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

[King Coin]

I've been away for a while and finally got some time to read more of Jerric!

Chapter 7.6

There was no way that was going to end well, but it’s still sad

Chapter 7.7
I find it fascinating hearing about the main character of a story through the eyes of some of the other characters in the story. This chapter is excellent.

Some resolve at the end by Jerric. At least he’s going to start moving again. It’s a start for him.

Chapter 7.8
The prison cell joke was good. Jerric is doing pretty well since his world was burned to the ground. Having a purpose seems to have helped.

In my game I used the Kvatch gear for quite a while. I found the cuirass to be extremely weak and broke after every battle. However the shield never took damage. The only thing that was able to break it was a minotaur’s head-butt.

All the stuff he received is very appropriate for a hero.

Off to lead Martin to the Priory. Glad Jerric’s back.

Chapter 8.1
Jerric mentioned a feeling of disconnection. Very appropriate for a man that just lost his family and home.

Jerric’s been to Gnoll’s camp several times before. He’s definitely changed since he decided to tell Carmia to take her children away from there.

Generosity from the Skingrad Mage’s guild?

Chapter 8.2
For a second there I thought Jerric was being an [censored], but I see what he’s doing. He’s tearing down Martin the priest and (trying) to put the emperor in his place.

AH! Jerric got tripped up like Aravi does, in front of a bear no less!

I had to laugh at Jerric yelling at Martin while his leg was healed.

More rat to eat? Yum. :puke:

Hilarious banter between Jerric and Martin!

Interesting bringing up the stones. Cool! Jerric’s got a new power to play with!

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: Yes, Jerric was not up to the reminder of all he lost, even with the family that still means so much to him. There’s a lot that’s still broken.

SubRosa: Jane Austin indeed. Jerric provides some more awkwardness for Abiene in this installment. Dragging her passed-out boyfriend up the stairs while still in her ball gown isn’t part of her ideal evening.

mALX: Don't worry, it was nothing more sinister than a friend with a Nord-sized bottle. (For now. ) I’m so glad you enjoyed the ball. It was fun to show a little of what goes on in Abiene’s mind under the manners.

Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed our mages at play. I had a great time writing it. In my mind I can see Countess Umbranox and Abiene with their heads together over some community welfare projects, but I can’t see how we’ll ever get there!

King Coin: Welcome back! It’s great to remember that road trip with Martin. I’m looking forward to Jerric eventually getting back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Eventually. I think that’s why I enjoy Aravi’s fatigue mod so much. A lot of Jerric’s fights end up on the ground, but his game doesn’t reflect that. Hang in there, soon rat will be off the menu!!

Where we are: Jerric’s Saturalia.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 16

Jerric woke to pain and quiet darkness. He lay still for several moments before he tried to think. I’m in a bed, he decided. Boots off. He rolled gingerly to his back and felt the front of his trousers. Buckles and buttons still in order. That relieved a host of concerns.

He cracked his crusty eyes open. A dormitory. He was in the mages guild common quarters. Daylight glinted around the window coverings.

Urgent needs began to make themselves known. Jerric flopped out of the bed and staggered to the necessary. Once undone, his fly proved too complicated to close, so he let his shirt hang over it. In the nearby bathing chamber, his shaking hand couldn’t hold water. Jerric dragged himself down the stairs in search of a drink.

He stood in the dining chamber, bewildered. Why was he here? He closed his eyes against the stabbing light.

“How is your head, Jerric?” Abiene’s tender voice pierced him, and her footsteps seemed to shake his bones. She took his face in her cool hands. Darnand’s head popped up over her shoulder.

“Uh,” Jerric croaked. His mouth was the Alik'r Desert.

“This is the perfect opportunity,” Darnand whispered to Abiene. “You suggest it.” His wide eyes stayed on Jerric’s face.

“I can hear you, Darnand,” said Jerric. “What daedric trick do you two have planned?”

“Not daedric, alchemical,” Darnand replied in a voice like a cracking whip. “I… we have a hangover remedy to try out on you. That is, to offer you.”

Abiene gently brushed Jerric’s hair back from his forehead. He wished he could lie down with his head in her sweet lap and quietly die. “If it doesn’t work, I can try to heal you,” she coaxed softly.

“Why wouldn’t… ugh, too many words. Bring it,” Jerric groaned.

Abiene guided him to a bench and sat him down with his back against the table. He closed his eyes again and let his head drift in a sea of pain. He awakened to a pair of Breton faces, one curious, and one compassionate. Darnand handed him a mug. Jerric closed his eyes and drank the bitter liquid. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for relief.

After a moment he began to feel he was at the center of something he could not control. Sweat slicked his skin, and his stomach heaved. Vomit surged up his throat and burned his sinuses as he tried to hold it in. Abiene swiftly moved a basin under his chin and held his head over it, gripping him by the hair. The potion came out first, and he lost track of which way was up and which was down. He tried to cling to Abiene’s legs, but a spasm drove him to his hands and knees. Abiene followed him with the basin, bending over him as he emptied his guts.

He could see Darnand’s feet under the hem of his robe in front of them. “Do you feel the need to defecate?” Darnand asked with clinical interest.

“Kill you,” Jerric wheezed. He spewed out another burning mouthful. Sweat ran down his nose. Heat flashed over his skin, and then he started to shiver.

“Now is not the time, Darnand,” Abiene scolded. “I told you the emetic was too strong.” She let go of Jerric’s hair and wiped his face with a damp cloth. Jerric began to think she had been anticipating this kind of result.

“All right, but…” Darnand’s footsteps moved toward the dining room door. “But how does your head feel, Jerric?”

He locked his elbows, hoping to keep his face off the floor. “A cool bath, when you are able,” Abiene said softy, stroking his hair. He realized that it no longer felt like he was being hit with a hammer.

A noise began in his abdomen. That’s not my stomach, Jerric realized with growing horror. A painful cramp told him that Darnand had anticipated the next effect. Thank the gods his trousers were already unfastened. He scrambled up and ran for it.

“And I told you we should administer it in the necessary!” he heard Darnand say to Abiene behind him.

Eventually Jerric emerged into the hallway, exhaustively purged. Abiene waited there holding a lit candle. She placed it in the necessary and closed the door.

“A bath now, if you agree. I have it ready for you.” She reached her hands out to him. It was all he could do not to collapse on top of her. With minimal cooperation on Jerric’s part, Abiene got him ensconced in his bath.

The lukewarm water eased some of his suffering. Cool air flowed down over his head from the open window behind him. Abiene had tucked a linen towel around his hips under the water. He was certain that his own modesty did not require preservation, but her reasoning quickly became evident. A fallen Nord battlemage recumbent in the tub proved an irresistible curiosity to his guild mates. He was soon subjected to a parade through the bathing chamber.

Felen was his first visitor. He stood at the foot of the tub, aglow in dark orange velvet. Crimson silk panels ran down the sides of his doublet, and more crimson was visible through the slits that decorated his puffed breeches and sleeves. Scarlet hose hugged his legs below the breeches. Jerric decided it would almost be worth the effort of moving to see what the mer considered appropriate footwear for such an outfit.

