Previously: At the Bruma Mages Guild Jerric was given the task of making a missing guild member reappear. Darnand was assigned to inventory. Jerric and Ulfe headed next door to the Fighters Guild where Jerric plans to stay while in Bruma. Alga stopped them in the street to inform a puzzled Jerric of her and Honmund’s relationship status.
ghastley: Thank you for mentioning that Dwemeris remark! When running jokes take a week or more to pop up again, I worry that they’re missed. I’m glad you’re enjoying my take on Jeanne. Like you I see her as excelling at administration and politics rather than magic, given her position and reputation in the game. Plus the Bruma chapter is hardly the jewel in the Guild’s crown, so I could easily picture someone shuffling her out of their way to the far north with a sigh of relief. Thank you, ghastley!
King Coin: You got exactly what was on Lil’s mind when she covered Jerric’s awkwardness with a lie he’d have to maintain. When she said ‘He’s not getting laid in Bruma’ about Darnand, she meant
you’re not getting any Nord chick action to Jerric!

Thank you, KC!
SubRosa: Thank you, SubRosa! It was fun to show Jerric putting his boot in his mouth with the cool and elegant Selena. We mostly see him interacting with people who like him, but not everyone does! He’s a southern Nord in a town where the Imperials don’t like Nords and the Nords don’t generally care for southerners, so he’s way out of his element. Plus he couldn’t concentrate in proximity to Alga’s prodigious bosom after days on the road. He’ll eventually get what she was telling him.
haute ecole rider: Yep, you got what was on Alga’s mind when she tracked down
the fresh meat Jerric. The light won’t dawn for him until this segment, though. I’m glad you’re enjoying Lildereth. She seems especially elfin to me in this town of big Nords. Thank you, haute!
Acadian: Thank you for your endorsement of Jerric’s world’s Jeanne. She is as you suspect more astute than her lame scamp and rabid politicking make her seem. Jerric’s reference to Darnand’s past guild shenanigans was his sideways speculation that Jeanne might not be a moron. After all I expect that Darnand will not get into trouble doing inventory. Thank you, Acadian!
Darkness Eternal: I’m glad you liked Volanaro’s line. He strikes me as someone who would always have a witticism ready. Jerric’s poor nose is inspired by a real-life nose I know. It’s been broken so many times there’s hardly any of it left! Thank you, DE!
Next: Jerric heads out to introduce himself and drop off his stuff at the Bruma Fighters Guild.
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Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Four
Fighters Guild halls must smell the same in any county, Jerric decided. He held the door open for Ulfe while he stomped snow from his boots.
Inside an Orsimer and an Argonian stood talking in a dining area large enough to host a scurling competition. A sunken practice floor of about the same size was empty but for a scattering of dark bottles.
Ulfe trotted straight to the fireplace beyond the dining tables. She flopped down and rolled onto her side with a groan.
The orc called out to the air as she started over toward Jerric. “Nunzio! Hey, Nunzio!” Her disgusted snort produced a fine spray of something. “Ah, fetch it. Fetch him, the fetcher. What do you want?” The last was directed at Jerric.
“Work and lodging.” Jerric dropped the packs and braced himself in case she tried to take him to the floor in some kind of Wrothgarian greeting ritual. “I’m Kjellingsson of Anvil. Apprentice.”
She put her fists on hips and looked him over. “Bumph gra-Gash, Protector. The lizard’s Right-Wind. You can find a bed down in the barracks.” She nodded to indicate a doorway beyond the dining area. “Kitchen’s around back. Make yourself at home. Asgerd will check the rolls when she gets back. If you lied to me, I’ll eat your heart with a side of balls.”
Jerric hung up his cloak and dropped his gauntlets on a battered side table while she spoke. “Are you asking for a beating or a date?”
Bumph tipped her head back and made a grimace that Jerric took as a smile. “Try me.” She got him out of his armor and into the sparring area before he had time to think.
