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

[Grits]

Hi folks. This is my first attempt at fiction, and I welcome any criticism from the smallest nit to the most sweeping remarks on writing in general.

My version of Tamriel is a little bigger than the game's, but I'm trying to fill in some of the blanks rather than re-imagine the place. I have taken liberties with the order of some events, but the main quest will stand. Mostly.

I feel especially weak in the lore and action sequence departments. If you should suggest a resource, I will certainly seek it out in the hope that my next effort will be less cringe-worthy!

So welcome to Jerric's story, and thank you for joining us.

(Edit: Darnand started as Arnand, so comments may reference his old name.)

July 24, 2014: Hi again. Having learned much in the last couple of years I'm revisiting early chapters and giving them a very light edit. Regrettably there may be some inconsistencies in style as I work my way through. Sorry about that, and thank you very much for reading!

Jerric

The whole story is contained in this thread, but here are some links to the beginning of each chapter within this thread.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Working Vacation
Chapter 2 On the Gold Road
Chapter 3 Welcome to the Imperial City
Chapter 4 All's Well in Aleswell
Chapter 5 Unloading the Amulet
Chapter 6 Going Home
Chapter 7 Kvatch
Chapter 8 Running
Chapter 9 Anvil
Chapter 10 Septims
Chapter 11 Holidays
Chapter 12 Return to Kvatch
Interlude:Abiene's Letters
Chapter 13 Skingrad
Chapter 14 The Imperial City
Chapter 15 Chorrol
Interlude: Abiene
Chapter 16 Valley of Hopes
Chapter 17 Bruma


The Darnandex

Appendix One: The People of Jerric's World
Appendix Two: Jerric's World Terms
Appendix Three: Map of Game Quests Within Jerric's Story
Appendix Four: Geography
Appendix Five: Timeline

Chapter 1: Working Vacation

Darnand Penoit had hoped to spend the afternoon studying with the delicious Abiene, but instead he was in the hills above Anvil searching for goldenrod plants with this hulking nitwit. They were working their way through the meadow side by side so as not to miss any. Darnand straightened to ease the kink in his back. He shot a glance at his partner.

Jerric stood thigh deep in the golden grass, eyes closed and face raised to the sun. He had pulled off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his breeches where it hung down like a ridiculous tail. His head looked like a shock of wheat.

Idiot, Darnand thought. Every night he has to heal his own sunburn. Jerric held a wicked looking blade in one hand and a white seed pod in the other.

�I feel just like a loaf of bread,� Jerric said to the sky.

�Felen is waiting for these pods,� Darnand snapped. What is this lump doing in the Mages Guild, anyway? he wondered. He did not grow those arms by turning pages.

Jerric laughed. �No he�s not. He�ll have his nose in a book by now and he won�t look up until long after dark.� The Nord tucked the pod into his bag and looked down for another goldenrod plant.

�You missed one,� Darnand said. He pointed to the plant at Jerric�s feet. �If you are not going to work, why did you bother to walk this far?�

�Because this is my assignment.� Jerric nudged the plant with his boot. �I never take all of the seed pods from any plant. Where do you think the plants come from? If you take all of the pods, no more goldenrod.�

Darnand could identify most of the alchemical plants in Cyrodiil from his books, but he had given little thought to how they grow.

Jerric stepped forward and stooped, cutting pods from another plant.

�What kind of mage would bring a dagger,� said Darnand. He snapped a pod from its dry stem to make his point.

�It�s a knife.� Jerric tossed it into the air and caught the blade between his thumb and finger. �My hand just likes to hold it. Try it,� he offered, extending the hilt toward Darnand.

�A real mage is his own weapon,� Darnand sniffed.

The two worked in silence for some time. Darnand was beginning to feel unpleasantly warm under his robe, and Jerric was positively streaming. The man�s sweat smelled unpleasantly familiar.

Sharing the Mages Guild common quarters with Jerric was a trial. He was noisy, his gigantic boots were always in the way, and he treated every day like Jester�s Day. Just last night while Darnand lay in bed reading Jerric had jumped under the blanket with him. He had let loose some wind then held Darnand�s head beneath the covers. The visiting mages had laughed like a pack of teenagers. One of them had wet herself.

Worst of all, Abiene seemed to like him.

