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

[mALX]

This is a hugely powerful aftermath to the battle that is still fresh in Jerric's mind and in ours. You have a tremendous natural ability to bring both the war itself and the scars (emotional and otherwise) wrought by it that it becomes intensely real to the reader. I didn't think anyone could surpass SubRosa in that ability, I think she may need to share her top place pedestal with you though.

On Viggie - if (when you are supposed to go get Erthor) you make a deal with Viggie instead - his full "charming" (cough cough) personality shines through the whole underhanded deal. He even goes so far as to threaten poor Erthor if he dares tell about the deal - and the way he lords it over you (that he has something on you that could get you in trouble, like turning the thumbscrews) - you know your days in that Skingrad Mages hall will NOT be comfortable thereafter, lol.


Absolutely AWESOME Write !!!!

[Destri Melarg]

Okay, starting way back in Chapter 10: Septims, Part 5:

I loved the description of Abiene’s surgical procedure on Jerric. One of the things that I love about this forum is that we have so many compassionate would-be healers among us. Who needs anesthetic when you can just zap the victim patient with a paralyze spell? After a while the pain makes you pass out anyway! I would also like to tender my request to exchange the Varel Morvayn in my game with the one who occupies yours. I can’t even get that n’wah to be reasonable! It would be impossible to pry repairs out of him for free!

Allow me to chime in on the subject of Abiene’s ‘betrayal’ of Jerric:

[rant] This really hits a sore spot with me because I happen to live amongst an entire family who adhere to the old maxim that it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission. To do something to someone else because you know that the other person will forgive you is the height of disrespect. It turns the other person into a commodity, a thing to be used and discarded at will. Jerric has every reason to be angry over this callous and calculated mistreatment, no matter the result. If the shoe were on the other foot I doubt that Abiene would be so quick to forgive.[/rant]

All that said, I think you handled Jerric’s reaction to the event masterfully.

Your lead-in to The Siren’s Deception was simply fantastic! When Jerric tells Gogan that he’s seen better than Signy I almost fell out of my chair. And when he suggests that the sirens will descend on Darnand ‘like slime on a mudcrab’ I had to stop reading for several moments to compose myself!

I think that Norbert Lelles would find it cheaper to simply hire a guard to protect the store from his own gullibility! As haute said, you have taken a very boring quest and breathed much needed life into it. I had a good laugh when Jerric found the detect life ring in his pocket. I can’t even count the number of times that the thing that would have helped me most remained in my inventory during the fight.

Jerric and Abiene’s day at the market was just the right tonic for the tension between them. When she called Vidkun’s name in the throes of passion I was ready to give up on her right then and there. Honestly, does Jerric really want to spend a great deal of his time with a woman who sees him at best as a substitute for another, and at worst as a practice dummy? But thankfully Abiene redeemed herself by not holding a grudge when confronted by the truly naked (and bejeweled) reminder that Jerric tends to get around. Bravo Abiene!

Nothing says ‘Don’t F*** with me’ like a summoned Daedroth! I imagine that a simple ghost or skeleton would have done the job, but I like getting a sense of Darnand’s panic to the situation by his choice of summon. When in doubt, destroy everything! I also like the symmetry of Jerric being there to ease Darnand’s PTSD. I’d say the two are even now.

See what your work does to me? Here I am going on and on and I am still not even HALFWAY to being caught up! I have so much reading left in front of me, but I’ll get there.

I Promise.

[King Coin]

Chapter 12.3
Yikes. I’m glad Jerric is putting the invisibility to use.

Poor Precious!

Now are the Sigil stones making Jerric behave abnormally, or is he just really aggressive on his own?

Darnand held out two biscuits. “Cheese or sausage?”
Jerric took both biscuits.

Lol! The legion packed meals aren’t going to last long!

My respect for Darnand grows. He’s even getting his hands dirty in the fights. He is a different person from the one that hit Jerric with an errant fireball while Jerric killed a boar.

A little touchy now too. Jerric can take it. I bet he’s pissed that he didn’t make a move on Abilene.

Chapter 12.4
Papers eh? Jerric doesn’t need any. A perk of going to hell and back I guess.

Hey! Carmia listened!

This went well, but he hasn’t been in the ruins yet has he?

[Grits]

SubRosa: Thank you, I wanted to give the sense of life in Kvatch without lingering too long there. I think if Count Hassildor and Countess Umbranox had spare offspring loafing around, there might have been an immediate struggle over Kvatch. It would be interesting to explore the different legal and illegal armed factions that must exist within the counties. The difference between the lord of an estate and a warlord in some ruin could be pretty slim. I agree, leaving the Kvatchians to their own devices would be dangerous. There could be a rebellion in the middle of the Empire!

haute ecole rider: I did not think I was going to have to rebuild Kvatch in my mind before I could write this chapter, but that’s just what happened! Whew. I think the choice for Kvatch’s new leader boils down to Savlian, an outsider noble, or the PC. A case could be made for the PC taking the path of Commodore Umbranox who became Count Anvil, I guess. Of course, in this fic Savlian led the battle, not Jerric. I’m with you, I might have to do some alternate imaginary ending for Kvatch Rebuilt. Seeing Kvatch whole again would be worth it!

ghastley: Exactly, Jerric would be the perfect Ghostbuster. But Savlian remembers how he completely fell apart after the Gate/battle, and another episode like that wouldn’t work with his plans. Of course, Jerric doesn’t always follow advice. I’m glad you liked the swans.

Acadian: I have been waiting for so long to pay homage to Savlian’s Gate-side rant! Jerric took off running for the Gate before he could say it, even though I really wanted to use his lines in the first Kvatch chapter. That might be my favorite dialog in the whole MQ. I just had to work it in somehow. Thank you so much for pointing it out!

mALX: Ack, I thought that was Sulinus Vassinus who is so mean to Erthor! I’ve always gone to get the poor guy myself. He’s always so happy to be rescued. Plus he’s super cute. Thank you, mALX! This was another episode that was a little gut-wrenching to write. I need another chapter of parties!

