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

[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 !!!!

[ghastley]

The blue potions have already appeared in the SI expansion to Gweden Brothel. - look on the shelf behind Miranu. She's made a few others that Jerric might find useful - follow the link to her lab notes!

[mALX]

The blue potions have already appeared in the SI expansion to Gweden Brothel. - look on the shelf behind Miranu. She's made a few others that Jerric might find useful - follow the link to her lab notes!

ROFL !!! EW!!! And those blue bottles are oddly Minotauricly ... phallic, ROFL !!! URG!!!

[Acadian]

“I’ll use my Woad.” Jerric put his words to action.'
I loved your wording here. Completely efficient with crystal clarity.

'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.'
This is the type of understated insight that I have come to expect from you. Stunningly well done.

I thoroughly enjoyed both the training session and interactions between Jerric, Rhano and Darnand.

And with Abiene, Jerric discovered everything goes better with magic and silk. Tantalizingly fun!

Nit: 'Jerric leaned on his knees with his helm under his arm, watching his sweat drip onto the stone floor. His breath burned his throat.'
My goodness. Considering this is your opening line, you really want to squelch out some of the repetition of 'his' here. I'm sure you can improve upon this quickly contrived and humble suggestion: 'Jerric leaned on both knees, helm under one arm as he watched his own sweat drip onto the stone floor. Burning breaths rasped in his throat from the exertion.'

This post has been edited by Acadian: Jul 7 2011, 12:27 AM

[Ceidwad]

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 !!!

I agree with mALX, this was excellently done.

Jerric's scene with Abiene was also very detailed and, uh, 'real'. Someone, for Akatosh's sake, think of the children!

[treydog]

I am slowly getting caught up on my reading- and what a treat it has been. There will be much more to say, but I wanted to post what there is up to the moment Jerric finally reaches home....

Of course, the banter between Darnand and Jerric is always a treat, but this was a brilliant bit of insight:

"How do you know these things?" Darnand demanded. "You don't live here."

"How do you not know them? Don't you ever talk to people?"

Velwyn and Jerric climbed the gold hills above Anvil in the warm light of afternoon. Puffy white clouds made towers in the sky. Jerric knew they foretold a coming storm. To their left the sea glittered away into a haze. If they turned they would see Anvil's red rooftops bright in the sun where the land swelled out of the sea.

Throughout, you have wonderful descriptions that bring the world and the story to vivid life.

The fight with the bandits outside Skingrad was excellent, especially the wrestling moves and the last bandit making the wise choice.

A soggy groan told him it was a zombie. As his eyes adjusted he saw it shamble toward him picking up speed, so he dropped his bundle and braced himself for disgusting.

Ewww- and also ROFL.

He had reached some sort of dwelling place, and he realized that to them he must be the foul marauding creature. They were doing the same thing his own sister would do if she found a stranger with a sword wandering through her house.

And another bit of brilliant insight that shows how much more there is to Jerric.

It was over, he was free. He blinked in the warm light, taking in gulps of fresh air and coughing out the filth and grief that lay behind him. The sun felt better on his skin than water would have felt on his cracked tongue, and every green tree seemed like its own miracle.

I will come back to the sentiment I am about to express here- perhaps frequently…. If I ever planned to grow up, I want to write like that!

Beyond that- your telling of the starter dungeon and of the Emperor’s death is fresh and gripping.

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

A clever bit of “why didn’t I think of that?” use of magic.

...he took the opportunity to drag them away from the camp to prevent scavengers, ghosts, or a dreadful creeping feeling from finding him.

That last is my kind of gallows humor, and another reason to love this story.

Chapter 4, Part 2

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

Again- a wonderful descriptive passage.

The news of the Emperor’s death had just reached them that morning, but their deliverance from invisibility took precedence over their grief. After all the White Gold Tower was still clearly visible from behind the inn, so it seemed that the Empire hadn’t fallen.

So much more useful and in tune with the game world than “I saw a mudcrab the other day.”

He looked across his empty plate at Emfrid and thought how grateful he was for brothels. He had never been tempted to risk his life to impress a prostitute, mostly because he was convinced that it wasn’t possible.

There is so much character-building in that short passage- plus a world of humor.

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

I think I gained 5 pounds just reading that. Are “Men of More than Average Girth” (MMAGs) anything like “Rodents of Unusual Size?”

Your treatment of Jauffre rings true for the history he is supposed to have- in fact, much more true than the in-game dialogue.

“If you had to choose between a long route by road or a direct route through the wilderness, which would you take?”

“It depends on how far you’d need to go without provisions, and what kind of danger you expect. The Legion patrols the roads, but people can find you more easily on them. There are all kinds of monsters in the wilderness, but your path would remain secret. Weather can slow you down either way, but the road doesn’t get muddy in the rain. It could slow you down even more if you got injured or lost.”

The question and the answer are both excellent- showing thought on the part of Jerric- and his writer.

Flash’s head bobbed up and down gently as he walked, and the sound of his hooves and the creak of leather made the music that Jerric walked to most of the days of his life.

