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

[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

[ghastley]

Somebody really NEEDS to visit Nocturnal's shrine. What's a few trolls compared to the scorn of a Wood Elf?

[Grits]

King Coin: It is a delight for me to remember these early chapters, and simpler times for Jerric. Funnily enough as you were reading about Rutila Harsinia, I was writing a little bit about her again. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read through the Writers Subforums, but this place is a treasure trove! When I click on a story thread that is new to me, I feel like I’m opening a present.

haute ecole rider: The timing just worked out that way, though it gave me a smile. I guess you’ve been seeing a lot of Shady Sam lately. It seems that picking locks is not in Jerric’s natural skill set. He might refer to his hand axe as the Nord’s skeleton key.

Acadian: I adore Buffy’s screenshot for July! Valenwood seems so exotic and mysterious, and I still know so little about it. The more time I spend with Lildereth, the more interesting she becomes to me. I expect this does not surprise you!

mALX: Jerric is as alien to Lildereth as she is to him, it was fun to give her a taste of thick-fingered Nordliness. I’m so glad Sparky lives in Anvil, he has been an unexpected joy to write. But he’s no Alix the Mouse! Thank you for pointing out the line on the steps, where Jerric has to deal with turmoil that is not in his pants.

SubRosa: You’re right, I have been reading up on the Divines, and I’ve decided that Dibella’s priests and priestesses wear way too much clothing in the game. Also the lovely but generic chapels don’t help, I think there would be a great deal of difference between those who follow different Divines. Perhaps some competition, even. Summoning Aedra is a great idea, as is summoning animals like in your Witchcraft mod. In fact there is a lot about summoning that could be expanded, like summoning specific ghosts or living people. But perhaps that is Darnand talking.

ghastley: An easy lock could become a Sisyphean task with an unbreakable pick. Hmm, it could keep him out of trouble for awhile.

Where we are: Jerric has planned a day of riding, training, and giving Abiene a chance to finish what she started.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 9

Jerric leaned on both knees, helm under one arm. Sweat dripped onto the stone floor, and exertion burned his throat. He’d lost track of how many times his blade had sent the summoned dremora back to the Void, but he had beaten it every time. Darnand looked as tired as he felt.

“You’re quicker in just leather,” Rhano remarked. His lazy drawl underscored Jerric’s exhaustion. “That’s always been what held you back. Speed.”

Jerric glared up at him. “I wish you’d have told me that before.”

“You had your spells to fall back on,” Rhano said scornfully. He continued in a more objective tone. “You’re in better condition than when we were teenagers. I guess they don’t serve beer in the Deadlands.”

“I’m used to my uniform. We all wore steel breastplates and greaves.” Jerric straightened and went for his canteen.

“You get more power from your magicka in less armor,” Darnand observed. “Your spells are more effective.”

Jerric saw Rhano’s thoughtful look at Darnand. “You already know you have to dodge the big fetchers, not block,” Rhano said to Jerric. “You wouldn’t be the first Nord to use shield magic instead of heavy armor. Though I can’t think of any old Nord warriors we could ask about it.”

“You told me that your helm’s enchantment would make your mail stronger than steel plate,” Darnand said. “We should supply you with shield potions to augment your helm’s enchantment. Our strategy is for you to use your superior maneuverability to counterstrike with contact destruction spells. You will not be able to cast them if you are recovering from being hit. I have seen a daedroth’s power in close quarters. Even a glancing blow will stagger you.” Darnand glanced at Rhano.

“The mage is right,” said Rhano.

“All right,” Jerric agreed nervously. “Let’s try it. Daedroth.” His stomach lurched at the word. He drew his sword and pointed at Darnand with the hilt. “Do not let it kill me.”

“Do it without the sword,” said Rhano.

Jerric stared at him, astonished. “Have you lost your mind? This is blade training!”

“Are you going to try to attack it with a blade, or those spells you were talking about?” Rhano demanded.

“The spells.”

“Then do it. Dodge the strike, then get in and hit the thing. Let that be your spell. We need to see if you’re quick enough. Of course, this could be the shortest training session in the history of the Fighters Guild. Don’t let it take your head off, Jerric.” He looked over sternly at Darnand. “Mage?”

“Not without a shield potion,” Darnand insisted. “Or your Woad. It’s too dangerous.” For the first time, Darnand looked concerned.

“I’ll use my Woad.” Jerric put his words to action.

He watched the air rupture in the middle of the chamber as Darnand cast his spell. Something beyond Jerric’s understanding rushed through the opening. It embodied itself before his eyes. The creature towered over him on two legs, covered in scales with a line of spines erupting down its back. Its hooked claws were the length of Jerric's arm, and he knew it had the strength to tear him in half. Worst of all was the hideous head, its elongated snout bristling with dagger-like fangs.

Daedroth. His mind shrank from the word.

While Jerric stood frozen, the daedroth shook its head and sent a shimmer of power over itself. Its shield, Jerric realized. His skin felt iced with terror and hot at the same time. The daedroth lowered its head and roared. The sound seemed to turn Jerric’s knees to water.

