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

[Grits]

treydog: Thank you for the resources. I just read Of Blades, Fights and Assassins, and now I can't wait to write a sword fight and then go back and read it again to see how much I remembered. Research is fun. Thank you for the warm welcome.

I tend to prefer character driven stories too. It helps me to have the game's events to move things along.

mALX: I LOVE your enthusiasm!! Thank you so much for your welcome and support! Arnand was a total surprise, he came out of nowhere when I was writing about something else. I'm glad the end was a surprise. It's hard to name a chapter without giving too much away.

SubRosa: Thank you for the resources. I am reading more than I am writing, which I think is good at this point. Thank you for sharing your impressions - it helps me so much to know whether or not I managed to get what was in my head all the way into the story.

I'm glad you enjoyed the Mages Guild attending to business. In the game I'm always asking myself what these people do all day while they're waiting for me to show up and ask them if they've heard any rumors. I don't think they're just standing around talking about seeing a mudcrab.

With the "Pleasedon'ttellCarahil" I was going for that breathless moment after something has occured and everything on a person is still too clenched for speech, but now I think it's gimmicky. Changed it!

Jacki Dice: I'm glad I didn't start him off in Bruma in the winter time, that would have put the brakes on the sweaty shirtlessness. Thank you for your comments! My first attempt at this chapter read like an employment application. I'm happy to hear I did some showing.

Destri Melarg: Glad you like the name Thank you so much for your comments and your encouragement, it means a lot to me! I am on my second read through Foxy's manifesto, and I am getting even more out of it the second time. There was one forehead-smacking moment in the next chapter that I managed to avoid already.

Thank you for sharing your impression of Jerric. That's just what I was aiming for, although I hadn't quite thought of Lennie and George. The big blond is easy to mis-judge, even in Cyrodiil. The plant details you picked out were so fun to write.

"The lore is there to serve your story, not the other way around." I have written this across the top of my much referenced map of Cyrodiil to help keep me from getting too bogged down worrying about what is correct. Great advice, thank you!

I'm glad you're hooked!

Acadian: Thank you for the warm welcome, your encouragement means a lot to me!

I love the leading ladies on this forum, and I have a leading lady character of my own who is still too precious for me to write much about yet. I'm practicing on poor Jerric.

Everything clicked when Arnand showed up and demanded to be in the story. Before that I was wrestling with a chapter that sounded like a singles ad. Yikes.

Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. I am amazed how my eyes can fill in the blanks with what I know is supposed to be there.

Zalphon: Thank you! Here comes another chapter!

Chapter 2: On the Gold Road, Part 1

Jerric opened the Anvil Main Gate. It was balanced to swing easily despite its massive weight. “Heinrich Oaken-Hull has a Bosmer for a wife,” one of the guards was saying. The gate swung shut on the other man’s reply. He nodded to the guards who were stationed outside the gate. Two pairs on the gate. He wondered if there had been trouble on the road. Then his mind turned to more pressing matters.

Heinrich Oaken-Hull sounds like a Nord's name, he thought. Jerric imagined the shortest Nord he had ever seen. Then he imagined the tallest Bosmer. How would that even work, he wondered.

His long strides started him toward the Gold Road. Mid-day had passed, but he knew he could easily make the town of Brina’s Crossing by nightfall. Foot traffic congested the area around the gate. Nothing moved on the road where he could see it stretching up into the hills.

An Imperial man stood at the edge of the road opposite the stables, shifting his feet in a restless manner. He wore fine clothing, a travel cloak, and a short sword on his hip. His eyes searched the crowd. When he spotted Jerric his face took on a calculating look.

Jerric slowed as he approached. He was reasonably certain they hadn’t met, but the man appeared to have intentions. He would rather find out what he wanted now than wonder later.

“Pardon me,” the man called out, “are you traveling on foot to the Imperial City?”

Jerric stopped close enough that they wouldn’t share their business with the entire town. “The Imperial City is a long way to walk on your own,” he said. “There’s a caravan leaving on Morndas.”

“I can’t wait that long. I have pressing business, and I need to leave immediately.” His eyes darted back over Jerric’s shoulder to the gate.

Jerric noted the man’s pack sitting on the road. He had a bedroll. “Are you planning to camp out? There are inns along most of the way.”

“Inns, camping, whatever it takes. I want protection. I’ll pay you.” The man’s face was taut with nerves.

Jerric was not surprised to receive such an offer. He knew that armed and armored he looked dangerous, but not the sort who might leave you in a pool of blood for what’s in your pockets. “I’ll walk with you as far as Skingrad, as long as you don’t plan on doing any evil,” he said. “Glad for the company. I’m meeting up with a caravan there and going on to the Imperial City. You should join up. I’ll put in a good word for you.” Jerric smiled at the man, hoping to put him at ease.

“Fine, fine,” said the man, and he named a price.

Jerric agreed. He put out his hand. “I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

The man gripped his forearm. “Velwyn Benirus. Let’s get moving.”

Velwyn and Jerric climbed the gold hills above Anvil in the warm light of afternoon. Puffy white clouds made towers in the sky. Jerric knew they foretold a coming storm. To their left the sea glittered away into a haze. If they turned they would see Anvil’s red rooftops bright in the sun where the land swelled out of the sea.

Benirus halted in the road. “What was that?” He jerked out his sword and stared at the bushes up ahead to the right, eyes wild.

Jerric stopped and scanned the area. “Careful, that’s no fly swatter.” He did not want to receive an errant slash from the twitchy Imperial. The sun felt hot on his neck. A breeze tickled his sweaty forehead. He could hear the lazy buzz of a hundred insects in the tall grass. No bird sounds, though.

The bushes shook. Jerric crouched and dropped his packs on the road. He slipped his shield over his arm and motioned for Velwyn to stay back. Now, what is this? He thought of the dead horse they had passed. It had been torn by a large animal. Anticipation prickled over his skin. He moved up the left side of the road and turned, putting the sun over his shoulder. He watched the bushes. Berry bushes. Could be some youngsters out gathering berries. Maybe there was a berry pie in his near future.

Velwyn drifted up the middle of the road a few paces. He moved softly for a man who appeared to be rigid with fear. Jerric caught his eye, and Velwyn opened his mouth to speak. He froze with his mouth open as a massive wolf stepped calmly out of the bushes.

Jerric hoped the wolf would move along. Most would not attack two armed men in broad daylight, but things were not always what they seemed. An animal may be under a curse or mage’s spell. If it attacked he would block the fangs with his shield and stab into its side behind its shoulder, he decided. He imagined his timing and thought through the block and strike while he slowly drew his sword.

The wolf ambled out onto the road. Its head and tail were relaxed. It halted and swung its great head around at Jerric, then back at Velwyn, sniffing.

Jerric swore silently. There was smoked boar in his pack, and his pack was behind Benirus. He clanged the pommel of his sword against his shield and shouted at the wolf. “Push off, you fetcher! Go on, get out of here!” He spread his arms out and moved back toward Velwyn, hoping the man would get out of the way. The wolf probably weighed more than the Imperial, and those teeth would go right through his clothing.

The wolf focused on Jerric. It laid back its ears and snarled. This one was not just going to wander away. Jerric danced on the balls of his feet, ready to move. All right, then. “Come on!” he shouted at the wolf.

The wolf dashed toward Jerric. He saw the light gleam on its fangs and turn its gray fur to silver. Flecks of saliva flew from its jaws. Jerric drew in a breath.

A strange battle cry split the air. Velwyn Benirus flew screaming at the wolf, sword raised like an axe. His blade came down on the wolf’s neck between the skull and the shoulder hump. It stuck there. The wolf’s momentum carried it forward until it crashed to the ground at Jerric’s feet.

Jerric stared at Velwyn, astounded. Then he threw back his head and let his tension go in a howl of laughter. “Benirus Beast-Slayer!” he cried, saluting with his still bright blade.

Velwyn drew in a gasping breath. His eyes were as round as an owl’s. “I’m alive,” he whispered.

Jerric waited for Velwyn to retrieve his sword, then he dragged the wolf to the side of the road. He looked down at it with regret. It looked like an enormous dog stretched out in the sun to sleep, apart from the wound in its neck.

The breeze picked up. They still had a long way to climb. “Let’s get off this hill,” Jerric said. “You won’t believe the lightning they get around here.”