�Feh, you smell like an animal,� Darnand muttered.

Jerric straightened and turned toward Darnand, a grin on his lips. Then he froze, eyes widening. �Boar,� he said.

�Oh really,� Darnand snapped, �Well I think you are the bore, Nord!�

Darnand faced his opponent, ready to deliver his come-uppance. Jerric whipped a ball of frost at him, faster than Darnand could think. It landed behind him with a hollow boom and an enraged squeal.

Comprehension dawned. Boar! Darnand sprinted toward Jerric, readying his fire spell. He whirled some distance behind the Nord in time to see the boar charge.

Jerric switched the knife to his right hand and hit the boar with frost from his left. When he lunged to the side the boar almost missed him with its yellow tusks. Jerric tackled the boar just as Darnand let go with his fire.

The Nord, the boar, and the ball of fire disappeared into the tall grass. Dust, squeals, and a death scream rose from the thrashing mayhem. A moment later all was still.

Darnand stood in horror at what he had done. By the Nine, I have killed him! I shall certainly be expelled from the Guild.

Jerric popped up from the grass, streaked with blood and crowing in triumph. He wiped his blade on his breeches.

Darnand searched him for signs of immolation. He appeared whole, apart from a steady stream pumping out of a wound in his thigh. �Erm ...� Darnand said, pointing.

Jerric held his skin together through the tear in his breeches and sent healing light swirling down his body. He looked at Darnand, grinning. �Did you hit me with a flare, soldier?�

�Please do not tell Carahil,� Darnand blurted. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. �Why did the spell not burn you?�

�I can thank the stars for that.�

Atronach, thought Darnand. That explains a lot.

�New plan, Breton! Grab my bag, will you? I don�t want to get blood on Felen�s flowers.� Jerric lifted the boar carcass to his shoulders with a grunt, hardly staggering. �Good thing this was a small one.�

Jerric started down the hill toward Anvil. Against his better judgment, Darnand picked up the bag and followed.

___

�But how did you know she would have seed pods to sell us?� Darnand asked. His companion had sold the boar to a butcher, then bought enough white seed pods from a woman on the street to finish filling both their bags. Jerric had taken the first offer from both merchants, like some rube. Now they were entrenched at The Flowing Bowl with just enough coin to get them into trouble.

�She sells anything she can get for free,� Jerric said. �This time of year she has to have white seed pods, and cheap.�

�But she is a beggar. She does not have anything.�

�She has what she needs,� Jerric pointed out. �Don�t you think that if she was really planning to buy shoes, she would have them by now?�

�How do you know these things?� Darnand demanded. �You do not even reside in Anvil.�

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

Darnand took sip of beer and winced at the bitter taste. He was not sure how he ended up on the waterfront in the middle of the afternoon drinking with the person he liked least in all of the Mages Guild. The person he had almost incinerated only a few hours ago. He was beginning to worry about payback for that incident.

�Are you sure you are not angry about the ...� Darnand could not bring himself to say it.

�No harm done,� said Jerric. �I�m just glad you didn�t set the grass on fire. Besides, you would have healed me, right? Abiene said you�ve nearly reached Journeyman in Restoration.�

Darnand inhaled some spit. �Abiene talks about me?� he choked.

�Yeah,� Jerric replied with a twist of his lips. �She says, �Oh that Darnand, how does he get his hair that way, it looks sooooo pretty.��

Darnand gritted his teeth and stared into his beer.

Jerric thumped his arm.

�Easy with the ham fist, I am not a snow bear,� Darnand complained.

�I�m a Nord, Darnand. Get over it. Anyway I�m not even that big. You should see my Pa, he has a neck like a minotaur.�

Darnand looked at Jerric for a long moment. �Did you have a point?�

�Look over there.� Jerric gestured at a slim, dark, Imperial woman. �What do you think of her?�

�She has a face like a weasel. I think you have a good chance with her.�

�No, for you! She�s been looking over here a lot.�

Darnand was amazed. �Are you procuring women for me, now?�

Jerric shrugged. �You seem tense.�

The door opened and closed with inn traffic.

�Drink up,� Jerric said. �The sun�s going down. We have to hurry and get loaded so we can sober up before dinner.�

___

Darnand carefully ran his knife up the center of the aloe vera leaf. He opened the skin to expose its juicy pulp then slid his knife down the inside at an angle, folding the skin back as he went. After he repeated the cut on the other side, he viewed the flattened leaf with satisfaction.

