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

[Acadian]

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

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

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

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

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

[Jacki Dice]

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

[Grits]

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

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

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

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




Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City, Part 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jerric tucked the Amulet away and entered the sewers.

___

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post has been edited by Grits: Dec 30 2010, 02:20 PM

[Acadian]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Grits]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mALX]

Chapter 3: Part 2


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

He thought it was the best thing he had ever tasted, even with the tang of goblin blood still clinging to his fingers.

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

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

Jerric ... felt an urgent need to get out under the sun.

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

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

With a sinking feeling he realized that he was back at the same kind of stone chambers that he had left under the prison. Had he gone in a circle?

*


Chapter 3: Part 3


WHEW !!! What a change -

this is a story about a life that gets interrupted

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

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

He scratched at the stubble on his face. His prison clothes were still torn and stained, although not so obviously now by blood. He might not attract bandits since he looked as if he’d already been beaten and left for dead.

AWESOME WRITE !!!!!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 30 2010, 05:59 PM

[SubRosa]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Grits]

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

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

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



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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___

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

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

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

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 2 2011, 02:27 AM

[SubRosa]

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

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

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

[Acadian]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

[mALX]

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

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

I am loving this story !!!

[Jacki Dice]

I love this story and I love Jerric!

He hoped that the former owners had simply given up their goods and gotten away with their lives.

he thought that these two fetchers must have specialized in the weak and unarmed.

when he held the jewelry all he could think about was the pain and fear someone must have felt when they gave it up.

He's got such a big heart!

[Grits]

SubRosa: Thank you, SubRosa! Here’s another bowl.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I think I’ll name Chapter 5: [gives away big secret] Or not!

mALX: I’m glad you like it, mALX! Thank you!

Jacki Dice: I’m glad you like him Jackie Dice, here’s some more! I need to play SI so I can read your story!!





Chapter 4: All’s Well in Aleswell, Part 2


Jerric stopped in the Red Road where a path forked off and down to his left. He believed he had climbed to the place where Fort Caractacus lay below, so Aleswell must be a short distance ahead. “Caractacus,” he said out loud. “Caractacus. Aleswell. The ale is well in Aleswell.” He thought he might really worry if he started answering himself. He could hear birds calling to one another in trees to his right, and the sun was pleasantly warm on his shoulders. Still, something seemed to be awry. He looked around and had the feeling that he was not alone. Bandit ghosts passed fleetingly through his mind, but ghosts don’t sound like sheep. When he heard panting and felt a nudge against the back of his knee he yelped a little, and then he felt around in the air with his hands. He felt but still couldn’t see furry upright ears and a cold nose, and when he bent down he reassured himself that ghosts also don’t have dog breath.

“Hail little fellow,” he said in a friendly tone. “What the fetch is going on here?” The invisible dog declined to answer so Jerric straightened and continued up the road, trailed he imagined by a friendly dog and some imaginary sheep. He thought that the dog might have accidentally swallowed some enchanted item, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that a bunch of sheep had, too.

He entered a hamlet and found it to be an altogether charming and empty place. Flowers bloomed around tidy thatched houses, and the grass was cropped short in the way that is easily accomplished by just the right number of sheep. He looked over at a neatly tended garden, and he blinked at the sight of a hoe working by itself between the rows. An excess of enchanted items suddenly seemed more plausible. He opened the gate and entered the garden to get a closer look.

“Hey, do you mind not trampling my crops?” Jerric jumped at the surly voice, but at least he didn’t make a noise this time. He looked down and moved his feet.

“Hail, friend, I’m Jerric,” he said to the hoe. “Is this Aleswell?”

“Shagol gro-Bumph. I expect you have some questions. Talk to Diram in the inn. I'm tired of this minstrel's freakshow our town has turned into."

“Pleased to meet you.” It was easy to guess that the wooden two story building was the inn. Jerric walked over, but before he went inside he stepped between the trees to take in the view he had been enjoying as he climbed up the road. He could see the whole of the Imperial City with its towers and great bridges all the way across Lake Rumare, and if there had not been a haze he might have seen the thread of the Ring Road beyond. He looked around at the plains and distant mountains, and at that moment he wanted to climb every hill just to see what lay beyond it. A summer day such as this was a thing to be appreciated. His heart lifted and he took a few deep breaths before he turned to enter the inn.

