fighters Guild will take me.”

“You can shoot,” said Kjestrid.

Nereli took a sip of her kahve.

“Do you know anything about these councilors we’re supposed to talk to?” Jerric asked.

“I don’t know any of them personally, but I know of them. There will be a hearing. You’re not on trial.”

As uneasy as Jerric felt, he wondered if Shamir-do had just made a run for the hills.

“I’m going to take a dump,” Jerric announced. He picked up his kahve and headed for the door.

***

“He described a suspended cage without door or lock,” said Darnand. “No mechanism was apparent nearby, and Goneld was unable to explain how to open it.”

Lord Martin steepled his fingers. “I suspect the cage was a lesser daedra, controlled by a spell.”

“Do you suppose the spell is a general command or specific to each cage-entity?”

Martin acknowledged Darnand’s unspoken reasoning with a nod. “It is likely that Jerric will find others imprisoned in such cages, or even become trapped in one himself. This is a worthwhile use of your time. You have my leave to pursue it. All of the Temple’s resources are available to you.” He waved a hand toward the library.

“Where else are documents kept?” asked Darnand. “Are there perhaps private collections?” Though this mountain fortress seemed an unlikely place to store the Empire’s secrets, it was an ideal location for the odd Knight Brother or Sister to pursue individual interests. These Blades couldn’t spend all of their time bashing each other and shoveling snow.

“Possibly. I shall inquire.” Lord Martin looked to Jauffre, but the Grandmaster seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Delaine approached their table. “I beg pardon, Your Grace.”

“Yes, Delaine?”

He spoke to Darnand. “She’s back.”

“What is she doing?” asked Jauffre.

“Sitting on her horse in the middle of the road. It’s snowing.”

Jauffre gave Darnand a hard look.

“I shall go to her immediately,” said Darnand. He addressed the Grandmaster. “Though you still harbor suspicion, she has my trust, my respect, and my gratitude. How shall I return?”

“Captain Steffan will accompany you,” said Jauffre.

That made Darnand pause. “You do not intend another attempt to capture her.”

“Nor to invite her into the Temple,” Jauffre confirmed. “Captain Steffan merely wishes a word.” He jerked his head at Delaine. The teenager strode off with apparent purpose.

Darnand made his way to the civilian quarters under the temple. Here he had been given a chamber with a host family. As far as he could tell, the resident Blades spent some nights in their ground-level barracks and some in the underground apartments. Perhaps it had to do with the type of duty they had been assigned.

His borrowed quarters were silent and dark. Darnand flicked a ball of light from his fingers, in too much of a hurry to fumble with the glowstones. He snatched his worn cloak from its hook and quickened his pace back through the stone corridors. Martin’s work table in the Great Hall was far enough from the fire that he had already dressed in his warmest robe and leggings.

Captain Steffan made an imposing figure standing on the ramparts. He wore Blades armor and the usual Akaviri katana at his hip. While his black brows and olive complexion identified him as Nibenese, grey eyes and almost Nordic stature indicated mixed heritage.

It was wise of Captain Steffan to approach Lildereth at Darnand’s side. Otherwise he may receive an arrow. Darnand folded his hands in a magister’s greeting, uncertain what protocol required.

Captain Steffan extended his arm for a warrior’s clasp. “Penoit. A belated welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Ready to go for a walk?” The Imperial sounded good-natured. Despite the light snowfall, he wore no cloak.

“Yes.”

Captain Steffan took charge of the conversation. “Take a look at this stonework.” He patted the wall as they descended to the front gates. “That’s some real craftsmanship, that is.”

“Is that local granite?” Darnand had noted the different types of stone used for paving, structural, and decorative work within the temple buildings and compared it with Bruma’s building materials and the outcrops they had passed without consciously thinking about it until Steffan raised the subject.

“Aye. We’ve found the quarries.”

Darnand learned about Akaviri construction methodology as they walked until they saw a figure on the road.

Lildereth dismounted at their approach. Darnand glanced back to find a reference point for where they had become visible, but of course the Temple had already disappeared. Arcane mist hung over the woods behind them, obscuring the hills. Mountains were distant shadows through the snow.