___

Jerric stepped into the Brina Cross Inn out of the rain. He was glad he had tucked his armor into its pack before he made his brief sweep through town. He had passed through Brina’s Crossing so many times and always wanted to stop and explore it. Now he wished he had more time, again.

He dropped his packs by the wall and looked for Velwyn. The man sat alone in front of an empty plate, nursing a goblet of wine and looking irritable. Jerric asked the innkeeper what Velwyn was drinking. He purchased a bottle and ordered dinner before he joined Velwyn at the table.

“I got us rooms. You owe me thirty Septims,” said Velwyn.

“Hail, Benirus,” said Jerric, ignoring the brusque greeting. “What a fine evening. Do you think it’s going to rain?” Jerric filled his goblet and topped up Velwyn’s. He raised his wine. “To Brina’s Crossing and the gentle folk who dwell here.” He sipped. Jerric was amazed. All those Bretons aren’t wrong. Wine is delicious!

Velwyn stared into his goblet looking morose. He did not seem to enjoy Jerric’s humor.

Jerric got an idea. “We should eat here, then find a brothel. That will cheer you.”

Velwyn took a sip of wine and glared across the table. “Do I look like a man who has to pay for female company?” he demanded.

“Of course not. You’re not paying to get into her bed, you’re paying to get back out of it.” Jerric leaned forward to share his wisdom with the older man, but a preemptory gesture from the publican caught his eye. His meal was ready.

Jerric moved to the counter and took his plate from Christophe Marane. Roast loin of boar in a blackberry sauce with caramelized onions and roast potatoes. The aroma made his knees weak. He smiled his appreciation at Christophe and turned.

A short, attractive Imperial woman stood before him, blocking his way. She wore a dark red velvet gown, an elaborate gold necklace, and a haughty expression. “I am Rutila Harsinia,” she announced. “Daughter of Ontarius Harsinia.” She had hard eyes and, he guessed, high expectations. He had no idea who she was, but she was clearly waiting for recognition.

Jerric stood there holding his plate. The roast meat lay in thick slices swimming in a pool of purple sauce, full of tender, fragrant promise. The onions gleamed in the inn’s light, and the golden potatoes begged for his attention. He dragged his eyes back to the woman. “I’m Jerric. Pleased to meet you.”

Rutila raised an eyebrow. She made a small motion with her head, over her shoulder. “Who is your friend?”

Jerric experienced a moment of clarity. He strained to keep the grin off his face as he placed his plate back on the counter in order to address Rutila more properly. “That gentleman is no other than Velwyn Benirus, of the Imperial City Benirus…es. I would be proud to call him friend. He conducts his business there, as well as in Anvil. He has recently settled a large family estate.”

Rutila listened with increasing interest. Jerric struck a pose and continued. “A man with such commanding presence draws attention wherever he goes. I travel with him as his guard. Velwyn Benirus is a man of virtue and property. A man of maturity and means. A man,” Jerric sighed, “without a wife.” He looked down at Rutila. “May I introduce you?”

___

Jerric soaked up the last of the egg with his final bite of toasted bread, giving silent thanks to the unknown bird that had provided it. He crunched through another rasher of fatback, then pushed his plate away and sighed, for the moment content. Perhaps another cup of kahve. Christophe was in a foul temper this morning. Better let this breakfast settle before I ask for more.

His thoughts were interrupted when Velwyn slid into the chair across from him. The man looked haggard. He wore yesterday’s clothes.

“Sleep well, Benirus?” Jerric leaned back and grinned.

Velwyn groaned and attempted to smooth his hair with his hands. “Kahve,” he whispered, shooting a glance over his shoulder.

Jerric took the opportunity to fill his own cup as well. He returned to the table and awaited Velwyn’s report.

Velwyn took a deep pull from his mug. He looked up and met Jerric’s gaze. “That woman,” he said, “is insatiable.”

“I don’t know what ‘insatiable’ means. How long did it take you to get her to leave?”

Velwyn dropped his face into his hands.

Jerric brows shot upward. “She’s still in your room?”

Velwyn nodded.

Jerric thought for a moment. The possibilities were entertaining, but the road beckoned.

“Here’s the plan,” Jerric said. “Go order breakfast, then head up and put your pack by the door. I’ll bring up the food and grab your pack while you’re serving her. Tell her you have instructions for me. Then come down here and instruct me that we’re leaving. Don’t let her get back into your drawers if you can manage it.”

Velwyn stared.

Jerric snorted. “‘Serving’ her,” he repeated.

Velwyn did not look amused. “That’s the whole plan?”

“Yeah. I’m not a strategist. Say, you should ask Rutila if she has a better idea.”

Velwyn downed his kahve and headed toward Christophe.

“We’ll have to move like a Kahjiit who’s dipped his tail in the fire,” Jerric added. “She knows which way you’re headed.”

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 24 2014, 09:27 PM

[Acadian]

This was light, varied and full of fun from the beginning to the Khajiit fire-dipped tail ending.

Aww. Everyone picks on Bosmeri girls.

The whole scene with the wolf was very well presented with a great, suspenseful feel.

Loads of great chow and wine! I have quite the soft spot for authors who feed me well, and that savory boar hit the spot. Then a nice breakfast as well!

Quite the clever interactions among those at the inn!

* *

Hmm. . . You change perspective or point of view (pov) a few times here. The breaks you use between segments are ok to employ a change of perspective if you think it is necessary, but I certainly would stay in the viewpoint of only one character during these segments. If you change pov, it should be very clearly delineated, not frequent, and whatever you present by jumping pov should be well worth dragging the reader from one character's head to another.

Now, in your opening scene you are in Velwyn's pov and then make a clean break to Jerric's for the next segment - that worked just fine. However, here are a couple examples where you jumped pov and probably didn't intend to:

1. The scene where Jerric and Velwyn meet is loaded with evidence that it is from Jerric's pov. Yet, near the end you say this: 'The man gripped his forearm. I'm getting off cheap, he thought. "Velwyn Benirus," he said. "Let's get moving." ' Assuming it is Velwyn who thought he was getting off cheap hiring Jerric, you 'hopped' out of Jerric's head and briefly into Velwyn's.

2. In the dinner scene you have a couple pov jumps here:
'Velwyn finished his wine and pushed the goblet at Jerric. The fool's hair is soaked, he noted. Doesn't he know how to use a hood? Fine evening, is that supposed to be funny?' {Velwyn's pov}
'Jerric raised his wine. "To Brina's Crossing, and the gentle folk who dwell here." He sipped. Jerric was amazed. Wine, he thought, is delicious!' {Jerric's pov}

Oh my, Grits. I surely hope you take this in the helpful manner that I intend. Your story is GREAT!!!

[mALX]

I can't even begin to quote all the lines I loved in this !!! You have a rare gift for creating interesting characters within a few lines - AWESOME Story !!!!!

I was rolling at Jerric's descriptions of Benirus when talking to Rutila - he countered every power with riches, and just kept using different words to say the same thing over and over - hilarious !!!

The description and detail all through the chapter is perfection - the easiest example to point out is Jerric and the food - amazingly done!!! So easy to visualize the way you have written it !!!!

Jerric soaked up the last of the egg with his final bite of toasted bread. He silently thanked the unknown bird that had provided it. He crunched through another rasher of fatback, then pushed his plate away and sighed, replete. He contemplated asking for another cup of kahve. Christophe was in a foul temper this morning. He needed to let his breakfast settle before he approached with another request.

And:

The roast meat lay in thick slices swimming in a pool of purple sauce, full of tender, fragrant promise. The onions gleamed in the inn's light, and the golden potatoes begged for his attention. He dragged his eyes back to the woman. "I'm Jerric," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

The funniest line (always what I enjoy most) -

Jerric imagined the shortest Nord he had ever seen. Then he imagined the tallest Bosmer. How would that even work, he wondered.

SPEW !!!! How many times have we seen tall men with short women and wondered THAT !!!! ROFL !!!!

AWESOME WRITE !!!!! MORE !!!!!


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 12 2010, 06:50 AM

[Grits]

Acadian: Your comments on point of view have helped me tremendously! Those parts seemed choppy to me, but I had no idea why. I went back and tweaked them, thank you so much for explaining what I was doing. Did I get it this time? There is a tussle in the next part of the chapter that would have given everyone a headache, I see now that I wrote it from three points of view. Eeep!