“Jerric, my lad,” said Felen warmly. “While you are indisposed, perhaps you would allow someone to trim your hair?”

“All right,” Jerric agreed feebly. He lifted a dripping leg and propped his heel on the tub’s edge. “You can start with my feet.”

Felen laughed heartily. Jerric winced, but he realized it wasn’t his head that was hurting. In fact, that was the only part that didn’t hurt. Felen patted the wet foot affectionately, his eyes slits of amusement. “You will soon be upright. I do not doubt the recuperative power of your stalwart race.”

As Felen left, Jerric spied Darnand hovering near the door. For safety reasons, Jerric suspected. “I wonder if the potion would affect the races differently,” Darnand mused. “They said they found Rhano with you, and delivered him to the Fighters Guild. Do you suppose we should offer him a dose of our cure?”

“Cure?” Jerric demanded, rising up a little in the tub. “Cure? Yeah, go ahead and give it to Rhano. Then I can watch you try to cough up your teeth.”

“You admitted that your headache has improved,” Darnand said defensively.

Jerric raised his hands out of the water. They still shook uncontrollably. “Yeah, my head feels better.”

Thaurron slipped past Darnand, bearing a steaming mug in his hand. Jerric eyed it warily.

“An offering from our own kitchen,” Thaurron announced with inexcusable mirth. “A restorative tea!”

“Bosmer tea?” Jerric asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“It is one of Hjordhild’s blends. I expect she is familiar with Nordic indiscretions. And this,” he produced a napkin-covered plate with a flourish, “is from Bertille.”

Jerric lifted the napkin with trembling fingers. “A bacon sandwich. May all the powers bless those women.”

Darnand drew closer to the tub. “What did she put in the tea?” he asked suspiciously. “I did not know that Hjordhild was an alchemist.”

Jerric tasted the thick brew. “She put tea in it, you madman.” He took a crunchy bite of the sandwich and washed it down with a scalding sip. Abiene’s hand helped him steady the mug. “Sugared bacon,” he moaned, closing his eyes. “I might need another towel.”

He opened his eyes to find Carahil standing at the foot of the tub, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. She looked splendid in gold and plum-colored velvet. Jewels glittered at her ears and throat. It’s Saturalia today, Jerric reminded himself.

“Greetings of the day,” he said to her, flushing. A shower of crumbs freed themselves from his sandwich and tumbled over his chest. He set it aside.

Carahil got right to the point. “I must ask you about last night, Jerric. Do you remember when the guards found you?”

“Uh…” Thinking was like trying to see through thick fog.

Carahil waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, I will tell you. They found you on the ground under the evergreen oak in Westgate, leaning against the trunk. Singing. Before you passed out, you told them you were waiting for Rhano.”

That rang a faint bell. “Yeah! I was waiting for Rhano.”

“Only you were not waiting for Rhano. You were holding him in your arms like a babe.”

That rang another bell, this one more alarming. “He was cold. Just like…”

“Yes,” Carahil agreed. “Just like the last time. Was that ten years ago? A dozen?”

Jerric tried to form the question, but the words were stuck.

Carahil anticipated him. “No, this time you were both wearing trousers. Jerric, there is an important question I must ask you.”

Abiene’s eyes widened with shock. One hand crept up to cover her mouth.

“No!” Jerric said to her hastily. “It wasn’t like that. And anyway, it was a long time ago. We were thrown out of a brothel.”

Now her other hand came up to press over the first one.

“Just for fighting!” Jerric tried to explain. “There was a little brawl. We were hardly more than kids! That man is a hothead, it was all his fault.” He glared at Carahil. “I’m so glad you remembered that.”

Carahil’s face was solemn, her voice low and urgent. “Jerric, you must focus your attention. Last night…. Last night, did you drink brandy, or whiskey?”

Jerric blinked at her. “Whiskey.”

Carahil pounded her narrow fist against the edge of the tub. Felen’s voice came in from the hallway. “Whiskey!” he crowed. “I told you the boy would never learn!”

Carahil looked aggrieved. “That is fifty-five Septims you have cost me.” She swept from the room.

“Get your hair wet,” Abiene said gently, after a moment that seemed to last an hour. “I want to wash the blood away and see where it came from. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before you start questing in your chest hair for bits of bacon.”

Jerric complied. “I probably smacked my head on something. My hands aren’t busted up, I don’t think there was a fight.”

Thaurron perched on a stool, still smiling. Sparky sat on his shoulder. The imp tilted his tiny head to the side, looking between Jerric and the sandwich. Jerric warned him with a glare before he closed his eyes.

Abiene’s strong fingers worked over his scalp, sending shivers through him. This is better than most of what you pay for at a brothel, Jerric thought. He decided to keep that to himself. He wondered why Thaurron lingered. Then he realized that the mer’s presence might help give them the appearance of a healer and her patient, rather than an aedric spirit and her idiot lover. He resolved to maintain an appropriate expression.

Jerric rinsed his head when she told him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Abiene had a sudsy cloth in her hand. “Lean forward,” she instructed. She began slowly scrubbing his neck.

Jerric held on to the sides of the tub and let his head fall forward. “Do you do this for all of your patients?” He had to stifle a moan. Thaurron began to chat with Sparky.

Abiene rubbed the cloth across his shoulders. “No, my love,” she murmured. “Only the ones who smell as badly as you do. You can wash your own— Hello, associates.”

Jerric looked up to find the grey-eyed Imperial lad and a stocky Khajiit in the doorway. They both wore their Saturalia finery.

“Hail, Master Jerric,” they chorused.

Jerric tried to sound happy to see them. “Well met, lads. I’m no one’s master this morning. I’m a cautionary tale. Stay…away…from the whiskey.”

“Mead before liquor, never sicker,” advised the Imperial.

“If it is brown, this one puts it down,” the Khajiit replied solemnly.

“The wisdom of youth,” said Jerric. “I thank you for sharing it.”

“Let us repair to the lower chambers, my lads,” Thaurron suggested. “Only a few moments remain of the morning. The parades should begin shortly, and Hjordhild has promised a midday repast to write home about.” The four of them made a procession of their own leaving the room.

Since they were alone, Jerric leaned back in the tub and studied Abiene. She rubbed her cloth against the soap again. Her gentle hand drew it over his chest and down his arm. When she met his gaze, he thought he might drown in her tender eyes. Her smile made him feel less of a repulsive spectacle. What is it about this woman, he wondered. Her portrait might simply be titled ‘Breton in Brown.’ Yet I would swear there’s never been anyone more beautiful.

Her cloth worked its way down his middle. She pushed up her sleeve as her arm went deeper in the water. Jerric moved his hand so that her breast slipped into it as she reached. He discovered that he was not entirely dead after all.

“Now I know why you gave me a towel,” he said softly. “You don’t suppose you could put your hand under…”

Lildereth appeared in the doorway, barefoot and tousled in a knee-length nightdress. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes half-open.