Darnand saw the moment Lildereth realized that he bore good news. He decided to get the Blades business finished first. “This is Captain Steffan, commander of Cloud Ruler Temple,” he said.

Lildereth gave the captain a polite nod, but did not extend her hand.

“You’ve led us on quite the chase, Lildereth,” Steffan said, his tone mild.

“You don’t have to chase me. You could just invite me in.”

“We don't even have a record of anyone getting as close as you have,” Steffan said. “Tell me, how did you disguise your tracks so convincingly?”

“I was mounted on an elk.”

Steffan pointed to Darnand, chuckling. “You're my witness. Pelegius owes me ten Septims.”

Darnand fought for patience. “Captain…”

“All right, to the point. Lildereth, your guilds hold you in esteem. By all counts you are a responsible citizen of the Empire. How is this possible? Lildereth of Athay died in the Five Year War.”

Lildereth lifted her chin. “I didn’t.”

Captain Steffan waited.

Lildereth remained silent.

“I have work to do,” Darnand said to the captain. “If you are not going to welcome her or arrest her, would you please excuse us?”

Steffan walked a few steps away, but remained within hearing distance.

Lildereth caught Darnand’s hands as he reached for hers. “Tell me,” she said.

“He is well and in Morrowind. All of the Fighters Guild group survived the Gate. I await further news.”

“We are scattered to the winds,” Lildereth murmured. She began removing packs from Rose.

Darnand got to work at her side. “How does he accumulate so much… stuff?” They made a pile of Jerric’s belongings in the snow. Darnand glanced at Captain Steffan’s back, wishing to instead see a pack mule.

Lildereth handed him a bundle of mail, tied neatly in her way. “There’s a letter for Jerric,” she said.

Darnand didn’t need to think about what that meant if she mentioned it. “What does it read?”

“Some kind of code. His Auntie shares news.”

“Thank you for sparing me the decision to open it. I shall inform him as soon as I return.” He illustrated with an absent head gesture in the direction of Cloud Ruler Temple.

Lildereth regarded him for a moment. “If you can reach him now, he may have some action I may take on his behalf. Since you’re occupied up there in the fog.”

“As ever, yours is the better plan. Lildereth…”

The elf gave him a slanted brow.

“I am grateful that you are with me. I might even say that I am pleased.”

“I’m out here in the snow, Breton. If I was with you, I’d spend less time drying my socks and listening to wolves.”

Darnand placed a palm on Rose’s neck to steady himself against the spell’s disorienting effect. ‘Jerric?’

The Nord’s presence filled his mind like afternoon sunlight. ‘Breton. You just saved me from doing murder. I’m about to strangle some of these elves.’

Darnand paid close attention to his magicka. The spell consumed it at the same rate across provinces as it did within the Anvil Mages Guild Hall. Perhaps it would be possible to communicate between realms, if they could manage to connect.

‘All this waiting is wearing us down,’ Jerric continued. ‘We have gear to replace and we’re running up a tab here, but they won’t give us leave to work yet. Shamir-do is as nervous as a puffling in a needle factory. Kjestrid’s so picky about her food you’d think she was a countess, and Gjaever makes me look like a child when we spar. I can’t break his guard.’

A conversation with Jerric was its own journey. Darnand settled in to follow whatever path the Nord’s mind took.

By the time they finished, Darnand’s eyes were burning. Concentrating must make him forget to blink. A high-ceilinged chamber of dark stone lingered in his mind’s eye like a ghost. Did Jerric now see a shadow-vision of snowy woods?

“What’s it like?” Lildereth interrupted his musing.

Her expression clarified the question. “It is intimate and uncomfortable,” Darnand said. “When we speak I can almost… You recall that morning after you joined us on the Kvatch plateau?”

Lildereth smiled. “Yes.”

“I can almost smell his hair. I confess this type of communication ill suits me.” Darnand gave himself a mental shake. “He is in Blacklight, his return to Cyrodiil uncertain. There is a delay with Redoran authorities. He does not require assistance. The code is an instruction to meet Baurus in the Imperial City. The book we have been seeking is found. He believes that Baurus has met with some difficulty, as the Auntie’s message was meant to come from Grandmaster Jauffre. I shall proceed immediately on Jerric’s behalf, with or without the Grandmaster’s approval. Will you accompany me?”