I'm having fun with the light material, and I hope I'm not going too silly. Cyrodiil can be a dark place, and when bad things happen I don't want it to seem like a different story. I'm glad you enjoyed the chow. So far the best times for me to write have been when I should be taking a break for a meal, so I'm always at the keyboard hungry. Thank you so much for your advice and encouragement!

mALX: I'm glad you enjoyed Jerric's chat with Rutila. He is so not a smooth operator!

"Jerric's Story: A Nord's Food Blog." OK, maybe not. Thank you for your encouragement, it means so much. The line you picked out came from the second time I heard Anvil folks talking trash about Heinrich's wife in the game. The first time I heard it I thought the guy said she was an Altmer. So horse, OK, she's tall and has a long nose. Whatever. The second time I got that the guy meant Hasathil, and after the first tenth of a second of how rude, my mind went sideways in several directions. I had to use it.


The next part needs some major re-work. But first another cup of kahve.

[Acadian]

Grits, I'm so glad you took my 'critique' in the helpful manner in which I intended it. Alas, had I not mentioned it, I'm rather sure dear SubRosa would have swooped in and offered similar observations. Indeed, she was very helpful in teaching me more about pov. While in Jerric's pov, you have to rely on what he can hear and observe to ferret out what Velwyn may be thinking - that is the fun!

I did reread your edits and the concerns are certainly fixed! Keeping that opening scene in Velwyn's pov is effective, and the _____ break that you use prepares the reader for a change in scene or pov.

I certainly hope also you take the comments on your chow descriptions as encouragement. Such detailed descriptions do much to bring our Tamriel to life, and you certainly have a beautiful flair for it!

The Bosmer comments by the Anvilites in the game are fun. They quite knocked poor Buffy the Bosmer into a bout of self-doubt when she heard them. Not what a young elf needs to hear.

[mALX]

SubRosa and Acadian both helped me stop doing that. Subrosa said it in a very easily rembered way :

Pick one and stick with them - then to show what the other person is feeling, have the first one see it happen. (Example: Benirus's cheeks reddened )

I hope I don't do it anymore, but I was bad for "head hopping" for a long time.

The stories I love best are ones that the reader can feel the characters and be intriqued by them, you have that in abundance in this story - you have a real gift for writing your characters.

Keep up the AWESOME work and MORE, MORE !!!!


PS: Great Avatar !!!


*

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 12 2010, 05:00 PM

[SubRosa]

So Velwyn Benirus it is then? He seems like a bit of a maniac with the way he attacked the wolf. I wonder if that was homicidal mania, or simply an ordinary man trying to overcome his natural fear by whipping himself up into a frenzy? I suppose only time will tell.

Puffy white clouds made towers in the sky
I love this little description.

You're not paying to get into her bed, you're paying to get back out of it
Now this is priceless! And from the looks of things, Velwyn wishes he had taken the advice the next morning!


nits:
An Imperial man approached him with intention.
This sounds a little odd in the context. Perhaps something like "an intent look upon his face"? would flow more smoothly?


are you traveling on foot to Imperial City?
Usually that is The Imperial City.

[Destri Melarg]

I liked Jerric’s tactical thinking, especially how he moved so that the sun would be in the wolf’s eyes if he charged, and the way he executed the moves of the battle in his mind.

You might want to add a sentence or a moment just prior to the wolf’s charge in which Jerric notes an impending storm. As it reads now he is sweating and warm with puffy white clouds above, yet a single breeze alerts him to the fact that he wants to get off the hill to avoid the lightning?

Jerric’s playful side emerges in the scene with Rutila. After their harrowing escape from the jaws of the maddened wolf, it is perfectly understandable that Jerric would want to do something to cheer his boon companion. Gotta love a good wingman!

[Grits]

Acadian: Thank you for checking my edits. I expect the chow line will stay open, thanks for the encouragement!

mALX: Thank you for your kind words, and I'm glad you like the avatar!

SubRosa: Velwyn's personality is inspired by the game, if you can believe it. My archer character took him on some adventures with the Jemain brothers, and he was a maniac! I guess his dialog comes from the Benirus Manor quest when you're already in the spooky house, so when you walk up to him in the middle of a sunny meadow he whips around all wide-eyed and says, "Did you hear a noise?" He comes across as a pretty stressed out guy. Also he's speedy and seems to hold a grudge, he was always the last one to put his sword away after a tussle. In the end of this chapter we get a little more hair-trigger Velwyn and a glance at another side of him.

nits: Thank you, I think I fixed them. The intentions line didn't come across in print the way my head says it. "Doing any evil" is another one I thought about changing, but I want Jerric to have a casual manner of speaking. Your telling me how you hear it helps me so much!

Destri Melarg: Thank you for your insightful comments! I took me forever to figure out how an armored man with a sword was going to kill one wolf, and then I let his buddy do it. I am having a panic attack over one arrow shot in the next section, so I really appreciate your advice. Storm-wise I added a tiny bit, I hope it makes more sense now. They other thing I failed to point out was how much hill was left to climb.




Chapter 2: On the Gold Road, Part 2



The sun had gone down behind the trees by the time Jerric and Velwyn reached the path to Gnoll’s Meeting Camp. They followed it down through tumbled boulders onto a grassy plateau. The camp’s inhabitants had decorated the entrance with a gallows. A desiccated body swung in the breeze, and bones were piled under it.

The men stopped and took in the sight. “By Azura,” said Velwyn.

“This used to be a bandit camp,” Jerric explained. “Some of them decided they wanted to settle down and raise their families. They killed or drove out the ones who wouldn’t quit their old ways. This is what they do if you break their rules. I’ve never been down here, but I’ve heard it’s nice.” He cut his eyes over at Velwyn.

Velwyn looked like he didn’t know whether to fill his pants or flee. Jerric laughed.

“Not really. Well some of that’s true, but I’ve been here lots of times. If we rent a tent they’ll keep us as safe as ma bear keeps her little cubs.” Jerric headed into the camp. A stout woman by the cook fire called to him, and he raised his hand in greeting. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “And put on your party face, these folks know how to have a good time.”

___

Jerric woke to snoring that was not his own. His right arm was numb, and he felt overheated on one side and chilled on the other. His mouth was dry and his head felt tender. He looked around for a moment. He did not recognize the inside of the tent any more than he recognized the person who was using his arm for a pillow.

A dread feeling grew in his gut as he tried to remember the previous night's events. They had rented the last available tent. It had a packed dirt floor and one large wooden sleeping platform. "Don't worry, I won't try to get under your skirt," he remembered telling Velwyn. Then dinner around the fire, music, ale ... and nothing.

Jerric eased his arm out from under the frizzy head. He hoped that the wrinkled back belonged to a female. His nose told him that she used perfume instead of soap. He stuffed himself into his trousers and carefully gathered up his clothes. While he was searching for his other sock he heard a snorting cough and froze. He kept his eyes averted. There are some things I am better off not knowing, he decided. He picked up his boots and fled.

When Jerric entered their tent Velwyn was already dressed and ready for the day's journey. "Interesting look," he commented. "You smell like a Brumese prostitute."

Jerric pulled his shirt over his head. When he fastened his trousers he discovered that he had left his drawers behind. He decided he could live without them. His shirt was inside out. He swore and tried again.

“No pushups this morning?” inquired Velwyn. He sounded almost cheerful.

Jerric scratched his hands through his hair. He was mortified and bewildered. His belongings were still packed, and his armor was arranged as he had left it, ready for rapid access. What he wanted to do most was boil himself and burn his clothing. "Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Velwyn gathered up his pack and lifted the tent flap.

"Wait!" Jerric said urgently. "First get us some breakfast. I’ll wait here."

“I already had mine,” said Velwyn. “I’ll meet you on the road.”

Jerric kept his head down while he gulped his kahve and shoveled in his sausage and rice. The stout Breton at the cook fire wanted to chat, but Jerric had seen enough nudges and knowing smiles for one morning. He nodded his thanks and jogged out to meet Velwyn.

The two men walked in the clear morning until they had nearly reached Ra’sava Camp. Velwyn was recalling the previous evening. Jerric was trying to pull himself together before they walked into danger. "She didn't have any teeth in the front," Velwyn explained. "She thought you would like that."

