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

[Acadian]

'He took in the scene with a glance. Shelves lined the walls. Desks and tables jutted into the room, piled with parchment, books, and litter. Bedrolls cluttered the space between. One man convulsed on the floor with an arrow in his neck. A woman slid….'
Here you demonstrate the perfect balance required during a fight scene. Enough detail to immerse your reader, but delivered with a volume and pacing that does not bog things down when a sense of quick tempo is required. Well done indeed!

'Jerric heard a sound like the one Slim made when he returned to wherever he spent his days. The zombie is gone, he thought. The Altmer must be dead.
How brilliant to use the zombie's disappearance as evidence that his summoner has expired!

'Jerric could easily reach her over the Colovian’s body. He drew his sword and removed the woman’s head.'
I wanted to cheer here. Poor Jerric had been watching the little elf's lethal arrows appearing in the necks of foes. And Darnand was delivering effective flame from afar. It was about time that Jerric really got to show everyone what a Nord with a sword can do! Bravo, Champion!

“That was a pretty good ball of frost I hit her with. I guess an Imperial should have stayed down longer.”
Given the context, what a fabulous way to confirm the target was Breton, with their magic resistance.

'Lildereth placed an arrow on the table and walked over.'
In your last story, I complimented you on delivering a loose end (like the passage above. Then once again, in the passage below, you neatly wrap up the 'why did she do that?' Very enjoyable.
Don’t touch that arrow on the table, it’s coated with poison, too.

Although you know my heart identifies so very much with the shadowy but skittish Lildereth, you once again provided the full measure of justice to all three of our adventurers as they continue to prepare for Fort Strand.

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: I’m so glad you’re enjoying Lildereth’s contribution. Planning and scouting are not Jerric’s thing! Thank you for pointing that out about Darnand. It’s been fun getting him out of the library. There were some awkward conversations that contributed to the term ‘stickless’! Mr. Grits has some friends who might run away when they see me next.

mALX: I think Darnand is such a magic nerd, it’s surprising that he wants to leave his books. But all of his study is for a purpose, as we’re starting to see. Jerric also thought Darnand might lose it at the beheading, so Jerric was surprised, too. I wrote this section and the last one together, but they’re posted separately since they got too long. A couple of Jerric’s unfinished thoughts get resolved next.

Acadian: Thank you for mentioning Lildereth’s third arrow. I’m departing from the game mechanics of one poison at a time, and three enemies would mean three prepared arrows. I’m particularly grateful for your endorsement of Jerric’s quick sword work. As you pointed out, he was ready to show his stuff! I really appreciate your guidance with the pacing and level of detail of this scene. The elements that you mentioned are exactly the things I have been struggling with.

Where we are: Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth are sneaking up on some skeletons.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 6

Jerric and Darnand followed Lildereth to the entrance of a broad, dimly lit chamber. Jerric could see where metal gates must have once closed off the doorway. Squared-off columns supported the ceiling at regular, wide-spaced intervals. Won’t be hard to move around, thought Jerric. The air smelled a little fresher in here. He could see the skeletons’ glows. Three of them slouched unmoving within a dozen steps of where they knelt in the entry. The others paced or stood toward the chamber’s far end.

Jerric spoke to Darnand in a low voice. “I’ll move to the right, same as before. Stay a little behind me so you can duck back into the passageway if you get overwhelmed. Better to decide it’s time to retreat before you’re in real trouble. One hit can break your bones, and that’s very distracting. I may get too busy to look back at you, so yell out if you’re going to change the plan. If you see me fall, summon your daedroth and get back in the corridor. This should be a steady piece of work. Let’s try to keep it from getting too exciting.” Jerric slipped off his ring and put it back in his pocket. He found it hard to judge distance when his enemy was emanating a pinkish glow.

Moving into position got them the attention of the three nearest skeletons. Jerric summoned Slim and sent him to the far group. He heard Darnand’s spell at almost the same time. Darnand’s skeleton followed Slim at a lurching run. Their bony feet clacked against the stone floor, sounding over the clicks and scrapes of the approaching skeletons. Jerric hoped that the enemy skeletons might be confused when they were attacked by what looked like allies. Or Darnand’s summoning could attack Slim, he thought.

Darnand’s flare lit up one approaching skeleton, and a second ball of fire impacted the one behind it almost immediately. He’s casting with both hands, Jerric realized. He felt a moment of pride for his friend. Then Jerric focused on his own fight.

A skeleton had reached him. Jerric waited for its strike, balanced and ready. Years of sparring with Slim gave him confidence. This skeleton carried an iron axe and shield. Jerric timed his lunge so that his axe was in position for his counterstrike. The wooden haft was still solidly attached to the head, but the leather grip had loosened. He kept his attention on his grip as his elbow started the swing. The skeleton’s axe clanged against the stone floor, closer to Jerric’s feet than he liked. He whipped his wrist down, sending his axe under the skeleton’s shield and through its bony knee. The grip slipped a little in his hand, but he held on to it. The skeleton kept its weapon even as it clattered sideways to the floor.

Jerric glanced back at Darnand. One skeleton lay blackened on the floor, and another jogged away from him, smoking. Darnand pointed to the skeleton Jerric had knocked down. “I’ll finish it.”

Jerric nodded and turned back to the fight. He took a few steps into the chamber to get out of Darnand’s way. He ignored the heaving skeleton melee at the back of the room, unable to tell friend from foe. He guessed the survivors would come find him. Two approaching skeletons got his attention. They both were about four paces away.

Lildereth flickered into view farther into the chamber. She hurled a small flare at one of the skeletons near Jerric. It stopped and turned toward her. She threw another flare, her face frightened in its orange glow. Jerric watched her stand for an instant, claiming the skeleton’s attention. Then its partner reached him, and he had to look away from her.

Don’t try to rush, he told himself. A mistake will take longer than a properly timed strike. This skeleton carried a silver mace. I want that, Jerric thought. It clipped Jerric’s shield as he started his swing. His axe missed the knee, sticking into the femur. The impact jarred Jerric through his shoulder. He let go of the axe and danced back, swearing.