A wonderful descriptive passage- again.

Jerric thought that while a map and road signs were more reliable, rural directions given out loud provided far more entertainment. All that was missing from Valus’ instructions was a reference to a landmark that no longer existed, and Jerric suspected that he would have included one if Jerric had been more familiar with the area.

Having experienced those sorts of directions- many times- I had to laugh. According to my father, once when he was trying to locate a “lost” mine, he read the following property description in an East TN courthouse: “Beginning at the stump where my old mule died…”

“Don’t try your Voice on me, Imperial, or I’ll have to use my Nord power. It’s called my foot in your balls.” Jerric thought that he sounded pretty reasonable.

Glad I always make sure to set aside any beverages when reading Jerric…

He had left his sword with his clothes back on the sandy shore in the solemn keeping of two nine year old Weye girls. The boys who were keeping him company would surely have killed each other with it before he was out of sight, but the girls had them intimidated in the mysterious way of all females.

I would disagree with that last bit- but Mrs. Treydog won’t let me…

"Welcome to the Wawnet Inn, traveler," she said. "I am Nerussa. Could I interest you in a room or perhaps a bit of wine?" Her low-pitched voice made him think of firelight on velvet.

Woo Hoo! Remind me to steal-- um, I mean- paraphrase- that last line.

With that voice she could ask me to do anything, and I would consider it, Jerric thought. This may be the most dangerous female I have ever met.

Poor Jerric…

...they stopped to watch a puppet show. One puppet was wearing only a short pair of white pants. “I’m going to duel the fish with my sword!” it said in a deep voice. It brandished a puppet-sized weapon.

“You won’t need that one,” squeaked the other puppet. “Just go in the lake and you’ll scare the fish to death!”

The entire “Fish Party” at Weye was wonderful- especially Jerric’s… ahhh- interactions.

Jerric jogged through the streets of Skingrad in the rain. He loved the way they ran up and down with big rocks jutting out of the ground. The buildings were orderly and fine, but the land was wild underneath. The rain turned all of the stone to dark gray, and he felt as if he was winding through twilit canyons. Little rivers of rainwater ran down the steep streets, adding to the effect.

And again- you turn a seemingly mundane moment into a bit of vivid description.

The highwayman didn’t flinch when Jerric opened his neck. Jerric stepped back and waited for the life to drain out of him. He watched for the moment when the Khajiit left and the meat stayed behind, but he didn’t know it had happened until he heard the final breath rattle out. Jerric had been told what to believe, but he wondered what it was like to lie on the warm grass one moment and then be somewhere else entirely.

I would like to quote the entire aftermath of the fight, but content myself with just that passage. Amazing and thoughtful.

Stopping for now- but still reading and completely in awe of your story.

Edited to remove annoyingly non-functioning quote tags.

This post has been edited by treydog: Jul 9 2011, 08:58 PM

[King Coin]

Chapter 3.1
Start of the main quest! I always enjoy reading about it in fan fics.

A bar fight, what an appropriate way for a Nord to end up in prison.

My character took the short sword from the dead captain as well. She still has it in her house.

Chapter 3.2
Of all the enemies, zombies are definitely the most disgusting. Aravi hates them. I wish that Jerric's tactics were an option in the game. Chop off it's limbs so it can't move, then leave it.

He's going to eat that rat?? Gross!

[SubRosa]

I made a little Aedra summoning mod to use with my character Aela. I used creatures already in the game though, and just changed the names and stats for them. It is really too bad that Bethesda did not do it themselves, they only would have needed to create 4 new creatures to give you one different summoning per Mastery level, starting at Apprentice. Oh well.

I can’t think of any old Nord warriors we could ask about it.
There are old warriors, and bold warriors, but not old bold Nord warriors!

A thoughtful discussion on the merits and disadvantages of heavy armor, and the idea of Jerric changing tactics to use potions in place of the former. The only downside to that is of course you are only one dispel magic away from having no protection.

My kudos to you in describing the Daedroth (I have always wondered, is its counterpart a Naitdroth?") without using a comparison to crocodile. I have a hard time not doing that, given that head it has. Here is what Jerric needs to deal with those pesky Daedra.

The common ground was slim between the two of them. Jerric knew that he occupied all of it.
This was an excellent description.

A nice touch of soft core BDSM with the silk scarves and hot wax. Jerric is certainly the adventurous sort, a lot of vanilla people start to worry when those come out. Although granted it is pretty minor. The big question is of course whether Abiene has a flogger back in her room, and what kind? For Jerric's sake, lets hope it is doeskin.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 11 2011, 08:21 PM

[Grits]

ghastley: New quest: Recruit Mage for Gweden. I was rolling at Milanu’s notes! Jerric’s joke about a potion got cut from this story, but there’s a minotaur line coming up in a few episodes.

haute ecole rider: No worries, just some light sensation play. Abiene is no Sontaire! I can imagine Rhano explaining to Azzan how he let his student get eaten by a daedroth.

mALX: I’m glad you like the training, I think they wouldn’t automatically know how to deal with new things. Darnand may have experience summoning a daedroth, but he’s only seen one fight once before. They all have to branch out from what they know. We’ll see more Jerric and Rhano before the holidays are over, or at least we’ll hear about it.