“You look a little rough, mini-mer,” Jerric told her.

“And you’re in your prime.” Lildereth’s voice sounded like pine bark. She leaned against the door frame.

“Are you ill?” Abiene asked, instantly concerned. “I noticed you left early last night.” She rose and dried her hands as she approached Lildereth.

“I didn’t feel well. I don’t think I’ve ever been sick before.”

Abiene took Lildereth’s face in her hands. Jerric watched her feel Lildereth’s forehead, neck, and under her jaw. “You’ve caught something, Lildereth. Even a Bosmer can sometimes fall ill. How long have you been feverish?”

“Just since last night, if that’s what this is. I didn’t drink anything after our wine, so I know it’s not the Nord’s illness.”

Jerric was too worried to tease her back. A fever was no laughing matter. Some diseases couldn’t be cured or healed away.

“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Abiene asked. She had Lildereth’s wrist between her fingers.

“I thought I was just tired. Perhaps a week?” Lildereth sounded uncertain.

Jerric sat up in the tub. “The zombies. I didn’t think you touched them.”

“When we buried Darnand’s meat,” Lildereth said weakly.

Abiene put an arm around Lildereth’s shoulders and a hand under her elbow. “I don’t want to take you over to the healing hall, and I don’t want to put you back in the common quarters. Will you rest in my chamber?”

Lildereth nodded. Abiene shot Jerric an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she led Lildereth into the hall.

Gulitte took their place in the doorway. “Now I know what I have to do to get into her bed,” he remarked. He stood looking down the corridor, Jerric guessed at the two women.

Darnand elbowed past him back into the bathing chamber, looking cross.

“Ah,” Gulitte continued. “The two of them together in there. That Bosmer looks like a nice little handful. And Abiene might not fill up her blouse, but she’s as flexible as a willow branch.” Gulitte sighed. “Now I won’t be bored for weeks.” He gave Jerric a smug glance. “You know what I’m talking about, Nord.”

Jerric couldn’t disagree, but Darnand’s face looked like a thunderstorm. His hands were clenched into fists. As long as he doesn’t open them full of fire, thought Jerric.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never looked through the wall with your life detection spell,” Gulitte said to Darnand. “You’re missing a treat. Every morning our esteemed Restoration trainer bends herself in all directions before breakfast. You can’t tell what she’s wearing, but she’s bare the way I picture it.” He shook his head. “I’d wager she can cross her ankles behind her neck.”

Jerric took a moment getting his feet organized. By the time he lurched upright in the tub, Darnand was speaking.

“Spy on her again, and I shall pluck out your eyes. Then a faint glow is all you will see of anyone.” Darnand’s voice held an icy calm. Marc looked too terrified to move.

Jerric found himself at a loss. First he was disappointed by Abiene’s abrupt departure, and now he wouldn’t be killing Gulitte. There was no telling how long this standoff would last. Jerric decided he had seen enough.

“One of you come over here and give me a hand,” he said affably, reaching an arm out toward the door.

The chamber was suddenly empty of Bretons. Jerric sat down in the cool water and reached for his sandwich. “Gods save me from the attention of mages,” he muttered.

This post has been edited by Grits: Aug 1 2011, 02:19 PM

[ghastley]

That brings back memories of my college days. The biochemistry department was researching hangover cures, and called for volunteers. I wasn't tempted, but a number of colleagues were. They reported that the boffins had found a way to give you a hangover without the getting drunk part, and that the "cure" was much as you described here - effective, but leaving one with the impression that the hangover may have been preferable. I don't think anyone did it twice.

Nice touch with Carahil's "important question"!

[SubRosa]

I see the lady was not the only one vomiting indeed! One of the reasons I gave up alcohol was the hangovers.

“You can start with my feet.”
Jerric Baggins it is then!

“Whiskey!” he crowed. “I told you the boy would never learn!”
A nice touch. Never drown your sorrows with whiskey. You cannot keep an even buzz on it. Always go for beer.

“When we buried Darnand’s meat,”
Hubba hubba! Now this is just begging for slash!

[mALX]

I had to quote these all together because each one of them was the catalyst for the spewed coffee on my monitor !!!

* “Do you feel the need to defecate?” Darnand asked with clinical interest.

* Kill you,” Jerric wheezed.

* “I told you the emetic was too strong.”

* A noise began in his abdomen. That’s not my stomach, Jerric realized with growing horror.

* A fallen Nord battlemage recumbent in the tub proved an irresistible curiosity to his guild mates. He was soon subjected to a parade through the bathing chamber.

* He stood at the foot of the tub, aglow in dark orange velvet. Crimson silk panels ran down the sides of his doublet, and more crimson was visible through the slits that decorated his puffed breeches and sleeves. Scarlet hose hugged his legs below the breeches. Jerric decided it would almost be worth the effort of moving to see what the mer considered appropriate footwear for such an outfit.

“No, this time you were both wearing trousers

GAAAAAH! Huh? Oh, Whew !!

OMG, I fell out of my chair on these two:

Carahil pounded her narrow fist against the edge of the tub...looked aggrieved. “That is fifty-five Septims you have cost me.” She swept from the room.

Don’t tell me you’ve never looked through the wall with your life detection spell,” Gulitte said to Darnand. “You’re missing a treat. Every morning our esteemed Restoration trainer bends herself in all directions before breakfast. You can’t tell what she’s wearing, but she’s bare the way I picture it.”

This was a light chapter - all the way around hilarious !!! Awesome Write !!!

*

This post has been edited by mALX: Aug 1 2011, 09:53 PM

[haute ecole rider]

I don't know which I enjoyed better, Abiene's and Darnand's ministrations to Jerric's hangover, or the other Guildmates' enjoyment of the same.

I loved the little bit about Sparky looking at Jerric's sugared bacon sandwich. Yum!

[Acadian]

“While you are indisposed, perhaps you would allow someone to trim your hair?”
“All right,” Jerric agreed feebly. He lifted a dripping leg and propped his heel on the tub’s edge. “You can start with my feet.”
Oh Grits! You caught me completely off guard here! It is a good thing I didn't have a drink in my mouth when I read that.

 
“An offering from our own kitchen,” Thaurron announced with inexcusable mirth. “A restorative tea!”
Inexcusable mirth! How wonderfully like a Bosmeri man and how delightfully Thaurron!

“Sugared bacon,” he moaned, closing his eyes. “I might need another towel.”
I'm proud of myself because I got this right away!

“You look a little rough, mini-mer,” Jerric told her.'
I see I shall have to place that 'mini-mer' in my stylesheet right next to 'micro-knight'.

A very enjoyable read indeed. Well done!

[King Coin]

Chapter 8.3
Carahil is the head of the Anvil mages guild for a reason. She turned that chaos into order!

Charred troll? They didn’t happen to wander into Mongrel’s Tooth cave did they?

I really enjoyed the conversation they held over the fire. It helped explain a few things about them and had a good touch of humor in it.

