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

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: No trolls at the camp this time, luckily, or he might have installed a lock on his belt and thrown away the key. I’m glad you enjoyed the visit. I appreciate your comment on the tussle, it seemed like this one would be spew-worthy. Thank you for your encouragement, it means a lot to me!!

SubRosa: I can thank Foxy’s guidance for the bandit drama, there were whole layers that I had forgotten to put in that scene above the who does what to whom. I had a lot of fun with the Gnoll’s Meeting section, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ve written some more for Abiene while I’ve been struggling with Kvatch, she’ll be back in Jerric’s story soon. Thank you, SubRosa!

mALX: I’m glad you enjoyed it, mALX! You say the sweetest things!!

D. Foxy: Your help is so valuable to me!! I know what goes on during a tea party, but the combat stuff keeps me guessing. Thank you so much, Foxy!! As far as the greaves alterations, I had to get a little naughty in before Kvatch. A whole chapter coming up without any lewd talk or crotch-grabbing. Sigh. It was hard for me.

Acadian: The whole point of the fight was to get to the passage you pointed out. It seemed like something that needed to be addressed. It means a lot to me to hear that it worked for you. Thank you so much for your support! I’m glad you enjoyed Gnoll’s Meeting. I didn’t think of the characters until after Jerric and Velwyn had left, so he had to go back to redeem both of us!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 1


Worry tightened Jerric’s chest as he turned onto the steep Kvatch Road. Acrid smoke had scented the air all morning, and now he could see it. A strange cloud hung high over the city. Sudden storms often swept in and darkened the sky over Kvatch, but he could see that this was no thunderhead. Something was horribly wrong. He clicked his tongue to Flash and increased his pace.

As they turned a corner a wild-eyed Altmer nearly staggered into him. Jerric caught him and steadied him by the arms. "Come on!" the Altmer gasped into Jerric's face. "Run while there's still time! The Guard still holds the road, but it's only a matter of time before they're overwhelmed!"

"Calm, friend!" Jerric gave the mer a shake. "What are you saying?"

"Gods' blood, you don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night! There were glowing portals outside the walls! Gates to Oblivion itself! There was a huge creature... something out of a nightmare... came right over the wall... blasting fire. They swarmed around it... killing... Kvatch is a smoking ruin! Everyone else is--"

Jerric let go of the mer and ran up the road. Cold fear gripped him. Every tree and rock that he passed should be welcoming him home, but this time he wasn’t looking. When he reached the wide level place between switchbacks, he found a crowd of people milling around there. Most of them wore night clothes, and many were barefoot. He realized that they had fled from the city.

Jerric dashed through the refugees, searching for beloved faces. There were so few people there, and all of them looked terrified or numb with shock. The children, he thought, where are all of the children? He spotted a familiar figure in a soiled blue gown. It was Sigrid from the Mages Guild. He ran to her, out of breath. "My family," he begged, "Have you seen them?"

Sigrid’s face was streaked with ash and tears. “They’re not here. No one else has come down from the barricade for hours, and I haven’t seen them.”

He braced his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. He had to fight the air past the dread that froze his chest. When he stood Sigrid reached for him with trembling hands. She gripped him as if she thought they both might fall. “Sigrid, think,” he said. He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. “When the attack came, where would they go? They must still be in the city.”

"The thing came over the wall, and daedra flooded in through the city gate. Captain Matius got us out behind them. We’re all that's left." Her voice was rough with tears and smoke. “A few made it to the Chapel, and I heard Captain Matius say there are some trapped in the castle, but… They cut us down in the streets, Jerric. They burned us out. Everyone else is dead.” Her voice broke into sobs, and fresh grief flowed down her cheeks.

Jerric shook his head, unwilling to believe it. He dropped her hands and backed away from her. It isn’t real until my own eyes see it, he told himself. “My horse,” he said, pointing down the road. Then he turned and ran the rest of the way up to the city.

When he reached the Kvatch plateau Jerric slowed and stared in raw shock. Red clouds laced with lightning boiled above him, and the mid-day sky had turned to black night. Thunder cracked and rolled over a noise he couldn’t describe. Behind the city wall Kvatch was in flames. His mind recoiled from what he saw in front of the city gate. Great glistening black claws reached up from the ground forming an oval frame that dwarfed the city wall, and a vertical pool of fire swirled within it. The very air crackled with its power. He knew he was looking at the Gate to Oblivion.

Men’s shouts sounded like the cries of small birds under the noise. Jerric’s eyes went to a crude barricade between the road and the gate. He saw a group of soldiers gathered there. Their white surcoats told him that they were Kvatch City Guard. The shouts came from three who were engaged with a scamp and a small clannfear on the open ground in front of the gate. They finished the daedra and fell back to their cover as he watched.

Jerric ran to the guards who were sheltered behind the barricade. One of them turned and stalked toward him. He had lost his helmet, and a band of filthy cloth kept the sweat and blood out of his eyes. He gripped his sword in one hand and waved Jerric back with the other. “Get back to the encampment!" he called. "This is no place for you!" Jerric recognized him. It was Savlian Matius, Captain of the Kvatch Guard.

"My family!" shouted Jerric. He closed the distance to Matius. "They're still in the city!" The Gate’s roar was overwhelming.

"We can't get through with that Gate in the way!" yelled Matius.

Close shut the jaws of Oblivion. Jerric remembered the Emperor's words. "Close it!" He grabbed at Matius, frantic. "We have to close it!"

Matius shrugged him off. "I don't know how, but it must be possible from the other side." He pointed to black marks and ridges that scarred the area around the Gate. "Look there, the enemy closed the ones they opened during the initial attack."

Without a word Jerric sprinted through the barricade and across the violated ground. For a few strides he still heard Matius shouting behind him. One leap carried him through the Gate, and he landed with a jolt on a hill of cracked, blasted rock. Tumbled boulders loomed around him under a scorching red sky. He saw great black walls and tall gates below him, with huge spiked towers jutting up behind them in the distance. Seething rivers of lava sent ribbons of heat and fumes into the air. The Deadlands. Jerric stumbled a few paces, terrified. His packs were still on Flash, and he didn't even have his shield.

He forced the hot air into his lungs and turned to look back at the Gate. It looked the same as it had on the other side, and he couldn’t find any means to close it. The noise was different here, a low, powerful hum. He circled the Gate again, frantically searching for anything that he might have missed. His hope that he could somehow jump back through as it closed drained away, and cold fear flooded in after it.

In front of the Gate again, Jerric turned away to try to gather his thoughts. Now he noticed a charred figure twisted on the ground right at his feet. A long sword lay beside it. The person had been burned until he couldn’t even tell if it had been armored. The fire that haunted his worst nightmares flared to life in his mind. His heart raced, and he felt that the pitiless air was smothering him. His breath came in dry, shallow gasps. Panic tightened his muscles until he felt his arms couldn’t bend. He knelt and tried to bring himself back under control. Sweat ran into his eyes, and when he closed them he braced his shaking hands against the hot ground.

