mALX: You’re so right, they were just like siblings pushing to see how far they could go! Jerric and Lildereth are especially still testing each other. Lildereth will spill it soon, I promise. And don’t worry, those letters were burned to ash. Thank you, mALX!
SubRosa: Lildereth definitely had an unsettling arrival in Chorrol. You’re right, she’s no Blades agent. Just a friend who got a bad scare when she imagined Jerric shot down while taking on the Chorrol guard under a hostile spell. Of course you’re right, it was only a Charm spell, but Lil had plenty of time to imagine the worst while she followed Jerric’s little party to the prison. Thank you, SubRosa!
ghastley: A disease, now I wish I had thought of that! She would be out of luck if she lived on the PS3, though. She will soon tell all (well, most), and I’m sure the guys will not think it’s as bad as she’s expecting. Thank you, ghastley!
King Coin: Sorry, I should have specified that Abiene will just be on call overnight at the chapel. She’ll probably get more rest at work than with Jerric! Lildereth has often used a Frenzy spell to get people to fight to the death, so that was what she feared Earana was doing. By the time she could get into position to Calm him, he would probably be lying on a pile of the guards he killed with a bunch of arrows sticking out of his shirt. As Darnand would say, her imagination carried her away for the moment. Thank you, KC!
Acadian: I thought of you and Buffy when Lildereth said those lines! Indeed, Lildereth doesn’t, er, blow her nose without a tactical plan, so a surprise can cause big problems. The trade-off for Jerric’s friendship is exposure, which is Lildereth’s worst nightmare. I also thought of you when Jerric made the horrendous gaffe of offering her payment! As you immediately knew, it would be hard to think of a way to make her more hurt and angry. The Nord was not having his best day.

Thank you so much, Acadian!
McBadgere: Oh, Jerric’s feelings for Lildereth are worlds away from his Abiene disaster. Lildereth is a suddenly close friend in a hot little package, a bit like Darnand only less so and far more interesting naked. In some ways he is closer to Darnand and Lildereth than he is to Abiene, since she lacks the context for what happens between people who fight for their lives together. But, things keep changing.

Many thanks, McB!
Where we are: Chorrol. Jerric punched Earana and got arrested. Lildereth bailed him out, stealthily of course. Jerric pissed off Lildereth when he asked her to steal his helm for money. Darnand pissed off Jerric by setting him on fire. Abiene’s letters to Jerric were lost in the accident.
The creature in this update would have been very vanilla, but McBadgere’s Androforms inspired me to make it a little bit cooler. Um, even though it doesn’t do much in this update.
Chapter 15: Chorrol, Part Twelve (Naked Again)Darnand waited in the mages guild reception hall, a pottery mug in his hands. The kahve had long gone cold. Contumeliorus and Alberic’s wife stood close enough to let him appear occupied, yet far enough that he could safely ignore their conversation. Yesterday after Jerric had calmed down and released him from Teekeeus’ bedchamber, they had not found opportunity to converse. Today promised to be similar. There was a matter that needed discussion, if the Nord ever stirred from his rented bed. Perhaps another misadventure had claimed him between the Grey Mare and the guild hall. Darnand considered walking outside to check.
Teekeeus paced back across the chamber, staring at the outer wall as if he could see through it. Earana, Darnand decided. Teekeeus was surely using a spell to watch Great Oak Place. That Altmer had the chapter head still trapped in his hall. Recent events had agitated him further, and his nervousness was spreading through the guild like a contagion.
The Argonian whipped around and darted back into the dining chamber, jerking the draperies closed across his retreating tail. The front door opened. Jerric strolled through, carrying a wave of damp chill with him. His half-laced tunic and wrinkled trousers gave him the look of some cheerful vagabond. Darnand assessed his morning hair in amusement. One might purchase a comb for a Nord, he thought, but one cannot make him use it.
“Good morning,” Jerric called, though three steps brought him across the room. “How does the day greet you?” He plucked the mug from Darnand’s hand, downing half of the contents before Darnand could warn him.
“It is cold,” Darnand said as Jerric choked on the kahve. “Have you eaten anything?”
“Nope.” Jerric handed back the empty mug. “I’m ready.”
“Athragar is occupied in the library. Might we speak for a moment?”