A groan and thump broke his concentration. Darnand glanced across the room where Jerric sat at another work table. Bloody scraps of cloth and empty potion bottles littered the surface. The Nord�s forehead was on the table. His fingers clenched in his hair.

Darnand wiped his knife, put it down on its cloth, and picked up the wooden spatula. He slowly ran the spatula�s blade down the butterflied leaf, collecting the pulp without picking up any of the fibers that clung to the inside of the skin. He plopped his harvest into a clay storage jar, then carefully repeated the process.

�Darnand,� Jerric said.

Darnand scraped another spatula load of pulp from the leaf. He placed it in the jar.

�Darnand,� Jerric said again.

Darnand wiped the spatula and placed it on its cloth. He folded the empty leaf skin and set it aside. �I am busy.�

�It�s important.�

Darnand picked up another leaf and placed it in the ready position in front of him. He picked up the knife. �So is this.�

The knife slid down the plump leaf in a perfect line. Darnand braced himself for Jerric�s reply. Something about him squeezing his own juice, Darnand guessed.

Jerric picked up his chair and carried over to Darnand�s table. He put it down and took a seat across from Darnand. �I�m running out of time,� he said.

�I need to finish this,� replied Darnand without looking over. He makes more noise than a Billy on a wooden bridge. He scraped the leaf.

�I�ll do it for you later,� said Jerric. �I need your help.�

�You will pull up too many fibers. �Quick and dirty� is not an alchemist�s motto.� He wiped his spatula and placed it on its cloth.

�Darnand,� Jerric said.

A note in his voice made Darnand look at him. Jerric�s raised face wore a solemn expression. Candlelight made his eyes look like honey. No doubt he uses that technique to lure women.

�No more tricks,� said Jerric. �I�m running out of time. I really need help.�

Darnand folded the leaf skin and placed it aside. He hooked a chair leg with his foot and sat down.

�Your healing spell?� he surmised.

�I�m just not getting it. I have the magicka but I can�t get it all into the spell. I know how it�s supposed to work. I just can�t do it.�

Darnand considered. �When you healed where the boar slashed you, you sent your spell over your whole body. Did you mean to do that?�

Jerric looked blank.

Darnand tried to explain it another way. �Do you focus your spell on a specific injury, or do you just cast the spell?�

�I just cast the spell, and then I feel better.�

�You are wasting your magicka,� Darnand said. �You will never get your spell stronger until you learn to focus. You know how to heal a wound on another person, do you not?�

�Yeah, but I�m not very good at it.�

�Think about how it feels when you cast that spell. The pain you feel from the other person that tells you where to send your magicka. It is the same thing.�

Jerric looked blank again, and miserable. His fingers twisted on the edge of the table.

Darnand was surprised. His patience with Jerric was growing, not racing away as it usually did. �Do you feel the pain from the other person, or do you just cast your spell over them?� he asked.

�I feel it, but I don�t know how to use it,� said Jerric. �Please don�t give up on me. I know I can learn this.�

Darnand decided to change his plans for the evening. �I shall render my assistance. First, show me how you heal yourself.�

Jerric picked up Darnand�s knife.

�Gaaaah!� cried Darnand, throwing out his hands. He snatched his knife back, wiped it, and placed it precisely on its cloth. �Over there,� he said, pointing at Jerric�s table. �And go get a hammer so you will bleed less. You were making a mess.�

___

Darnand entered the common living quarters and halted in surprise. A man stood at the end of the room in a steel breastplate and mail with a long sword on one hip and a short blade on the other. He was lifting a steel shield out of the open cabinet. A full pack rested at his feet. Jerric.

Darnand approached. He felt oddly distressed. �What is this?�

�My uniform,� Jerric replied with a smile. �Did you think I was a professional student? I�m a caravan guard. See?� He pointed at his chest where a shape was embossed onto the metal. �Running Wolf Postal and Freight. That�s my family�s business.� Jerric pulled on his gauntlets. �My break is over. I have to get back to work.�

�An armored guard. But what kind of a...� Darnand began. He looked at Jerric, and for the first time his own expression matched the Nord�s.