Destri Melarg: OK, Chapter 10 has 18 posts. Chapter 11 (Holidays) has 16, and some of them are pretty light. So far Chapter 12 has 7, and I’ve only been posting once per week. I hope that’s encouraging news. I’m really, really glad you’re still reading! Thank you for the rant about Abiene’s manipulation of Jerric. That part was such a big deal to me, it was actually hard to write. I was a little tense when I read your comments, hoping that by the time the two of them got through their market day, their ups and downs would have leveled out for you. Whew!! Abiene is a challenge for me to balance. Her flaws are things that would really get to me. I’m delighted by your remark that Darnand and Jerric are even after the daedroth episode. I had a blast with the Anvil quests. There are a lot of fun NPCs to work with.

King Coin: You’re almost caught up!! It’s not the sigil stones making him aggressive, that’s how he is in a fight. He’s an amiable brawler, but he would explain that’s different. He wants to kill daedra, never mind the consequences to himself. He had gone through his already limited reserve of self-control sneaking through to get to the stone, and once he got it he was trying not to step away from the fire column and fight while that’s all he wanted to do. If the daedroth reached him first, then the choice would be taken out of his hands. That’s why he was yelling at them. Not his most rational moment.

Where we are: Jerric and Darnand arrived in Kvatch this afternoon.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch Part 7

Jerric stood on the Kvatch plateau under the moons, scrubbing his skin until it felt raw. His weapons rested on the nearby table, cleaned of ectoplasm. His boots were now free of the soot, mud, and filth they had accumulated during his work in the ruins. A bucket of well water sent soap suds running down between the bathing platform’s boards and away. He wished it would clear his mind of the day’s grinding horror.

A cold breeze dried him as he made his way through the tents to the one he shared with Darnand. They had set it up at the far end of a row, facing out over the edge and away from the privies. Jerric knew that the wind usually came from the other direction, and this way they would be able to look out and see the stars. At least he would. Darnand preferred to lie down with his head at the back of the tent, while Jerric slept with his by the door.

He stood outside the tent for a moment, listening to the quiet. As he left the city, the chapel bells in their temporary tower had rung one of the morning watch. Darnand was probably asleep. Their packs stood in the tent’s belled end, opposite the door and past Darnand’s head. Jerric decided not to take the chance of disturbing him by crashing around in the dark. He piled his gear next to the door, boots and blades at the ready. His soiled clothing stayed outside. At least in Kvatch he shouldn’t have to apologize for the state of his laundry.

Lying in the dark, Jerric realized that he wasn’t ready for sleep. Now he wished he had sought out company at Matilene’s bathhouse instead of using the village’s open-air bathing station. He missed the sound of wind through trees and the horses’ comforting noises. It was too late for music or the usual camp murmur. Jingling mail told him when a guard passed nearby. Darnand stirred, and a pair of pale woolen socks became visible in the moonlight coming through the tent flap. Jerric reached out and cautiously covered his friend’s feet.

“I am awake,” Darnand mumbled. He almost stifled his yawn.

Jerric scrambled around on his bedroll so they could talk without disturbing their neighbors. “Did you get your assignment from Sigrid?” he asked.

“Yes.” Darnand yawned again. “One of their flax seed suppliers is late with his shipment. I am tasked with contacting him to determine the cause. The supplier resides at Shetcombe Farm, northeast of here. Do you know it?”

“I know the area, but not exactly where. There are a bunch of little farms around there. It’s on the other side of Pottersville. Do you have your map? I’ll show you.”

Darnand produced a tiny lick of flame from his fingertip, and Jerric handed him the candle to light. Several sheets of parchment, scrolls, and two open books lay at the top of Darnand’s bedroll. Jerric smiled at the vision of his friend’s head drooping in sleep as his night-eye spell faded. Darnand pushed his notes aside and unrolled the map between them, propped up on his elbows under his blankets.

“Here,” said Jerric, pointing. “Follow the road around past the livery. When you get to Pottersville, turn to your right and go straight through town. You’ll start to see the little farms on the other side. Take the first lane and head east. You’ll have to ask where Shetcombe Farm is, I’m just guessing that it’ll be in that area.”

Darnand studied the map. “How will I know Pottersville?”

“Well, it’s a little town full of potters. You’ll see kilns and ceramic goods and such. Stacks of wood everywhere, green ware on drying racks, and carts full of crates on the way out of town.” Darnand looked blank. “Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”

“No.”

“All right. You’ll know it because it will smell like woodsmoke. If you get to a town that smells like death, that’s Tannertown. You’ve gone too far.” Jerric looked at the map for a moment. “That’s a sturdy map, but it doesn’t have much on it. What’s this mark, here?” He pointed to a charcoal smudge north of Kvatch.

“That is the approximate location of a Doomstone. Here is another. This is the area where we will search for Meridia’s shrine. I shall make permanent marks when we find their precise locations.”

Jerric retrieved his own map and flopped back down on his stomach. “Look, the Jone Stone is right here. I think the Sanguine shrine will be pretty close. Mar— Uh, the fellow who showed me the Jone Stone pointed off to the west.”

Jerric felt himself flush under his friend’s questioning look. He leaned over Darnand’s map, searching his suddenly empty mind for a way to change the subject.

The map showed him one. “What’s this mark on Kvatch?”

“It is we,” said Darnand.

Jerric blinked at him.

“This is a Map of Clairvoyance,” Darnand explained. “It was made with an old spell. The land and water are represented, and the roads and major settlements are quite accurate. However, many of the forts are now ruins. It will be most useful for marking where I have been, so that I might return.”