One hand met the sword hilt. His fingers closed around it, and he clutched it like a drowning man holds on to a rope. He wiped the sweat from his face and told himself that if the daedra could breathe his air, then he could breathe theirs. He opened his eyes and focused them on the sword. A long, straight steel blade, double edged and stained with blood. The edges were squared off near the crossguard. He recognized the design on the hilt as Batul’s work. This sword had belonged to someone from Kvatch.

Jerric pushed himself to his feet and deliberately slowed his breathing. The sword’s grip fit comfortably in his right hand, and its heft and balance felt familiar. There was plenty of room for his left when he cupped the rounded pommel in his palm and made an experimental thrust. When he got his arms moving, he began to calm down. He stood by the Gate and looked around him, and the sword’s weight in his hand held him together. If he could not close the Gate here, he would have to go into the Deadlands and look for a way. The Gate is behind me, he thought. Home is behind me. I need to go forward.

He heard a shout and a hooting whistle down the hill from his position. A Kvatch guard was running toward him, pursued by a clannfear and scamps. Jerric ran down the hill until he reached the guard, and the man turned beside him to fight. The ground where they met was open and level, and the enemy approaching them was familiar to Jerric. He began to forget his fear when he felt the first scamp’s muscle and bone split open under his blade. He decided to conserve his magicka, and the fight sent his blood singing through his veins. When the clannfear reached them it charged straight at Jerric. He had plenty of room to dodge and thrust his sword into its side behind the bony head frill as it passed. He finished it on the ground and looked for his next target.

The guard was the only thing left standing. Scamps lay in pieces around them, and their blood was splashed over Jerric’s armor. The stench from their spilled insides filled his mouth. Bile rose in his throat, but his tongue was too dry to spit it out. When he felt for his magicka, he silently thanked his stars that he had absorbed some of the scamps’ fire spells.

"Thank the Nine!" gasped the guard. "I never thought I'd see another friendly face." His voice cracked with strain. The man stood heaving with exhaustion and dripping with sweat. Blood and scorch marks stained his white surcoat, but Jerric decided that he moved well enough to go without healing.

Jerric noticed that he still had his day pack, and he got out a canteen and handed it to the guard. He knew that the one on his belt was already empty. “Water,” he said. “I’m Jerric.” Introducing himself made the situation seem more sane.

The guard drank and got his voice back. "I’m Ilend Vonius. Captain Matius sent us in to see if we could close the Gate." Jerric took just enough water to moisten his throat. He pulled Vonius over toward some rocks and crouched down for cover. "The others are dead, and Menien Goneld was captured," Vonius continued."I saw them take him into that tower. We should search for him, he might have learned something of this nightmare place."

“How do we get to the tower? Those gates are blocking the way.”

“We’ll have to go around, down there.” Vonius pointed to a black trail through the rugged terrain. “That’s how I got out. They closed the gates behind us when we were out there on the bridge. Most of us died in the ambush. I got away, and I saw where they took Menien.”

Jerric took a moment to think, his mind had not been clear since he first noticed the smoke. The Kvatch wolf on Vonius’ surcoat brought the burning city back before his eyes. He pushed away the panic for his family and focused on the situation before him. Akatosh guide me, he thought. I am not good with plans. “Go back through the Gate, Vonius," he said. "Tell Captain Matius what you know. If I don’t make it he can send someone else. I'll search for Goneld so we can shut the Gate." Jerric decided not to tell Vonius about Martin. If the priest was still alive he would just have to keep himself that way until Jauffre figured out that Jerric had failed.

Vonius nodded. Weariness and guilt filled his face. "I don't know how you’ll get home if you manage to close it," he said. “I was just trying to get away and go back through the Gate.”

"Tell Captain Matius to give me time to get to that tower. Don't let anyone else get stuck here."

A rumble came from above them. Vonius pushed Jerric to safety and jumped after him as rocks crashed down around them. One clipped the guard's knee, and now there would be no arguing. Jerric healed it only enough to let him stand.

"Take my shield," Vonius said. He gripped Jerric's shoulder in farewell and limped back to the gate. Jerric crouched on the rocky ground and watched him go. The noise hadn't drawn more enemies. Vonius passed through the Gate, and Jerric turned to look at the distant tower.

He had to let go of his fear so it couldn’t take him again. He made himself accept what he had known since he leaped through the Gate. His life would end here under the red sky. He could only hope for one thing at a time, and now it was to find Menien in that tower. But first he'd have a long run through the Deadlands to get there.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jan 29 2011, 06:26 PM

[haute ecole rider]

You have done a wonderful job describing Jerric's first impression of the Deadlands - the terror and the heat and the noise et. al.

The interaction with Vonius was well done, too. And now Jerric has his own Kvatch Wolf to carry! May he earn it!

Concerning your comment, it takes a lot to make me spew during tussles. Strong stomach and RL experience with blood and gore, you see. Believe me when I tell you there are worse things than blood and gore.

[SubRosa]

Jerric has come home at least. Thank goodness that brawl ended him up in prison. I wonder if he might have been in Kvatch during the attack if that had not happened? And thusly have been killed in the attack?

It isn’t real until my own eyes see it, he told himself.
This is absolutely perfect!

Jerric's reckless charge into the Oblivion Gate, with no preparations, show not only his youth, but his very real and believable desperation to rescue his family. Now I see has a new sword: The Kvatch Blade? Vengeance? Retribution? It will need a name to go with his new Kvatch Wolf.

A wonderful description of the blasted horror of the Deadlands. That Jerric looked for a way to close the gate from the other side of it made perfect sense. It always seemed strange to me that the gates would form so far away from the sigil stones. If the stones create them, they shouldn't they be right next to the gates?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 29 2011, 11:17 PM

[mALX]

This is absolutely the best, most realistic rendition of the chaos in Kvatch after the attack that I have ever read - much better than the Bethesda version even!!! I am in awe!!

[Acadian]

You captured the burning, fear, fire and devastation wonderfully, both in your descriptions and the reactions of everyone Jerric encountered.

Jerric did not surprise me here. Impetuously leaping into that gate. I appreciate how he fully understands the danger. His hope was to flip a switch just inside the gate and jump back to the safety of Cyrodiil. He realizes now that whatever it takes to close the gate will place him too far away to escape before the gate closes. He reasonably assumes that he will not survive the closing. His willingness to continue speaks volumes about his nature - all good. Stones? Yup, Jerric's got a pair.

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: I wasn’t going to give him a shield, but he picked one up in the game. Sadly for the guy who dropped it. Still not sure if he’s going to get to keep it. Thank you for the encouraging words!

SubRosa: Yes, he would certainly have been there for the attack. It’s something he’ll have to deal with soon. Good idea for a sword name. Hmm. Thanks, SubRosa!

mALX: Thank you for the encouragement! It bugs me that in the game the camp doesn’t change after the quest, and the city stays burning.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I’m glad Jerric’s thinking and character came across. He’s taken kind of a big step to get here from the brews, babes, and brawling.