�Battlemage,� they finished with a grin.

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jun 1 2025, 06:21 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

[King Coin]

Darnand is a much more careful person than Jerric is, which is to be expected. I don’t remember you mentioning Jerric running though a mental checklist before entering some strange place. Darnand on the other hand does it. And he’s being extra careful because he’s alone when he’s used to Jerric around to help pull his *** out of the fire.

Oh wow Jerric gave him a sandwich? I’m… speechless.

No book?

Darnand is going to be fun to play in Skyrim with the two hand casting!

I like how he’s forcing himself to think like Lilfereth. Jerric has the brawn to just wade into situations, Darnand does not.

Most annoying was his use of unlabeled, unapproved containers. Darnand smiled as he tucked the bag away. Thank the Nine for Jerric.
I loved the whole paragraph but this is such a great way to end the section.

[ghastley]

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.

Why does this remind me of cookery?

Nit:
...waxed parchment and empty pouches for alchemy ingredients, a water skin, and one of the sandwiches...

How fortunate that he grabbed this water skin from his pack instead of the one with water in it.

Continuity problem. He's got only one water skin going in, and more than one when he drinks.

[SubRosa]

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.
That does sound like a Nord, either seriously or in jest!

No books today. He felt vaguely unsettled without even one.
Oh noes!

Tree roots hung down from the ceiling like great dangling snakes.
A nice description. I usually think of tentacles. But that is probably from too much Cthulhu Mythos...

Wolves in a cave? I know that is standard in the game, but you might want to rethink that, and replace them with more imps. How did wolves get in there, through a closed door, with a pack of imps at the entrance? Even if there is a side entrance they might have used, why would they bother in the first place? Wolves are not subterranean creatures. If they were under the command of a vampire, or other such beastie that can enthrall them, then it would work.

[Acadian]

This was wonderful! Gosh, you do Darnand so well! The true absent minded academic. Too interested in ‘why’ and overanalyzing and filling his soul gems sometimes to focus on his self preservation; while at the same time he, no doubt, considers Jerric reckless! Thank the Nine for Lildereth and her obvious ability to teach both these fellows a couple things.

How very like Darnand to use a checklist before entering a dungeon, then lamenting that his satchel contains no books (although he is well stocked with writing material at least).

I absolutely loved the image you painted of the imps sunning themselves in the winter morning sun. Gotta warm those little wings up!

[mALX]

I loved the second paragraph - Darnand's inner dialogue about his trainings with Jerric was hilarious and telling about each. In itself it continues to show the deep and close friendship the two have and the differences in their personalities.

I don't like the idea of Darnand taking on this cavern alone, it smacks of a tragic ending for Darnand - something I don't want to see happen! ARGH !!! Jerric's potion slid into the water bag was ingenious. (his urgent ramblings about mustard had me laughing, lol).

I agree with KC, Darnand's trying to think like Lildereth instead of Jerric is a good thing - he does not have the bulk required to charge in and take prisoners.

Awesome Write!! (tension building and leaving the chapter on a subtle cliffhanger, though) !!!

[Thomas Kaira]

I'm back on the same page as everyone else now.

The one thing I love the most about your writing is all of the little things you do. Your nuances and subtleties make your characters really come to life. This is not something that can be performed idly, and it's great to watch how your writing skills have improved as you progressed through the tale. Do I envy you for this? Maybe. But I mean that as a compliment.

[Grits]

King Coin: When Jerric gives you a sandwich, you know you’re in his inner circle. Thank you for pointing out the differences between how Darnand and Jerric would approach this situation. And as you saw, Lildereth has had an influence, too.

ghastley: I think it’s safe to say that Jerric would be an intuitive cook, but an unsuccessful baker. Thank you for the nit, I clarified it.

SubRosa: I thought about whether or not Cyrodiil’s wolves would den in dry caves, since they have scarier predators to contend with than Earth wolves do. I decided that they might, especially now that daedra have come calling. The poor things probably thought that the closed door was a wall until Darnand came through it. You’re right, they would not have come through an imp colony and a closed door. As Darnand speculated, there must be another entrance close by. Of course, he was thinking of his own future cave lair requirements.