Jerric began to feel alarmed. “If the map knows where you are, couldn’t someone use it to find you?” The hidden gates of Cloud Ruler Temple loomed in his mind.

Darnand seemed at a loss for words. “It does not know where I am,” he said after a moment.

“Oh.” Jerric laughed with relief. “It knows where it is.” He shook his head. “Where did you get it?”

“Abiene gifted it to me for Saturalia. Her father is a scroll maker. He made this map for her. See, these notations are in her hand.”

Jerric whistled softly. “That’s a pretty good gift.”

“Indeed. My gift to her was a crystal ball and the spell to use it. Even so, I worry that she will struggle to reach me. She has little skill in conjuration.”

Jerric considered showing Darnand his new scroll case filled with scrolls from Abiene. He decided that explaining why he got her jewelry could be awkward. “What did you do this afternoon?” he asked instead.

“I spent some time in the guild hall. I learned a new spell from Vigge the Cautious. It weakens the target to all magical attacks. I suggest you learn it from him as well.”

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “I’m going to work with him tomorrow.”

“You might also explore the spell that destroys weapons. If you are skilled enough, he can teach you to exhaust your enemy from a distance, as if he had already been fighting before you begin.”

“That sounds like a cheap trick.” Jerric flipped over onto his back and gazed up at the ridge pole. “But I’ll try it.”

“You should also learn to cast your elemental damage on touch as well as over a target area.”

“Anything else?”

“That should do for one day.” Jerric could hear the smile in Darnand’s voice.

“He’s going to try to teach me how to recharge my weapons with my own magicka,” Jerric said. “I guess that’s some kind of Mysticism spell.” He looked over to watch Darnand’s reaction.

Darnand lost a moment to surprise. “He must think your stars will help you. I hope you informed him that you have not studied that school.”

“Yeah. What’s the catch? I mean, why doesn’t everyone recharge things instead of trapping energy and fiddling with gems?”

“Some souls release a great deal of energy at death, more than a person can provide while still living. In your case, increasing your ability to hold magicka with a spell followed by one of your strong magicka potions will give your sword a great deal of power, but it will still not fill it. I suggest that you routinely send some of your magicka into your sword each time you take a potion, since even you cannot hold all of the magicka that your potions provide. Most folk are not Master Alchemists born under the Atronach, so filling a weapon would take many hours. Additionally, it is a complicated and closely guarded spell. I doubt that Vigge would offer to teach it to me.”

Jerric grinned. “Jealous?”

“Not until you have successfully learned the spell,” Darnand retorted. “If there is a reason Vigge favors you, I do not need to hear it.”

“Then I guess I won’t spin a yarn about my last visit to Skingrad. Probably for the best, the true story is more unsettling than anything I could make up.” Jerric had a thought. “Say, Steward Matius asked me to bring one of his guards along with us to the Imperial City. Is that all right with you?”

“Indeed. In these arrangements I trust your judgment. Who is the guard?”

“Jesan Rilian, do you know him? His sword is West Weald silver, and there’s a scroll pattern chased in silver on the scabbard. He carries a steel dagger with a fox’s head on the pommel. Sometimes you’ll see him with a bow.” Darnand looked blank again. “Young fellow, dark hair and grey eyes. Imperial. About half a head shorter than you. Could talk a minotaur into pulling an oxcart.”

“I know who you must mean. He has a scar here, on his throat. You saved his life during the battle for the castle. He might be your personal bard, if you would allow it.”

Jerric snorted. “Yeah. He’s going to speak to the Elder Council about getting off their backsides and approving Matius. I’ll stand with him, but I guess you know why I won’t do the talking.”

“I am surprised that Steward Matius would place his fate in the hands of one so young,” said Darnand.

“For passion and conviction, you can’t beat a teenager. Anyway, I think his youth will strike the right note. Pure intentions and hope for the future, that sort of thing.”

“It occurs to me that our plans might not suit Rilian,” said Darnand. “I doubt that searching for Doomstones in the wilderness and visiting daedric shrines are priorities for the Kvatch Guard.”

“Yeah. I’ll tell him we’ll meet him in Skingrad. Shouldn’t be a problem.” When Jerric closed his eyes, the candle’s warm glow was replaced with eerie, spectral light. He opened his eyes again and rubbed them, trying to wipe away the memory.

“What troubles you?” Darnand asked after a moment.

“Ghosts. Savlian was right, I should have stayed out of it. What I did tonight felt like killing folk. Some of them were just kids, Darnand. The priests say we’re sending them on to the next life, but... I don’t know if it’s true.” Jerric saw that Darnand was still waiting. “Those spirits are still who they were,” he explained. “A couple of them even recognized me. How much of that passes on?”

“You mean will the dead retain their consciousness beyond this realm.”

“Yeah. Will they know us if we find them in the next life? Wherever they are?” Jerric realized he was afraid of the answer.

“I do not know. Ages may pass for them while we blink, or our mortal lives may take no time at all. Some say that part of us returns to this realm, yet I have no memory of living before. If our identity is stripped away, then all that we have loved is truly lost.” Now Darnand rubbed his eyes. “I have wondered this myself in the years since my parents were killed. Such thoughts find me when the body is exhausted but the mind too troubled for sleep.”

Jerric saw only black despair down that path. He regretted ever mentioning it. “Are you saying your body is exhausted? I guess Sigrid had you doing more than carry two books around.”

Darnand looked over with the hint of a smile. “I suppose I should explain what I mean by ‘troubled mind.’ Specifically the latter part.”

Jerric felt oddly comforted. He flopped back around and rolled himself into his blankets. “Kick me if I wake you. I’m in no mood to dream tonight.”

“I shall.” Darnand put out the light.

This post has been edited by Grits: Sep 22 2011, 06:13 PM

[SubRosa]

The supplier resides at Shetcombe Farm, northeast of here.
Dum Da Dum Dum! Methinks an ancient, sunken evil might be stirring deep within the earth nirn near Shetcombe Farm!

