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

[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!!!)

[King Coin]

In Chorrol, Abiene’s quarters sound like a cell! If this was in Bruma however I think it would be cozy. When I think of Chorrol I think of sunlight and fresh breezes so no windows would be torture.

Is the chapel’s library anything like the library in the Mage’s Guild hall there? That library is wonderful.

I didn’t know Abiene was a mail order pharmacist.

I’m guessing Ilonea is a sister?

The warning to Darnand about Sidette is hilarious! Some competition going on there?

The bit about Seed-Neeus and her daughter was nice. Those are two NPCs that Aravi likes. As you know she doesn’t make many friends, but they are just too kind.

Poor Abiene doesn’t know what to say to Jerric. I hope she can find some words.

[TheBrume]

I love your writing Grits. You describe things brilliantly, I can easily picture Pottersville or Sandstone Cavern in my head. And I love how you sprinkle humor into your writing, it makes it that much sweeter.

I particularly liked this:

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.

It gave me a good chuckle.
Anyway, I hope to read more of Jeric and Darnand and Abiene soon.

[Grits]

I added a screenshot of Abiene in Chorrol to the last episode.

Thomas Kaira: Indeed, this Breton is about as far removed from the Wrothgarian Mountains as one can be. She can’t be there to coddle her friends, so she’s bossing them around from afar. Thank you for your kind words about her! Abiene is just missing her man, and upset that she doesn’t know what to write to him. Plus she’s seen what the next few years look like for her, and it will be a far cry from her life in Anvil. Add that to the cold climate and a serious endorphin withdrawal, and you get one unhappy Abiene.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I felt like I should have introduced her with, Meanwhile, up north in Chorrol… In her own words is exactly right. I had to wait for it, but then she just took over. Thank you for noticing her differing tones as she coaxed, cajoled, and scolded her loved ones in her own way. It warms my heart that you find her endearing.

SubRosa: Yes, Abiene has given up her cushy job with the Mages Guild, but not her membership. Moving to Chorrol to learn surgery and medicine was a major decision for her, and a big risk. Carahil gave Abiene her personal recommendation, but I didn’t mean to give the Mages Guild any pull with the chapel. I got the idea for a Healers Guild from the Heavy Armor skill book Fighters Guild History, 1st Ed.. “In the 321st year of the 2nd Era, the Potentate gave his approval to the Guilds Act, officially sanctioning the Mages, together with the Guilds of Tinkers, Cobblers, Prostitutes, Scribes, Architects, Brewers, Vintners, Weavers, Ratcatchers, Furriers, Cooks, Astrologers, Healers, Tailors, Minstrals [sic], Barristers, and the Syffim.“ Of course I read this long after I started my story. My idea is that the Healers Guild could have been assimilated into the Mages Guild at some point, explaining why no one has mentioned it in the story. My thinking was exactly what you pointed out, the healers would be in competition with the MG and the chapels. Thank you, SubRosa!

mALX: I’m sorry! I do feel bad about leaving Darnand on the cliff, but not bad enough to cross Abiene when she’s being forceful. Sidette’s tea is for birth control, but it will also help with her period problems. I didn’t know how to make it clear without spelling it out, which Abiene would not do. Ilonea would know exactly what Abiene’s “own blend” was for. She was telling Ilonea that Sidette had not announced that she was sleeping with anyone, but Abiene took it upon herself to provide some of her own precautionary measures to her sister. Her thinking is that at age twenty and still unmarried, Sidette should be prepared. Also since she can’t be there to look after people, she sometimes feels the need to boss them around. You’re right, Abiene could easily write the kind of letter that would cause a situation in Jerric’s pants, but that would be pretty risky. Thank you, mALX!

King Coin: A cell, exactly, Abiene has gone from luxury at the guild hall to novice quarters at the chapel with no windows and no fireplace! She’s also gone from making a good living to being a student again. She does get to use the chapel’s facilities, though. I did have that beautiful Chorrol MG library style in mind for the chapel as well. Ilonea is the Metonne’s housekeeper who practically raised Abiene. She’s mentioned in Jerric’s Story, but she appears in person in Home for the Holidays. You’re exactly right about Abiene’s sisterly jealousy when she imagines Sidette fawning over Darnand. Even though she tells herself she’s not interested in him anymore, the claws are out.

TheBrume: Hello, and welcome! Thank you for the compliments. I’m glad you’re enjoying the story. I’m also very glad that you’re posting your own story here!