He entered expecting to hear a disembodied voice, and he was not disappointed. “Excuse me. We have a small problem that we hope you can help us with. You may be wondering why you can’t see me. We are all wondering the same thing. Everyone in Aleswell suddenly became invisible several weeks ago. It was sort of fun at first, but the novelty has definitely worn off now. You can imagine how difficult it is to run an inn while invisible. Once you get a reputation as a haunted inn, you can just forget about it. So we’ve all been keeping quiet, hoping the spell will wear off. But we’re running out of patience. We’re sure it was Ancotar’s doing, but we can’t find him. If you can help us, we will be extremely grateful.”

The voice sounded highly animated, and Jerric thought that those who could not rely upon gestures or facial expressions must have to fall back on something. It made him tired just to listen to it. “Are you Diram? I’m Jerric. Who is this Ancotar?”

Jerric could imagine him nodding. “He’s a wizard who took up residence in the ruins of Fort Caractacus a couple of years ago. You passed the path down if you came from the east. He’s caused us no end of trouble with his magical experiments, but nothing as bad as this. If he’s still living at the fort he’s hiding from us, and no wonder. If you could find him and get rid of this cursed invisibility, we’d all be in your debt.”

“Fort Caractacus?” Jerric just liked to say it.

“That’s right!” Diram said brightly. “Fort Caractacus. You have a nimble tongue, sir.”

With a tremendous effort Jerric refrained from comment. He was not used to making a favorable first impression, and Diram sounded so excited and happy to see him that Jerric couldn’t bear to disappoint him. “I’ll be back,” he said, and he waved farewell to the air.

“Watch out for the invisible monsters that infest the ruins!” Diram called out cheerfully as the door closed behind Jerric.

He made his way down to the fort unmolested by monsters invisible or otherwise, and after an annoying chase through the ruins he finally cornered the invisible Ancotar and convinced him that he wasn’t trying to sell him something. He listened to a lengthy explanation of Ancotar’s magical doings and began to think he wasn’t so lonely after all. Eventually Ancotar handed over a scroll with a counter-spell, and he also gave Jerric a ring of protection against the counter-spell with instructions so vague and threatening that he almost convinced himself that he’d be better off not wearing it.

Jerric jogged back up to Aleswell just as the invisible residents were being called in for the evening meal. He stood in Shagol’s garden in the center of town wearing the copper ring, and he read Ancotar's scroll in the rosy light as the sun slipped behind the mountains. This must be one of the most pleasant spots in Cyrodiil, he thought. Shouts of joy announced his success, so he headed to the inn past the now visible sheep to join the celebration.

There was a general call to break for long neglected grooming, then the good folk of Aleswell joined together for a party that threatened to send the inn down the side of the mountain. The news of the Emperor’s death had just reached them that morning, but their deliverance from invisibility took precedence over their grief. After all the White Gold Tower was still clearly visible from behind the inn, so it seemed that the Empire hadn’t fallen. Everyone agreed that they were safe in the hands of the Elder Council, and many were prepared to drink to their wisdom.

Jerric was also ready to relax a little, and there wasn’t a man or mer in town who didn’t want to buy him something. He dined, drank, and danced with a complete disregard for safety or personal dignity. Diram offered him a free room for the rest of his life at the inn, and many offered him gear or new clothing, since he had obviously been robbed by bandits on the road and been forced to wear castoffs. An old Breton lady brought him a pair of her dead Nord husband’s well-kept leather boots, and when it was discovered that they were a decent fit, Jerric kissed her full on the mouth amid much cheering. He delightedly and ceremoniously threw his rope sandals into the fire.

When he took a break at the bar, he found himself confronted by two sour-faced Dunmeri women. If he looked beyond their obvious displeasure at everything, he found them both extremely attractive. “Whoa,” he said. He congratulated himself on his nimble tongue.

“You really enjoy this whole hero thing, don’t you? Everybody fawning all over you? Well we’re not like that.”