Acadian: You’re right, so far Lildereth’s teaching has kept Sigrid from having to send the next guild hopeful after a dead Breton! Thank you for your kind words about Darnand. I can totally imagine him looking at a puppy while fingering an empty soul gem and thinking, hmm, I wonder how much magicka… I always wonder if he will see the line before or after he crosses it.

mALX: That he might share Slythe’s fate is not something that has occurred to Darnand, you’re right to be worried! Jerric should learn to say the important part first, but he probably thought that the thing about the mustard was the important part. Thank you, mALX! The second paragraph was important to me. I wanted to touch on some things that would have dragged too long in the story.

Thomas Kaira: Thank you, TK! This has been a major learning experience. I’m glad you’re back.

Where we are: Darnand is searching for Slythe Seringi in Sandstone Cavern. But first, an interlude from Abiene.

The Chapel of Stendarr
Chorrol

5 Morning Star, 433


Dear Ilonea,


Thank you so much for the hair cream, it arrived just as I left in the coach for Chorrol. You spoil me, and I am all the happier for it. The scent brings me back to those joyful hours I spent at your side in our kitchens. I begin each day with the comfort of those memories.

I am settled in to my quarters here at the chapel. Ilonea, you would wring your hands to see the nest in which your little lark has landed. My chamber is all stone walls and floor, with not even a scrap of carpet to warm it. The door is heavy enough to contain a land dreugh, but I suppose it helps keep out the noise from the corridor. I have a bed that is just large enough to not be called a cot, but the mattress is thick and my blankets warm. I am allowed one candle, and my night stand is hardly large enough to hold it. I hang my gowns and cloaks on pegs, so my walls are decorated in brown flax and woolens. A Nord could stand in the middle of my cell and nearly brush all of the walls with his fingertips. I have no windows, so midday and midnight are the same once I close the door. I suppose it is for the best, as I keep odd hours and sleep when I may.

Although it sounds as if I have entombed myself here in Chorrol, my life is far from solitary. Every waking moment is spent in the company of patients, priests, and healers. I take my meals in the chapel’s great hall when my schedule permits, and the healing hall has a small chamber where we may dine and rest. The chapel’s library would make Papa clap his hands with delight. I sit here beside a lovely fire as I write. These hours are golden to me, as thoughts of loved ones bring you close in my mind. I spend more time than I would like in the compounding room. You would not be pleased to see the stains on my fingers.

But oh, I am learning. My master is a cold mer, and I have come to believe that he needs to be that way. Do you remember what happened with my little cat Stockings? Well, now I know what I should have done. A healer cannot be so soft-hearted, but it is not in me to be completely unfeeling. You told me once that I would find my own way. I have not found it yet, but I am searching.

I have mixed up a powder for you, Ilonea. You must now imagine my most severe tone, and do not argue. Drink one pinch dissolved in a cup of warm water, morning and night. One of your pinches, not one of mine. It does not taste delicious, but drink it just the same. I am afraid that it will stain your teeth if you simply take the powder. In two weeks’ time, you should feel some relief. (If your skin begins to break out in spots or rough patches, discontinue the powder and drink the contents of the vial I have enclosed. Do not ask me what is in the vial, just trust that it is as disgusting as you imagine. I sincerely hope that you will not need to drink it.)

I have also enclosed a woman’s tea for Sidette. She should drink one dose each day for ten days, beginning on the first day of her moons’ blood. I have included instructions in the packet. No, she has not confided anything to me that would suggest a need for it. However, it is far better that she should drink her tea without a reason than act on an impulse and regret it later. This is my own blend, with raspberry leaf added to ease her cramps and mint for flavor. It will taste best with a drop of honey.

Mother’s last letter seemed especially cross and threatening. I would be glad to send you something for her nerves, if you wish. Or perhaps something for the rest of you who must live with her. I know it is no substitute for my presence. I thank you every day for letting me go.


As always, Ilonea, I remain,

Your loving Abiene

___

The Chapel of Stendarr
Chorrol

5 Morning Star, 433


Darnand, my dear Friend,


I hope this letter finds you in still in Skingrad. The Imperial Post has not been slowed here by any Gates to Oblivion. We have heard of Gates opening in the West Weald, however. Please be careful.