Folks: I find that the Kvatch part of the game is pretty gut-wrenching, I hope I haven’t been too heavy-handed with it. Your feedback and guidance is very much appreciated!!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 2

Jerric stood on the ramp inside the great tower, catching his breath. A column of flame as wide as his body roared the whole way up through the open center, and its light seemed to somehow penetrate even the narrowest adjoining spaces. The sound had covered his noisy progress through the tower’s resident daedra, but its vibration shook his bones and the underlying hiss set his teeth on edge. His long sword dripped a trail of scamp blood as he walked cautiously up to the next level. The inner ramp seemed to always lead to series of separate corridors and chambers, then back onto a higher level of the ramp. He had followed one into the next moving ever upward in the tower. Looking up he could see there were several more levels yet above him. He reached the end of this level and opened the door, ready for a fight. The narrow, sloping hallway beyond appeared to be empty, so he jogged up in the near darkness to the door at the top. It opened from the center with a sound like tearing cartilage. The scamps in the large chamber beyond turned toward the noise.

They led him on a chase around the benches and pillars in the room, but they soon ended like the rest in pools of blood on the floor. Jerric rotated his tired right shoulder, then turned toward a new sound. Booted feet. He barely had time to wonder what this enemy would be before it stalked in through the open doorway.

An armored dremora carrying a mace in its hand. Jerric had seen conjured dremora, but never this close. Its long legs ate the distance between them. That thing is huge, he thought with rising concern. I’ll have to dodge and strike at its head. Or take off its hand. He backed around a bench and threw his frost spell at its chest, looking again for a weakness in the armor.

The frost didn’t slow it down much. “On your belly!” it howled at him. Its voice sounded like metal grinding on metal. It swung its mace across its body too low for Jerric to duck. He lunged backward and yelped as he lost his footing. Pain exploded in his head, and then confusion. He looked to the side and met the dead gaze of a scamp lying next to him on the floor.

“Shatter!” said the metal voice. Jerric groggily raised his head, remembering where he was. An armored boot entered his field of vision. The pain in his head doubled and his eyes went dark.

Jerric’s scalp felt like it might part from his skull. “Join my trophies, bloodsack!” the dremora roared from above and behind him. He realized that it was dragging him by his hair. He tried to bring his sword up and discovered that his hand was empty. With a flash of horror he remembered the torn corpses hanging on the posts around the room. Not all of the cruel hooks were yet occupied.

Panic took over, and he kicked out frantically with his legs. One foot slipped wetly over the floor, but the other caught on something. For an instant it slowed the dremora. Nordic Frost surged up inside him before he realized that he had called it. His groping hand found the dremora’s wrist, and the frost boom was followed by a crash and roar from the dremora.

Years of habit more than deliberate thought made Jerric summon his skeleton, and he belatedly hoped that his foggy mind got the spell right. He sent healing light at the roaring pain in his head and rolled over to get back into the fight. It looked like Slim was chopping away with his axe at something thrashing on the floor. Jerric’s eyes were clouded and burning, and he couldn’t see well enough to tell what was happening. He heard Slim’s victory rattle and the sound of the spell releasing him. The dremora stayed down. Jerric pushed himself up to his knees, sliding a little in the scamp’s blood. He couldn’t believe that Slim had finished the dremora.

When he tasted blood he guessed why he couldn’t see. He found the scalp wound with his magicka and closed it easily, but his blood still blinded him. He started wiping with his fingers, but that hardly helped. Neither did the cursing.

Eventually a trickling noise penetrated his thoughts, and he stilled himself. He could hear running water in the room. Thirst pushed its way quickly to the front of his thoughts, and he groped his way toward the sound. His hand dipped into a fountain, and his heart soared with relief. I’ll never take another little stream for granted, he thought, as he gulped down handfuls of liquid. He splashed some onto his face to clear his eyes.

A copper taste still filled his mouth, and all he could smell was blood. His eyes had become even more fogged. As he wiped them again this time with his cleaner hand, he felt powerful healing working inside him like a potion. Finally he could see that his palm was filled with blood. Disgust drove away his wonder. He had discovered a fountain, but it did not contain water. He spit and gagged for a moment until he brought himself back under control. Somehow this blood fountain had healing properties, he could feel it. He told himself that squeamishness and curiosity were luxuries he must put aside. He just needed to stay alive. He drank from the fountain and pretended it was something else to keep it down.

The pain slowly receded from his head as he examined the dead dremora. He found the weak points in its armor, but he doubted he had the skill to exploit them. It appeared that Slim had simply hacked at its unprotected face while it was still on the floor. The mace was some distance away, the dremora must have dropped it. Jerric couldn’t believe his luck. One solid hit with the dremora’s mace and his summoned skeleton would have been in pieces. He thought about summoning his scamp next time, but he wasn’t sure if he could control it here.

This dremora was nothing like the bandits in light armor he was used to fighting outdoors. He hadn’t even thought to keep his feet out of the blood that was already on the floor. He thought of the steep ramp in the center of the tower. He needed a plan in case he encountered this enemy where it could shove him over the rail. Slim’s method was ugly but effective, he decided. He would try to knock the dremora down with shock spells and then target their heads. And not fall over the railing. He picked up his sword and headed up the next corridor, still searching for Menien.

It seemed like hours later when he reached a dead end. The doors in front of him were locked, and he couldn’t find a way around them. He hadn’t found Menien Goneld, but any one of the shredded corpses he had passed could have been him. He still had no idea how to close the Gate. The last of his hope faded with a sickening lurch in his gut, and his will to go on went with it. The walls inside the tower looked like the shell of some giant crab or insect. Even shaking with exhaustion, he couldn't bear to lean against them. He knew he was in the right place, only one tower glowed at its top with baleful yellow light. He would have to turn back and search for something that he might have missed. He had to admit that for a time he had gotten lost. Despair crept into his heart, and he knew he had to fight it.

Jerric closed his eyes and reached in his mind for anything that would keep him on his feet. He thought of his sister's children even now trapped in the burning city. He imagined Fjirsten with her naughty gap-toothed smile, Hrolgar's small hand in his, the three of them walking in his Ma's sunny garden. Right now he should be with them. Grief surged through him, and rage followed it. He had failed them, but he was still alive. Anger gave him new strength. As long as he lived, he would keep going.

He moved back up the hall and opened another door, then he staggered in surprise. Red light blazed in from the Deadlands. He had discovered a door in the outside wall. It led to a bridge high in the air over the Deadlands to another tower. Jerric swayed and caught himself against the chitinous frame. Carefully he stepped out onto the narrow bridge. Scamps and clannfears went about their alien business below him, and he felt the hot urge to kill them all. He fixed his eyes on the bridge. One step at a time, he told himself. Don't look down. Balancing was tricky with the long sword in one hand and the Kvatch shield in the other, but he crossed more easily than he expected. The air out here was hot but still, and it he welcomed the quiet after the constant rumble and whine in the big tower.