Lildereth had disappeared. The skeleton she had scorched turned back toward Jerric. A great clatter and hissing arose from the back of the chamber. Light flared around the skeleton that had Jerric’s axe imbedded in its leg. It turned and loped away. “Here,” Darnand said, beside Jerric. He looked a little wide-eyed. He held out an iron mace with an oversized head.

Jerric took the mace, and Darnand backed toward the door before Jerric could tell him to. Jerric turned to meet the skeleton Lildereth had distracted. He felt almost absently for Slim, and found him gone. Eyes on the approaching skeleton, he summoned Slim back to the chamber. As he felt the magical eddy begin, he cast it away from him, past the approaching skeleton. Slim dropped into his view, already facing the back of the chamber. He lurched into a run toward the fight without further instruction from Jerric.

Jerric tested the iron mace while he shifted his feet. It was too heavy for him, but he would rather not leave Redeemer stuck in a skeleton. The scorched skeleton held a long-handled hammer and shield. Jerric worried that his mace would drop at too sharp an angle, and he would miss the knee again. He decided on an overhead strike. It would take more time, but he wouldn’t miss.

The hammer whistled past his chest and clanged against the floor. Jerric dropped his weight behind his shield and planted his foot on the hammer’s haft. He bashed forward and up from his rear foot, knocking the skeleton back. The skeleton let go of the hammer. Not something to try on an orc, Jerric decided. He swung the mace up as he pushed the skeleton’s shield down with his own. His arm guided the mace’s descent through the skeleton’s shoulder and ribcage, letting the weight do the damage. He stepped back, right eye burning. The damaged skeleton still stood, dropping bones. It burst into flame before it fell in pieces. Darnand is earning his coin today, Jerric thought. The shield rang as it hit the pocked floor. Darnand’s voice came from behind him. “Next!”

Trust the Breton to find his sense of humor now, thought Jerric. He ran a few steps to close with another skeleton. This one had lost its shield. Jerric was surprised when it kept fighting after he sent its skull rolling. They can see with no eyes, he realized. I guess that’s the same as no eye sockets. He was sweating with effort by the time the skeleton shattered. Little recoil meant heaving the mace back into position for each strike.

He took a moment to thumb the blood out of his eye. A crash of bones from the back of the chamber was followed by Slim’s victory rattle. Or it could be Darnand’s skeleton, Jerric admitted. At this distance with one eye, he couldn’t be sure. He knew the fight was over when Lildereth appeared in front of him.

“Here,” she said, motioning him down. When he bent, she scrubbed his face with something, then pressed it against his eye. “Hold this. It’s just a little cut under the brow. Probably a bone fragment, since your helm isn’t dented.”

Darnand snorted next to Jerric. He reached out and gripped Jerric’s shoulder. White light twinkled in front of Jerric’s open eye as Darnand healed him. Jerric shared a sheepish glance with Lildereth. “I guess real mages don’t carry little bandages,” Jerric remarked.

Lildereth darted off, so Jerric got out his canteen. He took a pull and passed it to Darnand. His friend looked like he could use a moment or two to finish collecting himself. Jerric took the time to check for surprise injuries and glance around at the chamber.

More of the small, bright crystals were fixed into the ceiling. Their aquamarine glow provided adequate light, but the atmosphere was eerie and uncomfortable. He found himself wondering more about the folk who first inhabited the space than about the ones they just evicted. He decided to ask before they got back to work. “What do you think they did here?”

Darnand cast a spell. Its green glow added to the sickly light. “This was their preparation chamber. Look here, the altar they used for enchanting. It appears to be crafted from rubble. Those hooks on the wall are not Ayleid. From the stains, I expect they used them to make the bodies ready for their rituals.”

The new light showed Jerric a barrel holding torches. He lit one and held it out to the side. “No, I mean the Ayleids. Why did they put light stones in their drainage system? What are these large chambers for?”

Lildereth stepped into the torch’s warm light. “Your big cities have underground levels, for the functions that the citizens don’t want to see. Perhaps you learned that from the Ayleids. I imagine these passages were like highways for the slaves, and maybe work and dwelling places. Who can know? I found the necromancers’ entrance. A hand-dug tunnel, concealed under bushes from the outside. That stone passage leads to a cave-in. They must have come in through the sewer the first time, like we did.”

Jerric tried to think like a necromancer. “Those fetchers in the robes didn’t look much like diggers. We met the tunnel makers in the zombie chamber, I’d wager. Three bedrolls for four corpse pirates. Unless those two mer were humping, I’d say we’re through here. Though there could be another partner out somewhere.”

Lildereth nodded. “Let’s go out through the surface tunnel. Jerric, do you need more time?”

“I want to look through the weapons in here, there was a silver mace that caught my eye. I’ll roll up what we want to keep into some of their blankets. Didn’t think to bring an extra pack. I’ll cache the rest for later. Don’t want to leave weapons lying around. Most of it’s not worth the weight to carry for what Morvayn would give us, but the Anvil militia might have a use for some of it. If you two agree. Won’t take me long.”

Her eyes went to Darnand.

“I saw some things in their living quarters that I should like to examine,” Darnand said. “Additionally, I will need some time with the remains.”

Jerric took a moment to scrutinize his friend. Darnand still looked tense, but calm. No signs of the shakes that had overtaken him after the mage attack on the Gold Road. He was in control this whole time, Jerric realized. I guess that’s important to him.

Lildereth gave another sharp nod. “Jerric, I’ll watch the exit while you do your work. I’ll go help Darnand finish when you get back here, you can stand watch then. Darnand, I’ll give you a hand if they’ve locked anything. Sound like a plan?”

“Indeed,” said Darnand. “As we leave, I shall ignite their furnishings.”

Jerric remembered Lildereth’s face when she had drawn one of the skeletons away from him. She had acted decisively despite her fear. He wished he had the words to tell her. “Yeah,” he said.

They finished their tasks with brisk efficiency. Jerric thought they all must be ready to breathe some fresh air. The mace he found was made of Nordic silver. Holding it felt like finding something he had lost. He wanted Morvayn to take a look at it, but he knew it would be his. He felt a smile crease his face as he tucked it into his belt.