“How could I miss the culmination of your great book hunt?” Lildereth’s laugh was like a warm breeze. “You’d better get approval. I can’t break you out of a dungeon I can’t find.”

“Let us leave Kip and Flash with the Blades. I shall — ”

“I’ll meet you on the road,” Lildereth clasped his hand in hers. “Let’s leave today. Bring Ulfe. You should tell Abiene. We’re the closest thing to family that he has.”

There would be time on the road to consider her meaning. Darnand tucked the mail into a pocket and cast the spell that would allow him to carry a Nord’s baggage up the mountain without humiliating himself in the presence of a Blades officer.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Mar 7 2019, 05:28 PM

[ghastley]

Lildereth of Athay died in the Five Year War.”

Lildereth lifted her chin. “I didn’t.”

I never did figure out whether she was glad she got out first, or regrets leaving the others. Is this about to get resolved, or does it come up again in five year's time?

[Acadian]

Nice to see Cloud Ruler Temple, Martin and Steffan.

Lil’s as mysterious as ever, of course.

The long distance telepathic conversations between Darnand and Jerric are both fascinating and funny – the odd couple forced into periods of mind-sharing.

[SubRosa]

So I take it the last chapter was part of the 5 Year Plan?

The Plan makes me think of this Harry Potter quote "when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose."

Bugs for breakfast. Ugh. Even the super-mutants in the fallout games rank bugs as the worst food. Worse than ghouls.

Well, at least Kjestrid is in no danger of losing her figure while in Morrowind...

Looks like Nireli will be sticking around the story for a while longer. I wonder if she will be joining the Scooby Gang? She no longer has anything to tie her down, or to live for really.

Brilliant of Lil to use the local wildlife to disguise her passage!

It appears the news of Lil's death was greatly exaggerated...

Hah! The game is afoot! Time to meet up with Baurus and go hunt some Mythic Dawnies!

[haute ecole rider]

I've finally caught up!

Your description of the last Gate, and the FG's encounter with Nereli left echoes of "Huzzah!" echoing in my mind. Whew! Just a memory . . .

Then back to CRT and ah ha! Captain Stefan! The most underrated NPC in the whole game. I see that you put your own twist to him, and yet he shares the same heritage as my Stefan Arngrimsson . . .

Five years to write a chapter . . . Hmmm, I have a story waiting fifteen years for its finale . . .

So glad to see you continuing this, I'm still enjoying everything you put down to text!

[Grits]

Previously: With Jerric delayed in Blacklight, Darnand and Lildereth decided to follow the Path of Dawn.


ghastley: She’ll need at least five more to figure that one out. Better make them elf years. Thank you, ghastley!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Poor Darnand. He has to share way too much with Jerric.

SubRosa: Lildereth had an elk mount in her online game (until I gave away my PS4). I had to work that in somehow. Just as I was thinking that Kjestrid might be getting a little too badass in the Gate, she surprised me by being a big baby about her food. She might have trouble maintaining her corn fed stature on an elf diet. Thank you, SubRosa!

haute ecole rider: Maybe it’s because you meet him in the snow, but I could only think of Steffan as a Nord for the longest time. In my mind he looks like a RL acquaintance who has Columbian and Scandinavian heritage. Dark hair, brown skin, and crystal clear blue-grey eyes. He is so beautiful it’s hard to concentrate when he’s talking. Also he is a dentist, so his teeth can blind you. Thank you, haute!


Next: Let’s find a fancy Bosmer.

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Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part Two

Darnand let the door slam shut behind him. Mid-day sun glared off the Market District’s white stone buildings. He stomped around the corner to the Merchants Inn.

Lildereth stepped outside just as he reached for the door. She had changed into a gown and left her bow with their packs. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders.

“We have missed him by a half day,” Darnand said before she could ask. “Gwinas already bought the third volume. Godsdammit!”

“What did Phintias say?” Lildereth linked her arm through his and drew him a few steps down the street.

“He offered a number of insults, then confessed that the book was out of his hands. I got a description. Gwinas is a blond Bosmer with his hair in what Phintias described as an elf-knot. He is wearing red silk robes trimmed with gold. I suspect that wherever he is, he is studying his latest acquisition.”