He entered the smaller tower and found himself standing on a narrow ramp with no railing. The interior was simply one tall, open space lit from above by the red sky. A human corpse hung by its feet directly in front of him, stripped of its clothing and some of its flesh. He had no time to react to the sight, an armored dremora stood to his right on the ramp just above him. The dremora recovered from its surprise more quickly than he did. "You should not be here, mortal," it growled in a voice that threatened to turn his bowels to water. "Your blood is forfeit, and your flesh is mine!"

The dremora rushed him, lifting its mace. This is a bad place for a long sword, Jerric thought. He had no time for a shock spell. He dropped his sword and grabbed the dremora’s spiky left arm, falling quickly back into a squat. The dremora’s momentum made it easy for Jerric to yank it off balance. The mace clanked onto the ramp as he sent the dremora over the edge with his feet. It roared out its fury as it fell, and Jerric scrabbled wildly on the smooth ramp to keep from following it. So much for the plan, he thought.

A man's parched voice from above broke the sudden silence. “Up here! In the cage!”

New hope washed over Jerric. “Menien?” he called. He started up the ramp toward him.

"Yes! Have you got the key? You must get the Keeper's key -- it's the only way into the Sigil Keep!"

He spun around and ran back down the ramp. A key. Jerric’s hope swelled into elation. Hold on, he thought to his family. He searched the shattered Keeper until he found the gore covered key, then he ran back up to Menien, grinning with triumph.

Menien was imprisoned in a metal cage swinging over a platform at the top of the tower. Blood and filth streaked his bare skin. Jerric immediately started searching for some kind of lock. Menien knelt in the cage and looked down at Jerric. "Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" urged Menien. "You must get to the top of the large tower. The Sigil Keep, they call it. That's what keeps the Oblivion Gate open! Find the Sigil Stone. Remove it, and the Gate will close! Hurry!"

"You need healing. How do I get you out of this?" Jerric demanded. Hope had brought back fear for his family, and a renewed sense of urgency pushed him.

"Don't worry about me, there's no time!" Menien's knuckles were white under the blood. "Get moving!"

Jerric stared at him, appalled. Menien was badly bruised and torn, and Jerric could not imagine what torment he had already endured. "Look what they’ve done to you! I won't leave you here to die!"

"You will, son." Menien placed his hand over Jerric's on the metal bar, and his gray eyes burned in his broken face. His fingers dug into Jerric’s, and he spoke with calm intensity. "You have the key. You must do this."

Jerric’s joy splintered into new grief. He couldn’t bring himself to leave this man, not after he had lost all hope and then found him. Every moment that he delayed closing the Gate allowed more daedra to attack his city. He thought of Captain Matius and the Kvatch Guard. They held the barricade, barely. How many of them would fall while he stood here, paralyzed with indecision? What had his family suffered while he was wandering lost in the dim tower? Menien's courage was a balm to Jerric, but it was also an arrow through his heart.

Jerric made the impossible decision. He would take the stone first, and if somehow he survived he would return to Menien.

He pulled the dagger from his belt and handed it to Menien through the bars. No more words passed between them.

[haute ecole rider]

The entire Kvatch quest, including the battle for the Castle, is pretty heart-wrenching.

Leaving Menien behind like that was the worst thing for me as the player. How I really wanted to rescue him! You've captured that feeling very well.

Keep it up - you don't need to document the entire time in the Deadlands - only the high points. That's what I did way back in the beginning. You need only the emotional moments, such as the one with Menien.

Oh, and don't you hate it when one of those guards fall? On the one hand I say oh, goody, a light iron shield! I like it better than leather at low levels, though I much prefer the leather to mail armor. And how cool is it to carry a Kvatch Wolf? But on the other hand, I feel bad for the guard that died to give me that shield.

[mALX]

That is one of the worst places in the game, having to leave Menien caged to an almost certain death. Your rendition of Jerric's emotional dilemma was perfectly portrayed. Awesome Write !!!

[D.Foxy]

The last paragraph....


I salute you, woman.

[Acadian]

Kvatch is horrifically powerful and you rendered the full measure of bloody justice to it here!

'His long sword dripped a trail of scamp blood as he walked cautiously up to the next level.'
Scene-setting and evocative.

'Its long legs ate the distance between them.'
Wonderfully clever and effective!

'Jerric’s scalp felt like it might part from his skull. “Join my trophies, bloodsack!” the dremora roared from above and behind him. He realized that it was dragging him by his hair. He tried to bring his sword up and discovered that his hand was empty. With a flash of horror he remembered the torn corpses hanging on the posts around the room. Not all of the cruel hooks were yet occupied.'
You sure captured Jerric's terror here.

'He thought about summoning his scamp next time, but he wasn’t sure if he could control it here.'
What a perfect 'Jerric' thought!

'the three of them walking in his Ma's sunny garden. Right now he should be with them. Grief surged through him, and rage followed it.'
Just the right touch of home at the right time to make us remember what is at stake.

'Menien's courage was a balm to Jerric, but it was also an arrow through his heart.'
Magnificent.

Again, Grits, super well done here! The mood, feel, atmosphere, terror, pacing and choices you made in presenting this were great.

[Jacki Dice]

I loved this chapter. The first gate was near sickening with the unexpected gore. And I like Jerric's thoughts on whether he would be able to control his scamp in the plains of Oblivion. Excellent write ♥

[SubRosa]

A wonderful description of the interior of the tower, filled with the sights and sounds of Oblivion. You paint a very vivid picture. Also, by skipping over Jerric's trudge to the tower itself, you relieved us what would have quickly become tedious, and cut straight to the heart of the matter instead.

Phew! That was some encounter with that dremora! Once again Jerric's Nordic Frost saved him. With a little help from his friend Slim as well. I like that Jerric is an all-powerful god-slayer - as one so often sees in fantasy fiction - but is rather a man with vulnerabilities.

And a very wonderful introduction to the blood fountains! Lets face it, how many people would ever seriously try drinking out of a fountain made of blood in the first place, without knowing that they heal you? Aside from the vampires and serial killers, probably not many folks. But Jerric's natural thought that it was water led him to it perfectly. As did his willingness to override his revulsion once he learned not only what it was, but what it could do.

Especially good was Jerric's natural despair. Then his even more natural resolve to continue on after thinking of his family.

Plus a wrestling throw to kill the dremora! Now that was nice to see!

[Thomas Kaira]

OK, back up-to-date now.

I must say, you wasted no time sending us into the depths of Oblivion! Fear can drive us to do crazy, often stupid things, and I'd say entering an Oblivion Gate with no weapon, armor, or even a simple waterskin is definitely up there. But with his family's lives on the line, how could it even be possible to blame Jerric?

Jerric's brief tussle with the Dremora was quite well done. Edge-of-the-seat reading at its finest, made ever that much better with the threat that HE was going to become one of the gruesome corpses you find hanging all over the Deadlands! Visc... SLEDGEHAMMER!!! (Sorry, inside joke)

A copper taste still filled his mouth, and all he could smell was blood. His eyes had become even more fogged. As he wiped them again this time with his cleaner hand, he felt powerful healing working inside him like a potion. Finally he could see that his palm was filled with blood. Disgust drove away his wonder.