Acadian: Thank you, I changed those first lines. The moment you pointed out in the training session is my favorite. Jerric is not above clowning a little if the situation calls for it.

Ceidwad: That training scene saw more re-writes than the Battle for Kvatch. Whew! I’m glad it seemed to work.

treydog: I am honored, humbled, and astonished by your comments. Most of all, I’m inspired to keep learning. Several of the passages you quoted were starting points for their whole sections, and I remember how clear everything seemed when I was writing them. It makes me go back and look at what I’ve just written a little harder, checking for the muddy parts. It seems that each time I learn something new, the old lessons slip a little. I appreciate your comments so much!

King Coin: Hey, a Nord’s gotta eat! Just writing about zombies makes my stomach turn. I get that rotten smell in my mind, like it’s on my tongue. I probably should clean out the fridge more often. I love that Aravi kept Captain Renault’s short sword. Jerric still has the goblin mortar and pestle, too. Though now he uses it to grind his kahve beans.

SubRosa: Good point about dispel. I expect their tactics will continue to evolve, especially as Jerric makes some more mistakes and gets some more powerful spells. Thank you for recognizing that salute to Acadian’s words: There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old bold pilots. Jerric’s recklessness was an asset at his old job, but his friends would like to see him get through more than just one more Gate.

Where we are: Remember Maeva the Buxom? Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth finally have. They’re on the way to Fort Strand to deal with Bjalfi the Contemptible.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 10

Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth walked along the South Peak Road in the pre-dawn chill. The Anvil city wall loomed up on their right, and the grassy hillside rose to the left. Jerric had been using this route for exercise since he grew large enough to pose a hazard to the public by running inside the city. The stars gave him enough light to keep up the pace.

Occasional glints of pale blue told him when his companions renewed their sight spells. Lildereth wore his life detection ring. He had discovered that his comrades’ nearby healthy glows spoiled his night vision. Life detection magic has tremendous value but some limitations, he decided. He was glad he hadn’t used the sigil stone to place that charm on his boots.

Jerric’s and Darnand’s feet crunched in the road grit. Lildereth would seem as some silent spirit between them, except for the fog of her breath. Jerric couldn’t tell if her reticence was a symptom of tension or the early hour. He knew that Darnand was feeling some nerves, and they were still a fair distance away from where they would cut left up the Fort Strand Road. Jerric decided to lighten the mood with a story.

“So a bear is squatting in the woods,” he began. “He looks down and notices a tree rat beside him, doing the same. ‘Excuse me, Mister Tree Rat,’ says the bear. ‘Do you find that dreck sticks to your fur?’ ‘Why yes, Mister Bear,’ says the tree rat. ‘It is troublesome. What is your method of resolving this problem?’ ‘Allow me to demonstrate,’ says the bear. So the bear picks up the tree rat and wipes his rear with it.”

Jerric glanced down at Lildereth to gauge her reaction. He hoped she wouldn’t chastise him for talking.

The wood elf kept her face forward as she walked. After a moment, she spoke. “You know that Cyrodiil has black bears and brown bears, and the deserts have sun bears. Even the far north has snow bears. But have you ever heard of a golden bear?”

Lildereth’s tone was light, so Jerric guessed he hadn’t offended her. He shook his head.

“This tale might explain events,” she said. “There was a time when golden bears were common throughout the forest. They were the biggest and strongest of all the bears. Some say they were the bravest, and some say not the brightest. But this is known: golden bears were the loudest, and the most flatulent.”

Jerric got an idea where this story was going.

“One fine day a golden bear was walking through his woodland home with his associate, the tree rat. They came upon a small statue of a hound, hidden almost entirely under the leaf litter. They picked the statue up and brushed it off. To their amazement, it spoke.

“‘Well met,’ said the statue. ‘I’m Barbas, the Hound of Clavicus Vile. Some silly adventurer dropped me from his pack, and I’ve been lost for ages. In the name of my Master, I will grant you each three wishes.’

“Well, the golden bear was an impulsive creature, so he went first. ‘I wish that the attractive lady bear in the cave next door had an uncontrollable desire for me,’ he growled. In a twinkle, it was done.”

Jerric and Darnand shared a glance over Lildereth’s head as they walked. Darnand was already silently laughing at him.

“The tree rat wished for an oak tree all of her own, but big enough to share with generations of tree rats,” Lildereth continued. “‘A tree?’ scoffed the golden bear. ‘Foolish tree rat. You live in the forest! You could have anything in the realm, and you wished for another tree.’

“The golden bear already had his second wish ready. He was after all a virile bear, with some would say an excess of energy. His next wish was for all of the female golden bears in the forest to be as attractive as his neighbor, and all madly in love with him. In a twinkle, it was done.

“The tree rat’s second wish was also about her tree. She wished for it to be enchanted so that it stayed in leaf all year, providing shelter and an endless supply of acorns.