Jerric dropped his pack in the road. He staggered a few steps, shedding weapons and equipment. When he reached the verge, Jerric leaned over and spewed his breakfast onto the grass. He looked up at the sky and took a few breaths, and then he leaned over and lost what was left of his dinner.

"Mara's milk!" exclaimed Velwyn.

Jerric ran for the bushes, unbuckling as he went.

"I wonder, do you know how to cure the effects of poison?" ventured Velwyn. His voice sounded nervous.

Jerric did not answer, at least not with words.

Later Jerric returned and knelt by his gear, looking clammy and wrung-out. "What did you give me?" he whispered. He had put some ideas together during his time in the bushes.

"Well you see," began Velwyn, "It's not so much what I gave you as what we should do about it." He paused. "Last night I got a potion from that Argonian. It worked well enough, but now I'm not sure she is a real alchemist."

Jerric considered his words. He looked up at Velwyn with red eyes in an ashen face. "Are you saying you've poisoned me with a rot-gut love potion?" he raged in a voice like a newborn kitten.

"You had it coming to you," said Velwyn. He rummaged through Jerric's day pack. "Now that I think about it, you should also probably take something to cure diseases."

___

The road had climbed gently but steadily all morning, and they had reached a high spot where there was a light breeze. Jerric was feeling like himself again. He walked off the road over to a flat rock outcrop and began to unload his packs. A great tree had grown out of a crack in the rocks, and its high canopy provided dappled shade without obstructing the view. It roots twisted along the surface until they found the rock’s edge and there sank deep into the soil. “This is a great place for lunch. We’ll walk until dark and have a cold camp tonight, so let’s make the most of it.”

Velwyn joined him. He dropped his pack and unbuckled his sword. “I’m going to the bushes,” he said.

“Watch your step. This is a popular spot, you won’t be the first.”

When Velwyn returned, Jerric had their lunch ready. Slices of smoked boar, crusty bread, three different cheeses, grapes, apple wedges, fresh tomatoes, pickled carrots and onions, strawberry preserves, and a small pot of mustard rested neatly on a polished wooden board. Velwyn looked pleasantly surprised. His eyes grew even wider when he saw the bottle of wine in Jerric’s hand.

“Sorry, I forgot cups,” Jerric said.

He watched Velwyn settle himself on the rocks. They were still warm where the morning sun had slanted under the tree’s braches. They looked down over the sparsely wooded hills falling away below them. For the first time Jerric saw that the Imperial was capable of relaxing. Velwyn took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to Jerric.

“Make yourself a couple of sandwiches for tonight, too. We can eat them as we go,” said Jerric. “This stuff won’t be any good after tomorrow.”

Velwyn dug in. “I may be guilty of misjudging you,” he said.

Jerric chewed and nodded. He picked up an apple slice and laid a piece of cheese on it. “This is Christophe’s doing, I just had to slice it. He’s a grumpy fetcher, but it turns out he packs a good picnic. And after all, lunch is the most important meal of the day.” He tipped up the bottle.

“I thought you said breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Velwyn took the wine back.

“It is. So is dinner.”

After their meal the men walked until sunset. They had passed people on foot and in carts all day, but as evening approached the road was empty. At sunset they turned into the bush to make camp. They did not make a fire. Jerric filled their water skins while Velwyn unpacked the bedrolls. They were in a sheltered spot a good distance from the creek, and Jerric thought it unlikely that any night roaming creature would stumble upon them. He undressed in the dark and was instantly asleep.

Jerric woke in the pink dawn to a hiss in his ear and a shape looming over him. He grabbed the figure's head and pulled it down by the hair while his other hand found his dagger. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and discovered he was looking into the purple, bug-eyed face of Velwyn. Jerric removed his forearm from Velwyn’s throat and rolled away.

"What is it, Benirus?" Jerric lay flat and rubbed his eyes.

Velwyn crab-crawled backward and rose, brushing off his clothes. "I said did you hear a noise!" he spluttered.

Jerric stood and kicked his way free of his bedroll. He reached to the fading stars in a bone popping stretch. Tonight, Skingrad, he thought. "Well whatever it was has probably died laughing." He looked over at Velwyn. "Give a fellow some warning next time," he said by way of apology.

Velwyn had produced a comb and was smoothing his hair. He eyed Jerric with distaste. "I know it’s Last Seed, but would you mind putting on some clothes? That horse carcass smelled better than you do."

Jerric let go of some wind and treated himself to a leisurely scratch. Clearly Benirus was touchy this morning. As he turned toward him to speak there was a twang, and hot pain streaked across his chest. He looked down and saw that a bloody furrow had opened there. He followed Velwyn’s shocked gaze to an arrow that stuck out of the grass, still quivering.

Velwyn gave a shout and ran for his sword. Jerric squawked in surprise and dove for his shield. He rolled into a crouch, looking for the archer. There was only one place in that direction that they could be using for cover. His sword was too far behind him to reach without turning.

There was a burgundy shape at the side of Jerric's vision. Velwyn had his sword out and was stalking forward. "Down!" Jerric called, and Velwyn dropped flat. Jerric scrambled to the low rocks he had picked out the night before and tried to fold himself behind them. Velwyn was protected, the contours of the ground were in their favor. Jerric shook out his right arm and prepared to throw some frost. The skin between his shoulders was crawling. He doubted that any archer would attack them on their own.

Another twang and a thump against Jerric's shield. Both men saw the archer and started toward her. She stepped through her cover and prepared her next shot. Jerric filled his hand with freezing fog.

"Your presence here will not be tolerated!" announced a male voice in nasal tones. A robed figure had appeared from the hedge at Jerric's right with a ball of fire in his hand. As Jerric threw his frost at the archer he felt the rush of magika from the mage’s spell against his side. The archer’s shot went wide when the frost hit her in the shoulder.

Jerric turned to meet the mage’s attack. He imagined the icy cold of the sea in winter and whipped a frozen ball at him as he lunged forward. The mage was already gathering more fire.

Frost boomed against the mage, and he shrieked as he threw more fire at Jerric. This time Jerric lost his nerve and ducked under the attack. He felt heat blaze down his back, but it wasn't close enough to burn him. He bounced back up and closed with the mage.

Jerric bashed the mage with his shield, bowling him over onto his back. He dropped onto his midsection, hooking his bare feet back over the man's thighs and pinning him to the ground. The mage's face was a mask of panic. His hand clawed at Jerric's slippery chest, sending agony and a wave of sickness through him. Jerric howled and slammed the shield edge down across the mage's face. The hand dropped away, and Jerric pounded the edge into the man's neck. The mage grabbed his throat and thrashed, his heels working against the grass.

Jerric stood retching and turned. He saw the archer go down in a gout of blood as Velwyn yanked his sword out of her throat. A Redguard in fur armor was closing with Velwyn. He took a swing at Velwyn with his heavy axe.

Velwyn lunged back and scrambled away, and he and Jerric both ran for Jerric’s sword. Velwyn got there first and tossed it the rest of the way to Jerric. The bandit stopped and made his choice. Without a word he turned and ran.

Jerric drew his sword and looked down into the mage’s ruined face. The man's hands were still at his neck, so Jerric bent and pressed the tip of his sword down into his belly. A strangled scream, and the hands were out of the way. He drew his sword point through the mage's throat until he saw the blood spray out. He could feel the sinews through his blade. He leaned over and spit, still feeling sick from the spell.

The archer had stopped gurgling and was still. The mage lay curled around his belly moaning as he bled out onto the grass. The Redguard had vanished. Velwyn was untouched. He didn't even appear to have much blood on him, although it might not show on the burgundy fabric.

Burning pain reminded Jerric to heal his chest. Blood had run down and soaked the front of his drawers. He decided to discard them instead of trying to explain the stains to their housekeeper. This trip was costing him in linens. He looked over at Velwyn. "You are a stone cold killer," Jerric said in wonder. "Who is guarding who?"

"Whom," said Velwyn. "Who is guarding whom." He bent to clean his sword on Jerric's bedroll.

Jerric took a closer look at Velwyn. "Have you shaved already, Benirus?" he exclaimed.

Velwyn fixed his nervous eye on Jerric. "Rough conditions are no excuse for poor grooming," he said. "Why did the Redguard run? I don't have armor, and you're not even wearing pants."