Argh! The irony of the Blood Fountains. At least we know Jerric isn't a vampire now, and therefore requires no slayage.

Jim the Slim... he just loves it when you snap into him....

*Sees Slim staring*

Oh, come on, it's not THAT bad!

*Still staring*



This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Feb 2 2011, 06:03 PM

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: The first time I played this quest I was too upset to even pick up a shield from the fallen Kvatch soldiers! Yikes. Thank you very much for the advice – I’m still re-working the castle part of the battle, figuring out what to include. I’ve written it and then dumped it twice, so it’s a real learning process.

mALX: I have to agree. I think leaving Menien was the lowest point for me. Thanks, mALX!

D. Foxy: That paragraph was the only one I didn’t have to re-work. Thank you, Foxy.

Acadian: Most of the lines you pointed out came went in on the last re-write. If I don’t think it’s ready, then it’s not ready – that’s the lesson that’s given me some confidence. Thank you so much for your guidance, Acadian!!

Jacki Dice: I’m glad you liked it, even though it did get bloodier than expected. Sorry, I should have warned you!! Scalp lacerations are an umbrella seller.

SubRosa: Thank you for your encouragement, SubRosa! That Nordic Frost is a life-saver at this level. I never used those once a day powers until Jerric, he almost dies a lot in the game. The throw was inspired by recent MMA viewing, I’ve been hanging out with Mr. Grits too much! I need to watch some cooking shows to rebalance.

Thomas Kaira: You’re right about the impulsive run into the Deadlands. He just couldn’t wait. Sorry, I should have made it more clear, Jerric did have the stuff that he carries on his person. I appreciaye your comments, TK!
Jim the Slim... he just loves it when you snap into him.... It seems that Slim does not approve of the word “snap”!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 3

Jerric stood on a flat, metal ring at the top of the great tower. The pillar of fire terminated in a seething ball of flame in front of him. Or perhaps this marked its beginning, he thought. The small, round sigil stone hovered between metal spikes. It made a patch of malevolent darkness within the blaze. A part of him marveled that something so small could be the source of such power.

He reached out and clutched the shrieking stone in his arm before he could let himself think any more about it. The orange pillar of fire burst up and instantly engulfed him with a furious roar, and he closed his eyes against the blinding light. To his surprise, there was no pain. The ring tipped under him and then fell away from his feet. He felt nothing around him. No heat, no air, no vibration from the relentless howl that filled his ears. Not even a sense of falling, only noise. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for what would come. Hold on, he told himself. Hold on.

He felt ground under his feet again, and the cacophony faded away. The stone resonated against his chest with awful power. Cool air touched his face, bringing with it the sound of trees in a rising wind. Jerric opened his eyes.

The red clouds cleared over the Kvatch barricade, revealing the low, dark sky of a Gold Coast thunderstorm in the making. The grey light could have been dawn, dusk, or mid-day. Jerric stood in the remains of the Gate frame, swaying on his feet. Unbelievably, he had returned to Cyrodiil. Menien, he thought. I left him. The Kvatch Guards’ rough cheers were answered by the rumble of genuine Kvatch thunder.

He dropped to one knee and let the stone roll away from him. His raised hand released all of his healing magicka, knitting cracked bones and soothing the worst of his burns in seconds. He flexed his shield arm and took a deep breath. The smoke made him cough. I’m alive, he thought, but no joy came with it.

Captain Matius pulled Jerric to his feet and pounded him on the shoulder. "You closed the Gate! I can't believe you really did it! This is the perfect time to launch a counter attack. First we’re going to evacuate the chapel." Matius held Jerric by the arms and looked up at him, hope and determination shining in his face. "We've got to move quickly before they have a chance to barricade the city gate. You were in there for days, but I’ve no time to let you sleep. Are you with us?"

Days, that’s not possible, Jerric thought numbly. He met the captain’s eyes. "I'm with you." He couldn’t keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

The other guards gathered around them. Ilend Vonius passed him a canteen, and Jerric gratefully emptied it. The question on Vonius’ face sent sorrow though him, and he shook his head. He handed the Kvatch Wolf shield back to Vonius. “I need to get mine off my horse,” he said to Matius.

Matius turned to one of his men. “Go get it from Batul. Bring the others up from the encampment, and everyone left who can heal. Like we planned. Bring back something to clean him up a little.” He turned to Jerric. “Rest here while you can. Never stand when you can sit, lad. I’m afraid there’s nothing for you to eat.”

“I’m glad to hear it, if an orc has my horse.”

The crackling sound of the fire pulled at Jerric. He tried to listen to the wind instead. One thing at a time, just like in the Deadlands, he told himself. Do not run into the city by yourself. He stepped away from the broken Gate and sank gratefully onto the unspoiled ground. He lay back on the dirt with his knees up and closed his eyes against the flames still visible over the city wall. He decided to leave the long sword and carry Chillrend. He was not used to fighting in close quarters, and he thought he might be a dangerous ally for the guards.

It seemed like a single heartbeat later and Matius was shaking him awake. He sat up and saw the entire remaining Kvatch Guard squatting or kneeling in a circle that included him. Matius knelt at his side. He handed Jerric a damp cloth, and Jerric scrubbed his face with it. From the amount of filth that came off, he imagined he must have presented quite a sight. Matius spoke before he finished. “Jerric, you have more combat experience with this enemy than anyone here. I’d like you to tell us what you know,” he said.

Jerric was astonished. He looked around at the tense, attentive faces, too embarrassed to speak. Many of these men had hauled him off to the drunk tank more than once. Public intoxication and brawling weren’t serious crimes, but he knew his arrest record took up a significant amount of parchment at the prison. To be recognized on sight by most of the law enforcement in Cyrodiil’s second largest city was something of an accomplishment. In his long stint of self-indulgent behavior, he had never considered a scene like this. He scratched his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. “You’ve fought scamps and clannfears out here, I can’t tell you anything more about those. I didn’t see the daedric army when I was in the Deadlands, do you think they’re still in the city?”

“No,” said Matius. “We saw many return through the smaller gates before they closed.” From the looks on their faces Jerric guessed that the tactics that had kept them alive were still not popular with most of the guards.

“The ones that look like men are dremora,” Jerric said. “All the ones I’ve fought carried maces. They’re huge and very strong. If you can, get behind the armored ones and cut through the backs of their knees. There’s a weak point there with no plating. Under the arm and the head are good targets if you can reach them, better yet try to get them down and finish them on the ground. I didn’t see any wearing helmets. Don’t try to block, dodge their strikes or they’ll break your bones. Watch out for those spikes on the armor, they can catch a blade and pull it right out of your hand. I guess the best thing against dremora armor might be a dremora mace, but I’m not skilled enough to pick one up and try it. What else?” Jerric thought for a moment. “The mages like to summon things, I saw mostly scamps. Get around them if you can and go for the spell slinger. They’re robed but they use shield magic, so don’t let the recoil surprise you. They can all cast destruction spells. Keep your shields up. Oh, shields. One fetcher I fought had a shield, but he was even slower than I am. I managed to get behind him. Back of the knees, down he went. Their necks aren’t much harder to cut through than ours are. Don’t get hit, that’s the main thing. But I guess you didn’t need me to tell you that.” Just talking had made Jerric tired, and he began to doubt how effective he’d be in the upcoming fight.