“Again the golden bear mocked her, but he was anxious to receive his third wish. He had decided that he had underestimated his needs. ‘I want every other golden bear in the forest to be female, wildly attractive, and madly in love with me,’ he rumbled in his golden bear voice. In a twinkle it was done.”

Jerric realized that the golden bear had a familiar yet somewhat unusual combination of West Weald accent and Gold Coast drawl.

“Barbas turned his attention to the tree rat,” Lildereth said. “‘What would you like me to grant you for your final wish?’ he asked.

“After some consideration, the tree rat answered. “‘I wish this golden bear preferred the company of snow bears.’ And with that, she scampered up her tree.”

After a few steps, Lildereth stopped and looked back at them where they stood laughing. Darnand wiped his eyes and shook his head at Jerric. He stepped to the side of the path to relieve himself. Jerric took the opportunity to do the same. He resolved never to cross Lildereth.

“Your turn,” Jerric said to him. The next moments were critical. Would the Breton ally himself with the bear or the tree rat? Darnand’s loyalty was beyond question, but Lildereth had his sense of self-preservation in her favor.

Darnand looked thoughtful for a moment, gazing up at the sky. “What is a balanced diet for a bear?” he finally asked. He completed his shake and tuck before he answered himself. “A tree rat in each paw.”

Jerric shot a triumphant look at Lildereth where she waited, judiciously uphill. “On the way back I’ll tell you the tale of the bear and the stag,” she offered.

Jerric snorted with amusement. Darnand did possess a certain nobility of carriage. Usually, Jerric amended in his mind. When he’s not hunched over fixing his trousers.

They kept quiet on the Fort Strand Road. The crepuscular light told Jerric that they had timed their approach perfectly. Hopefully the marauders would still be in their bedrolls. Or at least still unarmored.

The fort’s exterior consisted of only a half-circle of crumbling tower wall, completely open to the sky. One functioning door led to the subterranean levels, dug into the hillside behind the fort. Broken pillars cluttered the space inside the ruin, but the open ground had been cleared of loose rubble. Jerric guessed that the old stones now sheltered many local farming families, having been repurposed over the years by those with the means to haul them. He silently thanked Lildereth for her insistence on thoroughly surveying the terrain as well as the force that dwelt inside the ruin. Jerric’s method of charging in and letting the targets reveal themselves by attacking him was not a good plan in this instance, he admitted to himself. Not without open ground and a team of archers to thin out the crowd.

Lildereth gave Jerric his ring back as they approached the ruin. He could see firelight, and he knew that a brazier stood to the left of the door. Two sentries huddled next to it, their positions exposed by their faint glows. Another, smaller glow stood alert by one of the ruined pillars. Lildereth signaled a stop, and the three of them crouched where a low wall would keep them out of sight. They made their final preparations.

“Dammit!” Jerric whispered. “The dog is out front. I hope I don’t have to kill it.” He rubbed his hands through his hair.

“You won’t.” Lildereth pointed to herself. “Bosmer. Shouldn’t you be wearing your helm?”

Jerric unhooked his helmet and put it on. He drank his first shield potion before she could remind him. “Anything else?”

“Your fly is open,” Lildereth said without looking.

Jerric checked, but it was laced. He glanced over at Darnand. His friend looked tense and still. “Ready for this?” Jerric asked him.

“I am uncertain,” Darnand replied quietly. “Perhaps we should remain here and converse until they wander over and kill us.”

Lildereth’s glance encompassed both of them. “I’m first. Stay put until I signal.”

Before Jerric could speak, she was gone. He watched her pink glow as she made her way around the side of the ruin to an open archway. Jerric made himself stay still and wait. He rose and stepped forward when she signaled, stuffing his ring back into his pocket.

A Redguard and a Nord, Jerric saw as he approached. Both held blankets wrapped around them, and the Redguard wore some kind of fur hat. Jerric held his shield on his arm, but down at his side. His right hand was empty.

The dog gave a single warning bark, but it didn’t move forward. Chained to the pillar, Jerric noted. The two guards stepped away from the wall, shrugging out of the blankets. “You there, halt!” shouted the Redguard. Jerric heard swords grind free of their scabbards.

This is the part where I hail them, Jerric thought. Fetch it. There’s just going to be a fight.

He quickened his steps as he moved into the tower space. His magicka rent the air near the Redguard in a sinister looking swirl, and his will summoned Slim through it. Lildereth is going to be peeved, he thought. Then his mind leaped into the fight.

“Drop to your belly if you want to live,” Jerric called out. A blast of frost from his shield hand distracted the Redguard as he spoke, giving Slim the first strike with his axe. Jerric’s eyes swept over the ground as he drew his sword. Packed dirt with tufts of grass, no rocks. Just like he saw days before from the hillside above.

The Nord wore iron plate, cuirass and greaves. Leather showed through the joints. Longsword, no shield. The Redguard’s grunts and steel ringing on Slim’s axe told Jerric all he needed to know about that fight.