“We might catch him,” said Lildereth. “If he’s come from Valenwood he may have more business in the city, and as you say, a collector will want to gloat over his prize. He’s probably rich. You check the Tiber Septim Hotel, and I’ll check the Elven Gardens inns.” She pressed the Ring of Khajiiti into his palm. “This will make you faster and less likely to attract attention while you’re running. Cut straight across to get to Talos Plaza. Look, use the tower as a guide. Check the Arboretum if he’s not at the hotel. A Bosmer may like to read under the trees, no matter what Imperial getup he’s wearing. I’ll meet you in our room in a few hours.”

“What about—”

“I will chase him all the way to Valenwood if I must, but for now let’s just each look for him. I doubt his gold-trimmed robes are for traveling. ‘Husband.’” Lildereth’s kiss on his mouth reminded him that they had roles to play. Then she gave him a little shove, her pointy fingers hidden in a fold of his cloak.

This time of day glancing up at the White-Gold Tower meant looking nearly straight into the sun. After a few dignified strides in case unfriendly eyes were watching, Darnand took off at a run. The Ring of Khajiiti felt heavy on his finger.

Since it was still an appropriate time for the midday meal, Darnand checked the hotel first. A red-robed Bosmer sat alone at a dining table in the center of the Tiber Septim Hotel’s lobby, swinging his feet and sipping from a silver goblet. The plate in front of him held the remains of a meal. He clutched a loosely wrapped book-shaped package to his chest with one arm. Gwinas.

Darnand moved to a pillar and simply stood there, counting on the Ring of Khajiiti to make him look as if he belonged. He did not want a scene in front of witnesses. When Gwinas rose and walked out the main door, Darnand followed.

As Lildereth predicted, the Bosmer entered the Arboretum and started toward an empty bench. Darnand began to close the distance, intending to sit beside him.

Gwinas turned on his heel and frowned at Darnand. “Have you been following me?”

“Pardon me,” Darnand said, leaving a polite space between them. “I could not help but notice your book.”

“Leave me alone!” Gwinas cried. He twisted his body to the side, protecting his prize. “This book is mine!”

That escalated quickly. Darnand made a placating gesture. “So I see. Perhaps you mistake my intention. I want to buy it from you.”

“It isn’t for sale. You’ll have to find a copy somewhere else.”

“No. I have waited too long for this one. I must insist.”

“I won’t be bullied!” Gwinas shrilled. “I’m not some pathetic bookworm you can just push around! I have friends, you know!”

Bullied? Perhaps that would be more effective than reason. Darnand made his best judgmental scowl. “Friends… In the Mythic Dawn?”

“I never said anything about the Mythic Dawn.” Gwinas put his small chin in the air, looking down his nose at approximately Darnand’s mid-chest. “In fact, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Do not play the fool with me,” Darnand growled, leaning in.

“V-very well.” Gwinas gulped. He raised up on his toes and continued. “I can see you’re familiar with Mankar Camoran’s Commentaries. I know that daedric cults are not quite the thing socially, but that’s just foolish prejudice and superstition. For the adventurous, open-minded thinker daedric worship holds many rewards.”

“You are out of your depth, Gwinas.” Curse it. That sounded like a height reference.

“I beg your pardon?” Gwinas sputtered. “I’ll have you know that I’ve visited the Shrine of Sheogorath during the Festival of the Mad! I’ve spoken with Hermaeus Mora beneath the full moons! I’ve—”

“‘I have sipped brandy at Sanguine’s pleasure pavilions,’” Darnand sing-songed in the elf’s higher pitch. “‘I have sprinkled glow dust upon the Shrine of Azura!’” He thrust his hand out in a fist. “Do you recognize this?”

“The Ring of Khajiiti,” Gwinas breathed.

“Then you know that I have personally petitioned a Daedric Prince and received Her favor.”

Gwinas’s eyes were round as a human’s. He reached out a tentative finger. “May I… touch it?”

Darnand extended the ring, then snatched it back at the last moment, earning a gasp from the quivering elf. “I should not risk my Lady’s wrath,” he intoned.

Gwinas tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, arms still wrapped around the book.