Darnand set the pace back over the dunes to Anvil, since he was the least conditioned to walking with a burden. Between Jerric’s brawn, Lildereth’s feather spell, and Darnand augmenting his strength with a spell, they managed to carry all of the day’s spoils.

Jerric tried not to think about the sodden weight of zombie meat in his pack. He couldn’t shake the idea that what he was carrying deserved a burial, not a mortar and pestle. At least the light wind kept most of the smell behind them. His stomach was unsettled, the pangs of urgent hunger battling with trickles of nausea.

The sun glowed low and cold in the west, and the sea breeze carried a winter bite. A hot bath and a roaring fire would be welcome, Jerric thought. Sadly, his spare clothing was all back at his hut. He decided he could settle for a cold swim and the cozy blaze his fireplace would allow. North Winds Prayer is tomorrow, he remembered. There would be feasting after the chapel services, and bonfires on the beach. And Abiene. Hopefully, he would see Abiene. His heart beat faster at the thought of her.

Lildereth walked beside Jerric. “I could murder a pile of biscuits,” Jerric remarked to her, while his gut was feeling optimistic. “Soft, fluffy ones. Not those flakey rolled biscuits like they make in Skingrad.”

Lildereth swept him with an exaggerated glance. “That’s funny. The white-gold tower of death and destruction, talking about fluffy biscuits.”

“I’m all that of safety and protection, if you’re on the right side of my shield.” Jerric realized something. “Are you calling me pale? That’s a little unkind. Not everyone is blessed to toast in the sun.”

Lildereth answered with another green glance.

“Anyway,” Jerric continued, “You know what thought makes me shrivel? An arrow shot from the dark.” For a moment Lildereth’s face was inscrutable. Then she smiled. Jerric grinned to himself. “Biscuits with a slice of ham, or with honey. I can’t decide.”

This post has been edited by Grits: Jun 30 2011, 03:54 AM

[mALX]

Once again Jerric's appetite makes a timely showing to cut the tensions of battle - even mixed with nausea it prevails, ROFL !!!! Darnand continues to develop as an asset in the battlefield - not sure why that continues to surprise me !! Lol, but I like that side of him that emerges. Awesome Write !!!

[Acadian]

'One hit can break your bones, and that’s very distracting. '
Actually, the full context of Jerric's advice to Darnand was very good. This one piece elicited a chuckle though. Very Jerric!

'Darnand’s skeleton followed Slim at a lurching run.'
I see the author's careful observations of game skellies paid off here this simple but highly effective description.

“I guess real mages don’t carry little bandages,” Jerric remarked.'
Heh, Lildereth can dish it out. Nice to see that Jerric is testing to see if she can take it.

'Jerric remembered Lildereth’s face when she had drawn one of the skeletons away from him. She had acted decisively despite her fear. He wished he had the words to tell her.'
Very insightful, Jerric. Buffy would describe what you observed as 'Courage is action in the presence of fear.' Jerric, in his adorable eloquence described it just as well:
“Yeah,” he said.'

'The mace he found was made of Nordic silver. Holding it felt like finding something he had lost. He wanted Morvayn to take a look at it, but he knew it would be his. He felt a smile crease his face as he tucked it into his belt. '
This little passage is beautifully written.

Now, I like Darnand and he has proven his friendship to Jerric. Is it just me or is there perhaps more to his consistent interest in things necromantic that he tries to avoid discussing? I wonder if I'm onto something or simply seeing shadows.

Well. Jerric's little band doing a rehearsal run was a great idea. I think they will fare much better at Fort Strand as a result. Hopefully, Jerric will give his crew a brief respite to retrofit and grab himself some biscuits and Abiene.

[ghastley]

Jerric's a bit fussy about his weapons, isn't he? The axe was too sharp, getting stuck in the skeleton's leg. Then the iron mace was too heavy. Let's hope the silver mace (which had a blue glow, but didn't seem to do anything as it clipped his shield?) is the "Goldilocks" one.

He found it hard to judge distance when his enemy was emanating a pinkish glow. I liked this bit of game mechanics. The enchantments aren't always positive, and knowing when to hold 'em, and when to fold 'em, is an important part of adventuring.

And now everyone in the party has shown the others how they can shine. Remind me what they're rehearsing for?

[SubRosa]

Part 5:

He still hadn’t learned how to tell his body when a quick fight was over.
This was a good nod to the realities of adrenaline.

Jerric grinned at her. “First I got a ‘please,’ and now you suggest? Someone found her manners.”
No kidding. It's about time.


Part 6:

He’s casting with both hands, Jerric realized.
Hey, that's illegal in Cyrodiil! You can only do it in Skyrim.

corpse pirates
An excellent term!

I will need some time with the remains.
Hubba hubba...

And finally a job well done. With loot in hand, fluffy biscuits, ham, and honey await our threesome. The warm up in the necromancer caves has welded Jerric, Darnand, and Lildreth into an efficient team. The marauders at the fort do not stand a chance now!

[Grits]

mALX: Well, the poor guy didn’t get to digest his lunch. Now he’ll need two meals to make up for it. Thank you, mALX!

Acadian: This section should firm up Darnand’s good intentions. You’re right; he seems a little too interested in necromancy for comfort. You’ll see in this section that Jerric shares your concern. Darnand has a lot of ambition, and more power than experience to guide him. He’s looking over the edge with no idea that he could fall. I’m so glad you spotted that! Brief respite coming right up.

ghastley: Preparing to take on the Fort Strand marauders. Eventually. The silver mace is not enchanted. I went back and changed the description to make it clearer, thank you for pointing it out. Jerric was a little bitchy about the iron mace. I think the third one was just right for the Nord Goldilocks.

SubRosa: The more I read about Morrowind and Skyrim, the more I want to work some of their details into this story. Of course, Jerric would be upset if he couldn’t cast with a sword in one hand and a shield in another, so he’d better stay in Cyrodiil. My absolute favorite term for necromancers has to be Cardboard Box’s/Ra'jirra’s “corpse humpers.” I laugh every time I read it.