Where we are: Darnand is searching for Slythe Seringi in the depths of Sandstone Cavern.


Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch Part 10

Darnand made his way cautiously through the chambers and tunnels of Sandstone Cavern. Many seemed to have been carved through the rock by streams of water, long gone. He found the wolves’ entrance through a fissure in the rock. Daylight shone down, though he could not see the sky. He would have to scrabble through dirt on his hands and knees to use that exit, but there was plenty of room for him to pass. Wolves were considerably larger than Bretons.

The cave’s rats filled his soul gems with their dying energy, and the giant spiders skittered away from his flares. He discovered several side passageways, but all contained the ubiquitous webs. Even after months, Serinigi’s path seemed fairly obvious. Until he reached a cavern that was devoid of any sign of life.

Darnand felt his magicka returning as he searched the chamber for Seringi. After the abundant cave life above, it was odd that no creatures had made their home here. Even the empty caves had held bones, dried dung, and the shreds of nesting material. This cavern seemed sterile by comparison. He began to think that He Who Shakes the Ground might be a real entity.

The next corridor led down to a high-ceilinged chamber with a canyon running through the middle. Darnand found himself standing at one end checking for glowing signs of life on the ledges above. A few steps showed him that the chasm reached a dead end against the far wall of rock. A bundle of cloth on the ground caught his eye.

The body’s small, pointed ears and average frame indicated that this had probably been a Dunmer. When Darnand saw the words scrawled on the rock next to the body, he decided that this was definitely Seringi. The mer had finished his journal in his own blood even as he lay dying.

I am fallen.
I have failed.
All hope is lost.

A rough sack rested next to the body. The Offering, Darnand guessed. His dismissive thoughts about Seringi’s dedication now seemed disrespectful. Here lay a mer who had sacrificed himself to save others, Darnand included. That his death resulted from delusions made it sad, but no less noble. He tugged the blanket free of his belt.

A dull thud echoed down the passageway, followed by another. Darnand froze. More impacts followed, slowly approaching along the passageway through which Darnand had entered. Now he could hear a sharp crack with each one, like boulders striking together. There was no doubt, this had to be He Who Shakes the Ground. Darnand dropped the blanket and cast his invisibility spell.

His muscles felt rigid, but his thoughts flew. He should be safe while he remained invisible. His jump spell would get him up out of this narrow canyon, but he had no idea if he would find an exit beyond those ledges. He might be able to slip past the Sunken One without it noticing him. That was a better plan. From the echoes it seemed that the creature had almost reached the canyon’s entrance. Darnand stooped down and picked up his walking stick.

His arm shimmered into view as he rose, and the rest of him followed. A furious, trumpeting cry split the air.

Oh, sixteen hells, thought Darnand.

The far end of the canyon was now blocked by a being comprised of floating boulders revolving around an insubstantial center. It resolved into a bipedal shape and then dissolved into swirling rocks again. Shock energy crackled over its entirety. Each stone was at least the size of Darnand’s torso. A quiet part of his mind observed that the Sunken One was in fact a storm atronach.

The atronach spread its arms out to the sides, then brought them together with a crash. Darnand dropped flat on his chest next to Seringi as a mass of lightning bolts passed over him. Every hair on his body stood on end. He cast his panic spell as he scrambled back against the canyon’s dead end. Two more of the atronach’s steps shook the ground before Darnand’s view was blocked by his summoned daedroth.

The atronach trumpeted a challenge, answered immediately by the daedroth’s roar. It great tail thrashed against the chasm’s walls as it shook its shield spell down over itself. Darnand was grateful that it had lurched into this realm facing away from him. He found that he was cringing against the wall on his backside with his knees up, hands clamped over his ears.

The massive daedra came together with a crash and a roar. The daedroth reeled sideways into the wall, scattering Slythe’s body into pieces under its churning feet. Darnand caught a glimpse of the flailing storm atronach beyond it. Slipping past the fight was not an option. Darnand took a gulp of Jerric’s potion and brought his illegal spell to the front of his mind. He snatched up the walking stick and kicked off hard from the ground as he cast the jump spell. Another bolt of shock energy passed under his feet and cracked against the wall. It sees me, Darnand realized. He scrambled against the rock lip, clawing himself over the edge and onto a flat area. Another lightning bolt hit the cave ceiling, sending a shower of rock down somewhere beyond Darnand’s sight.