I am bursting with ideas I want to discuss with you, but most should wait until we may speak in person. You and I are of the same mind regarding those aspects of Restoration that we recently explored. My observations here at the chapel lead me to believe that we are not alone in our views, and that there are others who might even share our ambitions. Cyrodiil once had a Healers Guild, separate from the Guild of Mages. I am anxious to learn your thoughts on that subject.

I am sorry that I am such a poor summoner. Your words come to me clearly through the crystal ball, but I can tell that sometimes you struggle to understand me. When our minds meet, it seems more like a feeling than a voice in my ears. Is that how it is supposed to be? I can see your face in the crystal, but I also get the idea of where you are, almost like a memory. I hope I am not conveying too much when we touch. I would not wish to make you uncomfortable.

By now you have shared a tent with Jerric for weeks. Please tell me the truth. Is he still having the dream? Even if he would write to me, I know he would not say. We spoke of it before you left Anvil, you are not betraying a confidence by telling me. It concerns me that you both keep placing yourselves in danger if he is still so troubled. Remember the potions and spells that I showed you, he might let you help him. I know it is not my place, but you know that will not stop me from meddling.

I miss our quiet evening walks, my friend. When I step outside the healing hall here in Chorrol, the air has teeth. I can feel the cold pouring down from the mountains at night. There are no soft sea mists here, and it seems that I last stood in Leyawiin’s heavy fog in another lifetime. I hope that you will have time to show me your old home when you come to Chorrol for your recommendation. I have heard your family’s name, but I have not sought them out. I would like to give you letters of introduction for your visit to my home, since I cannot accompany you. I want you to meet my Papa. I am certain that you and he will enjoy one another’s company. My sister Sidette will attempt to smother you with attention. You must ignore her.

I feel my magicka returning, so I must close and return to my rounds. Every day I think of you, Darnand. To think that you were once my student, and now I miss your counsel. I wish you a safe journey, my friend.


My fondest regards,

Abiene

___

The Chapel of Stendarr
Chorrol

5 Morning Star, 433


Oh my dearest Thaurron, how I miss you!


I will not tell you about my life here at the chapel. As you predicted, each lesson comes at a price. You taught me that death is merely one point on a circle, but I cannot help but think it is an enemy that I must keep at bay. Each eternal spirit may come around again, but I see too much loss and grief for those who are left behind, missing loved ones in their mortal forms.

But enough of that. I must tell you of events in my own fashion, which by the end will have convinced you to come and visit me!

You know my Papa continues to send me a stipend, though my needs are few and easily met. Here in Chorrol, he sends it to the care of a shop owner by the name of Seed-Neeus. This worthy lady is an Argonian living in the Colovian Highlands, if you can believe it. Her daughter is as unique as she, but I will get to her in a moment.

Seed-Neeus has a guest cottage adjacent to her shop. It backs up to a beautiful little park with the most glorious oak trees. It is quite private, even though many of Chorrol’s residents walk through the park instead of around on the streets. I rent it myself when I have a day off from my duties at the chapel. It is so pleasant to soak in a scented tub all alone by the fire, then stretch out with a book and a glass of wine on the feather bed.

But it would be so much better if you were there, too! Please say you will come. Seed-Neeus says that Sparky will be welcome, and there is nowhere in the cottage that he can hide his naughtiness. It is selfish of me to even ask it of you, as I have nothing to suggest for the hours I would be working. Except this:

Seed-Neeus has a daughter. Her name is Dar-Ma. She is the merriest, most kind-hearted girl I have ever known. Do you remember my brown quilted bodice with the green trim? She made one just like it for herself. She told me that she wants us to be close, since neither of us has a sister in Chorrol. That would sound strange coming from most folk, but this girl is so bubbly and charming, I could only be pleased. Thaurron, I am convinced that she is an Argonian born with the soul of a Bosmer. You simply must come and meet her! She will show you this gracious city through her eyes, in a way you have not seen it before. I know she will cheer you.

How are things in Anvil? Is there a new Breton for Marc to ogle through the walls? Has Carahil reassigned my bedchamber yet? What has Sparky stolen, eaten, or shredded?

This package holds a few little gifts for you. You should unwrap one whenever you’re feeling down, that is unless you have already opened them all before reading my letter! The silk scarf is for your imp. I meant to leave it for him to remember me by, but I was upset when I was packing and forgot.