Darnand's map was a nice way of integrating the game's magic map into the story, in a believable way. I wonder if his map was made by Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs?

Could talk a minotaur into pulling an oxcart.
This is a wonderful saying!

For passion and conviction, you can’t beat a teenager.
QFT!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Sep 19 2011, 11:28 PM

[haute ecole rider]

There are so many small touches in this post that I absolutely loved. So I'm going to single one out that has special meaning to me - Pottersville.

Having attempted throwing pottery on a wheel, and having worked with ceramics as a hobby during my high school years (we're talking decades ago!), I remain fascinated by anything to do with clay. Pottersville struck a chord with me since last year, for a story idea I was developing, I researched Choseon pottery (aka celadon pottery) - a method of creating some of the most beautiful ceramic pieces I've ever seen. It was a type of pottery created by old Korean craftsmen during the Choseon (Choson, Joseon) period (600 years!). Those craftsmen took the best of Chinese pottery and brought it to new heights. I have yet to see other types of pottery to rival the celadon pottery of Choseon Korea.

It was so valued in Korea that they had entire villages dedicated to pottery. In fact, one remains - Ichon
It remains a place where pottery is still made in the ancient tradition. Actually, as much as they can replicate it. Much of the technique was lost when the Japanese forced Korean potters to translocate to Japan to jump-start their pottery tradition. They even kidnapped entire villages of potters. When Korea became a Japanese colony (by force, not by will) in 1910, they suffered the loss of much of their cultural traditions. It wasn't until after the Korean conflict in the '50's that they started recovering what they had lost over forty years earlier.

So to see an echo of Ichon, a pottery village I had researched for one of my own stories, really makes this post personal for me. I look forward to Darnand visiting this place!

[Acadian]

I really enjoyed this conversation between the two fellas. Sniff, sniff. . . like SubRosa, do I perhaps smell a game side quest at Shetcombe Farm and even hints of talking to Daedric Shrines?

How the two men chose to identify Jesan speaks volumes that is consistent with the character of both of them.

So, Vigge’s gonna make Jerric into a Nordic Soul Gem? Kewl! Seriously, I like the ideas we see here in the differing stories on what is involved in recharging weaponry. I note with happiness that we all seem to take the approach of harnessing magicka from the dying rather than literally trapping souls.

A delightful read! Oh, and love Darnand’s GPS map!

This post has been edited by Acadian: Sep 21 2011, 05:29 PM

[mALX]

GAAAH! You are right, it was Sulinus Vassinus! I just heard the voice file and thought it was Viggie.

This whole chapter was outstanding, but two things really caught my attention over and above the rest: the conversation about the map, and Jerric's continued guilt over the killing of ghosts/zombies/liches, etc. The knee-jerk reaction when killing undead suddenly takes on a depth of thought I've never seen attributed to in any other Oblivion story - it is creative world building in its highest form (and at the same time shows a side of Jerric that is much deeper than his antics would have one think). That side of Jerric is rarely revealed, solid proof of the trusting friendship between himself and Darnand.

Your ability to develop complex characters and their relationships with others is amazing! (I can't find that "Swami/I'm not worthy" emoticon, or it would go here, lol) Awesome Write!

[ghastley]

Training Jerric to recharge is a neat idea. That's something that's illogically missing in the game. If all those NPC's can do it, why can't the player learn the skill?

The only other mechanism that makes sense is if the rechargers have a private stock of soul gems that they use, but then you'd expect them to buy and sell those. I'll have to ask Timo how he does it!

[King Coin]

Chapter 12.5
I think Darnand might have ruined brothels for Jerric. I’ll see in a bit it looks like.

we have a special that’s named after you.”

Jerric stared at her in horror.



Vigge just doesn’t sound normal. You portrayed him wrong! (kidding)

Oh there we go. That’s the Vigge everyone knows and… well not loves but you get the idea.

Chapter 12.6
Wow. I never considered ghosts. I suppose there were many violent and shocking ends that night.

------- looters! Typical. Just typical.

Awesome chapter. Your portrayal of Savlian is what I’ve imagined. That still didn’t keep Aravi from telling him that his count was lying face down in a pool of blood though. She had lots of adrenaline going through her at the time as you could imagine. He seems to have forgiven her for that.

Chapter 12.7 !!!
Neat explanation of the map we enjoy in game. Lol.

I hoped that Jerric wouldn’t go into the ruins after ghosts. I suspected that they were more than the blobs they are represented by in game. No wonder they ask strangers to go in to clear out the ghosts.

Good chapter as well.


Woohoo! Caught up!

[Kazaera]

I haven't been commenting much because it's all been so perfect and so moving that I've had trouble figuring out anything to say... er. >> I do like the magicka explanation, and I *love* Jerric's lateral thinking - if a map can pinpoint your position, can someone use it to locate you, and what does this mean for the security of the Blades?! Not something I ever thought of but it does make sense as a worry! And the ghosts. *weeps*

Also, the pottery village! It struck a chord with me too, but for a very different reason - there is actually a historic pottery village near my hometown (Fredelsloh) where the primary industry still seems to be pottery. I've been there a lot because there's a good day's cycling route that goes there, our favourite pottery shop doubles as a cafe and we get a lot of our cups, plates, teapots, and other ceramic goods from there. I am not a historian, but the way it was explained to me is that pottery villages arise because the ground near the village contains usable clay, meaning that it makes sense for the crafts that need it to cluster. So it made me smile to see one in Cyrodiil!

This post has been edited by Kazaera: Sep 22 2011, 02:42 PM

[Grits]

Folks: This pause in the story was brought to you by a pinched nerve. Argh! Getting better now.