Chapter 8.4
Acorns crunched on the stones under their feet. I really liked that imagery.

Looks like they arrived in time to see the assassins try the Blades. Jerric is quite the warrior.

So much for a good night’s rest, huh? Isn’t that just the way it goes.

I share Jerric’s concern for Piner. Hopefully the remaining priests will abandon the Priory and move into town at least.

[King Coin]

Chapter 8.5
It makes sense that Martin would be having the most trouble. Jerric’s a nord obviously and Jauffre’s been in the area before and knows what to expect.

Heh, Jerric doesn’t want to be blamed for a frozen emperor I guess? Good of him to spare Martin any embarrassment.

I’ve always found Cloud Ruler Temple to be one of the coolest locations in the game. Unfortunately you have to do the main quest to get in there (or cheat) and with this play through that I’m doing I doubt I’ll get to the main quest before Skyrim’s out.

That certainly was a polite way of suggesting a bath now wasn’t it?

Neat explanation on how the fortress is hidden. It’s certainly better than in game.

he sank to the bottom and spent a blissful period just lying there, completely submerged in hot water. Eventually he realized what that would look like to Delain when he returned
LOL! Not good at all!

Chapter 8.6
Neat conversation with a Blade. Always fun seeing the personalities given to some of the NPCs by authors.

Jerric noticed that Jauffre was one who could smile with his eyes while the rest of his face was scowling.
Love it!

Jerric and the serving girl getting into it! Hilarious!

The first real character I played never was asked to join the blades. When I found out later that you normally are asked I was pissed.

Back to hell. Loved how he just charged ahead.

Chapter 9
I’ve never chosen the Apprentice for exactly the reason illustrated in the beginning of the chapter here.

It’s good that Darnand intends to be a scholar, because he’s no battle mage!

Holy hell! Jerric’s HAS lost it since he left.

Stendarr’s beard, I’m going for my pocket. And I sure don’t have a sigil stone in my pants


Great way to end the section with a joke about Breton mages and conversation with a friend (I think)

Chapter 9.2
If Darnand wasn’t a friend before, he is now. I remember the beginning of the story when he didn’t like Jerric at all.

He’s really taking care of him. I don’t think he’d argue for himself but he damn well did for Jerric!

It’s rather shocking how far downhill Jerric went since leaving the Temple. Now that he doesn’t have a specific task I guess he allowed his grief for his family and Kvatch consume him.

Powerful scene with Abiene. Loved it!

Jerric’s guild is going to pull him together. I love tearing down a character and building them back up again!

Chapter 9.3
Oh there’s too much to quote. I’d have to copy the entire top half! The banter between the two is just great

@ the clothing shop

Chapter 9.4
Jerric and the cleaning lady are going to get along just fine lol.

I’m glad Jerric and Abiene are (somewhat) together again.

[King Coin]

Chapter 10
I wonder what’s with the cold shoulder from Rhano? Because he’s a battle mage?

It sounded like a huge insult when Azzan said “I have something that suits your experience” and then proceeded to tell the Hero of Kvatch to deal with a rat problem.

Do you trust me?”

Jerric stared at her incredulously. “Who could possibly trust an illusionist?”
Well put Jerric

I really like the Carahil you put in Jerric’s story.

Chapter 10.2
It’s been a while since I’ve seen ‘chortle’ used. Felen seems like a good guy as well. I’m used to the notion of mages being full of themselves (like the way Darnand was at the beginning)

At least hunting with Inventius should be enjoyable to a nord such as Jerric.

Chapter 10.3
I like the community there in the fighter’s guild. They’re giving him sh!t already

I just read your comment to mALX about not sure if it sounds like they are joking around. Believe me you did it very well! Great job!

I don’t think Oblivion gates will be troubling him tonight.

[D.Foxy]

I wish I was Jerric -
I really, really do
I hoped to be as hearty
as when he fights, farts and screws,

I wish him the best
And plenty of rest
for he shall yet need it
to fulfill author's behest -

Let all malefactors fear
This galumphing Nord here
A touch of poet in a mass of Bear
A bit of clown to balance the frown

Long may Jerric live and love
And find inspiration from stars above
*the ones he sees after he's been bonked
on the head, or after a - erm - dronk*

After I've committed this sin
of forcing spelling to rhyme whithin
I now shall read again to savour
This story which I (and many) favour!!!

[Grits]

ghastley: A hangover without the getting drunk part. Such evil in the name of science.

SubRosa: It started off as “When we buried Darnand’s flesh,” but that sounded worse!!

mALX:

GAAAAAH! Huh? Oh, Whew !!

That was Abiene’s exact reaction!

haute ecole rider: I knew he’d be in that tub for awhile, so I thought he should at least get a snack.

Acadian: When the gang leaves Anvil, I’m going to miss Thaurron more than those Abecean sunsets. He has captured my heart in a completely unexpected way.

King Coin: I’m already looking forward to getting back to Cloud Ruler Temple. If Jauffre didn’t invite my character to join, I would be pissed off, too! Your insights into Darnand are exactly right. He has been difficult for me to write, since he is not a big talker. I wish Jerric could spend more time at the Fighters Guild in Anvil, they are a lot of fun. You’re right about Rhano’s issue with him, and Azzan’s ego-check. Here you go, hero, a weird lady and her rats. You’re about a chapter away from Fort Strand. That will explain why I couldn’t post screenshots of the Bjalfi confrontation.

D. Foxy: A Foxy poem!! I am so honored and delighted. Thank you so much for providing the nudge that made me get on with it. Also I was slightly growled at by a Nord. Something about keeping warrior poets waiting?

Where we are: In Anvil, Darnand and Jerric are making final road trip preparations. This next little adventure will take two posts to cover.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch, Part One

Darnand sat at his work table in the guild hall basement, candlelight flickering over the page in front of him. The words had stopped making sense some time ago. Dark eyes in a gentle face had taken their place in his mind. Abiene. He could almost smell her hair and feel her hands in his, somehow both soft and strong. Silk rustled in his memory as her sweet lips brushed his cheek.

Two days had passed since she left for Chorrol. Two mornings without her quick steps in the corridor. Five endless meals in the dining hall with an empty space on the bench beside him. Thaurron had haunted the guild hall’s second level last evening, drifting between the library and hearth room like a ghost. Even Sparky seemed listless and unsettled. She brought a kind of light to all of us, he realized. I was foolish to wait this long. Now I must bide my time until she has finished her studies.

Booted feet out in the passageway interrupted his thoughts. Only one mage strode through the guild hall like that, as if listening to war drums. Darnand leaned back and watched the doorway for his friend.

Jerric breezed in, tossing something in his hand. The Nord’s broad grin was a welcome sight. When he neared Darnand’s table, he sent a small, felt sack sailing through the air. It landed on the book with a clink. “From Maeva with love,” said Jerric.

“It took you long enough to go back to Whitmond. I almost thought you might keep the mace.” Darnand lifted the coin purse. “You were right, the spoils were the real reward. This will not be much once we split it three ways.”