Jerric had added some of his blood to the stains on the floor mats by the time the front door opened again, admitting a group of fighters. They entered the hall with loud feet, clanking metal, and voices raised far more than necessary. Jerric recognized the signs of guild members returning from a successful mission.
Bumph let go of Jerric and walked over to hear the first report. Jerric scrambled up and retrieved his shirt.
As hoods and cloaks were hung up Jerric noticed that Nords and Imperials made the bulk of the group. His attention was drawn to a square-jawed blonde when she pulled off her helmet and turned it to examine the back. “Nord is lucky she was only struck upon the head,” a Khajiit told her, and she laughed.
The woman’s hair was cut straight across her brow and around her head at chin level. It stuck in strings to her forehead and wide cheekbones. Her surcoat and greaves were decorated with blood, and a fine spray of dark droplets had dried across her nose. She looked broad at the shoulder and long in the legs, if Jerric could judge by the look of her armor. A sword hilt was visible over one shoulder.
Jerric’s eyes returned to her face just before she finished looking him over. Her clear blue eyes made him think of the West Weald sky in autumn just after sunrise. When her appraising glance met his, she gave him a wink.
“I’m Kjestrid,” said the woman.
Jerric grinned. “Kjellingsson of Anvil. Pleased to meet you.”
“Petrine said your nose looked like a mining accident. She wasn’t jesting.”
Jerric began to feel nostalgic about Imperial manners. “You Brumese are a forward bunch. Some woman walked up and told me she was spoken for right out in the street. What’s that about? You people never met a Gold Coast Nord before?”
Kjestrid laughed from her belly. “That must have been Alga. Honmund is prone to stray. I’m sure she’s also had a word with your boss by now. Don’t take it personal. That’s just her way.”
“Yeah, her ‘Art of Speech.’” Kjestrid’s meaning suddenly became clear to Jerric.
Lildereth and her mouth. Darnand’s not the only one who’s not getting laid in Bruma. I’ll kill her. “Something like that,” said Kjestrid.
“Well anyway, I’m staying here while I’m in town.”
“Not with your friends?” Kjestrid still smiled as she turned away. “I don’t live here, but you can confide your troubles to Bumph all night if you like. She’s a heavy sleeper.”
The fighters dispersed in the manner of folk who were eager to get on with the drinking. From their packs Jerric guessed that they had been away at least overnight. He decided to follow their lead and get his own gear organized.
Down in the barracks Jerric tossed his bedroll onto a bare mattress and stowed his packs in the adjacent cupboard. An image of Darnand and Lildereth reclining on featherbeds and silken pillows passed through his mind.
Huh, he thought, denying his regret.
Soft-bellied mages.The smithy was in the lowest level. Jerric unloaded his equipment onto a work bench between Kjestrid and Right-Wind. Most of his gear only needed routine care. He picked up
Atronach’s Redeemer and approached the smith.
“Loredas,” the Nord told him after a single glance.
“I’m Kjellingsson of Anvil,” said Jerric.
“I’m Jaan of the basement. And don’t try to sweet-talk me. You’ll get your blade back on Loredas.”
Jerric looked around to see if there was someone behind him, but the man was addressing him. “That’s in two days! I need my sword so I can work.”
Jaan snorted. “Heartlanders. You think you’re the only one around here who swings a bit of metal? Everyone here wants to work. Go train or drink or fight, Nunzio said you can take a punch. Or sit on your thumb for all I care. Loredas.”
Jerric wondered when the porter had found time to describe his thrashing to this basement-dweller. “Is there another place I can go in Bruma?”
Jaan pointed his hammer at the door. “Sure. Go hump yourself.”
Jerric left his blade with Jaan and returned to his station. “What the hells is he going to do with it for two days,” he muttered, hanging his armor on the rack.
Kjestrid was busy with rags and oil. She didn’t spare him a glance, but there was a smile in her voice. “I don’t think Jaan has ever been so kind to an Apprentice,” she remarked.