Where we are: Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth cleared out a necromancer lair in the Garlas Malatar sewer. (It’s not in the game.) Now it’s North Wind’s Prayer in Anvil.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 7

Jerric carefully poured the last drops of liquid into the vial. He placed his retort back on its stand with a clink. Capping the vial, he positioned it in line with the others, awaiting his seal. The symbol appeared in the enchanted glass. Candlelight shone through the potions, showing that they were perfectly colorless. Felen won’t have any complaints with this batch, he thought with some gratification.

Darnand approached down the basement chamber’s center aisle. Only one other table was occupied. Two young associates had their heads together over a text and a set of alchemy apparatus. They looked up and murmured to Darnand as he passed them.

“Good day, my friend,” said Jerric. He straightened his back and idly picked up his knife, pleased at the interruption.

Darnand gave him a nod. “It is a good day. I have been studying those notes we found yesterday. My understanding has increased, along with my misgivings. I would like to keep several of the texts. It will decrease our profit, but I am prepared to reduce my portion of our earnings accordingly.”

“Works for me. I guess we’ll make a few coins off the gear we hauled out of there. I’ll have Morvayn give us a price for that silver mace, and you can take it out of my share. If you and Lildereth don’t object.”

“You have my consent. We might have made more, if you had not insisted upon burying our mort flesh.” Darnand’s tone was neutral, but his eyebrows looked annoyed.

“I wish we could bury all that we left in there, but I think the fire was good enough. That used to be someone’s kids, Darnand. No matter how they ended up undead, making potions out of them doesn’t seem right.”

“It would not have changed their fate. Whoever they were is long gone.”

Jerric tried to sound reasonable. He was sure Darnand had not sought him out looking for a fight. “I’m not going to try to explain what my gut knows is wrong. I’ll apologize for the time you took scraping it off those folk, but not for putting it under ground. Anyway, you’re the one who said that charm over the bodies.”

“An invocation to Arkay, asking for protection under his Law so that the remains might never be raised again. I did not do it out of concern for the departed, but to prevent further harm to the living.”

“I guess you did it just the same.” Jerric flipped the knife in his fingers. “What’s the part about misgivings?”

Darnand’s brows drew together again. “There is evidence of an organized cult of necromancers. I have turned my findings over to Carahil, along with the black robe that we acquired. She will inform the Council of Mages. Necromancy is still legal. Without my discovery I fear our actions yesterday could be interpreted as an unprovoked attack.”

That made Jerric pause. “In a way, it was. I mean, the zombies attacked us, but…”

Darnand waved the concern aside. “I still do not know if this cult is connected to the threat from Mehrunes Dagon, or if they are simply using the disorder to strengthen their position against our guild. Either way, there will come a time when each of us must decide where we stand.”

Jerric snorted, but he watched Darnand carefully. “I guess I already know where I stand. And I remember what you said in the healing hall, after Abiene cut on my face. It was something like, ‘I am not a necromancer. Even though I may know a good zombie recipe.’ ”

Darnand’s face relaxed. “I see that you jest. I did not fully understand the rituals involved until I recovered these notes. Jerric, our plans have not changed. Our travel to the guild halls will require coin, which we have already begun to earn. I will take any information as we find it.”

That was no jest, thought Jerric. He decided to move on. “Should we save the salvage we already have to sell until after the Fort Strand job?”

“I believe we should. Let us focus on watching the fort and making our preparations in the next days. I expect you will find me in the library, should you need to converse.”

“Who’s first on fort watch?”

“Lildereth begins tomorrow night. I advise you to get some rest. Her schedule sounds quite demanding, though it is only sitting still.”

“Sitting still. Just what I’m good at.” Jerric ran his hand through his hair, restless at the thought. “Don’t worry, I’m used to standing watch. I won’t fall asleep. And I won’t start a fight just to end the boredom. Probably.” He gave Darnand a hard look. “Just like you won’t make a couple of rat zombies, just to see if it works.”

Darnand echoed Jerric’s tone. “Probably.” He gestured at Jerric’s work. “These are not the potions we discussed for Fort Strand. What are you making?”

“I finished those this morning. Now I’m working for Kvatch. These are energy potions. Potatoes and onions. I feel like I’m getting ready to cook breakfast.”

“It appears that you will have some leftovers.”

Darnand’s remark bumped Jerric’s mind fully awake. He glanced around the table, wondering what he had forgotten. “Dammit! I didn’t add the potato. Now I’ll have to…” Darnand pinched the bridge of his nose. Comprehension dawned in Jerric’s mind. “Well hump me sideways, I made a potion out of just the onion! Ha ha! Darnand do you know what this means?”

“Yes,” Darnand said shortly.

“Ask me to teach you something. Go on, I won’t charge you.”

“No.”

“Come on,” Jerric wheedled. “I want to hear someone say it.”

Darnand closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“Everyone proceeds at their own pace,” Jerric assured him in an instructional tone. “One mustn’t compare one’s progress to the achievements of others.”

“Forget it.”

“I’ll just get one of these lads to ask me, then.” Jerric grinned his delight.

“You ought to go get Felen to make it official first,” Darnand told him. A smile touched his eyes. “Master Jerric.”

“Ha ha! Well, I’ve been the master of one thing for a long time.”

“You need not elaborate.”

Jerric picked up his Expert seal and turned it over in his fingers. “I hardly got a chance to use this.”

“It would not surprise me if you had already reached your mastery when Felen tested you,” Darnand remarked. “Neither of you thought to evaluate how far you had come.”

“Well, some days I drink more magicka juice than beer. And I’ve been making my own since I learned to throw frost.”

Darnand nodded at the table. “You might benefit from better equipment. Though quality apparatus is difficult to obtain.”

“And expensive, I’d wager. I guess this guild issue gear will do for me. Though it would be nice to get a finer grind from a mortar and pestle. When we were in Garlas Malatar, I almost choked to death on a bit of mushroom. Then I thought Lildereth was going to shoot me for the noise I made coughing it up.”

Darnand fixed him with a glare. “Nord, your technique is to blame. If you spent only one additional minute—”

“I know,” Jerric laughed. “I just thought you’d like to bark at me is all. And I was right.”

Darnand looked as if he was biting his tongue for a moment. Then he gave Jerric a small but genuine smile. “Congratulations, my friend. You will make twice as many potions for Kvatch now, if you can resist the urge to fry up your potatoes.”