“Two ways,” said Jerric. “I can’t take her coin, it wouldn’t feel right.” He studied the wall over Darnand’s head with what Darnand decided was supposed to be an innocent expression.

“Tell me you did not,” Darnand said warily. “At least not until after she paid you.”

Jerric laughed. “No, I didn’t. She was spreading manure on her kitchen garden, and that’s a little much even for me. And you were right about the sweating.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “She’s going to make some farmer a very happy man some day. Rockshatter is a beautiful mace.” He seemed to shake himself. “Anyway, add my cut to what I owe you.”

“That would be two shares of three ways. There is no debt between us. If there was, I would subtract it.”

Jerric’s palm thumped heavily on Darnand’s head. “That’s a good Breton. If it was a pitcher of mead, I would know how to split it. Thanks for keeping track of the numbers. You know I can’t count past… How many did you tell me?”

Darnand flicked his hair back into place, smiling to himself. He decided to help Jerric get to his point. “I have not forgotten my promise. I shall accompany you to the Riptide this evening. Though how one tavern differs from another is beyond my powers of observation.”

“Different brews. I heard the publican at the Riptide brings in a Bruma porter for the winter. I think you’ll like it better than the Gold Coast beers. It should taste malty, not bitter with hops. Plus I could stand to look at some different women.”

Darnand waited, but Jerric just loomed over his workbench wearing his mildly pleased expression. Darnand raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Oh,” said Jerric. “I guess you don’t know. This evening is right now. Let’s go. You don’t need to change your gown or anything. How one of your robes differs from another is beyond my powers of observation.”

Darnand left his cloak behind in favor of a warming spell. Pipe smoke no longer bothered him in the air, but he did not enjoy the way it lingered in woolen clothing. Their path took them past the chapel and out the Castle Gate. Darnand knew that the Riptide was located on the harbor’s east end.

“I think I found a mount,” Jerric said as they walked. “I can’t ask Flash to carry me and everything we’ll need for a winter camp. He’s quiet as a lamb, Clesa said. I don’t know about that. The lambs I’ve seen are pretty frisky.”

Not long ago that would have annoyed me, thought Darnand. “Shall I accompany you?”

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “I’d like to know what you think. We can take him out on the road with Flash and Banner, see how they get along.”

“Tomorrow. If you have time, I would also like to review our supply needs.”

“Done,” Jerric said. “We can take over the back of the basement for a few hours, or use your chamber. I’ll show you what we have, and how I pack it. You might need to pick up some things after I check your gear, but I’m ready to go.”

Darnand considered as they walked. “Ready to go when?”

“Day after tomorrow, if you like. I have a few things I’ll leave at the guild hall, in case I make it back. Books, mostly. I’ve already paid Vania, she’s going to lock up for me when she’s through cleaning the hut. What do you still need to do?”

“I must visit the castle steward and shift some things into storage at the guild hall. Carahil might reassign my chamber while we are away.” He looked over at Jerric. “Do you not wish to stay for Old and New Life Festivals?”

His friend’s eyes stayed forward. “I guess I can skip another drunken episode.” He ran a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. “I guess by then we’ll be in Kvatch.”

Darnand didn’t know how to respond to his friend’s agitation. Jerric’s return to Kvatch also troubled his mind. He was no more inclined to offer false comfort than Jerric would be to accept it. They stopped in front of a single-story split log building. Jerric pushed open the door, and Darnand followed him into the tavern.

The Riptide looked the same as The Flowing Bowl inside. Dark and smoky, with every surface showing hard use. It smelled the same, too, Darnand decided. The music of wood elf voices was absent here, replaced by a sullen mutter. Darnand followed his friend to the bar. He guessed that Jerric’s Bruma porter must come from one of the barrels against the wall. That meant they would drink from tavern crockery. Darnand braced himself for an unsanitary experience.

“Hey, Jerric,” called a thick voice from the center of the room. Darnand saw that it came from a spectacularly unkempt Nord hunched troll-like over his tankard. “I’ve heard some strange noises coming from your hut in the past weeks. Sounded like a seagull crying, but long after dark.” The tavern quieted as folk turned their attention to Jerric.

Darnand glanced at his friend and found him almost unrecognizable. The dark look on his face made Darnand reflexively take one step away. “Maybe it was a seagull, Bog Trawler,” Jerric growled.

“She must have flown all the way from High Rock,” sneered Bog Trawler, seeming to somehow swell. “In fact—”

“It was your ma,” Jerric interrupted. “I’m sure you’ve heard her sound that way before. When the little man comes to sweep the chimney, maybe. Or when the milk lad comes in for his New Life tip.” Darnand looked at his hands and realized that Jerric had just passed him his dagger.

Bog Trawler’s face turned from red to purple as he smashed his tankard against the floor. By the time he lurched to his feet, Jerric was over the tables.

Space was hastily made as the two Nords crashed to the floor. The tavern’s patrons began calling out wagers over the barman’s shouts. Bog Trawler’s enraged bellows abruptly ceased. They rolled so that Bog Trawler lay on his back with Jerric under him. Darnand shifted his feet, wondering how he could help his friend. Jerric was visible only as a corded forearm around the larger Nord’s throat and pair of boots hooked over the man’s thick thighs. Then Bog Trawler thrashed and Jerric’s face became visible, turned to the side and oddly serene.

An argument broke out to Darnand’s left and quickly spread through the tavern. Smashing crockery and angry cries from either side announced the beginning of a brawl. Darnand found himself short of breath and pinned to a table with a Dunmer on top of him. A telekinesis spell moved the mer, but an Anvil guard took his place. The tavern returned to relative order as the combatants scattered.

“Grab that Breton, he has a blade,” called a tense, nasal voice. Darnand found a sword pointed at his chest. After a moment of frozen shock, he realized that the man was talking about him.

Darnand heard Jerric start to object somewhere beyond his sight. The guard with the sword spoke to Darnand slowly, in a calm tone. “Drop the dagger. What happens next is up to you.”

Darnand couldn’t feel the dagger leave his fingers, but he heard it hit the floor. The guard kicked it away and stepped back, allowing Darnand to breathe. Darnand saw Jerric leaving the tavern. “Don’t forget my blade, Marcellus,” he called back over the heads of his escort.

Bog Trawler rose up from the floor like a mountain, shedding russet-coated forms. His guards arranged themselves around him, surging to one side or the other as he struggled. Darnand heard chains under the swearing as they started for the door.

“I know who you are,” Darnand’s guard said to him quietly, drawing Darnand’s attention back to the sword. “When you have composed yourself, sir, you will accompany me to the castle.”

The man’s voice restored reason to the world. “Constable Illio,” Darnand said, surprised. “We met on Saturalia.”

Illio gave him a tight smile. “Yes. We have a mutual friend. For her sake, I hope you can keep your head.”

Darnand nodded. “I will cooperate in every way. However, I am uncertain what is expected of me in this situation.”