SubRosa: Did you see the quest marker pop up when Darnand said “Shetcombe Farm”? I could swear I did when I wrote it. This quest has a big “what-the-heck” factor for me in the game.

haute ecole rider: I’m delighted that Pottersville struck such a chord. Hopefully you won’t be too disappointed that it’s Darnand who will be travelling through there. Jerric would probably spend two days chatting with everyone in town, but we’re with the tunnel-vision Breton this time. My inspiration was a somewhat local town where trade secrets are passed down through families. There are several glazes that are so distinctive, you know the potter’s surname immediately when you see it.

Acadian: Indeed, the road to Skingrad will be a rambling one! Thank you for pointing out how differently the two fellows described Jesan. I’m glad you enjoyed their conversation. I’m sure Darnand’s GPS will come in handy. Hopefully he won’t keep his eyes on the map and accidentally ride off the road!

mALX: Thank you for drawing attention to Jerric’s concerns about the ghosts, and the resulting conversation. This episode turned out to be one of my favorites, even though nothing new really happened. It’s because of what you pointed out, the friendship. There’s a look under the goofing off at one of the things that troubles both of them, and there’s no neatly tied up answer.

ghastley: I have a spell in mind that Adrienne Berene might use to fill magicka gems by capturing the release of another kind of energy, which would also explain some of the antics at the Skingrad guild. I think Timo would approve! I’m using soul gems as well, and I agree that the rechargers should sell them. Filling empty gems for the guild is a source of income you’ll see in the next update. I had it in before, but I’m pretty sure it got dumped in the edit.

King Coin: Woo hoo, you’re caught up!! I had one game character who mouthed off to Savlian. His reply really humbled her. I’m glad you liked the map, I had to give it to Darnand. He’s not Mr. Wilderness. Now Jerric knows he should stay away from the ghosts, but do you think he will?

Kazaera: I’m glad you liked Pottersville. The local clay deposits are exactly why a whole village is dedicated to one trade. Wholesalers would be drawn to the town more than to isolated potteries, and shared resources would help with start-ups. I am so thrilled that you mentioned Jerric’s lateral thinking with the map.

Where we are: Kvatch. Jerric has a list of spells to learn from Vigge the Cautious. While he’s busy, we’ll follow Darnand on his assignment from chapter head Sigrid to learn what’s going on with the Mages Guild supplier at Shetcombe Farm. I should mention that the note in this episode is borrowed directly from the game, but I did change one verb tense that bugged me.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch Part 8

Morning mist still lay in the hollows as Darnand and Banner turned away from the rising sun. The road around the base of the Kvatch plateau was wide and even with a dirt track on either side. They made good time past the carts and early foot traffic.

They slowed to a walk as they passed into a small community. The cliffs loomed up on the left. Tidy cottages lined both sides of the road. A few little dirt lanes wound between them, giving access to more homes behind, clustered thick as mushrooms. The smells of manure, compost, and a whiff of privies lay under a pall of wood smoke. Pottersville, Darnand decided.

They passed a bustling alley off to the right and then turned onto the parallel main street. Jerric had been correct. There was no way to mistake this town.

No building stood over a single story, and Darnand could make little sense of the hive of sheds, shops, and shelters he saw stretching all the way back to the alleys behind each street-front establishment. It was clear to him what he would find in the showrooms, however. Each shop displayed racks of finished wares on its covered porch, while the rooms stayed shuttered against the chill. Some seemed to specialize in specific ceramic items, while others offered a variety of goods in all the same glaze. One shop displayed kahve and tea pots in shapes from the mundane to the fantastic. For a moment Darnand thought that another purveyed only dinner plates for giants, until he realized that the samples must be made larger to show the intricately painted designs from the street.

The center of town boasted two taverns, a general store, and an inn at the crossroads. The side streets were lined with low buildings backing up to the potteries. Darnand knew it was the center of town, for he could see the end. He stopped to make a mark on his map. Further embellishment could wait for proper tools and a writing surface. Moments later he rode through another cluster of tiny houses and out of Pottersville.

Darnand glanced at his map to confirm his turn east along the farm lane. Some modest farm houses fronted the lane with their holdings behind them, while others lay in the distance at the end of their own rutted tracks. Darnand saw fallow fields, brown pastures, and few animals other than sheep. He rode until he spotted someone within hailing distance.

“Shetcombe Farm?” he called to a woman as she crossed her barnyard.

She carried a bucket in each hand, so she jerked her chin in the direction he was travelling.

Eventually he found a goose girl who was willing to chat.

“Old mer Seringi’s place,” she confirmed, smiling up at him. Her geese snapped at the grass along the lane’s edge. “He’s an odd one. I hope you have time to listen to his rantings. Man’s lies and deceit and reaping what we sow are all he wants to talk about. That’s funny, because he sows flax seeds. What else does he think he’s going to reap? You’ll find Shetcombe Farm at the end of a lane off that way to your right. It backs up to the old clay pits with the plateau up in the distance behind. There’s no marker, but the lane is as wide as this one and paved in stone for the ox carts. They don’t use those pits any more, but the road is still there. You can’t miss it.”

The girl smiled up at him some more, all blue eyes and freckles. She wore her blonde braids caught up into loops under her ears and tied with red ribbons. An Imperial, Darnand decided, with more than one Nord in her family. She carried a white painted shepherd’s staff decorated with more ribbons, and her bright blue cloak was embroidered with flowers a foot deep at the hem.

“I thank you,” said Darnand. He nudged Banner back into motion.

When they reached the empty road, he let Banner stretch his legs a little along the wide shoulder. Darnand was always at risk of riding past his destination, lost in his thoughts. The exhilarating pace kept him on task.

The small farmhouse beside the road had to be the Seringi place, Darnand decided. Dead leaves had drifted against the front door. Dry flower stalks stood unharvested in the fields. Darnand made Banner safe and comfortable in the empty corral before he approached the cottage.