“I’d need a bigger calcinator,” Jerric said thoughtfully. His stomach gurgled.

“That brings me to my purpose. I knew you would forget to turn over your hourglass. The feast will begin shortly.”

Jerric took a moment to look Darnand over. His hair was smoothed neatly back, and he wore one of his finer robes. Gold gleamed at his neck. Jerric was glad he had brought his good doublet to change into. Probably no time to wallow in the bath, he thought regretfully. He sighed. “What’s my best move?”

Darnand gave him a critical once-over. “Dampen your hair and comb it. You could stand to scrub your neck. By all that is good in this life, I pray you have brought a different shirt. Your trousers are adequate, though you should try to keep your legs under a table if you must wear them. You smell… acceptable.”

Jerric began to pack up his gear. “Thanks. I’ll get to it.”

The sounds of laughter and clinking glassware greeted him when he opened the door to the guild hall’s main level. The chapel offered their services for half of the usual donation in celebration of North Wind’s Prayer, so traffic in the healing hall would have been light all morning. Jerric wondered when the healers had started in on the wine.

The harvest had been good this year, and the winter mild. Everyone seemed to want a reason to celebrate. Good smells crowded Jerric’s nose. Roast meat and spices predominated, but he knew the table would be groaning with winter vegetables, as befitted a late harvest feast. Circlets of evergreen boughs adorned the walls, symbolizing the turn of seasons and hope for spring. Folk had decorated them with bright ribbons and trinkets. Each one represented someone’s prayer of thanksgiving. The wreaths would be tossed onto the bonfires tonight, sending the prayers out to the gods in the smoke.

Jerric caught a glimpse of Lildereth chatting with an elegantly gowned Argonian mage, a crystal goblet in her hand. The wood elf wore a long dress in shades of green. Her hair was swept into a knot at the back of her head, revealing that her shoulders were as tanned as her ears. He indulged in speculation as he jogged up the stairs.

The upper level seemed empty as Jerric passed down the hall to the bathing chamber. The air in there was warm and humid, he guessed from earlier use by those who managed their time better. At least that’s what Darnand would say, he laughed to himself. He stripped to his drawers and filled a wash basin with cold water. New woolen trousers and his doublet hung ready on a garment rack. His small grooming kit unrolled neatly on the stand.

Abiene slipped into the room and closed the door halfway. His heart lifted at the sight of her. Her blue gown made her cheeks look pink, he noticed. He had an instant to admire her knees as she lifted the hem.

Before he could speak, she was pressed against him. Her mouth felt hungry on his. She drew his hand under her skirt, quick and demanding.

“I missed you last night,” she whispered against his throat. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Oh gods,” said Jerric, staggering a little. His hip bumped the washstand.

Gulitte’s voice sounded on the stairs. Abiene pulled away and flitted out the door, faster than Jerric could curse. He wrestled his drawers back into place.

Gulitte breezed into the chamber. His eyebrows went up. “Caught you at an awkward moment?” he inquired.

Jerric ground his teeth, tying his laces. This is no time to toss a Breton down the stairs, he told himself.

“We have screens for a reason,” Gulitte continued, indignation coloring his tone. He gestured to the corridor. “There are ladies who dwell here.”

Jerric plunged his head into the cold water in the basin. He could hear Marc droning on. The Jewel of the Rumare, he thought with satisfaction. That’s something to be thankful for. He kept his head under until the water level dropped below his ears. By then Gulitte had gone.

Water ran down his skin, restoring his calm. That’s funny, he thought, looking into the wash basin. I guess it stays air after I breathe it back out. I’ll have to mention it to Darnand.

Abiene didn’t return, so Jerric finished getting ready. He tugged at his doublet until it completely covered his disreputable shirt. The winter holidays, he thought, thumping down the stairs. Best not to think about it.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 1 2011, 01:12 AM

[mALX]

Jerric getting caught by Marc Gulitte in a compromising condition - alone ... SPEW !!! Hilarious !!!! The brotherly banter between Jerric and Darnand is perfect, a wonderful reminder of their beginnings in this story - and in spite of the tremendous personal growth both have experienced, it is great to see their friendship solidly intact through it all !! Awesome chapter and Write !!!

[haute ecole rider]

It looks like Lildereth has the same susceptibility to water that Buffy does!

And that Abiene! That wench needs to learn how to control herself or lock the door!

I loved the interchange between Jerric and Darnand. They've come a long way since that first chapter! I remember how Darnand thought Jerric annoying and crude. Well, he still thinks Jerric is annoying and crude, but at least he does so with some brotherly/friendly affection.

[Acadian]

“Well hump me sideways, I made a potion out of just the onion! Ha ha! Darnand do you know what this means?”
What a delightful way to tell us that Jerric is now a master alchemist! Now, in case there is any doubt about how he accomplished it, this next passage puts that to rest:

“Well, some days I drink more magicka juice than beer. And I’ve been making my own since I learned to throw frost.”
Yes, Jerric of the Atronach birthsign!

Your incorporation and presentation of North Winds Prayer was seamless and provided much to admire in your style. For those who like lore, you were indeed true to it. For those not familiar with TES holidays, you deftly showed us everything we need to know. I suspect both types of readers join me in being equally delighted by the way you did this.

Let me also join mALX and Rider in admiring the charming banter between Jerric and Darnand. I also enjoyed the substantive argument about mort flesh as well as the foreboding discussion of necromancers vs the guild. Oh, and I thank you for the reassurance that Darnand does not seem to be in danger of becoming a necrodude. Probably.

And Abiene the whirlwind with horns makes a quick drive by. Wham, Bam, Thank you man. Gotta go!

'Jerric plunged his head into the cold water in the basin.'
Oh my. I'm hoping Foxy does not stop by and comment on that.

Why yes, I expect Lildereth is probably suntanned right down to her little elven toes. Nice to see her in a dress!

This episode was a rich and delightful feast!

Nit? “Nord, your technique is blame."
Now, this is dialogue here, so Darnand can say as he wishes. It did, however, cause me to pause and question whether he omitted the word 'to' before blame?