Illio retrieved Jerric’s dagger and sheathed his sword. “Walk with me, keep your hands down. No magic. We can skip the irons as long as you comply. I’ll take you as far as the dungeon. Jerric will be there, I’m sure he’ll want to talk you through your processing. No one wants to see a daedroth tonight.” The Imperial made a polite gesture, and Darnand preceded him out into the cold night.

Darnand and Constable Illio got little attention as they passed through the harbor in the wake of Jerric and Bog Trawler. Jerric stayed as silent as he had been during the fight, but Bog Trawler’s curses floated back to them on the light wind. Illio slowed their pace as they reached the castle bridge, allowing first Jerric’s group and then Bog Trawler’s to cross before he and Darnand stepped onto it. Darnand took a moment to look up at the glittering night sky. He told himself that the cold was the source of his shaking.

“I was just here,” Darnand said to Illio as they entered the castle courtyard. The other two parties were nowhere in sight.

“We won’t be going through the Great Hall tonight,” said Illio. He stopped outside a reinforced door guarded by a woman in Anvil colors. “Let’s give them another moment to secure the Nords. Bog Trawler might still have some energy left.” The constable braced his feet apart and absently loosened his sword in its scabbard. “You know, your friend sends a keg of mead to the barracks every Saturalia. You can thank him for your noble’s treatment tonight. At least until we get under the castle. The jailers are a different sort; you should step lightly around them.”

Darnand wished he had thought to jump off the bridge. “Thank you, constable. You have made this a most pleasant arrest.”

Illio’s eyes glinted under his helm. “May you have a brief and equally agreeable incarceration.” He nodded for the guard to open the door.

[SubRosa]

So Darnand still has it bad for Abiene? Poor guy, unrequited love is a beyotch. He seems to be holding out until she returns to make finally make a move on her. So he has not noticed she is shacking up with Jerric? I would think it would be rather obvious to everyone in the guild hall by now. Given the scene in the bar, it does not appear to be a secret.

You know I can’t count past… How many did you tell me?”
21, assuming he takes off his shoes and drops his pants...

And Jerric gets Darnand arrested! Now that is a wonderful way to spend his last night in Anvil.

No one wants to see a daedroth tonight.
Obviously a very wise guard. Not to mention one without a dispel magic spell or scroll.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 14 2011, 08:29 PM

[mALX]

Holy Cow! We finally get to see how Jerric really gets banged up in those bar fights !! WOO HOO !!!!! You nailed this by giving the visuals from Darnand's viewpoint, that made us all witnesses with him - Awesome!!!

Jerric may have been protecting Darnand from finding out about Abiene, but I doubt Darnand would actually be able to guess the female (knowing Jerric is quite free with dispensing his pleasure with the masses).

What a twist of events !! This is AWESOME !!! This chapter is right up in the top five favorites of Jerric's episodes !! AWESOME WRITE !!! WHEW !!!

[Acadian]

Opening scene- *sigh* - Poor Darnand.

'The Riptide looked the same as The Flowing Bowl inside. Dark and smoky, with every surface showing hard use. It smelled the same, too, Darnand decided. The music of wood elf voices was absent here, replaced by a sullen mutter. Darnand followed his friend to the bar. He guessed that Jerric’s Bruma porter must come from one of the barrels against the wall. That meant they would drink from tavern crockery. Darnand braced himself for an unsanitary experience.'
What a masterfully scene-setting description. I luvs those musical wood elven voices!

A fun episode - admittedly not so for Jerric nor Darnand. I really enjoyed the 'classy' arrest treatment that Darnand received.

[King Coin]

Chapter 10.4
It sounds like Abiene doesn’t mind it a little rough

I like the description of Jerric’s healing. It certainly fits him though. Gets what needs to be done not through finesse, but brute strength and determination.

She’s interested in both Jerric and Darnand eh? Which is she going to choose… because I don’t think she’ll be with both unless this turn into one of those books.

Wait did I just totally misread her interest in him? I’m like a child, hoping for approval from Papa, she realized

@ the Woodelf. I always imagined them as those ‘cursed morning people.’

Chapter 10.5
Morvayn’s Peacemakers feels as much like an island for Jerric almost as much as the MG and FG does amongst the world.

None of my characters got any special treatment for being a hero! No repairs under the promise of payment!

“Shall I paralyze you now, or would you like a head start?”
Great line!

What will be better? Glad I don’t have to wait to find out. An advantage of being horribly behind you see. I bet you enjoyed dangling that in front of everyone.

Chapter 10.6
Ah crap.

[Grits]

Folks, since I decided to go ahead and keep the whole story in one thread, I added a table of contents to the very first post with links to the beginning of each chapter. There are also a few screenshots of the Fort Strand adventure posted in King Coin's excellent video thread.


SubRosa: Abiene’s habits never changed to most of her guild mates. She lost a lot of sleep, but restoration magic helps with that. I expect she slept the whole way to Chorrol! I doubt Jerric is reliable counting past eleven. He might not remember to take off his boots.

mALX: You’re right, Jerric would only need to worry if Bog Trawler recognized her, since he’s been so generous with his affection. And now that Darnand has Abiene on that pedestal, she would be his last guess. Thank you, mALX!! I’m glad you enjoyed the Breton’s-eye view of the fight.

Acadian: I thought you might enjoy Darnand noticing the elf voices. Thaurron and Lildereth have had an influence on him. Thank you for mentioning Constable Illio’s manner. I think Countess Umbranox would encourage courtesy as part of maintaining order. Courtesy backed up with a sharp sword.

King Coin: You read her interest right, she has all kinds of tingly feelings for both of them. She also wants Darnand to see how clever she is, like when she would bring home school work to show off her good grades. Darnand does remind her of her father, but not in icky ways. Yikes, you did stop at an “oh crap” moment.

Where we are: Darnand goes to jail.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch, Part 2

Darnand and Constable Illio passed down stone stairs and through corridors until they reached a square chamber lined with cupboards. A grizzled Imperial in a guard’s uniform stood beside a desk with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, a ring of keys clenched in his fist. An assortment of shackles and chains hung on the wall behind him. Illio placed Jerric’s dagger on the desk next to a ledger, parchment, and writing implements. Jerric’s voice reached them from the chamber beyond as Darnand stared at his jailer, but Darnand did not hear what he was saying.

The Imperial frowned at him. “Name,” he grunted.

“Darnand Penoit of Anvil, Associate of the Mages Guild.”

“Have you been informed of the charges against you?” The jailer sounded irritated.

Darnand cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“You’ll be booked when the complaint is filed, or released in due time if no one comes forward. Fill in the parchment. Anything on him I need to know about?” Darnand realized that the question was directed at his captor.

“He’s clean,” said Illio. Darnand signed his name under Jerric’s scrawled signature and Bog Trawler’s mark. He noted that the other Nord had not supplied a given name.

“Let’s go, lawbreaker,” said the guard. “Your suite is ready. Stay in front of me, hands out where I can see them.”