"Didn't like the odds, I guess," said Jerric. "You could have put a hole in his neck while he was busy killing me, for instance." He found a dry spot on the mage’s robe and cleaned his sword. "He's in it for the coin, and we were fighting for our lives. Now he lives to loot another day." Jerric brightened. "Maybe he'll spread the word about Blood-mad Benirus, and we'll have an easy time from here," he teased.

Velwyn was not in the mood. "Let's get going," he said. "I can already hear flies."

___

Jerric stood with his brother’s caravan on Bypass Road north of Skingrad. They would follow it around the city and pick up the Gold Road again to the Imperial City. His day pack was filled with snacks and potions. The morning mist was a welcome change from Anvil’s heat, and his heart felt light.

He looked behind him down the line of wagons stretching along the city wall. He noted the positions of the other guards and the archers ready on the wagons. His eyes passed over rocky meadows and orderly vineyards. He looked ahead and saw the scouts waiting where the road curved around the city’s clustered spires and out of his sight. A new road to walk and a whole new crew to work with.

He watched Rothmund for the signal to move out. Pity for Benirus that he went on ahead, Jerric thought. I would hate to miss any of this.

This post has been edited by Grits: Dec 27 2010, 11:58 PM

[Acadian]

What an interesting trip to Skingrad!

Jerric eased his arm out from under the frizzy head. He hoped that the wrinkled back belonged to a female. His nose told him that she used perfume instead of soap. He stuffed himself into his trousers and carefully gathered up his clothes. While he was searching for his other sock he heard a snorting cough and froze. He kept his eyes averted. There are some things I am better off not knowing, he decided. He picked up his boots and fled.

Brilliantly written!

The stout Breton at the cook fire wanted to chat, but Jerric had seen enough nudges and knowing smiles for one morning.

I like your understated style here.

A great tree had grown out of a crack in the rocks, and its high canopy provided dappled shade without obstructing the view. It roots twisted along the surface until they found the rock’s edge and there sank deep into the soil.

Beautifully rich descriptions like this really bring the world around Jerric alive.

Slices of smoked boar, crusty bread, three different cheeses, grapes, apple wedges, fresh tomatoes, pickled carrots and onions, strawberry preserves, and a small pot of mustard rested neatly on a polished wooden board.

Oh, YUM! I love Jerric's philosophy on the most important meal of the day!

Your fight scene with the bandits was clearly written, well-paced and riveting. I love how it seems that our Nord appropriately prefers frost spells!

"You are a stone cold killer," Jerric said in wonder. "Who is guarding who?"

"Whom," said Velwyn. "Who is guarding whom." He bent to clean his sword on Jerric's bedroll.

Argh! Don't you hate it when your characters try to edit you?

Your final scene of the 'wagon train' preparing to leave Skingrad was pure cinematic. It felt like the beginning of a beautifully epic movie - well done!

[mALX]

I don't know when I've laughed so hard !!! This chapter was AWESOME !!! I can't not quote some of these:


Great history on Gnoll’s Meeting Camp!

Velwyn looked like he didn’t know whether to fill his pants or flee. - ROFL !!!

SPEW !!! ROFL !!!!! OMG, Jerric waking up with ... "REEEE ... " -
hoped that the wrinkled back belonged to a female. - BWAAAHAAA!!!! SPEW !!!!

There are some things I am better off not knowing, he decided. He picked up his boots and fled.

- SPEW !!!!! ROFL !!!! SPEW !!! (KA, KA...GAAAAH!) [mALX choked to death laughing]


She didn't have any teeth in the front," Velwyn explained. "She thought you would like that." - BWAAAHAAA !!! Sword polishing for the toothless ...

And she gave him the runs... SPEW !!!


Jerric woke in the pink dawn to a hiss in his ear and a shape looming over him. He grabbed the figure's head and pulled it down by the hair while his other hand found his dagger. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and discovered he was looking into the purple, bug-eyed face of Velwyn.

My stomach is hurting .... Oooooh .... OW .... SPEW!!! ROFL !!!


I laughed myself sick on this !!!


Then the fight scene - WHEW !!!!! Benirus was some kind of cool character - I love what you did with him !!!


I am loving this story !!!!


- WAIT !! Did I forget to mention your genius with descriptions? You bring everything to life, your descriptions of everything make the reader experience these things, not just read about them - AWESOME WRITE !!! MORE !!!! MORE !!!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 15 2010, 03:39 AM

[SubRosa]

Jerric is certainly having quite a journey to Skingrad! From a rather amusing start at the camp, to a very gritty and ugly battle. I applaud your having the third bandit run for this life.

Many fan fic writers portray all their antagonists the same way the game does, which is to say as homicidal maniacs without a shred of self-preservation. When faced with defeat, real people and animals only fight to the death in extreme circumstances. Most of the time they will run away and live to fight another day instead. So nice to see that here!

[Destri Melarg]

"Well you see," began Velwyn, "It's not so much what I gave you as what we should do about it." He paused. "Last night I got a potion from that Argonian. It worked well enough, but now I'm not sure she is a real alchemist."

So Velwyn gets his revenge for Jerric's matchmaking!

Velwyn dug in. “I may be guilty of misjudging you,” he said.

I absolutely loved this sentence! Such an understated way of showing us the friendship developing between these two.

"Give a fellow some warning next time," he said by way of apology.

Another great character defining moment!

Jerric let go of some wind and treated himself to a leisurely scratch. Clearly Benirus was touchy this morning. As he turned toward him to speak there was a twang, and an arrow plowed a bloody furrow across Jerric’s chest.

Your 'one arrow shot', coming when it does, is wonderfully effective! Strictly as a matter of style, you may want to think about describing the furrow opened on Jerric's chest, and then the arrow that left it. If I may:
As he turned toward him to speak there was a twang, and a bloody furrow formed across Jerric's chest. There was a sound beyond them, and they both turned to see an arrow quivering in the grass. The shaft looked to be made of iron, and fresh blood dripped from the fletching.

The bandit stopped and made his choice. Without a word he turned and ran.

Like SubRosa said, the discretion of the last bandit was refreshing.

Pity for Benirus that he went on ahead, Jerric thought. I would hate to miss any of this.

Oh no! I was really starting to like those two together. I hope this isn't the last we see of Velwyn.

[treydog]

Well, I have had time to read now, and all I can say is- “Please don’t stop now!”

If I quoted everything I liked, that would be- well… everything. So let’s just select a few outstanding moments. First, using Arnand to describe Jerric was absolutely brilliant- and brilliantly done. Throughout you provide a wonderful lesson on “show, don’t tell.”

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

"Felen is waiting for these pods," Arnand said irritably. What is he doing in the Mages Guild, anyway? Arnand wondered. You don't get arms like that from turning pages.

"How do you know these things?" Arnand demanded. "You don't live here."

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

The brief introduction of Faustina provides a nice plot hook, especially after we find out what Arnand thinks of her (“face like a weasel.”)

He makes more noise than a Billy on a wooden bridge, thought Arnand.

A wonderful Oblivion-specific metaphor.

Adding Velwyn’s flight is also inspired- I wonder who bought his house?

The scene with the wolf tells us a lot about Jerric.

"Of course not," said Jerric. "You're not paying to get into her bed, you're paying to get back out of it."

The description of Jerric’s reaction to Rutila- and to the food- is hilarious. Even more so is his “solution.”

Velwyn's revenge was brilliantly understated- well, actually the description of his revenge. Jerric would disagree the the vengeance itself was anything of the sort.

“I thought you said breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Velwyn took the wine back.

“It is. So is dinner.”

The fight scene was wonderfully choreographed and had plenty of tension. And the banter between Jerric and Velwyn was first-rate again.


Not caught up yet, but enjoying every minute of it.

Oh- and to save D. Foxy from asking when he wanders by (which I have a feeling he will)- does it happen that your hair might be or once have been at any time the color known as "red"?

The reason for the question is buried in the mists of the other forum, but a number of our writers here can explain it to you if explanation is needed.

This post has been edited by treydog: Dec 15 2010, 06:30 PM

[Grits]

I’ve been on a road trip, but now I’m back.

Acadian: Thank you for your kind words, and for drawing attention to those sections. I certainly share Jerric’s view of which meal is the most important; it’s the one that’s coming up next! Frost first seems like a natural for Jerric, I’ve tucked an explanation away somewhere and we’ll eventually get to it.

mALX: I’m glad you enjoyed the Gnoll’s Meeting antics, this chapter was fun to write. I did a lot of snorting at inopportune moments, as most of it came to my wandering mind while I was pretending to listen to other people *blush.* It could have been worse, though: “Hold on a minute, officer, I just have to write this down.” There is a sad lack of hilarity in the next chapter, I hope you’ll bear with me!!