Jerric crouched slightly, watching for its move. The daedroth charged, swinging a great arm across it chest. Jerric ducked the backhanded swipe and lunged past, tagging the scaled leg. The daedroth’s tail swept him off his feet. He tucked and rolled, looking for his escape. Something lifted him and flung him to the floor in a flash of his shield magic. He flipped over to his back, scrambling in blind panic. All he could see was teeth as another roar deafened him. The monster’s hot breath filled his lungs. Then the vaulted ceiling appeared again. Jerric blinked at it through watering eyes. Now the room was silent, apart from his own coughing.

“Well, that won’t work,” said Rhano’s voice, after a moment. Jerric heard him sheath his sword.

“No,” Darnand agreed, sounding breathless. “We must reevaluate our plan. The touch spells…”

“Not touch,” Jerric wheezed. “Too close.” He began to feel the floor under him. His boot heels still ground against it in panic.

“That thing was faster than it looked,” said Rhano.

“Do you think you could have cast a spell?” Darnand asked. Jerric still couldn’t see him, his gaze seemed stuck to the ceiling.

“I know spells?” I’m alive, Jerric thought. That was the stupidest idea ever.

“You’re both spent,” Rhano said firmly. He entered Jerric’s field of view, looking down at him. “I’ll report to Azzan. He’ll want to adjust his plan to train the rest of us.” He gave Jerric a long look. “I can’t teach you to kill that with your sword. Not now, not by yourself. It’s too fast with too much reach, and when you get inside it can use its jaws. I guess you need to go get targeted spells. Give me time to think.” Rhano shook his head. “That thing was fast.”

Jerric knew what the admission cost Rhano. He sat up and looked over at Darnand. The Breton’s face looked pale and drawn, exhaustion visible in the set of his shoulders.

“Rhano is correct,” Darnand said. “It would be dangerous for me to continue. Even with my magicka restored, I might lack the will to control the summoning. It was difficult to return the daedroth to the Void.” He looked at his feet. “I was overconfident. I should have cast dispel.”

“Now we know,” Jerric told him. He looked back at Rhano. “You said not now with a blade. What do I need?”

Rhano rubbed his eyes while he thought. The familiar gesture gave Jerric a pang of regret for the years they had lost. “You need to be quicker, get back on your feet faster, jump higher to dodge that tail. Llensi trains conditioning, but I’ll ask her if she knows any drills for agility. Quill-Weave is the one here in Anvil, but I know how you left things with her. I need to think. Blind it somehow, or take out a leg, slow it down.” Rhano looked grim.

Darnand spoke. “I had not thought to diminish its speed. We might find our solution in the schools of Destruction or Restoration magic. Thaurron or Abiene are the ones to ask. Additionally, Lildereth seems to have a deft hand with poisons. Their use without causing oneself harm is its own skill.”

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “Poison. Never thought I’d consider using it myself. Sounds like we have some ideas. I better get cleaned up and get going. I need Morvayn to work on my sword. And I need to scrounge up some grub, in case I miss dinner.”

He saw Rhano and Darnand exchange a look, and he smiled to himself. The common ground was slim between the two of them. Jerric knew that he occupied all of it.

He climbed to his feet, checking himself over. He was shaken, but not really hurt. “Well we know my helm and my Woad work. My leather isn’t damaged.”

Darnand’s face was a picture. “The daedroth had you in its teeth. I cannot imagine why it dropped you.”

“Angling for a better bite,” said Rhano. “Farther back in the jaws.” Jerric saw Rhano’s throat work as he tried to swallow.

Jerric gripped Rhano’s shoulder in one hand, Darnand’s in the other. “It took three of us to come up with this plan,” he reminded them. He felt a mad grin split his face.

“Indeed,” Darnand said ruefully.

Rhano still looked disquieted, but he let out a snort of laughter. “I don’t think we should mention it to anyone.”

Darnand and Rhano headed for the stairs. Jerric executed his plan, arriving at his hut in time to get a fire going for Abiene. He lit the candles, then blew some out again. He doubted that they would be reading, and his shabby furnishings looked better in less light. He straightened the bedcover and glanced around. The discarded clothing on the floor went under the bed with a kick. A moment’s scramble replaced his stray books on their shelf. Wine and cups stood on the table. He picked up a dagger to keep his hands busy.

I should have gotten flowers, he thought. I wish I could offer her a promise ring.

Abiene skipped through the door and into his arms without seeming to touch the floorboards. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she breathed after their first frenzied greeting. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“You said something about making it worth my while?” He grinned at her while he pulled off his boots.

She placed a satchel on his table, then went to latch the door and hang up her cloak. “Look inside. Just the top.”

Jerric found several bright scarves. “What’s this?”

“Silk. I noticed your headboard has posts. There’s something I’d like to try.” She wrapped a scarf around his wrist with a wicked smile.

“All right! You or me?”

“You first.” She pushed him onto the bed and covered his eyes with the cloth.

“Saucy minx.” He held it in place while she secured it. “Do you want me to– Oof! Well I guess I found the wall. Hey, easy with the buttons. I have to wear these again tomorrow.”

“All right, just lie back… There.” He heard her step away and make some industrious noises. Then nothing but the crackling fire and his own uneven breathing. Everything sounded loud with his sight taken away. He could feel a trickle of cold air from the shuttered window.