The Nord brought his sword up into a high guard, the point aiming low toward Jerric’s face. At that angle it was difficult for Jerric to judge the distance. Jerric bought Redeemer into a middle guard behind his shield, ready for the Nord’s downward thrust. He circled away from the tufts of grass, keeping his weight centered on the balls of his feet.

Fire hurtled past him, into the Nord’s chest. The Nord howled, startled into making his strike. Jerric slid to the side, raising his Wolf. The Nord’s sword rebounded off his shield with a white flash but little impact. Jerric thrust at the Nord’s groin, braced for a jolt from the man’s Woad. Redeemer sank in without resistance. Magicka welled inside Jerric, filling the empty space left in Slim’s wake.

The Nord fell back shrieking, his sword point dropping away toward the ground. Jerric brought his shield into position with the forward edge toward the staggering Nord, checking his sword. He hooked the guard’s foot, tripping him onto his back. A glance at the Redguard showed that she was down. Jerric finished the Nord with a thrust through the throat. When he looked more closely at the Redguard, he saw that an arrow protruded from her neck.

Lildereth appeared in front of Jerric. She looked upset.

“That was not what we planned,” she fumed. “I couldn’t get another shot with you jumping around. I’ve half a mind to call this off, if you can’t control yourself. I have no intention of going in there and getting killed. I could have shot them down before they moved, or cast a spell, there didn’t need to be a fight. You reckless, impulsive—”

“I know,” Jerric said evenly. “I think we should kill them all, no warning. I know it’s not honorable, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decided not to go in.” He glanced up to find Darnand beside him, impassive. Jerric knew Darnand was disappointed, but still with him. He thinks I deliberately left him behind, Jerric realized.

“I’ve seen too many folk torn apart and left along the road like garbage,” Jerric explained. “I should have thought it through before, you’re right. But I guess I don’t intend to give these fetchers any more chances.”

Lildereth seemed to swallow her anger. “Bjalfi?” she asked. Under control again, now her expression was unreadable.

“Well, I’ll know him when I pick the mace up off his body. Maeva can mourn him if she likes. But we’re here to get Rockshatter back. Taking down this gang is just a benefit. Let’s kill them all.”

Lildereth regarded him for a long moment. “We’ll need to go in quiet, like we planned. It will be easier your way, we don’t have to ask questions.” She gave each of them a hard look. “I’ve seen folk held captive in situations like this. Be ready for any kind of perversion once we get in there. We’ll take them all down, then free any prisoners.” Now her hard look was just for Jerric. “When you killed them, you kept your head. That’s the only reason I can trust you.”

Jerric nodded. “I really just got the one.” He looked down at the dog, now standing in their circle next to Lildereth. Darnand must have unchained it, he thought. “How long will your spell keep him quiet?”

“Her. I didn’t need my spell.” Lildereth reached up and ruffled the dog’s droopy ears. Her shaggy head was level with the Bosmer’s chest. The dog’s long jaw dropped open at Lildereth’s caress. Dog breath steamed into the morning. “This is no guard dog, she just barks when someone comes near. She doesn’t seem to have any love for her dead masters. I wonder where they got her.”

Darnand raised an eyebrow. “A mystery to be contemplated at leisure, perhaps tonight beside the fire.”

Jerric saw Darnand looking between the wheat-colored dog and himself. He seemed mildly amused. “Yeah?” Jerric asked.

“I believe you two share a barber,” Darnand told him.

“Right,” said Lildereth. “Nine more marauders. Let’s get to work.”

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 19 2011, 01:36 AM

[ghastley]

How long have you been waiting to use the word "crepuscular'?

[haute ecole rider]

Good fight here - and Jerric's decision to just wade in and kill both of them is understandable. One thing I've noticed playing games of this kind - bandits/pirates are just common folk, but Marauders (always capitalized) are an evil breed, not worth any kind of mercy. As I remember correctly, the folk in Fort Strand are Marauders. The way I like to see it, bandits/pirates are forced into banditry/piracy due to lack of gainful employment, while Marauders seek this kind of lifestyle because of their unpleasant natures.

I point this out because I recall Jerric being friends with the folk at Gnoll's Meeting Camp (or some other bandit camp along the Gold Road) earlier in the story.

[Acadian]

The running bear and rat jokes were wonderful! After Lildereth tells about the stag and bear, perhaps Jerric could regale them with the story of moose and squirrel.

'Jerric thrust at the Nord’s groin, braced for a jolt from the man’s Woad. Redeemer sank in without resistance. Magicka welled inside Jerric, filling the empty space left in Slim’s wake.'
Gosh, another stunning Grits display of magic with words. From the reminder of a Nord's Woad, to reveiewing Jerric's Atronach birthsign. The last sentence was so very perfect!

I identify so strongly with what Lildereth must have been doing/thinking during the fight that I found myself sharing her fury at Jerric. No doubt she could have silently dispatched both guards and still saved the dog. In fairness, Jerric acted completely in accordance with his nature - that is why he is the Hero of Kvatch.