On the subject of packing, you must remember to bring your cloak with the fox fur collar. I will not try to tell you that it is warm here.

I am missing you terribly after only one week, and shamelessly hoping to see you soon.


All of my love,

Abiene

___

Abiene sealed the last letter and set it aside. One more blank sheet of parchment rested on the writing table.

Jerric, she thought. My heart. I ache for you. I fear for you.

Her fingers twisted in her lap instead of reaching for the quill. She found that her sadness knew no words.



Abiene in Chorrol

This post has been edited by Grits: Oct 12 2011, 07:39 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

Ooo, we're peeking at mail now?

The first letter paints a very detailed picture of what life is like in the Chapel of Stendarr. I have no doubt in my mind that it would be quite frigid up the way of Chorrol at winter, especially for someone who has lived most of her life in subtropics.

In the second letter, we get a taste of her deep concern for Jerric. Half the letter is about him! I would expect no less mollycoddling from one as compassionate as Abiene, though. Here we see her lovely personality dripping through every pore of the parchment as her hand scribes the ink. You just can't read this one without being touched.

In the third letter... I think Thaurron really would enjoy Dar-Ma! I also think I see a bit more between the lines.

How are things in Anvil? Is there a new Breton for Marc to ogle through the walls? Has Carahil reassigned my bedchamber yet? What has Sparky stolen, eaten, or shredded?

I just love that Abiene never frets over the usual things. This passage speaks hugely to me of her dedication to her work.

Then we have the last bit. Poor Jerric, he's the only one not getting a letter this Saturalia! But I wonder what Abiene is so torn up about?

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Oct 10 2011, 01:37 AM

[Acadian]

What a beautiful interlude - and one well worth pausing even the great Darnand cave caper for. It was wonderful to hear from Abiene again, and in her own candid intimate words to dear friends. You really made her shine here and reminded us of how very endearing she can be! The subtle variations in her tone to the three friend was so very fitting of the way you have portrayed each relationship.

And we see that Jerric really does hold a big piece of her heart.

’When I step outside the healing hall here in Chorrol, the air has teeth.’
Oooh! I really like your wording here. How wonderfully evocative.

[SubRosa]

So Abiene went to the chapel? Did she quit the Mages Guild and become a priestess? Or does the guild have some sort of arrangement with the church where they share members (and presumably share in payment)? It is an interesting idea, and I can see why you would use it. The game presents the chapels as always being a place to learn restoration after all. The idea of a Healer's Guild separate from the Mages Guild is interesting too. Although such a guild would not only compete with the Mages Guild, but also with the Chapels. So it would have a tough time staying in business. There is a mod that adds one, was that your inspiration?

Or perhaps something for the rest of you who must live with her.
Perhaps a little poppy juice?

So Abiene and Darnit are using a crystal ball telephone? A mphone (the m for magicka of course)? An interesting idea. It is something one can see the Elder Council and Legion use to maintain control over so vast a place as the Tamriel.

I know it is not my place, but you know that will not stop me from meddling.
Now that is a female!

the air has teeth
This is a wonderful description of cold mountain air.

An excellent trio of letters, each showing us a different side of the writer. We each have many personas, different modes of behaviour that we adopt, depending on whom we are with. There is the person we are at work, the one we are with our friends, the one with our parents, the one with our children, etc... You gave us a wonderful view of three facets of Abiene's personality, one per letter.

I also did not fail to notice that nearly half of her letter to Darnand was about Jerric. I wonder if Darnit will notice as well?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 11 2011, 12:20 AM

[mALX]

ARGH! So we are not to learn of Darnand's fate? URK! Still hanging on the cliff here, lol. Abiene's letters (if anything increased the tension of Darnand's situation for me due to their timing) - very like what I've come to know of her so far.

The funniest (to me) was the tea designations - (don't tell her it is for any REASON) - so I'm assuming Sidette has a PMS issue that she is touchy about, ROFL !!

The Jerric letter - that one will be awfully hard to do, since she can't exactly put what is in her mind/heart down on paper for all the world to (possibly) read - because once something is in writing, somehow it is always found and read by another - usually the worst possible person to come across it for either the writer or the recipient (or both), lol.

Great Write, even if it still leaves us in limbo as to Darnand's safety !!! (ARGH! URK!!!)