The guards nodded and exchanged comments. “What about the archers?” asked an Altmer.

Jerric shook his head. “I don’t know anything about their archers. Oh, use your shock spells if you’ve got them. If I summon anything it’ll be a skeleton, so let him do his work.”

“What about the flame atronachs? There were a lot of those in the attack.”

“Uh, I didn’t see any in the Deadlands. Let me think.” Jerric searched his memory. “Well, they don’t carry weapons but they can burn you with fireballs and with their touch. Don’t bother using fire against them. Use your frost or lightening spells, I think frost is best.” Jerric looked around and guessed that none of them had been trained in destruction magic. He addressed Captain Matius. “I don’t know how to fight with a unit. If we come up against flame atronachs or dremora mages, maybe I could go after them. If that’s all right.”

“I’ll send you out when I see an appropriate target. Remember, we have archers too. Don’t get in their line of fire. Is there anything else?"

“No, sir.”

Matius still spoke directly to Jerric, and he realized that the soldiers already had their orders. “We’ve determined that Chapel Plaza is completely cut off at Guild Square and Market Street. The steeple has fallen, cutting off access to Pinder Court and the castle. The south and west chapel doors look accessible. We’ll clear the south side of the plaza and regroup on the chapel steps. On my order we’ll enter the chapel and finalize the evacuation plan once inside. Today we take back our city! Archers on Merandil. Jerric, you’re with me. Take your positions inside the gate. We’ll move on my signal.” Jerric compared his own rambling discourse to Captain Matius’ crisp delivery, and he recognized that much more than age separated the two of them. The guards began to move, and Matius held Jerric with his eyes. “It’s far worse in there than you’re thinking, lad. We’ll look for them in the chapel first. I can’t have you running out into the city. Your best option is to stick with us.”

“I understand,” Jerric said. It was the same thing he had been telling himself.

Jerric followed the soldiers through the city gate and got into place beside Captain Matius. The houses along the city wall lay in ruins. The guild halls were split in half but still standing with the interiors exposed. Wind-whipped fire raged all around them. He should be able to look west through Guild Court straight down his street, but flames and wreckage obscured his view. The great trees were burned to blackened stalks. He could see the steeple where it had fallen straight ahead across the chapel plaza. Jerric forced himself to look away from the torn figures that lay scattered on the ground, and focus on the enemy. Scamps, mostly. The men of the Kvatch Guard were energized by the chance to finally strike back, but Jerric felt the magnitude of the devastation overwhelming him.

Captain Matius gave the signal, and Chillrend sang into Jerric's hand. "For Kvatch!" Matius cried, and Jerric’s voice sounded among the guards’ furious reply. They swept into the plaza, spreading out in a line. The guards in front engaged the scamps, and when Jerric heard the twang of bowstrings he knew the archers had started their work. His eyes searched the ruins for dark robed figures.

The light from a summons spell shone behind a shattered wall, and a scamp darted out. Jerric’s eyes picked out the shape of a dremora mage in the shadows. “There!” he called to Matius, and pointed with his sword.

“Go!” Matius shouted, and Jerric’s legs forgot their exhaustion. He added his voice to the frost he hurled at the mage, and he lost himself for a moment in the surge of anger it brought him. The dremora’s shock spell sank into Jerric’s body, and he shouted defiance as he felt the magicka join his own. Jerric’s frost spells thundered over the sound of the fire until he got close enough to use his sword.

Jerric kept his weight low and balanced as he closed with the dremora. “Break and fall!” it screamed at him, and Jerric dodged its strike. The mace barely skimmed over his shield. He stepped back into place and thrust Chillrend up through the dremora’s abdomen, trying to puncture a lung. The impact jolted his shoulder. He twisted his wrist and howled as he pulled the sword back out. The mage staggered and reached its hand out toward Jerric as he stepped back. He bashed the hand aside with his shield and drove Chillrend back into the mage’s chest. His hand slipped on the wet grip, and he used his shield to help shove the dremora to the ground. He voiced his fury again as he slammed his heel down into the dremora’s throat. It didn’t move. Jerric felt his arms start to shake, and he knew he had to pull himself together. This is only the beginning, he told himself. He quickly dried his hand and the sword hilt on the black robe before he pulled Chillrend out of the dremora’s chest. Dammit, he thought. I was supposed to use shock spells.

Shouts reached his ears, and he looked over toward the sound. Captain Matius stood in front of the chapel waving him in. Jerric glanced around and saw that he was among the last to rejoin the group. As he jogged over, his thighs started trembling with fatigue.

Jerric climbed the chapel steps until he stood below the guards. He looked up and saw Ilend Vonius, sweaty and blood-spattered. Righteous anger blazed in his face like a terrible light. Jerric stopped and turned beside him. He felt the weight of the Imperial’s hand on his shoulder as they looked back over the ruined courtyard. Smoke and flames were the only things moving. There was nothing left alive.

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 5 2011, 03:32 AM

[haute ecole rider]

This was well done.

The briefing ahead of time had a lot of detail which makes the battle more believable. Better than just drawing swords, shouting "For Kvatch!" and running pell mell into the thick of things.

And the combat in the plaza was also realistic. Your description of Jerric's visceral reaction to the mage was fantastic.

Overall, well done, and well worth the work you put into it!

[SubRosa]

MMA? Manly Men Around?

“I’m glad to hear it, if an orc has my horse.”
Lets just hope they have not already eaten all of Flash!

Jerric makes a very realistic decision to use his short sword rather than the long one. Historically shorter blades like the Roman gladius were better in pitched battles than the long Celtic swords. Often in the press of men standing shoulder to shoulder, there was no room to swing the larger weapons. Yet the shorter blades of the Romans worked just fine. It is one of the reasons for the slaughter of the Celts in battles like Towchester.

To be recognized on sight by most of the law enforcement in Cyrodiil’s second largest city was something of an accomplishment.
Doh!

Matius comes across very well as an experienced leader. Giving clear, direct orders, and showing no signs of hesitancy or uncertainty. Good job on him.

and Chillrend sang into Jerric's hand.
I love this!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 8 2011, 04:16 AM

[D.Foxy]

MMA = Mixed Martial Arts. For those who are more into classical history, google "pankration" and see what you get.

I see Grits has definitle been reading my opus! You are clearly my Ichiban Kantsei!!!