SubRosa: Thank you for your comments, I am trying make some things from the game make more sense but still keep my characters alive, which is tricky. Thank you for your support, it means a lot!

Destri Melarg: I changed the arrow shot, thank you so much for the suggestion. I like it much better now! We’ll see Velwyn again, after all there is the Manor mystery to sort out eventually. I like Velwyn and Jerric together, too, I wish I could have come up with a way to drag him through the next chapter without it being silly. Thank you so much for your advice!

treydog: Thank you so much for your kind words! We’ll find out about Velwyn’s house, but not for awhile. Your comments are very encouraging to me, and I have needed the encouragement to get through the next chapter! Oh, and I’m not a redhead, I’m afraid. My hair is and always has been the color known as “yellow.” If anyone would care to explain, I’m curious!!

So, it’s Last Seed 3E433. Let's see what happens next.


Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City Part 1

Jerric stepped out of the Gilded Lily feeling refreshed and considerably lighter in the coin purse. For a man who is not in love there is no substitute for true professionalism, he reflected. He spied his brother waiting across the street and headed toward him with a smile. The long shadows were a surprise, it must already be time for dinner.

Rothmund watched his approach with crossed arms and a face full of disapproval. Jerric knew that his brother resented his promotion to the Imperial City crew, but he had earned it through years of working the Anvil route. Rothmund was old enough to be Jerric’s father, and he had campaigned heavily to give his own son the position. Rothmund scowled as Jerric reached him. “We’re late,” he fumed. “No one needs to take that long in a brothel.”

The two men headed down the busy waterfront toward The Bloated Float. Nothing he could say would appease Rothmund, so Jerric stayed silent and made his plan to enjoy what was left of the day. He was excited to see an inn that was actually a ship, and he had already made friends with the rest of the team who awaited them there. He anticipated an eventful evening.

___

Jerric woke to the Dunmer's voice from the cell across the hall again. His headache was improving, but the voice still grated. Sleeping one off in the drunk tank was not a new experience for him, but he had been in this cell long enough to be sick, feel better, then start feeling hungry. "My, my, you're a big one. A Nord, so strong. But you can't bend steel, can you boy? You can't do anything to get out of here. And those big muscles? They're going to waste away. When the end comes, you won't even have the strength to cry for your mother." Jerric had heard this speech from the Dunmer already, more than once. He suspected that serving a long sentence in the Imperial Prison did not have a positive effect on the mind.

He sat up and reviewed the situation. His wrists were still shackled together, and the blood on his knuckles reminded him that he had earned it. Why hadn't Rothmund paid his fine, he wondered. The caravan must be back on the Gold Road by now, along with all of his gear. The Imperial Watch had taken everything that he had on him at the Float. I’ll catch up with them on the road, Jerric thought. I have a lot to say to you, brother.

"Fah, you stink more than the last one!" the Dunmer was saying. "He soiled himself even before they started the torture. That's right, I'm sure you'll be getting some special attention before long." Jerric couldn't argue about the smell. There was some mildew on the walls and filth on the floor where others had missed the sewer drain, but the reek was mostly Nord. He regarded his rough prison garb and pitied the next fellow who would have to wear it. "That's right. You're going to die in here. You hear me, boy? You're going to die in here!"

I doubt it, thought Jerric. No one gets a death sentence for brawling, even in the Imperial City. He rose and stretched experimentally. The scrapes and bruises didn’t bother him, but he was stiff from sleeping on the stone couch set into his cell wall. His nose was definitely broken, and his tongue was thick with dried blood. He had a crusty knot on the side of his head that his fingertips couldn't resist exploring. He couldn't use his healing spell, and he suspected that the wrist irons were enchanted to silence him. He wondered how the guards had known he was a mage, since he hadn’t cast any spells. The fight outside the Bloated Float had been a fairly friendly scrap until the Watch got involved. Next he checked the water jug and found it still empty. He stepped to the bars of his cell for some entertainment.

The Dunmer was waiting for him. "I'm getting out soon," he confided."Maybe I should visit your wife. She must be so lonely. Don't you worry, eh? I'll take care of her long after you're dead." The Dunmer’s smile did not match the look in his wide red eyes.

Excellent topic, Jerric thought, I don't have a wife. He lounged against the bars. "You should visit her, Dunmer," he said amiably. "My wife will open her legs and eat you for breakfast." He received no reply, so he tried again. "What's that perfume you're wearing?" He sniffed and leered across the passage. "Maybe the guards will put us in a cell together." Scaly jewels of Akatosh, he thought, my nose hurts.

There was a commotion at the top of the corridor. “Hey, you hear that?” said the Dunmer. “The guards are coming for you!” His unhinged laughter made the guards’ talk unintelligible. Jerric stuck his sore face between the bars and looked toward the noise. Three armored soldier types surrounding a white-haired man in a rich robe were approaching. Those are not guards, he thought.

“My sons… they’re dead, aren’t they, Captain?” the old man said as they drew near. His voice was far more deep and resonant than his aged frame should allow.

“We don’t know that, sire. The messenger only said that they were attacked.” Jerric could hear that the Captain was a woman.

“No, they’re dead. I know it.” The old man’s voice sounded resigned and heavy with grief.

“My job right now is to get you to safety,” the Captain said briskly. The group stopped outside Jerric’s cell. He recognized their armor from his childhood picture books. They were Blades, the personal bodyguards of the Emperor. Part of him wanted to believe that this was some elaborate prank, but dread crept through the rest of him. “What’s this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!” the Captain demanded.

“Must have been some mix-up with the Watch,” answered one of the Blades.

“Never mind, Glenroy. Get that gate open. Stand back, prisoner. We won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in our way.” Jerric believed her, and he backed up to the wall under his high window. He began to think that the Dunmer had been right, and he was going to die here shackled in a cell over some careless oversight.

Glenroy opened the cell door and moved aggressively to stand in front of him. “Stay put, prisoner.” His voice betrayed his tension, and Jerric did not want to add stress to the situation. He stood still and did not meet Glenroy’s eyes.

“No sign of pursuit, sir,” the other man called from the corridor.

“Good. Let’s go. We’re not out of this yet.” The Captain entered the cell and walked over to the stone couch, followed by the old man. His robe was royal purple trimmed with ermine, and the jewel at his neck could only be the Amulet of Kings. Awe and fear crawled over Jerric’s skin. Emperor Uriel Septim was standing in his prison cell. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. The Emperor’s heirs were dead? His mind raced, and no single thought rose to direct him.

“You … I’ve seen you. Let me see your face.” Jerric looked up when he realized that his Emperor was speaking to him. “You are the one from my dreams. Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength.”

Jerric was too stunned to reply. The Emperor spoke again. “Assassins attacked my sons, and I’m next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance the entrance lies here in your cell. Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done, it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for.”

“Please, sire, we must keep moving,” said the Blades Captain. She opened a doorway in the blank stone wall, and the stone couch raised a cloud of dust as it slid into the floor. “Better not close this one. There’s no way to open it from the other side.” She led the Emperor through into darkness.

“This doesn’t concern you, prisoner!” Glenroy warned, and then he followed the Emperor.

Jerric still knelt on the stone floor. The Blade from the hall shot him a look as he passed. A Redguard, Jerric noted. “Looks like this is your lucky day. Just stay out of our way.”

He followed the others, and Jerric was alone again. He looked down the passageway where a faint blue light shone from below. They had locked his cell door behind them, and there was no way he was going to wait around for the Watch to collect him now. He rose and followed the Blades into the secret passage, down a set of dark stairs, and into an open corridor of dressed stone. A dim blue light shone over the columns and arches that held up the ceiling, but Jerric could not find its source. He concentrated on not tripping over his rope sandals as he followed, staying back far enough to avoid Glenroy’s attention but not so far that he would get lost. Part of his mind turned over the Emperor’s words and tried to make sense of them.

Jerric usually relied on landmarks and the sky to tell direction, and he was easily confused indoors. All of the passageways looked the same to him. Once he stumbled too quickly down a set of stairs only to find the group paused at the bottom, listening. He earned a glare and a snarl from Glenroy. “Don’t try anything. I’m watching you.” Jerric waited as they went far ahead down the darker corridor.