The lock opened easily for his spell. The smells of stale food and recent mice greeted him as he stepped inside. “Hail the house,” he said, looking around the cottage’s single room.

Empty. Slythe Seringi clearly lived alone, had little interest in the decorative arts, and had not been home in some time. Darnand drifted automatically to the bookshelf.

Some time later he remembered his assignment. There was only one place in here that a man could sit and write.

“Oh good,” said Darnand, standing at the table. “A note.”

___

As midnight approaches, I still watch the fires burn. The great city of man, Kvatch, lies in ruins. They didn't heed my words. They didn't listen to my voice. Now, they are all paying the cost of ignorance. The Sunken One strikes swift and hard. He swats those who oppose Him as if they did not exist at all. The excuses of man fall upon deaf ears. The Sunken One has no pity; He has no mercy, He only sits below and passes sentence. And now, with a mighty stroke, He's toppled one of man's pitiful blights on His land. And yet, He still hungers. His appetite is voracious. Kvatch will not be the last city to fall by His hand. The world of man grows more and more corrupt, and it angers Him. Man's lies and deceit will be his undoing as The Sunken One grows impatient and no longer waits for or accepts the proper offering.

The burden is mine to shoulder. I am the last who knows of He Who Shakes The Ground. If I do not bring him the Offering, who knows what city may fall prey to his whim? Anvil? Chorrol? Or perhaps He will turn his eyes on the greatest boil of all, the great Imperial City itself. No, I must not let that happen. I must get the Offering to him like my father did before me. Man may be fallen in His eyes, but they must have time to learn The Sunken One's teachings. Destroying man now would be a waste, when I am certain that given the chance, they will come to see His ways. Yes, I will do this thing. I will brave the depths of Sandstone Cavern to see Him. My weapons will be my will and my word. The Sunken One will watch over me and guide me. I must depart soon, before it is too late. If anyone finds this page, let them know that I, Slythe Seringi, do this for the good of all man.

___

Darnand doubted that the mer’s deity was responsible for the destruction of Kvatch, or that Mehrunes Dagon had found harbor under a clay pit. Seringi’s absence indicated that his will and word must have been insufficient for his task. Perhaps he should have armed himself with wits, thought Darnand. He wondered if He Who Shakes the Ground had been the end of Seringi, or if the nature of the mer’s offering had proven fatal. Even if he had simply met an accident, it looked as if he had been gone too long to survive the wait for rescue.

Darnand considered his options. ‘He is not there’ would fulfill his commitment, but it sounded inadequate. Returning with help might be excessive if the mer had simply tripped and bumped his head. It seemed likely from his writing that he had bumped it at least once before. Darnand returned to the bookshelf. The hand-illustrated History of Pottersville, Tannertown, and the Hamlet of Trine penned by Seringi himself contained a discourse on local geology, he had already discovered. He found it on the shelf next to Seringi’s other work, Drains, Wells, and Cisterns: the Mysterious Waterways of the Kvatch Plateau.

“Right,” said Darnand, opening the book to a map. “Sandstone Cavern.”

This post has been edited by Grits: Sep 29 2011, 12:33 AM

[SubRosa]

So we are off to Harry Pottersville. Here is the obligatory song to listen to while visiting the place.

You paint a vivid picture of the little pottery settlement, and its freckled inhabitants. I could not help but to think of Little Bo Peep when you described her!

Darnand drifted automatically to the bookshelf.
Some time later he remembered his assignment.
This is our Breton alright! Jerric might stop to chat up everyone in Pottersville, but Darnand will stop to read every book!

So now Darnand is off to Sandstone Cavern. His motivations are solid. As he ruminated, just going back and saying "sorry, he wasn't home." would really be weak. Of course at this point, Darn really does not know what he is getting himself into.



nits:
The world of man grows more and more corrupt
Usually people capitalize Man when they mean to refer to the human race. Or at least all the males, since obviously the existence of us women is not worth acknowledging. Sorry, don't mean to get preachy with you. ES is full of of Man, not to mention the Real World, so it is completely appropriate. It is just one of my pet peeves.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 2 2011, 10:27 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Ooh, I loved the ride out to Pottersville! And it really is as I imagined it would be. (Here we go again with more proof that great minds think alike.) I'm surprised that Darnand was able to notice so much of our local friendly goose girl!

As for the usage of Man in Slythe's note, well, he is a mer, and not a politically correct one at that, either. So I just let the "Man" in his note slide as the ranting of an addled bigot. Darnand may be more right than he knows in his thinking that Slythe had bumped his head before. Probably when he was reaping what he sowed?

I remember the first time I played this quest - I honestly had no idea what I was getting into. That first imp made me jump! Then the whole dungeon was just creeeeepy as 'blivion. Brrgh!

SGM!

[Acadian]

What a beautiful picture of Potterstown you paint. Oh, and the goose girl was a delight that I’m glad you lingered to detail us with.

’Darnand was always at risk of riding past his destination, lost in his thoughts.’
How very Darnand! And, . . . I can identify with the sentiment.

’Seringi’s absence indicated that his will and word must have been insufficient for his task.’
Another fabulous observation that fully incorporates Darnand’s style of thinking.

I loved the creativity you put into the books quilled by the cabin’s owner.

Just a delightful episode!

[ghastley]

...the samples must be made larger to show the intricately painted designs from the street.

Now that's got me searching the internet for where I've seen them IRL. Great detail!

Methinks Darnand's Daedroth might not be enough for what he's about to face. (Has he named it yet?)

[mALX]

Grits, I'm not up to reading right now. (spent mostly all of yesterday in the hospital ER). "I'll be back" (said in an "Arnold" voice) to read this when I feel good enough to appreciate your work. (sorry).

[King Coin]

Pottersville sounds like an interesting place. I kind of want to go there now. You say it’s outside of Kvatch? Too bad Aravi’s too busy to go look for it. Lol.