[mALX]

I can't find a single passage to quote without encapsulating the entire chapter! From the humor to the interaction, the accompanying descriptions of gestures and action, the combat ... All amazing !!! Your dialogue is always outstanding, but this chapter is a showcase to your ability - absolutely AWESOME Write !!!!!

[Thomas Kaira]

All caught up yet again. It appears I have fallen into the bad habit of reading your story in bursts, and then putting things off until you are ten segments ahead of me. I really need to address that.

Anyways, a mighty fun start to our latest (mis?)adventure with my new favorite D&D adventuring party. We have Jerric, the happy-go-lucky warrior who knows how to kill and, interestingly, make potions. We have the mage, who can dual-cast and perhaps open an Oblivion Gate if he tried hard enough, and finally the wisecracking, smart-alec rogue who never fails to entertain. These three have barely done any real adventuring together, and already they are inseparable!

I look forward to what happens inside the Fort. Something tells me that things are likely to go pear-shaped, but time will tell, and whatever the outcome (save one of the trio dying) I will thoroughly enjoy it.

[SubRosa]

What do you have to do get the nickname "the Contemptible" anyway?

Jerric had been using this route for exercise since he grew large enough to pose a hazard to the public by running inside the city.
This gave me a good smile!

Jerric’s method of charging in and letting the targets reveal themselves by attacking him was not a good plan in this instance, he admitted to himself.
But it always works in the game!

Jerric's contempt for the outlaws is quite understandable, given his profession. I cannot say I blame him, or would be inclined to show any quarter either. Just like a certain stringy wood elf and skooma dealers.

[Grits]

ghastley: Since fifth grade. Now that I’ve used it, I can banish it forever!! Next up: “vituperative.”

haute ecole rider: The inhabitants of Gnoll’s Meeting Camp aren’t bandits any more in the story, but most do have a shady or violent history. Jerric told the story to Velwyn about how some of them joined forces and drove out the bandits so that they could convert the camp to a legitimate stopover for travelers. Not giving the guards a real chance to surrender does represent a change for Jerric, and I’m glad you pointed it out. He doesn’t know how to act like his heroes from the storybooks and still get the job done.

The way I see bandits vs. marauders for the story is similar to what you describe. Bandits are generally more opportunistic predators along the roads living in camps, while marauders are organized gangs with a fortified base of operations somewhere. Jerric would have experience with both from his caravan guard job, and no tolerance for either. He even feels some kinship with them based on their common skills and his expectation that he will also meet a violent end. That ends up making him more judgmental of their choices, since anyone with the skills to be a bandit also has the skills to protect people. Of course, bandits can do whatever they want when they’re not out robbing and killing, but guards have to show up for work even when they’re suffering from a near-fatal hangover. In Jerric’s Cyrodiil there is a lot of opportunity for people to make a living, but it’s hard to save up and get ahead. Thank you for your encouragement, haute! And may I say, you have really raised the bar for fight scenes!! Julian’s battle in Sancre Tor is so inspiring.

Acadian: I am delighted that you felt Lildereth’s frustration so clearly. You nailed it, Jerric was doing what he does, which is not always what the situation calls for. This will not be the last time he infuriates Lildereth, I’m afraid! The line you quoted was the one I was waiting for to finish this episode. No matter how hectic RL is, the piece of advice I can remember is to wait until it sings to me. Thank you, Acadian!

mALX: Thank you, mALX!! For some reason this Fort Strand quest has been difficult going. Maybe because I know what comes next. Your kind words mean so much!

Thomas Kaira: Take your time, we’ll be here when you get to us. I’m glad you’re still enjoying the story. These three have fun chemistry; I’ve enjoyed writing about them. Oblivion can be a little lonely as a game. As far as pear-shaped, well, you’ll see in a minute.

SubRosa: Exactly. When he doesn’t have time to connect with the person, Jerric doesn’t have any conflict. Otherwise his empathy can cloud the issue.

Where we are: Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth are heading into Fort Strand.



Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 11


Jerric stepped into the tunnel that would lead them under Fort Strand. It was as the Fighters Guild map had shown, a long corridor dropping through darkness with a glint of firelight at the end. A single distant glow showed a sentry patrolling where the tunnel split into right angles. Jerric drank his night eye potion, and the stone passage jumped into blue clarity around him. Clean paving stones underfoot, he noticed. Rubble cleared to the sides. He slipped off his life detection ring so he could see Lildereth’s signals. Ring on, ring off, ring on again. This could get annoying.

Lildereth signaled that they should proceed as planned. Jerric took her vigorous eyebrow motions to mean that she saw him take off his ring. Dammit, he thought as he slipped it back on. She’s still mad at me.

They moved quietly down the passage, freezing against the walls as the sentry moved by the opening. Lildereth oiled the hinges when they came to a rusty gate. They waited until the guard reached the end of the cross passage before they opened it.