As they moved into the lighted room beyond, Jerric heard the unmistakable song of swords being drawn. “Protect the Emperor!” called the Captain. Shouts and the clash of metal rang back to Jerric, and without thinking he ran toward the fight. It was over before he got there. Three red-robed figures lay dead on the ground, and he was standing over the Captain’s body. Her katana lay beside her and she wore a short sword at her side, but he didn’t see the assassins’ weapons. “The Captain is down,” he heard Glenroy say. “How could they be waiting for us here?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late to go back now,” said the Redguard.

“I’ll take point. Let’s move,” said Glenroy. The Emperor followed him through a metal gate.

“You stay here, prisoner. Don’t try to follow us.” The Redguard took up the rear and secured the gate behind him. Jerric watched the Emperor disappear into darkness guarded by only two of his Blades, and he felt sick with worry.

He went to the gate and tried it, but of course it was locked. He took a moment to think and search the robed figures. He came up with two potions marked with the symbol for healing and a handful of coins. He pulled the hoods from the dead assassins and used them to make a bundle that he could carry.

Jerric resisted looting the Captain’s body, but the situation required it. He unbuckled her short sword, and holding the scabbard between his knees he drew the steel blade. He felt much better with it in his hand. He itched to try the katana, but there was no way he could use it. He held the scabbard in one hand with the belt rolled around it and the sword in the other. He felt ridiculous, but at least he was armed. He fiddled with the hoods to find the best way to carry everything, and ended up rolling the scabbard into a bundle with the hoods. He practiced putting down his bundle and using the short sword two-handed. His mind did not want to address the problem of getting out of the Imperial Prison in irons carrying a dead Blade Captain’s sword, and he tried not to think about what might be happening to the Emperor.

Two rats gave him his solution when they ran at him, scrabbling on the stones and squeaking. It was easy to dispatch them even with his wrists shackled together, just like playing Legion and Bandits with his nephews when they were all children. There was no way the rats came through the locked gate, so he looked around for the rat hole. When he discovered it and poked his head inside, he saw that it opened into a broad dirt-floored substructure. The dim light came from pale greenish spots on the walls. He really did not want to go in there, but explaining the secret passage in his cell to the Watch sounded even less appealing.

He tossed his bundle into the hole and then squeezed his shoulders through. His graceless entry cost him some skin, but at least now he had somewhere to go other than his cell.

This post has been edited by Grits: Dec 25 2010, 09:22 PM

[SubRosa]

Jerric was on a road trip, so it makes sense you would be on one too!

So Jerric was thrown in the klink for brawling. I like it. I think it was a very good decision to start that scene in the prison, and have him reflect upon how he got there, rather than walk us through the entire thing in a linear fashion.

And now we are getting to the meat of things I see. You added some nice little bits to Jerric's meeting with Valen Dreth, which lend some freshness to the story. Jerric also kneels, which I thought was good. The guy is the Emperor after all!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Dec 26 2010, 03:47 AM

[Acadian]

My hair is and always has been the color known as “yellow.”

Thank the Nine. Buffy is dancing around like a, well, elf over this news that she is not alone here. Another blonde!

Opening scene: Fresh from a brothel and thinking of dinner. That sounds like our Jerric!

He couldn't use his healing spell, and he suspected that the wrist irons were enchanted to silence him.

This is a very clever and reasonable touch!

just like playing Legion and Bandits with his nephews when they were all children.

Very setting specific and so in keeping with what we know of Jerric.

I like all your decisions here, ranging from using flashbacking to describe how he got in prison, to how much detail of the tutorial to provide. I like how you are using the tutorial more to show Jerric's reactions to things than merely relay the details. Well done!

In fact, all your descriptions and the tone throughout was great. Jerric's character is distinct and his delightful attitudes and manner permeate this wonderful episode.

[mALX]

I think Jerric is from East Tennessee, he [censored]'s all day and brawls all night outside the clubs ...

Great Write !! Gaaah, though - A shocking change of pace!! It was like getting a glass of ice cold water thrown in the face to go from the scene on the wharf to the jail cell - and drinking and brawling - it probably felt that way to Jerric as well.

I think that shock enhanced the feeling of what Jerric was going through, at least to me it did.

I absolutely loved how you handled the scene between Jerric and Valen Dreth - the dialogue between them was perfect !!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 26 2010, 12:51 AM

[treydog]

Jerric woke to the Dunmer's voice from the cell across the hall again.

And BAM- we are into the main quest- perhaps.

He suspected that serving a long sentence in the Imperial Prison did not have a positive effect on the mind.

That is the sort of dry, understated humor I love.

Wonderful descriptions, including some expansion of the opening scenes. You provide the characters with lots of personality to make them 3-D.

Jerric usually relied on landmarks and the sky to tell direction, and he was easily confused indoors. All of the passageways looked the same to him.

Like right there. That is a great bit of characterization.

It was easy to dispatch them even with his wrists shackled together, just like playing Legion and Bandits with his nephews when they were all children.

Still very impressive- I look forward to more.

As to the question in re hair color… D.Foxy discovered some time ago, on the other forum, that a high percentage of the excellent female writers were redheads. So, when we get a new, excellent, female writer- it almost becomes a required question.

[Grits]

SubRosa:The tutorial dungeon has been a grind, and I’ve really tried to make it worth reading. There might be some people in Cyrodiil who would sass the Emperor, but Jerric is not one of them.

Acadian:I’m glad to hear that Jerric’s character is coming through in the tutorial chapter. The next section with no dialog at all made me want to give him a pet rat to talk to.

mALX:Jerric would fit right in with a work hard/play hard crowd. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him tailgating at hockey games. This chapter is a big change of pace, especially from the romp through the West Weald. Since this is a story about a life that gets interrupted, I wanted to show a little of the “before” picture, but I didn’t want it to seem like two different stories. Fair warning, more glasses of cold water ahead. So, you know, towel.

treydog: Yes, we are main-questing, mostly. I’m not sure yet how I am going to deal with some issues. This whole plot thing is new to me. Thank you so much for your kind words, they are very encouraging!!


Chapter 3 : Welcome to the Imperial City, Part 2

Jerric picked up his gear and moved over to the wall. The light was coming from some sort of slime on the stones. He would have to duck in some spots, but there was enough head room for him to walk. He couldn’t think of a way to leave a trail, so he would move forward and try to scratch a mark in the dirt if he came to a crossroad. He moved as quickly as he could through the substructure.

When he turned down one dim corridor he smelled something large and rotten even through the wreck that used to be his nose. A soggy groan told him it was a zombie. As his eyes adjusted he saw it shamble toward him picking up speed, so he dropped his bundle and braced himself for disgusting. He ducked the zombie’s swing and hacked at its knee with the sword. He didn’t need to kill it, just keep it from catching him. He ducked another blow and chopped again. Then he took a step and brought his heel down hard at an angle against the damaged knee.

The zombie’s knee caved in with a wet crack, and it toppled toward him. Jerric dodged and scrambled away. His stomach convulsed, and he vomited bile into his mouth. His sinuses started bleeding again, and the blood trickled over his lips and down his throat. He bent over to spit and look for his bundle, and he saw it behind the groping zombie. He retrieved it with a jump that jarred his nose and brought tears to his eyes, then he moved on, careful not to touch his dripping sword. The conjured zombies he had fought never left such scum on his blade.

Jerric made his way through the substructure until he came to an area with a higher ceiling and light coming down from a high grate. He got some of his questions answered when he found a fresh goblin carcass and some skeletal remains. Some who left their loot in the crates and boxes here never came back for it, he reasoned. One body had rotted away inside its leather armor, and the other lay tangled in rusted plate. He considered his sackcloth with regret. There was no way he could use the armor, or the axe and bow that he also found there.

He did find a key on the goblin, and a potion with the symbol for restoring magicka. He also found two scrolls, which he tucked with the potion into one of the red hoods. He used the key to open the door he found behind the body. Maybe the goblin had retreated behind this door and then died of its wounds. He wondered if he was about to meet whatever had killed the goblin, or if the assassins had possibly come this way.