Zoning out on the road just sounds like a bad idea, especially with the number of bandits around. I’m glad Darnand was able to stay on task.

I’ve forgotten what lies below Sandstone Cave. Rather than looking at the wiki, I’ll let it be a surprise.

I found Darnand’s casual dismissal of Seringi pretty funny. Sounds like what I would think.

Good chapter!

[mALX]

I love your lead-in to one of my favorite side quests. My character usually does it early and uses the house till she can afford one of her own, lol. Awesome Write !!

[Grits]

SubRosa: Yay, Counting Crows! I was thinking of Rosie Cotton dancing with ribbons in her hair. The note comes straight from the game, I forgot to acknowledge it. (Oops.) I took Slythe’s capitalizations as an effort to show that his Offering and his Sunken One were holy, and capitalizing man there would cloud the issue. I also took man in Slythe’s context to mean the gender-inclusive humanity or mankind, as opposed to all mortals or just elfkind. I see your point, though. If it were my note, I would have written it differently.

haute ecole rider: Darnand has the tendency to hyper-focus that makes people so fun to prank. I doubt if he would have noticed her at all if he wasn’t looking for someone to ask directions. Of course his reaction to the cute, friendly girl was see-ya-bye! Thank you for the SGM, I’m honored!

Acadian: I’m glad you liked the goose girl. I wanted to show that even in the shadow of Kvatch, some girls still tie ribbons in their hair. Thank you for noticing that Darnand-flavored thought. It is not easy for me to set Jerric aside (he’s loud!) and hear things the way Darnand thinks them. Slythe just had to have some of his own literary offerings on his shelf. He was such a dedicated journal writer, even as he lay dying.

ghastley: No name for Darnand’s daedroth. He might call it “Nightmare-Creature-of-Awesome-Power-That-is-Mine-All-Mine-To-Control-Mwa-Ha-Ha,” but not in front of other people. I can’t place those big plates in the real world, either, but I know I must have seen them somewhere!

mALX: I’m the same way, I’m sure at least one of my characters still has a pile of stuff on the floor at Shetcombe Farm. I think this was the first side quest I ever did. I was confused throughout!

King Coin: Maybe there will be a Pottersville in Skyrim. If you ever hear about a guy riding his horse off a cliff, it might be Darnand. Yep, he knows too much about the daedric invasion to think that some flax farmer could have been the key to saving the world. (Instead it’s some priest of Akatosh? Good thing Jauffre didn’t have to convince Darnand to go fetch the heir for him.)

Where we are: Darnand is unraveling the mystery of the missing flax seeds at Shetcombe Farm. Slythe’s second note is lifted from the game, but I have taken some liberties with the third one. (Which appears in the episode after this one.)



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch Part 9

Darnand walked through the dry grass toward the rocky outcrop that should conceal the entrance to Sandstone Cavern. He glanced over his shoulder at the Kvatch plateau to check his course. Seringi watched the city burn from here, he realized. The screams would not have carried this far. He turned his thoughts away quickly, but a chill already crept through his belly.

He ran his preparations through his mind, touching each piece of equipment to reassure himself. The walking stick rode across his back, strapped over his chest and fastened with the knot Jerric had shown him. One tug would loosen it, and he could have the stick in a defensive position with a single practiced motion. The walking stick itself had been the smallest part of Jerric’s Saturalia gift. Training sessions with Huurwen of the Fighters Guild had begun on the day after Saturalia. She taught him to block with the staff as well as one striking technique to use on Jerric as a prank. The surprise worked. Darnand split Jerric’s lip open the next time they practiced his blocking. Darnand was horrified, but Jerric roared with laughter. It was difficult for Darnand to tell if his friend had retaliated, since the Nord's version of light contact already left Darnand decorated with welts and bruises. Jerric told him that the pain made him stronger, so he was reluctant to heal it away. Of course, that could easily be another one of Jerric’s jests.

A satchel rested on his hip, also slung across a shoulder. Darnand slipped a hand under the flap to check the contents. Empty soul gems, a few healing and dispel potions, waxed parchment and empty pouches for alchemy ingredients, a water skin, and one of the sandwiches that Jerric had tucked into his saddlebag this morning. His fingers found the map, scrolls, charcoal pencil, ink stick, brush, and cheap paper in the writing compartment. No books today. He felt vaguely unsettled without even one.

Lastly, Darnand checked the blanket he wore folded at his back, tucked under his belt. If he found remains, Seringi could travel back to the farm wrapped in his own blanket.

The ground dropped away in front of the outcrop, forming a wide, low cavern. The ruins of a wooden wall with a broken door were visible at the back. Someone had sealed it off once. Darnand moved his walking stick to his hand as he began to descend the slope. It would be foolish to tumble down the hill with it still on his back. But not unprecedented, he had to admit.

He stopped beside a bush and crouched down to observe the area, as Lildereth had taught him. A light wind ruffled the dry grass and hissed through the widely spaced fir trees. Birds chirped in the shrubbery to his rear, informing him that no enemy crept up behind him. Darnand began to feel silly, huddled down in the grass on a fine winter morning.

Motion caught his eye at the front of the cavern. A gray creature winged out of the shadows to land on the rocky ground. Something chittered, and the creature replied with a high, squeaky trill.

Imps. Now Darnand could see that some of the rocks were imps, warming themselves in the morning sun. His life detection spell showed him more still roosting near the cavern’s ceiling. There were enough imps down there to fill his empty soul gems with magicka, he estimated.

But too many to tackle on his own. His stars gave him a great well of magicka, but even with his natural resistance and the ring Jerric had enchanted for him, he was still vulnerable to magical attacks. If they swarmed him, he wouldn’t be able to escape. Darnand cast the spell to make himself invisible and walked slowly down to the cavern.