“I’m Jerric,” said Jerric. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Urnsi, and this is my sister Adosi.” They frowned at him. They were an island of ill feelings amid a sea of jubilation. He began to get an idea.

“Pleased to meet you. It must have been especially hard for you to be invisible for so long.” He looked from one to the other and back again. “Since you’re,” he made a sweeping up and down gesture, “You know.”

“I don’t know,” Urnsi or Adosi said crossly. “Is that some kind of hero talk, because we don’t get it.”

“I mean you’re very attractive,” he said. He leaned against the bar and his elbow slipped off. He caught himself and thought they might not have noticed, and then he realized that a fair amount of his ale had gone onto his trousers. “You must be used to getting a lot of attention. From travelers. Men,” he explained. “I mean you’re better looking than anyone else in town.” Urnsi and Adosi exchanged a look, and Jerric thought he might be on the right path. “You know,” he began, but they had him up the stairs before he could finish his thought.

In the end he retreated behind the locked door of the room Diram had given him. Urnsi and Adosi had been very demanding. He thought they were going to take turns and then pass out, but their thinking seemed to be take turns until the Nord is dead. Jerric had a new respect for all Dunmeri males.

He lay across his forever free bed and looked at the Amulet of Kings in his hand. There had been a bad moment with Urnsi and Adosi when he realized that it was still tied around his waist, but they didn’t seem to mind that he kept his flapping shirt on. He gazed into the great red stone and guessed that the Amulet had seen plenty of action, and he needn’t worry about what it had witnessed that night. He recognized that his thoughts betrayed his advanced inebriation, and he decided that if the Serethi sisters hadn’t tried to drain the life out of him, the rest of the town downstairs probably would have drowned him in alcohol. On that thought he tucked the Amulet away and went to sleep.

By mid-morning an enticing aroma coaxed Jerric from the bed. He suspected that the sun had risen that day with few on two legs awake to greet it. He gathered his things and descended to the common room where he found a number of Aleswellians nursing sore heads and sipping their kahve. He found a pile of supplies that folk had dropped off for him, and among them to his great but quietly expressed joy he found a shaving kit and small stack of very serviceable clothing left behind by some long-forgotten Nord. There was even a worn but still excellent hooded cloak that looked like it had been treated against the rain, he suspected from the old lady who said he reminded her of her late husband. He retired back upstairs to use the washbasin and outfit himself in a manner less like a jester.

He returned to his kahve and sorted through the supplies. With the extra packs he found there he was able to make a camp pack with his food, clothing, and cooking supplies; a day pack for his day’s rations, water, and potions; a shoulder bag with his alchemy supplies and plenty of room for the ingredients that he picked up as a matter of habit; and a large pack with the goods he had looted from the bandits. As he packed the items away he decided to think of it less as loot and more as salvage. He took a light metal pot and a slightly heavier skillet so that he could do some cooking, plus a metal drinking cup and every canteen and water skin that he could find. He tucked the scrolls in with his potions for ready access, and his books went into the camp pack. The bedroll got tied with the cloak and slung across his shoulders. He went outside and practiced shedding his burdens and sliding his shield on to the amusement of the local sheep. He could draw his sword in an emergency even while completely laden, though he was sure his technique would not earn him any compliments.

He left his gear in the inn and made some sprints up the hill to work the kinks out of his muscles. He could feel the difference that a few days without real exercise made, his legs wanted to run. After a breakfast of toasted bread for his sour stomach and a tall mug of Diram’s excellent ale to get his head right again, Jerric was ready to put his feet back on the road.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 3 2011, 07:03 PM

[Acadian]

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

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

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

[SubRosa]

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

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

He gazed into the great red stone and guessed that the Amulet had seen plenty of action, and he needn’t worry about what it had witnessed that night.
If only the Emperor could have foreseen this, I think he might have picked someone else!

[Grits]

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

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

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



Chapter 5: Unloading the Amulet, Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maglir," the Bosmer said warily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 7 2011, 01:31 AM

[SubRosa]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 5 2011, 06:40 PM

[Acadian]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Winter Wolf]

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

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

I shall be back.

[mALX]

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