Lildereth and Jerric got into position after the sentry passed the intersection again. An Orsimer in steel plate, Jerric saw. Lildereth greeted her with a poisoned arrow when she returned, and Jerric jumped to catch her as she fell paralyzed. He broke her thick neck before they carried her back into the shadows. His sight potion fought with the firelight coming from small pyres along the cross passage, and Lildereth and Darnand’s glows nearly blinded him. Jerric rubbed his eyes, his stomach churning. Another reason to learn the spell, he thought. Then I could get rid of it.

Darnand stayed at the intersection to guard the exit, and Jerric and Lildereth split off in opposite directions. Jerric took the passage to the right, oiling the hinges when he came to a closed door. He knew that a rectangular chamber should lie beyond it, approximately ten paces by fifteen. One life sign glowed motionless, probably lying on the floor. Two columns had been marked on the map, and the chamber should have a low, level ceiling. Lildereth had taken the path where hidden corners and traps would be more likely. Jerric could see dim light around the door, so he saved his sight potions.

The door eased opened quietly, and Jerric thanked the careful hands who kept it maintained. When he saw the bedrolls along the floor he realized it was for their own convenience. This was a sleeping chamber. A fire burned low in a metal brazier, more split wood stacked beside it. Smoke hung near the ceiling. Weapons racks and chests stood along the walls. Most of the racks were empty. One bedroll was occupied.

Jerric stepped into the chamber and eyed the sleeping figure. An Altmeri female. Her armor and sword stood arranged against the wall at the foot of her bedroll, next to a locked chest. Kill her quietly, Jerric thought. Another life sign glowed some distance away, through how many doors and chambers he couldn’t tell. Sound carries oddly underground, Lildereth had told them. Sometimes there are voids in the rock behind walls that you don’t know about. Assume they might hear you. No one must raise an alarm while the three of them were separated.

Redeemer whispered into Jerric’s hand. He thought about the centuries to come that this mer should see after he had gone to dust. I’m taking all of that away, he thought, all of the evil she might do as well as any reparation. Tension coiled in his legs. He wanted to kick her sword within her reach.

Why am I hesitating, Jerric wondered. I won’t trade this mer’s life for my friends.’

It’s not just her life that I’m ending, he finally realized. It’s the hope that I might become what Martin already thinks of me. This strike makes me a murderer. I told Jauffre I don’t have any honor, and now I’m going to make it true.

Jerric stepped around the fire, careful not to let his shadow fall across the sleeping mer. One stroke ended her life. Magicka flooded in through his sword arm in a welcome rush. He thought that shame would follow, but instead he felt its curious absence.

Another chamber lay adjacent to the sleeping space, trapped with swinging metal balls connected to pressure plates. Firelight illuminated the room, showing him the plates as well as two rats sniffing along the wall. Their final squeaks did not seem to alert the glow making its way through the corridors beyond this chamber. The wooden door stood open, so Jerric saw the glow become a Nord when the man turned the corner. The marauder was unarmored, but he carried a sword across his back.

Jerric sprinted across the chamber, casting a ball of fire at the Nord. He prepared to tackle him if he turned to run back down the corridor. Jerric’s fire spilled across his shoulder as the marauder drew his sword. He met Jerric’s charge with a curse.

Jerric dodged the swipe across his middle, hoping to prevent the telltale ringing of steel from alerting the rest of the gang. The Nord’s movements showed the fire’s damage to his shoulder. Jerric whipped Redeemer’s tip through his throat and lunged forward as the man fell gurgling, catching the sword before it could sound against the floor.

More stones than sense, Jerric thought, watching him die. Charging in like I would have done when he should have sounded the alarm. Hopefully he just cost his friends their lives.

Moments later Jerric reached the door that Sten had described to him. It would swing away from Jerric, and the hinges were on the other side. No life signs glowed behind it, but he left it closed. A dark passageway opened off to his right, leading to a natural cave and pit system according to the map. Dust and cobwebs showed it to be unused, as Lildereth had suspected. Probably the source of the rats, Jerric decided. He returned to Darnand at a run, staying aware of his boot heels, as Lildereth would say.

The smell of burned hair greeted him as he turned into the final corridor. Its author lay smoking near Darnand, a large, charred rat.

“You made me a snack,” said Jerric.

“It came from Lildereth’s direction,” Darnand told him. “I suppose she decided I could handle it.”

“At least it wasn’t a dog.” She probably didn’t want to give her position away by fighting it, Jerric thought. Lildereth rounded the corner at an easy trot before worry could take hold.

She held up two fingers, then made the sign that she had killed them.

Jerric and Darnand shared a guilty glance for talking. Jerric gave his death tally with the appropriate gestures, then indicated that he hadn’t seen anyone else. Lildereth signaled that four mortals were behind the door she had investigated. The men gave her a nod, and she led them down the left passageway.

Fort Strand’s underground sections contained twists and changes in level as well as cave-like areas, but proceeded in a generally linear fashion. Jerric did not bother to remember the turns, as there was really only one way to keep going. Lildereth’s coaching had made things clear in his mind. Forget about the air, these places were made with ventilation. Forget about the turns, unless you have a choice to make. Keep one sight potion in case you have to run. He couldn’t picture doing that last part.