[King Coin]

I've been meaning to get to this for the past month.

Chapter 1

I like how the story introduces Jerric from the perspective of another person that resents him.

Jerric's already a battlemage eh?

Well I'm hooked. I'll be reading more.

[ghastley]

And that Abiene! That wench needs to learn how to control herself or lock the door!

Does Jerric get to vote on which?

[Ceidwad]

Some brilliant bits of humour here!

“I wish we could bury all that we left in there, but I think the fire was good enough. That used to be someone’s kids, Darnand. No matter how they ended up undead, making potions out of them doesn’t seem right.”

“It would not have changed their fate. Whoever they were is long gone.”

Jerric tried to sound reasonable. He was sure Darnand had not sought him out looking for a fight. “I’m not going to try to explain what my gut knows is wrong. I’ll apologize for the time you took scraping it off those folk, but not for putting it under ground. Anyway, you’re the one who said that charm over the bodies.”

“An invocation to Arkay, asking for protection under his Law so that the remains might never be raised again. I did not do it out of concern for the departed, but to prevent further harm to the living.”

Bolded/underlined part made me chuckle. Jerric questioning something? Over his dead Nordic body! And why should he? Trayvond the Redguard is right - "Profaning the remains or souls of the dead is just wrong."

Great little scene there to highlight the different moral perspectives of Jerric and Darnand, despite which it is all good natured. Darnand is clearly of a more utilitarian persuasion. (Ironically, as I recall from a previous episode, when it comes to living women, the roles seem to be reversed, and it is Darnand who takes the view of sex as being more sacred and 'special'. Jerric's response: All women are special. Rofl! Fascinating character-building here, showing us what the boffins would describe as contradictions in the partners' personalities.)

“It appears that you will have some leftovers.”

Darnand’s remark bumped Jerric’s mind fully awake. He glanced around the table, wondering what he had forgotten. “Dammit! I didn’t add the potato. Now I’ll have to…” Darnand pinched the bridge of his nose. Comprehension dawned in Jerric’s mind. “Well hump me sideways, I made a potion out of just the onion! Ha ha! Darnand do you know what this means?

How on earth did that slowpoke ever make Master rank in alchemy?

Gulitte’s voice sounded on the stairs. Abiene pulled away and flitted out the door, faster than Jerric could curse. He wrestled his drawers back into place.

Gulitte breezed into the chamber. His eyebrows went up. “Caught you at an awkward moment?” he inquired.

Jerric ground his teeth, tying his laces. This is no time to toss a Breton down the stairs, he told himself.

“We have screens for a reason,” Gulitte continued, indignation coloring his tone. He gestured to the corridor. “There are ladies who dwell here.”

Look at Abiene leaving poor Jerric in the lurch to face Marc Gulitte! If only Gulitte knew what of those innocent, sweet 'ladies' had just been doing! HER is right; that wench needs to control herself, or at least find the key! Damn women, always leaving us to face the consequences! I'm glad Jerric thought better of taking the 'direct' approach with Marc.

[Grits]

mALX: Jerric’s triumph over the onions took Darnand right back to his early resentment for a second, I’m so pleased you saw that. That you describe their banter as brotherly makes me smile.

haute ecole rider: I think Abiene was telling herself the same thing as she darted down the stairs! You’ve described what I was hoping to convey about the boys, they can bicker and annoy each other now without worrying that it will end the friendship.

Acadian: I pity the person who tries to make a living selling bathing suits to wood elves. Thank you for finding Darnand’s missing “to,” I put it back where it belongs. Thank you for your kind words about the holiday. I’m toying with the idea of a short “Abiene’s Saturalia part 2” to linger on events that have no part in Jerric’s story, but might be fun to explore.

King Coin: Yay, welcome to the story! I’m so glad you’re reading. It’s been quite a journey, I hope we continue to hold your interest.

ghastley: “If you want me to lock the door, raise your…”

Ceidwad: I’m glad you pointed out the differences and contradictions brought out by the mort flesh discussion. These are the things that make the characters rewarding for me to write. Jerric’s reaction to Illusion magic was another. He would break a person’s neck without much of a pause in conversation (if he thought the neck needed breaking), but couldn’t bring himself to cast a spell that would change their perceptions.

Where we are: North Wind’s Prayer at the Anvil Mages Guild hall. Jerric discovered he has reached his mastery of alchemy. Darnand continued to insist that he is not a necromancer. Abiene displayed some erratic behavior in the bathing chamber.



Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 8

Jerric heaved a leg over the bench and rose from the dining table, stifling a belch. He emptied the wine bottle between Darnand’s and Abiene’s goblets.

“This is the last glass for me,” Abiene said. She let go of Darnand’s hand after she stood, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll spend most of tonight at the healing hall.”

Jerric’s stomach clenched in disappointment. Then he felt a surge of hope. She had made such statements before when they weren’t true. In fact, the last time he heard her say such a thing, she had her legs around him within the hour.

Abiene looked across at him with sad eyes over a tiny smile. Not tonight, he realized. She had seemed reserved during dinner. He could almost believe he had imagined the siren who accosted him in the bathing chamber.

Jerric handed Darnand his goblet and picked up his own ale. The three of them followed Thaurron, Lildereth, and Sparky up the stairs to the guild hall’s second level. They settled in the comfortable hearth room adjacent to the library. Abiene curled next to Thaurron in the big settee with her feet tucked neatly under her. Sparky slumped between them. The imp cradled his distended gut. Darnand lounged in a chair with a book in his lap, his legs stretched toward the fire. Jerric sprawled on the thick rug with his back against the other settee and his boots under the low center table. He opened his doublet and shirt as far as he thought decorum would allow. A full belly, a warm fire, and clothing, he thought. Choose any two.

Lildereth entered the chamber on silent feet, carrying Abiene’s jewelry box. She knelt on the rug next to Jerric. “An opportunity to expand your skills, Nord. While you’re immobilized by your meal. Watch and do what I do.”

She inserted her torsion wrench into the lock and selected a pick from the pile on the rug between them. A tiny movement later, and the box clicked open.

Jerric blinked. “That was locked? Do it again, I didn’t see.”