He glanced back down in time to see the daedroth backhand the storm atronach and send a blast of fire breath into it. Good enough for now, he thought, rolling away from the edge.

Darnand hadn’t seen any life signs when he scanned these upper areas. He secured the walking stick across his back as he eased along the ledge. The noise from below deafened him. More corridors were visible at this level on both sides of the canyon, but he couldn’t be sure where they would lead. Darnand decided to drop behind the battling daedra and flee the way he came in. His jump and vision spells were still active, and thanks to Jerric’s potion, his magicka was returning at an encouraging rate.

Darnand jumped down behind the atronach just as it loosed another shock spell at the daedroth. The daedroth’s howl covered the sound of his awkward landing. It had been difficult to practice a spell that he was not supposed to know.

As he straightened in the tunnel’s entrance, Darnand realized that the chamber was suddenly quiet. He turned to look back down the canyon. The atronach stood alone. Its rocks began to rotate as Darnand watched, horrified. It resolved back into its form facing in his direction.

Darnand ran.

Halfway up the tunnel, he cast his invisibility spell. He summoned his scamp as he reached the middle of the next chamber, cursing as the action caused him to flicker back into view. The thundering steps behind him paused long enough for the scamp’s dying shriek.

Darnand’s pace was too frantic to attempt any fortifying spells. He didn’t have the magicka to bring back his daedroth yet. Darnand cast invisibility again as he pelted up another tunnel. But this time he took a giant gulp of potion first.

The next chamber had plenty of cover. Darnand slid to his knees behind a rock. His throat burned as he gasped for breath.

The storm atronach’s progress through the tunnel was alarmingly fast, but comfortingly noisy. He ran through the spells he wanted to test for Jerric. A spell to give his target a weakness to magicka followed by a spell to weaken it to fire should result in an increase of both the fire weakness spell’s potency and the strength of any fire attack that followed.

The daedra thundered to a halt a dozen paces from Darnand’s position. He decided that casting three complicated spells while under close-quarters attack from a storm atronach was folly on the magnitude of sparring with a daedroth. He waited until the potion restored his magicka, then he gathered his legs under him.

Darnand cast the spell to bring his daedroth back from the Void, then turned and bolted while the daedra were still challenging one another. He remembered the spell to fortify his speed as he ran, but he had to pause in order to cast it. Before long his labored breathing drowned out the sounds of battle behind him. His feet took him unerringly to the wolf entrance.

He dropped to his knees in the opening, casting restorative spells as quickly as his magicka allowed. He strained to hear any sound of pursuit. After a few moments, the shaking eased along with the cramp in his side. Scrambling up the dirt tunnel might bring the whole thing down on him if he was not careful, but he did not want to escape a storm atronach only to get swarmed by imps. He took another swig of Jerric’s potion. Relief trickled in with the magicka.

Darnand began to wonder at the storm atronach’s nature. Could it have been summoned long ago by some wizard who lost control of it? Where did it get the energy necessary to sustain itself? Had Slythe himself summoned it so that it would take his Offering? Perhaps it only appeared when a mortal entered its lair. Yet the absence of wildlife suggested a persistent presence.

A summoned atronach would not become a corpse. One that had somehow bodily entered this realm would leave remains.

Darnand dried his sweaty hands and pushed himself to his feet in the corridor. Many rituals involved purification with a solution of void salts. They were rare and extremely difficult to procure without arousing suspicion. It would also be prudent to put Seringi’s remains to rest.

No sounds reached him from the depths of the cavern. He fixed his daedroth in his mind and stepped carefully back down the passageway.

___

(Here’s a Darnand’s-eye view of the daedroth vs. storm atronach battle.)

This post has been edited by Grits: Oct 14 2011, 02:28 AM

[King Coin]

Well the invisibility plan was a good one… until Darnand forgot one of the limitations.

a Storm Atronach!

Daedroth vs Atronach! This’ll be fun!

I was hoping Darnand would have gotten a little farther with the time his summon bought. Good landing by the way. That would have really been bad if he ended up with a bum foot.

Danand’s inexperience is catching up to him. All those wasted invisibility spells!

Even before his escape he’s already analyzing the atronach!

Back in? I hope he comes up with a plan for it this time.

Wow that was an exciting chapter!

This post has been edited by King Coin: Oct 14 2011, 12:01 AM