[Acadian]

Well done, Grits! You well captured the return from Oblivion. The tiny moment of humor about orcs/horses was perfectly inserted. The pre-battle brief was great and contrasted Jerric's formidable but undisciplined passion to that of the professional in charge. You displayed this so well, that Jerric's conclusion below just flowed naturally:
'Jerric compared his own rambling discourse to Captain Matius’ crisp delivery, and he recognized that much more than age separated the two of them.'
Of course, I don't have to tell you how Buffy feels about Savlian. We were very proud of both he and Jerric in this.

'The dremora’s shock spell sank into Jerric’s body, and he shouted defiance as he felt the magicka join his own.'
Buffy thinks those born under the Atronach are both crazy and suicidal. Somehow however, the birthsign just seems to suit our Jerric to a tee!

Nit?
' Jerric stood in the remains of the Gate frame, swaying on his feet. Unbelievably, he had returned to Cyrodiil. Menien, he thought. I left him.'
I'm trying not to be overly influenced by the game, because you can certainly present things differently, but I took this as Jerric lamenting the fact that Menien did not survive the gate closing, just like in the game. Had Menien survived, I would have expected Jerric to comment in more detail and with more incredulity. Yet, in the below quote, Menien seems alive and well:
“No,” said Menien. “We saw many return through the smaller gates before they closed.”
Did Menien then, in fact, survive and I simply misunderstood what you were trying to say in the first passage?

[mALX]

WHEW! Jerric's reaction to the gate falling around him, the briefing and counsel Jerric gave before going into battle, all the detail you have in this chapter - and above all you captured the feel of the frenzy, panic, and hope as the Battle for Kvatch begins - AWESOME WRITE !!!

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: Thank you!! It makes more sense to me that the Captain would be in charge, not some random Nord who just ran up and jumped into the Gate. I’ve also changed a few small details in the next part. The section after this one, who knows. I’ve just dumped it again.

SubRosa: Mixed martial arts, what Foxy said. Although ‘Manly Men Around’ does explain my interest. I’m glad the sword decision made sense, I’ve been studying!! Thank you, SubRosa!

D. Foxy: I have been reading it, and reading it, and reading it!! Thank you, Foxy!! (I hope Ichiban Kantsei is something good!)

Acadian: Thank you for pointing out Matius/Menien mix-up, that was a big oops. I fixed it. Sadly, Menien remains in the Deadlands. The Jerric/Matius contrast was important to me, I’m so glad it came across. I think Buffy’s right about the Atronach folks. They definitely have a different way of looking at things! Thank you, Acadian!

mALX: Thank you, mALX!! The next section gives us a little break between the action. Whew.

A note: Back in the very first chapter a Breton mage named Arnand Penoit introduced us to Jerric. Then I discovered that he shares his first name with a character in Destri Melarg’s magnificent Interregnum. *Grits’ head meets desk* So Arnand Penoit gets a slight tweak and becomes Darnand Penoit. He also gets a mention in Abiene’s Saturalia story, I’ve changed it there, too.



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 4

Abiene put down her quill and listened to the commotion coming in through the library window. Something was definitely wrong. She went over and leaned out, straining to see over the Mages Guild hall’s portico. An agitated crowd milled around the courtyard in front of Anvil’s Main Gate. One woman screamed and fell into her companion’s arms as she watched. Several people turned away and started running.

Her uneasy feeling bloomed into worry. She latched the window with a click and walked briskly down the stairs. Raised voices drew her to the dining room, and she found the other mages gathered in a knot under one of the stone arches. Everyone was speaking at once, and she couldn’t understand what they were saying. “What?” she demanded, pulling at the blue velvet shoulder in front of her. “What about Kvatch?”

Felen turned around, his narrow face tight with excitement. “It’s overrun with daedra. A Gate to Oblivion has opened on the plateau, and the city is destroyed! A few escaped, but everyone else is dead! An Altmer brought the news. We don’t know what’s happened to the chapter there. We’re waiting for Carahil, perhaps she has more information.”

Images from her one visit to Kvatch flashed through Abiene’s mind. Shopping in the bustling market square on Loredas. Laughing with the other associates at the kahve shops outside the arena. The elegant Guild Court shaded by ancient trees. Flowers planted everywhere, and fountains. It couldn’t all be destroyed.

Her next breath caught in her throat. Jerric lives in Kvatch, she thought. Jerric. Abiene reeled in shock, and she felt a hand under her elbow. “Sit down and wait.” It was Darnand. “We don’t know yet.”

She realized that Darnand’s attention was focused only on her, and for once his face held no evidence of distraction. Any other time she would have delighted in it, but now she felt as if ice had filled her veins. She shook her head at him. “I’m not going to wait.” The Running Wolf company had an office at the harbor. They will know something, she thought. She lifted her skirts and bolted for the door, running all the way down through Chapelgate to the warehouses Harborside.

She burst into the Running Wolf office and leaned against the door, panting and holding the stitch in her side. Her shins ached and her face felt uncomfortably hot and sweaty. The Redguard woman behind the long counter stared at her in startled dismay. Her eyes were swollen as if she had been crying. The Nord who ran the office stepped into the doorway behind her wearing a similar expression. Abiene recognized him, but she couldn’t think of his name. “Young lady, what on Nirn… Here, come in and sit down,” he said. “Shasana, please get her some water. Calm yourself, and tell us what’s wrong.”

The Nord guided her through the door into a small office. “Kvatch,” Abiene gasped, still out of breath. “Where are your caravans?”

The Nord shook his head. “I’ve just been checking the schedules. I’m sorry my dear, it’s very bad news. The caravans were in Kvatch when it happened. The city is destroyed, we fear that all of them are lost. It’s a family birthday, they planned it so they could be home together. Such a terrible shame.”

Abiene fell into a chair and covered her face with her hands, fighting her tears. She could still remember the taste of his skin, and the scent of him. The thought that she wouldn’t see him again seemed impossibly wrong. Grief overwhelmed her self-control, and sobs shook her frame. She gasped out the answers to the Nord’s questions.

“Did you have something on one of our caravans?” he asked. “It will take some time to… You knew someone? Did you say Jerric? Of course, you must have known him from the Mages Guild.” He handed her a handkerchief, and she pressed it to her burning eyes, trying to untangle her emotions.

“Maybe he got out,” she choked. “Maybe he survived.” The sorrow on the Nord’s face told her he didn’t believe it. She shook her head and clenched the handkerchief in her hands. “He’s a battlemage, he can fight!” Her breath came in hiccups. The Nord looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Oh, miss,” he said. “Let me walk you back to the guild.”

Shasana came in and silently handed Abiene a mug of water. She rested her hand on Abiene’s shoulder while she sipped it. The Nord took a seat behind his cluttered desk, and Shasana went to stand beside him. While Abiene struggled to stop crying, fresh tears rolled unchecked down Shasana’s cheeks.

The Nord spoke again. His deep voice was heavy with sorrow, but kind. “We’ve all lost folk in Kvatch, miss. We heard the news from an Altmer named Hirtel only an hour ago at the Flowing Bowl. He was there that night. He said a few survived, very few. I could take you to see him, or when you’re ready I’ll take you home. Folk should stay together at times like these.”