He watched her more carefully, still mystified. He selected a fragile pick from the pile and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. All right, he decided. I’ll give it a try. He put the box in his lap and imitated her.

The pick snapped in the lock. He got another one and tried again. Tension began to radiate from Lildereth’s small frame as Jerric began going through her supply of picks.

Lildereth’s voice sounded strained. “Here, you just have to—” Snap. “A lighter touch on the wrench, and—” Snap. “Jerric, you—” Snap. “Argh!” Snap.

Jerric looked at her. “What?”

She brushed his hands aside. “Watch again.” The lock clicked open at her touch. “See? Like that.”

Jerric took the pick and snapped it off in the lock. He flicked it back out and reached for another one. “Why do you thieves even lock things, anyway? Another thief is just going to come along and open it.” Snap.

“I’m no thief, I’m just naturally curious. Be careful, Jerric, these picks aren’t free. And it’s so that when some club-fisted Nord comes along and kills them, at least their ghost can laugh while he tries to open the lock.”

Jerric broke a few more picks in quick succession. He slapped his palm against the jewelry box. “Open!”

“Easy,” Abiene objected. “Perhaps an alteration spell. You might do less damage.”

“Do you know one?” Jerric asked her.

Abiene smiled at him over her wine. “I have the key.”

“Nords are not known for their manual dexterity,” observed Darnand. He turned a page in his book and glanced over at the pair on the floor.

Jerric stuck a pick between his front teeth and wiggled it with the tip of his tongue. Darnand ignored him. Lildereth handed Jerric another pick, rolling her eyes. Thaurron chuckled. Abiene seemed to find something interesting in the depths of her goblet. Sparky sidled onto her lap.

Darnand started waving his fingers around. Little sparks danced in the middle of the room. Jerric hunched over and worked on the lock. He snapped another pick, and then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out and selected another. He could hardly feel it between his fingers. He carefully inserted it into the lock, keeping the pressure light on the torsion wrench. He gingerly pressed on what he hoped was a pin. The lock clicked open.

“Ha ha, I did it!” Jerric whooped with glee. Darnand was smiling at him. It took Jerric a moment to figure out why. “Oh no, did you? Fetch it!” He put the jewelry box on the table and rubbed his hands through his hair. “I think I’m done here. Lildereth, you’ll just have to always come with me. You can ride along in my pack. You must weigh about as much as a torch, I’ll never notice one more.”

Lildereth gathered up her picks and made them disappear into her gown. “It would seem that real mages don’t carry little lockpicks,” she remarked, shooting a glance at Darnand. She picked up her wine and handed Jerric his ale. Jerric decided to stay on the floor. Lildereth shifted her legs under her, but she stayed beside him.

The pause in conversation lengthened into a silence, underlain by crackles from the fireplace and soft chirps from Sparky. The imp lounged in Abiene’s lap, curled over one of her hands. She caressed his back between his wings with her fingers. Sparky let out a long, chittering trill that brought laughter to all of them.

Abiene’s face turned bright pink. “Here,” she said to Thaurron, handing the wilted imp back to his master. “I’m afraid to ask what that was.”

“It seems your appeal is not limited to man and mer,” Thaurron chuckled. “Even an imp appreciates a healer’s touch.”

Abiene winced and picked up her wine goblet. She took a sip before she spoke, her dark eyes on Lildereth. “If I may be bold enough to ask, what has brought you to Anvil, Lildereth?”

Jerric tried not to look too interested. Lildereth took a sip from her own goblet before she answered. “I am studying Illusion with Carahil.” Her eyes stayed on her wine.

Jerric and Darnand exchanged a glance. Jerric knew what Darnand wouldn’t say. “Studying charm spells?” Jerric asked innocently. “I wouldn’t think you’d need them.”

She shot him a look over her crooked smile. “Go ahead and have your laugh. Then when you wake up one day in Stros M’Kai, you’ll know it was my idea that you should swim there.”

Jerric glanced back at Darnand, a little worried despite himself. The Breton gave him a quick shake of his head, with a small smile of his own. His eyes stayed on the page.

Jerric turned back to Lildereth. “How long do you plan to stay in Anvil? Where’s your home?”

Lildereth looked into her goblet for a longer moment this time. Sadness colored her tone when she spoke, but her face did not invite pity. “I haven’t yet decided. I’m in a transition, I’m afraid. For the past years I made my home with an Imperial couple in Arenthia. I was as a daughter to them. I returned to them when they needed me in their elder years, and stayed until they both passed from this life.”

Jerric tried not to stare, but he doubted if he was succeeding. Lildereth looked to be in her early twenties. Now he knew she must have lived much of the full lifespan of a man.

Thaurron’s voice broke the silence, his light voice warm with kindness. “The rocky meadows and golden hills of county Anvil must make a change for you, Lildereth.”

Lildereth looked relieved. “Indeed. It’s been years since I was in Cyrodiil. I wandered a bit before I came back here. It’s good to return, despite the recent… difficulties.”

Jerric became aware that everyone was trying not to look at him. He doubted he could match Lildereth’s composure. Thoughts of Kvatch crowded out his reason. North Wind’s Prayer should mean tournaments at the Kvatch Arena. Faces of friends he hadn’t thought about since the attack replaced the ones in the room. He knew he was falling again, and couldn’t stop it. He felt at an utter loss as to what to do.

Abiene ended his discomfort. Her gentle voice pulled him back to the chamber. “I must adjourn to the healing hall, my friends. Even a few patients need tending, and there are those there who await their own turn beside this fire.” She stood, holding her empty goblet.

“I’ll walk you over,” said Jerric. “I’m heading out anyway.” His voice sounded normal, he decided. He drained his mug as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll grab my pack from the basement. Won’t take a moment.”

“You’ll miss the bonfire,” Abiene objected. “It will be right outside in the plaza, you should stay.”

“It’s no matter. I won’t be able to miss the ones on the beach.”

They wished their friends goodnight. Jerric made his way to the basement and back to the entry hall where he found Abiene already waiting for him. She had changed into a simple linen gown. Jerric wondered fleetingly if she had put on any undergarments. He wished he could hold her even for just a moment, but Carahil had resumed her position behind her counter.