Jerric stepped through the door and saw that the stone piers were replaced by wooden braces in this part of the substructure. He shuffled along in a crouch to avoid hitting his head. Roots had broken through the ceiling in some places, and he wondered if he was reaching the surface. He thought of the high grate, that light had to come from somewhere. He felt like he had been descending further underground. He took a moment to think. The Imperial Prison sat high above Lake Rumare. He could be going deeper underground and toward the outside at the same time. That would explain the wooden supports instead of stone. He began to feel hopeful.

Then he passed into hewn tunnels linking a natural cave system. Jerric moved cautiously through the near darkness, following the firelight he saw reflected on the stone walls. When he turned a corner he found a small unattended fire in front of a closed door decorated with hanging skulls. Maybe goblins, he thought. Someone was close by, the fire was burning too briskly to have been left for long. He had gotten some practice fighting goblins by the entrance to Derelict Mine only days ago outside Skingrad. Those goblins had also featured skulls in their decorations.

Jerric knew that when he went through the door the fire behind him would make him an easy target. He listened at the door, and then he opened it onto total darkness. He jumped quickly through and pressed himself against the wall. The fire light shone past him enough to show natural rock walls and floor. Nothing attacked him, but his skin wanted to jump off his body just the same. He left the door open for light and moved as carefully as he could down the stone tunnel. He did not consider himself to be an excitable sort of person, but the silence and darkness had worn his nerves thin.

As he reached the point where the floor leveled out, he saw more firelight ahead. The cave opened up a little, and he tasted more than smelled roasting meat in the smoky air. His dry mouth began to water. Jerric crept through the cave as quietly as he could, hoping that his scuffling feet made less noise than the fire. He could see a shadow ahead, and when he turned the corner he saw the goblin that cast it. The creature was unarmed.

His bundle went softly to the ground, and he made his plan. He ran at the goblin holding his sword low, then when it leaped to claw at him, he plunged it up into the goblin’s midsection and pulled it out with a twist. The goblin fell clawing and screeching. He placed his sandaled, zombie-slimed foot on the goblin’s neck and pushed the sword down through its chest. The scrabbling arms fell away from his leg, and the creature’s harsh cries ended.

Jerric took a moment to let his pulse slow. He wiped off the sword and his wet hands as best as he could on the goblin. His scratches began to sting as he investigated the fireside, where he was surprised to find a mortar and pestle on a rough table along with plant material and vials. He could tell by the stinkhorn and wisp stalk caps that it had been making poison. A goblin alchemist? He always thought that they stole everything they used. Jerric began to question some of his assumptions about goblins. He packed the mortar and pestle in his bundle, but he left the poison. Then he dropped everything beside the fire and got to work on the main prize.

There was a large rat sizzling on a spit over the fire. The smell made his stomach rumble. He looked around in the goblin’s things and came up with some coins and a small knife. Thank Akatosh, he thought, I don’t have to carve up my dinner with my zombie sword.

He had to use his teeth as another hand and he nearly stood in the fire, but Jerric managed to feast on some of the rat roast. He thought it was the best thing he had ever tasted, even with the tang of goblin blood still clinging to his fingers. Now if only he could find some ale. Jerric decided to press on instead of searching. He felt an urgent need to get out under the sun.

More tunnels, some so dark he had to feel his way along the wall with his elbow. His fresh scratches were burning and his already sore head was beginning to pound, but he didn’t want to use up a potion on discomfort. Burning torches stuck into the ground lit some of the way and informed him that the tunnels were in use. He began to think about traps and proceeded more carefully.

He killed more goblins and picked up some deeper cuts. None of them was armed, yet every one attacked him furiously. He was feeling lucky, as he had managed to kill the only two goblins that had weapons with their own log trap. He had watched the dust settle on them as he devoured two apples he found amongst their supplies. The apples were withered but sweet, and they helped his raging thirst not at all. If they were guards, he wondered what they were guarding.

Then he reached the open entrance to a large cavern with a high domed ceiling, and he began to understand. Small fires burned at intervals around the walls. He could hear rats and see two goblins very close to his tunnel. He had reached some sort of dwelling place, and he realized that to them he must be the foul marauding creature. They were doing the same thing his own sister would do if she found a stranger with a sword wandering through her house. There were areas of the cave that he couldn’t see, so he assumed that there would be more goblins. He knelt down and dropped his hood-pack while he considered his options.

He had to get through that cavern or turn back. The middle appeared to have a large pit right in the center. He could see light from a fire in the pit, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was. He had to assume the bottom was accessible and could be concealing more of them. If they attacked he would engage the nearest goblin then draw the other one back into the tunnel so that the rest couldn’t surround him. He hoped that they would be slow enough getting around the pit so that he wouldn’t have to fight them all at once. If he was lucky he might be able to run through without them chasing him. He decided that if he had to run for it, he would try for the tunnel that he saw across the cavern and hope for the best rather than back into darkness the way he came, since he could not remember any places behind him that would conceal a Nord from cave-dwelling goblins. He earnestly hoped that he would not have to kill any of their young.

Jerric put his bundle against the wall with his potions ready on top. If he could get through without a fight he wouldn’t mind leaving them behind. He crept into the cave. A loud prolonged clatter echoed through the cavern as the rock he accidentally kicked skittered across the stone floor and fell into the pit, bouncing off the rocks all the way down. The two goblins looked around at him, and one let out a squawk and reached for an axe. Another goblin stepped out from behind a pile of rocks on the far side of the cavern and Jerric could see that it was wearing a sword. A goblin’s head popped up and looked at him from within the pit. Jerric realized that the stealth part of his plan was over.

He let out a howl and lunged for the goblin closest to him, gutting it before it could finish its swing. Lightning cracked around him, knocking him back and stunning him for a moment. He saw that the second goblin had picked up a staff, and she was backing away from him. More lightning crackled through the air, but this time it rushed into Jerric as he absorbed the magicka. He ran forward and drove his shoulder into the goblin witch’s midsection, sending her flying back and down into the pit. He threw himself to the ground to avoid falling in after her, and he landed on the staff.

The third goblin was still making its way around the pit. Jerric turned his attention to the one climbing out right beside him, slowed by the axe in its hand. The goblin looked surprised to see Jerric’s new position, if Jerric could judge such a foreign expression. He rolled onto his back and kicked it in the face with both feet. He kicked it again, and the goblin let out a series of harsh cries but did not fall. He felt the staff under his back. Jerric dropped his wet sword and levered himself up with the staff, then he fired lightning at the goblin as it swung its leg over the edge, knocking it back into the pit. He turned and shot more lightning at the last goblin as it ran toward him. He hit it with lightning from the staff until it fell.

There was a lot of noise coming from the pit, and Jerric looked in. One side appeared to be a rat corral, and the goblin witch had fallen among the captive rats. She was unable to rise, and the rats were taking their revenge. The other goblin lay with its leg twisted under it. Jerric considered the staff. He couldn’t think of a way to carry it, and he didn’t want another goblin to pick it up and chase him with it. He used it to finish the goblins in the pit, and then he tossed it in with the rats. He was not inclined to let the rats go, but at least he had given them a meal.

The goblin by the tunnel was kneeling quietly in its own guts, breathing rapidly through its open mouth. Its deep set eyes were fixed on him. Jerric picked up his sword and approached it. Somehow the thing had pulled more of its own insides out, probably trying to rise. Jerric thrust his sword through its open jaws and up into its brain. He had trouble getting the blade back out. He had always wanted to try that.

When he bent to pick up his bundle Jerric noticed that some of his gashes were bleeding quite freely. He drank one potion and the bleeding stopped. As he made his way through the cavern he cast his eyes around for goods that he could use. Something to get the shackles off was a top priority, followed by liquid of any kind. He stopped at an oval leather shield. He had found bows and quivers filled with arrows, but he had yet to encounter an archer. If he did, the shield would be better than nothing. He picked it up along with two more healing potions and an iron dagger. It never hurts to have a second blade, no matter how humble, he thought.

Jerric went to one of the goblin’s tables to get his gear situated. He carried the shield upside down on his outstretched arms like a basket with the bundle and the dagger resting in it. He held the short sword in his hand. He thought he must look like a battered, filthy washerwoman. He headed down a tunnel out of the cavern, and when the firelight faded behind him he saw a dim blue light ahead. With a sinking feeling he realized that he was back at the same kind of stone chambers that he had left under the prison. Had he gone in a circle? He went to the opening and looked down.