Steps, gates, and a trapped chamber brought them to the final door. Recent death hung in the air, along with the smell of breakfast. Two bodies slumped near an arrangement of tables and an open cook fire. Jerric wondered if the gang had plans for the day that got them up this early.

A foul stench trickled in from a rough tunnel off to the right. They had passed soiled bedrolls under shackles chained to the walls. Jerric guessed that their former occupants now rotted down that tunnel.

Four life signs glowed behind the door, one oddly higher than the others. Lildereth made her signals, and Jerric nodded. Sneaking around the other way could result in them getting trapped in the ruin. Better to use surprise to their advantage. Jerric’s skin tingled, ready for a fight.

Lildereth nocked an arrow and disappeared. Jerric drew in a breath and summoned Precious out of the Void. Darnand threw the door open. Jerric charged in, his scamp at his heels. He heard the air rip and knew that Darnand had summoned something behind him. He hoped to the gods it wasn’t a daedroth.

Jerric found himself in a high ceilinged, rectangular chamber about twenty paces long and ten wide. Stone stairs led up to balcony along the near short wall. A Dunmer stood there, reaching for something. The chamber had three exits, but the remaining three marauders were not leaving. An Altmer, an Orsimer, and a Nord. All of them were armored, two carried swords. The Nord carried a Dwemer mace.

Jerric’s frost whipped toward the Altmer, and he had Redeemer in his hand before it hit. The Orsimer doubled over as an arrow sprouted from his groin. Lildereth flared into view, and the orc fell with an arrow in his neck. Jerric felt a surge of magicka. His eyes met the Nord’s. Bjalfi, he thought. The Nord drew his mace with a flicker of white magicka, staying in place. Jerric could hear Darnand’s shock spell by his side, crackling up at the Dunmer. Darnand’s fire atronach leapt across him, chasing Darnand’s spell with her fire. Jerric’s scamp pounced on the fallen orc. Jerric sent another ball of frost at the staggering Altmer. Then green fog filled his vision, and he shook his head to clear it.

His enemy was right next to him. Jerric heard his own growl as he reached for the Breton’s neck. Contempt filled him at the startled look on the man’s face. He called his Nordic Frost, sending it into the Breton as soon as his hand closed over the puny throat. The Breton sagged in his grip, his own frosted hands coming up to tug at Jerric’s arm. Jerric swore and dropped his sword. This close, he wanted his dagger. He would watch the light leave his enemy’s eyes.

Darkness claimed him again. Jerric’s mind cleared slowly, like water washing away blood in a stream.

He lay face down on a stone floor, his shield arm under him. His right hand was empty. A man shouted behind him. Jerric rolled over in time to block a mace on his shield, the force of the strike driving his shield down to his chest. Shock energy crackled around him, deflected away. Bjalfi raised the mace again. Oh skitt, Jerric thought. Shock damage and weakness to shock.

Darnand lunged up from the side, grabbing the Nord around his waist. Magicka flared around them in a way that Jerric thought must be an absence of light. Bjalfi fell to his knees, screaming. Darnand rode him down to the floor. By the time the awful sound stopped, Lildereth had an arrow pointed at Jerric’s throat. Her lips made a tight line, but her eyes were wild.

“What the fetch,” Jerric said weakly, trying not to move. He realized that his back hurt. So did his leg.

“Is that you?” Lildereth demanded over her arrow point. She seemed to think she was making sense.

“He has returned,” Darnand said, hauling himself to his knees. Ice glittered over his face, arms, and chest. His labored breathing sent fear racing through Jerric.

“Heal him,” Jerric said to Lildereth, eyes back on the arrow. “Stick me with your pin first if you have to, but get on with it.”

Lildereth lowered her bow. “I can’t.”

Jerric pulled his shield off and crawled over Bjalfi. Darnand sat with his back against the stairs. Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes. White light began to swirl around him. “See to your shoulder,” Darnand told him. “I would not refuse a potion, Lildereth.”

Jerric kept his mind on the healing, both his and Darnand’s. The realization slowly broke over him that his frost had done this.

“The Dunmer got us both,” Darnand said. He spit a little blood onto his chest. “Shock spell. Mother-humping battlemages.”

“I thought the Altmer would be the spell slinger,” said Jerric. He didn’t remark on Darnand’s uncharacteristic word choice.

“As did I,” said Lildereth. “You had the Altmer and the Nord, so I went for the orc. Darnand had the Dunmer.”

“What was it?” Jerric asked. “A command spell?”

Darnand nodded, fumbling for his water skin. “I tried to dispel it, but you absorbed my spell.”

Jerric realized that his thigh still burned. He stared down at the shaft of a broken arrow in disbelief. Lildereth stood over him with her slender knife. “You shot me?” he demanded.

“I paralyzed you. Bjalfi did the rest.” Lildereth worked her blade into Jerric’s leg, tugging on the arrow head. He concentrated on not pissing himself. “You’re lucky I still had a knockdown arrow ready. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone for your leg.”

“Well,” Jerric said after a moment, “at least they’re not sitting around talking about us.”

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 15 2012, 03:22 PM