“Abiene?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I guess you’re not bored. Are you nervous?”

“Yeah. Believe me, I have reason.”

“Perhaps we should agree on something you should say, if you want me to stop,” she suggested sweetly.

“How about if I just say ‘stop.’ Now I’m really nervous.”

She gave her musical laugh. “All right. Now I’m going to touch you with something. I’ll start with something that you’ll know. Jerric! Don’t kick.”

“Sorry, I just– Whoa! Yeah, I know what that is. Better slow down or we’ll be through before we start.”

Before long, Jerric had decided that Abiene’s enthusiasm was only surpassed by her inventiveness. He had some ideas of his own by the time he wrapped the silk around her wrists. Eventually they rested together unfettered amid what could only be described as wreckage. Jerric stroked Abiene’s face with the backs of his fingers. Her eyes closed, and he thought she might begin to purr.

“You gave me a fright when I heard your frost,” Abiene murmured. “I thought you were fighting something.”

“Yeah, I should have warned you. But that would have spoiled the surprise.” Jerric felt like he was standing on the sea cliffs, right before the jump. “I want to see you when you’re in Chorrol. I told myself not to even think that, but I do.”

“Why not? I won’t stop feeling this way once I’ve gone.” Now she propped her chin on his chest, watching him.

“It’s what I told you before. When I want something, I go get it or stop wanting. I don’t know what to do with the in between.”

“I know what you mean, Jerric. When you choose one thing, you’re choosing not to have another. It doesn’t make the desire go away. But I just go on. It doesn’t have to be goodbye or a promise we’re afraid we can’t keep. It can just be I hope to see you again. That’s the in between.” Abiene was quiet for a few moments. “I can’t believe I’m the one who’s saying this, but I’m getting hungry. Do you want to come back to the guild hall?”

“Sure. I sort of lost track of the time, what with all of the… I don’t really know what to call it.”

Abiene slipped off the bed and picked up her dress. “I’m afraid I was careless,” she sighed. “This is wrinkled.” She draped it over the back of his chair.

“I don’t have a remedy for that.” Jerric sat up and leaned against the wall so he could watch her at the wash basin. “Maybe we could stop at a tavern instead.”

“No, I think we can get to the guild hall before dinner. I can change quickly there.” She ran her palms over her hair. “Do I look windblown?” she asked hopefully.

Jerric took his time appraising her. Curls tangled, eyes still bright over flushed cheeks, and he didn’t know a polite word for the marks on her neck. “You look like you’ve been loved,” he told her, feeling rather proud of himself. She made a small sound and increased her efforts. “It’s not so much that, as…” He pointed.

White light shimmered in the darkening hut. “You were going to let me walk around looking like a harlot?” she demanded.

“Well, I didn’t see it until you moved your hair.”

“You didn’t notice when you did it?”

“You didn’t either,” he pointed out defensively.

She shot a look his way, then her eyes widened. In one movement she had placed her palm on his chest and washed it with healing light.

“What?” He looked down at himself.

“Nothing.” Abiene’s tone sounded suspiciously innocent. “Perhaps I should bring a mirror.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “A big one.” He scooped her up and rolled her back onto the bed with him.

“Again?” she gasped.

“Good gods, woman! I’m flattered you think it could be possible.” He gathered her close so that they lay like two spoons in a drawer. “I just want to hold you for another moment, before you fix yourself.”

Abiene nestled back against him. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“Well, I’d want you to turn around eventually.” He gave her a little grind, hoping she would laugh.

She did laugh, and she wrapped her arms over his. “We could live on slaughterfish and mudcrabs, and if I ever went back to town I would bring home some tallow candles. Their wax isn’t so hot when it melts.”

“Oh, you liked that? I couldn’t tell if that was the, uh, good kind of noise.”

“That was mostly the good kind.” He felt teeth against his knuckles. “But I would have liked it more without the blisters.”

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 7 2011, 11:26 AM

[ghastley]

You had to bring magic into this didn't you? Now my head's exploding with the possibilities.

Beware of blue potions, and if it persists for more than four hours, see a healer.

And that's just Alchemy, what about Alteration and Illusion?

[haute ecole rider]

So we start with an intense training session with a Daedroth (of all creatures!) that left everybody pretty much shaken, even (one of my favorite FG guys) Rhano. That one left me wiping my brow - Whew!

Then we move onto another intense session of a completely different sort - a little bit of BDSM. Just enough detail that most of us can fill in the blanks (especially those of us that have read some of that kind of slash), but not too much for this PG-13 forum. Grits, just be careful there!

Ghastley, loved your crack about the blue potions! Fortunately I had just swallowed my mouthful of tea!

[mALX]

Your world building with the combat training is Awesome !!! Your detail adds so much realism to the art of combat and how one would go about deciding when and how much magic is appropriate, when the weapons are useless against the enemy, etc. I am loving these descriptive training sessions!! (and hopefully seeing some steps toward Rhano and Jerric regaining the closeness they once had). Awesome Write !!!



@ Ghastley - SPEW !!!! ROFL !!!!