Darnand preceded him into the dungeon. Torchlight showed him a long, windowless chamber with barred openings on either side. Straw was stacked in bales and loosely piled in a cart against the far wall. The smells of everything a body could expel assaulted his nose. As he walked down the center holding his hands carefully out from his sides, his fellow prisoners jeered at him in tones from bored to deranged. Then through the bars of one cell, there was Jerric.

The cell door shut behind Darnand with a clang that made him flinch. A quick glance over his friend showed only a purple mark under one eye and a scrape on his forehead. After a second look, Darnand decided that there was really no way to determine if his nose had been broken again, short of asking.

Jerric reached out and squeezed Darnand’s shoulders. “Sorry about this,” he said. “I should have kept you out of it.”

Darnand swallowed until he felt his voice wouldn’t crack. Then he realized he didn’t have anything to say.

“Don’t worry,” Jerric told him. “I’ve been in and out of here so often I’m surprised they even locked the door. And they didn’t even make us change into their prison clothes. Maybe we’ll just be here overnight.” He moved over and leaned against the bars. “When you’re bare and bent over with the law investigating your person, that’s when you know you’ve done wrong. I’d swear that of any folk of all races, prison guards have the thickest thumbs.” Jerric winked. “At least I hope that’s what they use.”

“By the Nine! For what purpose is that done? Do you suppose he will return?” Darnand looked frantically out through the bars. Then he worried that he might have drawn the guard’s attention.

“They search you on the way in if you’ve really misbehaved,” Jerric explained. They might have been in the dining hall at the mages guild, for all the concern he showed. “Lockpicks, smuggled goods, you’d be surprised what folk carry around. I once saw an Imperial with a whole sheep’s bladder full of moon sugar, and I don’t mean in his pocket. He was not happy, I can tell you. Neither was the guard, actually. Ugh, what a job! No wonder they’re usually in a foul temper.”

A shudder rippled through Darnand’s frame. “That just does not make sense to me. How could someone manage it?”

Jerric gave him an evaluating look. “Something tells me this is not the time to explain. Anyway, relax. That didn’t happen.” He dropped to the floor and started doing rapid pushups.

Erratic behavior from one’s cellmate was not comforting, Darnand decided. He looked around the cell, rubbing his hands up his arms. A rough pallet and a bucket in the corner were the only furnishings. The floor was strewn with straw and unidentifiable oddments. And occupied by a Nord of exceptional cheer and vigor. “What are you doing?” Darnand finally asked.

“Check-in procedure,” Jerric grunted without pausing. “I’ll stay calmer if I’m tired.”

“Well you are not helping me to relax.” At least the straw is fairly fresh, Darnand noticed. He did not want to think about the bucket.

“Join me down here. Could be a life-altering decision.”

“No, but thank you.” Darnand shivered again.

Jerric popped up and grinned at him. “You live all day inside your mind, but this meat has to carry you around.” He dug a hard finger into Darnand’s arm. “What will you do when you’re too weak and spindly to pick up a book? What if you have to pull me out of a ruin? I’d like to think you could at least help me home if I exhaust myself in a brothel.”

“A mage can enhance his strength and abilities. I could cast a feather spell and drag you with two fingers.” Darnand thought that the cell had become a little smaller.

“That’s going to be impressive when you’re with a lady. ‘Just a moment, love, I must enhance my strength and abilities. I shall cast a spell to make you less of a heavy burden.’ Women love to hear stuff like that. Hey, maybe you could wear an enchanted—”

“All right, I take your point,” said Darnand. There is nothing else to do, he thought. “Show me.”

Darnand did his best to imitate Jerric. Eventually he decided that he must be doing well, as his chills had turned to sweat. He had time to regret it when Jerric said they were through. Darnand’s muscles burned in ways he hadn’t experienced, and cold and clammy was worse than just cold. “No spells,” Jerric told him, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched across the cell. “If you use magic, we’ll both get the irons.”

Darnand scooted back against the wall next to him. His mouth felt dry, and his stomach rumbled despite the stench. Another chill shook him.

“I wish I still had my Ring of the North,” Jerric said. “It had an enchantment to keep you warm. I didn’t really need it, but sometimes it came in handy when I was with a woman. You know, outside. Too bad I lost it, you could use it tonight.”

Darnand stared at him, deciding which question to ask first. “You lost an enchanted ring?”

“I didn’t misplace it, I lost it dicing. Then I learned to throw better, but the fetcher I lost it to never wagered it again.”

“You mean you learned to cheat.”

“No,” Jerric explained patiently. “I practiced until I knew how to win. I don’t cheat.” He gave Darnand a look that a six year old might try when caught with his hand in the sweet jar. “You don’t have any dice on you, by some chance?”

“We do not require dice to wager.” Darnand began breaking up an abandoned crust of bread. “For example, do you see that spider, descending from the beam? Which way will she turn when she reaches the floor, left or right?”

Jerric stared intently at the spider. Darnand pushed half of the bread cubes over to him and leaned forward to scribe a line in the debris directly under the spider. “Left,” said Jerric. He brushed aside the straw and slapped one of his bread cubes on the stones between them. “A bet while we wait for the spider. Which of those Imperials will be the first to spew?”

Darnand looked over at the cell across from them. Three young men in fine but disheveled clothing sat against the far wall in various states of distress. “The one in the red doublet.” He met Jerric’s spider bet and placed a second bread cube to the side.

By the time Darnand had won all of the scraps of bread, he was hungry enough to consider eating them. He rarely thought about meals, but then he always knew that the next one would be available. Jerric’s persistent hunger seemed more reasonable now. Darnand decided that rather than dwell on his situation, he would to try to sleep.

Jerric must have had the same idea. “You take the bed,” Jerric told him, lifting his chin at the pallet. “Don’t worry, anything that bites you will likely scamper off before you can jump. Anyway, I doubt you’ll be much of a haven for fleas. I’ve slept with women who are hairier than you.” Jerric started unbuckling as he headed to the bucket.

There were so many things in Jerric’s remarks that Darnand found disquieting, he decided to just let the whole thing go. He curled on the pallet in a way that he might touch as little as possible. It reeked of mold and unwashed folk. Darnand said a brief prayer that he might temporarily lose his sense of smell. Then he prayed to lose his hearing as Jerric endlessly filled the bucket, humming a jaunty tune.

Jerric stretched out on the stones with such a contented sigh, Darnand almost looked to see if he had conjured a feather bed. He closed his eyes against the torchlight, surprised to realize how close sleep had already come. He found his mind turning away from the comfort of his bed at the guild hall, instead wondering at the camps and inns to come. This night is only the first of weeks of discomfort, he realized. But at least I know the company will be entertaining.

___

Darnand woke on the floor, mysteriously and crushingly warm. Sweet Mother Mara, I’m in prison, he remembered. As his senses returned, he realized that he had joined the long and doubtlessly colorful parade of people who had been spooned by Jerric. He crawled away with a cry and staggered against the wall as his sleeping legs failed to support him.