Abiene felt an irrational anger toward the man. “I won’t give up hope,” she insisted. “Not yet. I’ll go back to the guild. Carahil will know what to do, and if there’s any news, she’ll hear it.” Her words ended on a squeak as she took a ragged breath. Part of her wanted to deny what she was feeling.

“You’re right about that, miss. She’s a credit to the guild, and Anvil is lucky to have her.”

“Abiene. My name is Abiene.” Find your composure, she told herself firmly. A few weeks of dalliance hardly make a love affair. The truth is you barely know him.

“Of course, Abiene. I’m Ongve. You healed my shoulder last Rains Hand with a student, and I’m sorry I forgot your name.”

Abiene sniffed and blew her streaming nose. With a city lost, I’m not going to fall apart over one man, she thought, trying to make it true. She focused her attention on Ongve. “How is your shoulder now?” She wiped her tears away and tried to smooth her windblown curls.

“Still just as good as new, thanks for asking. I’m careful now when I lift, like you showed me. You were too kind to say, but I ought to let the young lads shift the heavier loads.”

She looked straight at Ongve, but her mind was filled with images of Jerric. He must still be alive, she thought. Somehow. “I’ll send word if I hear anything,” she told Ongve. “When we hear from him.” I wonder if he got my letter, she thought. Maybe he already sent one back to me.

Now Shasana’s hand rested on Ongve’s shoulder, and he reached up and covered it with his own. “Thank you, Abiene,” he said. “We’ll do the same.”

___

When the chapel door opened, Jerric was the last to step inside. Thunder rolled as he pulled it shut behind him. Cool, dry air and dim quiet closed around him like a curtain. But for the tired, frightened faces he would never have known that fire and destruction reigned outside.

His eyes passed quickly over all of the people inside the chapel. Brother Martin and the priestess Oleta stood with no more than a dozen others behind two uniformed Kvatch guards. Jerric recognized one of the guards as Berich Inian. He had worn the Kvatch Wolf as long as Jerric could remember. Panic began to rise in Jerric’s chest when he saw who wasn’t there. “Are there any others?” he demanded, then he realized that Captain Matius was talking.

“Tierra, report,” Matius had said to the other guard. Jerric couldn’t wait for them to finish.

He looked down and met Oleta’s gaze. Her wrinkled face looked drawn with fatigue, but her gentle brown eyes were clear. “Is this all of you?” he asked quietly, and she nodded. “You know my family, were they here?” He felt as though he was balanced on the edge of an axe.

“No, I haven’t seen them,” she told him sadly.

Jerric felt the foundations of his world fall out from under him. He collapsed into a pew and braced his hands against the back of the one in front. For the first time he started to believe that his family could be lost. Wild grief began to pull the heart out of him.

No, he told himself again, and he desperately clung to the thought. They could still be in the castle. I’m going to find them.

Jerric dragged himself up and approached the altar, trembling with emotion and exhaustion. He knelt down and rested his forehead on the cool stone. My strength is spent, he thought, but I’m not finished. He had no words for what he was asking.

The blessing swirled around him and joined his magicka as he absorbed it, but there was something more this time. He thought he might have stepped away from himself and then returned, but he couldn’t remember. It was like awakening from a quickly fading dream. A sense of clarity washed through him, and he opened his eyes. He felt as refreshed as if he had spent a long night under the stars wrapped in a warm blanket. He stood and looked around. Brother Martin was alive, and he knew he should go speak to him.

Captain Matius was talking to the folk who had found refuge in the chapel. “Pack up everything you can carry. You’ll need food, clothing, healing supplies, and blankets at the camp. Oleta and Brother Martin, I would ask you to remain on the plateau with Sigrid until we have taken back the castle. We will need your healing skills. Oleta, do you have any potions we could bring into battle?”

“Yes, we had few injuries to treat here. I fear the wounded couldn’t… Brother Martin and I can heal your afflictions now, and of course all of you should seek a blessing before you go.” Jerric saw that she was looking at him. “Our water is still pure, the pump is in the kitchen beyond the chapel hall.”

“We’ve heard daedra in the undercroft,” said Tierra. “I’ll go with you.”

One of the guards held his hand out to Jerric. He realized the man was offering to fill his canteen. “Thanks,” Jerric said, and he handed it over.

“Rilian,” said the guard.

He looks younger than me, Jerric thought. “Thanks, Rilian.”

Brother Martin and Oleta began to move among the soldiers, and flashes of white magicka lit up the chapel. Jerric saw Matius talking with Berich Inian. They appeared to be in disagreement. Inian’s voice sounded low and urgent. “Savlian, it’s my place to go with you. Even now I should be at Count Goldwine’s side.”

Matius gripped the older man’s shoulders. Jerric saw the other guards looking away, and he did the same. They could pretend to give them privacy, at least. Vonius caught Jerric’s eye. “Castle Guard,” he said quietly, nodding toward Inian. Oleta put her hands out to heal Vonius.

Matius’ voice was firm and compassionate. “Berich, my friend. I need you to hold the chapel. If I fall, you must lead the Guard again. You taught me everything I know. My decision can’t surprise you.”

Inian’s voice sounded strained. “Make sure you don’t. I haven’t finished teaching you everything I know.” Jerric heard a snort that could be laughter, and then Inian spoke again. “I’ll wait for your orders, Captain.”

Jerric saw the survivors gathering at the south door to evacuate. Brother Martin stood among them, carrying a large pack with another across his shoulders. Jerric looked between Captain Matius and Brother Martin, torn.

Matius spoke to Tierra as she opened the south door to leave. Her face also held the strain of following orders that were not to her liking. “This is only the beginning of the battle for Kvatch,” he told her. “We’ll see you at the castle.”

Jerric made his choice. The conversation with Brother Martin would have to wait. Rilian returned as the door closed behind Tierra. When Jerric took his canteen he noticed that the burns on Rilian’s face had faded to pink. They joined the guardsmen gathered around Captain Matius.

“Our goal is the castle gate,” Matius told them. “This door will take us to the north plaza, and the way is clear across Market Street and through Pinder Plaza. Inian?”

The castle guard spoke with calm authority. “Market Street is completely blocked north to the city wall, but the street is open south through Guild Court. The daedra hold at least the castle courtyard, and they closed the castle gates. You will be attacked from the south and under fire from inside the castle courtyard when you reach Pinder Plaza. The mechanism for raising the gates is inside the gatehouse. The only way to get into the gatehouse now is through the passage at the North Guard House. Remember, Market Street is blocked there. When you clear Pinder Plaza, you’ll have to come back through the chapel and out through the undercroft to get to the Guard House.”

Matius spoke again. “Our fall-back position is the chapel. We’ll clear Pinder Plaza and take cover until the castle gates can be opened. You know the drill. In pairs against the dremora. Stick close to your partner and keep your eyes open. Jerric, are you with us?” Jerric nodded, and Matius’ face broke into a fierce grin. “Ha ha, I knew you’d be up to it! Let’s move out. To the castle!”

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 7 2011, 08:24 PM