Jerric propped an elbow on the long counter, shifting the pack across his shoulder. “Sure. You have another scroll for me to try? Let me guess, this time you’re going to, what, freeze my balls off? Shock my toenails? Set my head on fire and finish the job?”
Darnand placed the kahve mug on the counter. “I was unable to translate any part of the book while you had me cornered in Teekeeus’ chamber, but I did manage to open it. Some Imperials have appended notes in the margins of one section, presumably at the time the pillar fragment was relocated to Cloud Top. Anyone who performs a simple ritual should receive knowledge of a lightning spell from the pillar. The Imperials termed it “Fingers of the Mountain.” Any mortal would receive the spell, even one who has no training in destruction magic. However, I should think that there is more to the ritual than the notations describe. Otherwise the charred mage would have known to take precautions.”
“What about the papers? Did you figure out what to do?”
Darnand shook his head. “I have heard that the translations were already stolen from Teekeeus. The book remains in his keeping.”
Jerric looked thoughtful for a moment. “So you think the dead fellow wasn’t murdered, he accidentally shocked himself to death with the pillar?”
“That is my conclusion. The Welkynd stone you found on the corpse would suggest one necessary component.” He held up his hand before Jerric could speak. “I have no intention of attempting to gain this spell. It might be an advantage if the spell channeled atmospheric energy rather than a body’s magicka, but such a thing is unlikely. Additionally, any Welkynd stone that we might procure should go to Lildereth. Furthermore—”
Darnand found himself hauled to the basement by the front of his robe. Jerric kicked the door closed and placed him gently on the landing. “Out with it, Breton.”
“I took the notes,” Darnand said quietly, “after Teekeeus checked them last night.”
Jerric let go. “You just
lied to me?”
“Teekeeus was eavesdropping from behind the draperies. He would assume that I tried to read the book yesterday, but he does not know who later stole the notes. I cracked the window latch to suggest forced entry. I intended to explain all of this at the earliest opportunity.” Darnand began to feel more annoyed than apologetic. “You did not trust me?”
Now Jerric looked sorry. “Well, you were spouting a bunch of dreck. ‘I shall not seek out that mysterious arcane power.’ Yeah, and I’m an Argonian concubine.”
“There is more to learn from the translations before we might attempt to use the pillar. Someone has already done the work, and it was not Teekeeus. I will admit that I am not comfortable with my actions.” Darnand straightened his robe.
“That other mage thought he knew what to do up at Cloud Top, and he’s a dark stain under a thin layer of rocks right now,” Jerric warned.
“We must be cautious,” Darnand agreed.
Jerric gave him a look. “I mean whoever did the translating could have made mistakes. You’ll need to check their work. It’s wrong, but we might need that book.”
The basement door opened. Athragar poked his head through. “Are you there, lads? Excellent!” He hopped down a few steps and stood polishing his hands together. “Shall we summon something dreadful?”
Yesterday’s efforts had seen their preparations complete. The three of them moved deeper into the basement and set about their final tasks. Athragar disappeared into the summoning chamber. Jerric stripped down and stood still while Darnand swabbed his back with the solution of frost salts. Everything inside the chamber must be purified, including the summoner. Frost salts were specific to this particular ritual.
Darnand’s participation was not essential, but Athragar had welcomed the extra set of hands. Jerric seemed eased by his presence. In this undertaking, an unsettled mind could be as detrimental as an ill-prepared one.
“You should thank me for your deforested state,” Darnand remarked. “Otherwise you might have accidentally summoned a wooly mammoth.” He stepped back to view his work. “Here, I expect you can reach the rest.”
Jerric made quick use of the solution. His nerves became evident while they waited for Athragar to finish.
“You are capable and well prepared,” Darnand assured him.
“I was thinking I would try a storm atronach,” Jerric replied. “Athragar said no. Now I wonder if I can…” He stared at his toes, shaking his head.
Darnand shared his concerns, but there was nothing to be gained by admitting it. “When you have succeeded, we should discuss the possibility of a spell that will allow us to communicate over distances. Skilled summoners can manage it without the aid of enchanted devices. Athragar thinks we should try.”
Jerric looked over in surprise.
“At the College of Winterhold, they teach a ritual that summons atronachs as thralls, persistent in this realm,” Darnand added. He prepared his next statement, in case Jerric was not yet sufficiently distracted.
A slow smile warmed his friend’s face. “Thanks, Darnand. You’re right, I can do this.” His palm thumped on Darnand’s shoulder. “I wish someday we could go to Skyrim.”