When Jerric flopped over onto his back, Darnand decided that three of the pallets still wouldn’t contain him. His friend spoke in a sleepy voice, eyes still closed. “Don’t flatter yourself, we haven’t been in here that long. You were cold.”

Darnand brushed straw and a crawling sensation off of his chest and arms. “Where in the sixteen realms is your shirt?” He could not imagine why the Nord couldn’t keep his clothes on.

Jerric reached under his head and produced it. “No pillow.” He opened his eyes. “You’re a heavy sleeper. You’re lucky it’s me you’re locked in with, pretty boy.” His wiggling eyebrows looked so ludicrous, Darnand couldn’t help but snort.

He smoothed his hair and began to shake his robe into order. His body was a chorus of complaints, but he ignored it. “I do not suppose that the guards will break our fast with a fresh pot of kahve.”

“Let’s hope they don’t break our anything. I might not know the next fellow who comes in here. We’ve had a pleasant stay so far, but you never know when one of them is going to share his bad day.” Jerric climbed to his feet, pulling his shirt on over his head.

Jangling keys and grumbling preceded a guard into the dungeon. Darnand grew both hopeful and concerned when he walked straight to their cell.

“Pack your bags, it’s time to drag your stinking carcass out of my jail,” the guard growled.

Jerric lounged against the bars, straw in his hair and an insolent grin on his face. “So soon? I haven’t had a chance to dine on the county’s drake. I’ll have some strawberry jam on my toast, and make sure my eggs aren’t runny.”

“Ha! Fellow from the Riptide dropped the charges last night when he came by to pick up his shackles. I guess he heard you drink more than you break. Bog Trawler’s been out for hours. You ladies looked so cozy, I didn’t want to wake you.” He began to work his key in the lock.

“What are you still doing here?” Jerric asked. “Are you fellows pulling double shifts?” Darnand realized that it must be the same man who locked them in last night.

“Double and then some. The Watch has new patrols, with news of daedra roaming about. More training with the county militia, and some of them still on the teat. Half the guards that had prison duty are back up on the walls.”

The jailer returned Jerric’s daggers at the desk. Their fines left them with only a few coins between them. Darnand suspected that their gold would go straight into the man’s pocket, and the record of their arrest would meet a flame. He decided not to mention his theory to Jerric. His friend might drag him to the Steward’s office to ensure justice was done on them. Jerric had a unique sense of duty for a repeat offender.

They stopped when they reached the castle bridge to raise their faces to the sun. “Mid-morning,” Jerric sighed. “It’s a good day to buy a horse.” He looked at Darnand. “I suppose you won’t be right until you’ve had a bath. Let’s find something to eat and some kahve first. I don’t think you’ve blinked since I handed you my dagger. We’re out now, you can go ahead and breathe.”

Darnand decided that he wouldn’t argue. Jerric bought some kind of food from a Harborside cart, and Darnand devoured it without questions. He chugged his kahve under the amused glances of Jerric and the kahve vendor. “One night inside, and you’re eating like an inmate,” Jerric laughed at him. They walked into the Chapelgate District in companionable silence. There were plenty of folk out on the street. Darnand wondered if he looked like a criminal.

“Dammit,” said Jerric, halting in his tracks in front of the chapel. “I went the wrong way.”

Darnand stopped too. “Will you meet me at the guild hall later? I will negotiate your purchase with Clesa, if you wish.”

“Yeah, I definitely wish.” Jerric began to walk backward toward the Castle Gate. “Do your exercise,” he said, pointing at Darnand.

“If I think of it,” Darnand replied, smiling to himself. He turned and started toward the guild hall again.

“Keep doing it, every day,” Jerric said earnestly, raising his voice as the distance increased.

“Perhaps I will forget how,” Darnand called over his shoulder. He relished the rare opportunity to tease Jerric.

“Darnand!” he heard Jerric shout behind him a moment later. He turned and looked at him down the busy street. “Just keep doing it like I showed you in prison!” Jerric made a motion that indicated pushups. From the looks on the faces around him, Darnand suspected that the gesture was being widely misinterpreted.

Jerric gave Darnand a cheery grin and a Nord-sized wave. Every head in the street swiveled around to look back at Darnand. As he made his way through the interested crowd, Darnand tried to console himself with the thought that at least today was not a market day.

[haute ecole rider]

If I ever get thrown into prison, Jerric's the cell mate I want! Even if I'm male!

Poor Darnand. At least they put him in with Jerric, and not Bog Trawler!

“When you’re bare and bent over with the law investigating your person, that’s when you know you’ve done wrong. I’d swear that of any folk of all races, prison guards have the thickest thumbs.” Jerric winked. “At least I hope that’s what they use.”

Just surprised to see that kind of talk here, that's all. But very, very appropriate, given the situation (both in the story and the fact that it's on a PG-13 forum!).

Erratic behavior from one’s cellmate was not comforting, Darnand decided

Hey, at least it's Jerric!

“A mage can enhance his strength and abilities. I could cast a feather spell and drag you with two fingers.” Darnand thought that the cell had become a little smaller.

“That’s going to be impressive when you’re with a lady. ‘Just a moment, love, I must enhance my strength and abilities. I shall cast a spell to make you less of a heavy burden.’ Women love to hear stuff like that. Hey, maybe you could wear an enchanted—”

"Give me a moment hon. Got to whip out the pump." What?? I'm leaving!

The betting game was funny, as was Darnand's thoughts about the reason for Jerric's bottomless appetite.

Then he prayed to lose his hearing as Jerric endlessly filled the bucket, humming a jaunty tune.

You mean Darnand doesn't have a spell for that? At least it's the bucket, not the corner!

As his senses returned, he realized that he had joined the long and doubtlessly colorful parade of people who had been spooned by Jerric. He crawled away with a cry and staggered against the wall as his sleeping legs failed to support him.

Perfect timing! My mouth just happened to be empty of tea as I read this!

“Darnand!” he heard Jerric shout behind him a moment later. He turned and looked at him down the busy street. “Just keep doing it like I showed you in prison!” Jerric made a motion that indicated pushups. From the looks on the faces around him, Darnand suspected that the gesture was being widely misinterpreted.

Jerric gave Darnand a cheery grin and a Nord-sized wave. Every head in the street swiveled around to look back at Darnand. As he made his way through the interested crowd, Darnand tried to console himself with the thought that at least today was not a market day.

A perfect ending to a bawdy, rollicking and funny tale!

[D.Foxy]

Grits, if you keep on getting bawdier than me, I really think I must sue you for copyright infringement.




...AND inflicting greivous injury on LCD screens through induced beverage expectoration...

[King Coin]

Chapter 10.7
Looks like Jerric’s initial plan of going to the waterfront is coming around anyways. Not sure about the fighting though. That might be out of town.

So funny that Maelona is warning Jerric to be on his guard in a place he frequents.

I didn’t see that one coming! Jerric recognized the guard! Hilarious!

He pulling in Darnand?