The breeze hid his progress through the grass, and the stick helped him step lightly. Within moments Darnand eased through the broken door into the cave, nervous sweat prickling his palms and armpits.

A passageway had been cut into the stone. Darnand took several steps into shadow before he cast the spell to let him see in the dark. The passage led straight ahead at a downward angle. Faint pink glows moving in the distance told him that a chamber lay before him, and he was not alone. In a few more steps he could tell that the creatures were rats.

Darnand knelt in the corridor, bringing spells to the front of his mind. Rats could jump and bite, but they died quickly. This was an excellent opportunity to practice a touch spell at minimal risk to his person. He would cast the soul trap spell with his left hand from a distance, then reach out and absorb the rats’ life energy into his own with a touch from his right hand. He would keep his walking stick ready in his left hand, in case something went amiss.

The chamber appeared to be a natural cavern. Tree roots hung down from the ceiling like great dangling snakes. The floor was level, but broken with jutting rocks and rubble. Darnand moved into a place where he thought the formations would naturally funnel the rats toward him. Then he cast his first spell.

The plan worked. Before he could think again, Darnand had power thrumming through the gems in his satchel, a new gouge on his walking stick, and a hand sticky with sweat and rat hair. He took a deep breath and searched the chamber.

The remains of wooden crates, burned out torches, and a fire pit indicated some past use. Smugglers, Darnand guessed. Serinigi’s history of the region told of traffic between Valenwood, Elsweyr, and Hammerfell. Two corridors opened out of the cavern in addition to the one that led back to the surface. One was thick with spider webs. The other looked clear. Darnand moved into the cleaner passageway. He doubted that Seringi had passed through the webs.

The corridor changed direction and elevation, but it led unbranching to a closed wooden door. Darnand watched more pink glows move on the other side, in what had to be a chamber.

Wolves, he guessed, or dogs. The door must keep them from eating the rats he found near the entrance. It might protect him if he had to flee. He had no hope of sneaking invisibly past wolves, they would smell him. Their fangs would tear through his flesh like a spoon through pudding. Darnand reached for his Breton’s shield power. The Dragon Skin slipped over his own with a flicker across his vision. His scamp might draw more wolves to attack it than his dry skeleton would. His fire spells should frighten them. But first he would cast the spell to trap their energies.

He hoped he would have enough magicka. Summoning a daedroth in panic was not an option any more. Darnand readied his spells as he reached for the door.

Something made him pause. Lildereth. Thinking too much like Jerric could get him killed before midday. Another plan came to his mind.

Five wolves turned their snouts toward Darnand when he stepped through the door. Two immediately started for him, growling. Darnand cast the spell that would make them turn on each other, first at the closest wolf, then at one near the middle of the chamber. He had plenty of time to cast the soul trap spell on each of them during the snarling, yelping fight. One small flare finished the survivor where it staggered on three legs, bleeding from its throat. Darnand leaned on the door frame for a moment, letting his heart slow down again.

This cavern was finished as a room, crude but snug. Light beamed down from an opening in the ceiling onto a fire pit against one wall. Book shelves and cabinets lined another. Two long tables stood to one side, each with a chair. The wolves had been sleeping under the narrow bed. Bones and shreds of carpeting littered the floor. Darnand stepped carefully around the bodies as he searched the room. Between the rats and the wolves, he began to wonder if anything remained of Slythe Seringi.

The shelves were empty and crusted with a century’s worth or more of dust. One table had been swept clear, and one chest looked as if it had been used recently. The lid fell off as he opened it. Inside he found a neatly folded paper.

A page intended for my journal, written this 15 of Hearthfire 433
by Slythe Seringi

As I descend into the depths of Sandstone Cavern, I wonder to myself... why? Why does The Sunken One test me so? Have I not been loyal? Have I not spread His word? Have I not obeyed His laws? This journey has been cruel and unfair. I've nearly met my end more than once. I don't know if I can make it to His home. But no, I cannot think this way! I must get there! I must see Him. If I do not, then the world of man is doomed. I dare not tarry longer, as I do not wish to suffer His wrath. I must get the Offering to Him.

Darnand tucked the page into his bag for Sigrid. Three months and twenty days had passed since Seringi had quilled it. The ashes in the fire pit looked like they could be that recent, Seringi must have rested here after his own struggle with the cave’s wildlife. Darnand guessed that the chamber’s original occupant had been a mage. He knew a wizard’s lair when he saw one. This place would tempt him, if not for the imps. The wolves had to get in a different way, he realized. Perhaps there is a side entrance.

Another passage opened out of the room, and this one’s door hung askew. Darnand reached for his water before he moved on. His Dragon Skin would not last very long, and he did not want to leave the cave before he found Seringi. His magicka returned faster than most mages,’ but it would not be fully restored until after his Dragon Skin had faded. He would have his shield or more magicka before he faced danger again, but not both. Darnand took a drink as he considered the implications.

A sour taste filled his mouth, and the water burned up his nose as he choked on it. Not water, he realized, coughing. A potion. He felt magicka welling up inside him like honey from a comb.

This was Jerric’s doing. He must have mentioned it this morning when they packed the saddlebags. Darnand remembered Jerric speaking earnestly about mustard before his attention strayed. His friend had slept only a few hours, all of them badly. Jerric walked Darnand down to the stables before dawn, he claimed to check on the horses. Darnand suspected that he did not want to return to his dreams with no one there to wake him.

Another sip should be enough, Darnand estimated. How fortunate that he grabbed this water skin from the saddlebag instead of the one with water in it. Everything about Jerric’s potion making put Darnand on edge. The casual estimates instead of measuring, the fine instruments in his rough hands, his careless technique. Most annoying was his use of unlabeled, unapproved containers. Darnand smiled as he tucked the bag away. Thank the Nine for Jerric.





This post has been edited by Grits: Oct 5 2011, 09:29 PM