“Gwinas,” Darnand said, “It is true that I was following you. These cultists are no dilettantes dabbling in titillation and welcoming tourists to their shrine. This is a cult of Mehrunes Dagon, committed to bringing about the end of our way of life. They are the ones who murdered our Lord Uriel and all of his heirs. Even now they search for every last innocent who bears a drop of Septim blood. And you would claim them as friends? Once you call upon their evil, do you suppose they will allow you to go on your way?”

“What?! The Mythic Dawn were the ones..? You have to believe me. I truly had no idea. I mean, I knew they were a daedric cult. Mankar Camoran’s views on Mehrunes Dagon are fascinating, revolutionary even. But to murder the Emperor… Mara preserve us!” Gwinas had turned pale as a Nord.

“You had better give me that book.”

“Yes. Of course! I don’t want anyone to think I had anything to do with their insane plots! Here. Volume Three is yours. Take the cursed thing. What you do with it is your business. Auri-El and Stendarr, I wish I’d never heard of this book!” He thrust it at Darnand.

Darnand did not remark upon the elf’s sudden faith in the Divines. “I need the fourth volume as well.”

“You can only get Volume Four directly from a member of the Mythic Dawn. I had set up a meeting with the Sponsor, as he called himself.” Gwinas fumbled in his robe until he produced a folded page. “Here, take the note they gave me. It tells you where to go. I don’t want anything else to do with the Mythic Dawn. Please, won’t you go in my stead? You have… experience in these matters. They don’t ever need to know my face. I mean, you could say you were me.”

“I shall. You are right to fear, Gwinas.” Darnand tucked the note into the book and the book into his shoulder bag. “Will you stay in the city, my friend?”

Gwinas shook his head, eyes bugging out again.

Now he supposes I will not survive it. Perhaps I frightened him too much. “At the least provide a way for me to contact you,” Darnand said. In the event that this turns into a dead end. “As you are something of an expert, I should like to consult you with my findings. Surely your own curiosity—”

“All right!” Gwinas yelped. “I shall remain for one night and no longer. If you do not come to my hotel I’ll assume you are dead!”

“You may feel more comfortable if you change hotels,” Darnand suggested.

“More comfortable than the Tiber Septim? Psht. Oh! You mean I should worry less about being murdered in my sleep. Gaah! I shall never sleep again!”

“Perhaps the All-Saints in the Temple District? It is located near the Talos Plaza Gate. You will not have to move far, and it is close to the Temple of the One.”

“Indeed. As you say.” Gwinas rubbed his palms together then brushed them up and down his arms. He blinked up at Darnand, clicked his heels together, and gave a little bow. “I thank you, my nameless friend. No! I do not wish to know your name. Go with care, and with the blessings of, er, with the blessings of the Nine! And of Your Lady of Infinite Energies! And… and all of the good ones!”

Darnand inclined his head, solemn as one of the park’s marble guardians. As the Bosmer scampered off, he allowed himself to smile.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Apr 16 2019, 03:59 PM

[Acadian]

What a fun episode – Gwinas was adorable!

‘A red-robed Bosmer sat alone at a dining table in the center of the Tiber Septim Hotel’s lobby, swinging his feet and sipping from a silver goblet.’
‘Gwinas put his small chin in the air, looking down his nose at approximately Darnand’s mid-chest.’
- - I see Gwinas suffers from common Bosmeri complaints of chairs that are too high and Bretons that are too tall!

Brilliantly deft of Darnand to try intimidation when his first effort failed, then to invoke the Daedric ring to emphasize his point. Darnand’s verbal acumen here really contrasts that of his large Nordic friend who would have doubtless tried, “Uh, gimme the book, elf.”

[ghastley]

That was a nice mixture of Beth's dialogue and your own, and the Ring of Khajiiti part was genius!

Now you've got me wondering why Darnand wants to keep Gwinas around, after getting the book. Maybe just in case it's not the book he expects?

[SubRosa]

Lil in a gown, now that is a sight worth seeing!

I can imagine that whatever Phintias said started with his usual sarcastically satirical venemous "Good Day!"

"Its mine, its my precious!" is what I half expected Gwinas to say!

Looks like Darny had no trouble playing bad cop. I loved his big-stuffing with the Ring of the Khajiti!