Darnand sighed and picked up the frost salt solution.
“Dammit!” said Jerric. He purified his hand again. “I wonder what kind of juice we’ll have to make when we try to summon each other.”
Darnand snorted, and Jerric laughed. The Nord didn’t need to finish his jests any more.
Athragar soon beckoned Jerric into the summoning chamber. Darnand waited outside. Opening a bridge into the Void was a dangerous prospect, and his presence would only invite accidents. He remembered his first contact with the flame atronach he had lured into his circle. Her rage at the confinement left him shaky for days. His daedroth’s bestial mind had been easy to dominate compared to the otherwise weaker flame atronach. Jerric had demonstrated exquisite control over his scamp, but Darnand had no idea how his friend would react to an atronach’s savage intelligence. He silently willed Jerric to succeed.
Athragar backed out into the corridor, mopping the floor with the mixture of dissolved void salts as he went. As he secured the door, Darnand heard Jerric begin his invocation. The Bosmer smiled up at Darnand. “You are right to fear for your friend, but I have not lost a student to a frost atronach in over half a century. I do not think I will lose one today.”
Darnand picked up the buckets. The vapor made his eyes water. “You were with me when I summoned my atronach,” he objected. “You were inside the chamber the entire time.”
Athragar took his arm absently and drew them down the corridor. “You have grown so much in these few years, my lad. You were not ready. I knew you would have tried on your own, had I denied you, and then I would have had a dead student
and a rampaging daedra on my hands. I thought that failure would teach you caution, and I wanted to ensure that you survived the lesson. To my surprise, you succeeded. Good for you!” He gave Darnand a merry grin.
Darnand freed his arm. Only a wood elf’s capricious mind could find amusement at a time like this. He wondered what Lildereth was doing.
The two of them stood in the silent corridor, listening to the low rhythm of Jerric’s chanting. There was nothing he could do now for his friend. Darnand turned his mind toward other troubles. The pillar, the Altmer, and the Argonian.
Jerric had secured his recommendation by handing the recovered materials over to Teekeeus. Knocking Earana to the ground and getting arrested for it had merely put his personal stamp on the assignment. Darnand was certain Jerric would never have thought about that pillar again, if not for Darnand’s influence. While his friend seemed to support Darnand’s theft now, his conscience would soon bother him.
Though his principles would make him resist securing it, the Nord was right about possibly needing the book. If the notes did not warn against the kind of danger that could incinerate a person, then someone had made a mistake. It had not been Teekeeus. Darnand had seen enough to know that none of the work was in his hand. He considered the possibility of approaching Earana.
And there lay the problem. Even if he determined that the translations were rightfully hers, he would further betray Teekeeus by seeking her help. The charred remains at Cloud Top justified Teekeeus’ caution, though Darnand exempted himself from any related restrictions. Of course once Jerric’s mind had cleared of its present worries, he would insist that they return the notes to their proper owner. Once a fight was over, Jerric did not hold a grudge. If the work was Earana’s, Darnand would have to choose between deceiving Jerric and disloyalty to Teekeeus.
Your gut knows the answer, Jerric would say. Darnand almost smiled. His concerns lifted immediately.
A commotion arose in the summoning chamber. Darnand leaped for the door, Dispel in one hand and fire in the other. Athragar was a half-step ahead, his own hands glowing pink.
“Wait,” hissed Athragar. “Now he must control it. Be still.”
After an age, the clamor ceased. Darnand nervously began to cast a Detect Life spell.
A knock sounded in their predetermined signal. Athragar dispelled the wards, and Darnand removed the braces.
The door swung open. Jerric stood in a shroud of steam, one forearm braced against the frame. Moisture rolled down from his soaking hair. The cold hit Darnand along with the smell of sweat. His friend stepped to the side.
A crystalline mountain knelt beside the broken circle. Mist rose from the planes of its surface, illuminated by its pale inner light. As he watched, the creature lifted its hands from its thighs with the groan and pop of shifting ice. It brought them together in the traditional Elven gesture of greeting. Darnand’s mind emptied of everything but awe.
“What are you going to call this one?” Athragar murmured. “Twinkle? Snowflake?”
Darnand looked over in time to catch Jerric’s cold smile.
“It says its name is Ishckrihk,” he said.