Abiene took his arm when they got outside. They walked around to the front of the healing hall without speaking. She let go and walked up two steps before she turned to face him.

Jerric looked across at her, his guts a mess of unpleasant emotions. She stood within his easy reach, but might as well be in Bruma. Wanting her went far beyond his body’s ache. Who cares what eyes are watching, he thought with some resentment. I love her. The rest is foolishness. He quickly crushed the thought.

Her face seemed touched with sorrow. When she twisted her hands together, he realized she might be feeling the same way. “I don’t want to leave you alone tonight,” she murmured.

“I’ll be fine.” It sounded like a lie even to him, and Abiene’s face told him he hadn’t fooled her. “All right, I’ll be fine by tomorrow. I need to spend some time with ghosts, I guess.”

“You could stay at the guild hall tonight, or go to the fighters guild. I know your friends there would be pleased to see you.”

“They’re already in their cups. I don’t want that, not tonight.” He scratched his hand through his hair. “I do wish I could stay with you, Abiene. But I have to quit hiding under your skirt. I’m not the first man who’s ever grieved. I’ll get through it, like I did before.” He took Abiene’s hand, drawing strength and comfort from her while he still could. After a moment, he felt like he could speak again. “When will I see you?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Abiene’s voice sounded low and sweet. “Will you wait for me at your hut? I’ll make it worth your while.” Her smile began to fill her face with warmth.

I’ll take Flash out in the morning, Jerric decided. Maybe Darnand will ride with me. Then we can train with Rhano before I meet her.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Around four bells?”

Abiene’s eyes lit with the joy he had been waiting for. She let go of his hand and pressed her palms together. “I will count the moments until then.”

[King Coin]

Chapter 2

Oh dear, it looks like Velwyn has sold his manor and is skipping town!

I just love how when the woman blocks his path back to the table in the Brina Cross Inn he's still examining the delicious meal.

"We'll have to move like a Kahjiit who's dipped his tail in the fire,"

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

Yes, I've finally started reading. I've been meaning to read this since you started supporting my thread. I was intending to get totally caught up in Teresa before starting another story (this one) but that was a month ago when I told myself that.

This post has been edited by King Coin: Jul 3 2011, 07:38 PM

[haute ecole rider]

An absolutely wonderful end to a wonderful holiday! And here we in the United States, getting ready for our own holiday! Was this planned? Or just the way the story wrote itself?

I loved Jerric's frustration with the lockpicks. After becoming whiz-bang good with the XBox controller, it's been tough mastering even a simple lock on the PC keyboard. Ugh! I know I'm going through at least as many picks as Jerric did this evening!

At KC: That is one of the dangers of this forum - you can't limit yourself to just one good story - there is a wealth of 'em here!

[Acadian]

'The imp cradled his distended gut.'

And it just got better from there! What a fabulous touch you gave to the fireside atmosphere here. The complex emotions and interactions were wonderfully supported by natural, endearing and easy to visualize descriptions like the one above. Rich is the word that comes to mind.

It was wonderful to learn a little more of Lildereth, and another reminder of elven vs human life spans. I love Arenthia, and am so glad you referenced it! And Darnand is right of course - real mages don't use lock picks; 'course, neither do Nords it seems.

And yes, this time of year, there should be tournaments and celebrations at Kvatch, not flames and despair.

[mALX]

The pick snapped in the lock. He got another one and tried again. Tension began to radiate from Lildereth’s small frame as Jerric began going through her supply of picks.

Lildereth’s voice sounded strained. “Here, you just have to—” Snap. “A lighter touch on the wrench, and—” Snap. “Jerric, you—” Snap. “Argh!” Snap.

Jerric looked at her. “What?”

She brushed his hands aside. “Watch again.” The lock clicked open at her touch. “See? Like that.”

Jerric took the pick and snapped it off in the lock. He flicked it back out and reached for another one. “Why do you thieves even lock things, anyway? Another thief is just going to come along and open it.” Snap.

“I’m no thief, I’m just naturally curious. Be careful, Jerric, these picks aren’t free. And it’s so that when some club-fisted Nord comes along and kills them, at least their ghost can laugh while he tries to open the lock.”

ROFL !!! This had me in stitches the way you wrote it !!! The scenes with Sparky are my favorites, you are really creating quite a character in him !!!

She let go and walked up two steps before she turned to face him.

Jerric looked across at her, his guts a mess of unpleasant emotions. She stood within his easy reach, but might as well be in Bruma.

Very poignient line here !! Awesome Write !!!

[King Coin]

Chapter 2 part 2

“No pushups this morning?” inquired Velwyn. He sounded almost cheerful.

From what I know of Jerric, Velwyn is going to get it.

After killing the bandits, Velwyn is more concerned about the proper usage of who and whom. That just feels right for the son or grandson of a necromancer/lich.
-------------------------

At KC: That is one of the dangers of this forum - you can't limit yourself to just one good story - there is a wealth of 'em here!

That's the truth. I'd love to read all of them, but I simply don't have the time for that! I feel bad having to pick and choose.

This post has been edited by King Coin: Jul 4 2011, 04:44 AM

[SubRosa]

Part 7
The invocation to Arkay was a good touch. Someone's been reading up on the Nine Divines! I just wish they would give more description of them. Tamriel's gods are so generic.

Another hint that Darnand might star in his own future F, where he takes on Mannimarco. The whole necromancer being legal in Cyrodiil never made sense to me, given the revulsion they say people have for corpse humpers. Not to mention them being one of the big bads in the game. It always struck me as another example of the developers not thinking. I think it is because they wanted the player character to be able to summon skeletons without being a bad guy. Although they could have resolved that by giving the player character a 'good' class of beings to summon, like Aedra...

“Sitting still. Just what I’m good at.”
Indeed!

Well, some days I drink more magicka juice than beer.
That's a lot of juice!

Some good world-building with the feast. That is the kind of thing the game lacks.

Part8
A sweet little fireside chat by all. You did well in keeping the scene going, with so many people involved. The descriptions of Sparky especially helped to keep it moving. Jerric's introduction to lockpicking was hilarious! That is what spells are for indeed!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 5 2011, 09:24 PM