Right-Wind let out a dry, hacking sound. Jerric realized it was his laugh. “They did not even throw anything,” the Argonian said. “They must like you.”
Jerric finished cleaning his armor before the others. Road grit was easier to remove than gouts of blood, and his empty stomach drove him to rapid work. He packed up the supplies and left his gear arranged ready for use.
The smell of roasting meat drew him up to the main level. He found the hearth empty. Nunzio was picking up mead bottles in the training area.
“Hey, have you seen my dog?” Jerric called.
“Nope. Ask Bugshat. I saw him down here a little while ago. He might know.”
Jerric snorted. “
Bugshat? Are you jesting?”
“Bugshat’s the cook. Yeah, he’s an orc. No, I’m not jesting.”
She probably followed her nose to the kitchen, Jerric thought. The aroma got stronger as he passed down a corridor. Then another idea began to form in his mind. With a shock, he identified the smell.
That’s roasting dog meat!Jerric took the last steps in a single leap and barreled into the kitchen. A mountain of Orsimer stood slicing onions at a long work table. An Imperial lad scrubbed potatoes in a stone sink. Another Imperial straightened up from where he had been peering into a wall oven. Jerric could see a side of meat roasting there.
“
What have you fetchers done with my dog?” he bellowed.
The orc put down his knife and picked up a cleaver.
The Imperial lad pointed with a shaking potato. “Th- There, she is. I hope it’s all right, I gave her a bone.”
Ulfe lay at the kitchen’s far end in front of the bread ovens. She had her mouth on what Jerric guessed might be a mammoth femur, but it would take a larger beast than she to actually chew it. Ulfe tilted her brows in a doggy smile when she saw him. Her tail thumped the flagstones.
The young Imperial’s voice still wavered. “I just let her have it for a while. I’ll need it back to get at the marrow.”
Jerric knelt down and rubbed Ulfe’s distended belly. “What else did you give her?”
“Dog food,” rumbled the orc.
Jerric glared at him. “Fattening her up?”
“That one’s too stringy.” The orc went back to slicing onions. “I’ve met some numb-headed Nords, but none fool enough to think I had their hound on the fire.” He jerked his head at the other Imperial. “Vito, get this man a sandwich. He’s had a shock. Tonio, no one’s murdered you yet. You’re going to have to finish those potatoes.”
Vito produced a slab of mutton layered with cheese and mustard between two slices of brown bread. He placed it on the bare tabletop along with a bottle of ale.
Jerric made a silent toast to them all and tucked into his snack. “I’m Kjellingsson,” he said between bites.
“Bugshat.” The orc gave him a look. “Go ahead, I won’t take offense. You should hear what your name sounds like in the Orsimer tongue.”
A moment later Jerric had another realization. “Are you going to cook with the bone my dog is chewing on?”
“Don’t worry, she won’t be able to finish it.” Bugshat’s lip curled up in amusement.
Jerric saluted with his sandwich. Here was a kitchen he would not mind working in.
He gave Ulfe’s belly another rub before he set off in search of the chapter head. He found her office on the upper level.
Asgerd turned out to be a Nord woman of middle age with deep shadows under her eyes. Her steel-grey hair was cropped in the manner of one who wears a mail hood. Jerric presented himself in front of her desk.
“Have a seat.” She gestured to a chair against the far wall.
Jerric dragged it over and sat down.
Asgerd got straight to the point. “Azzan reports that you’re a battlemage. Jerric.”
Jerric tucked his fingers under his thighs to keep from pulling his hair out. “Yeah. Uh…”
“I’m an associate of your uncle,” Asgerd said. She waited while Jerric unraveled the code.
Jauffre. He let out a gust of breath. “Yeah.”
“He’d like to see you while you’re in town.” Asgerd shifted some sheets of parchment. “I could use you on a contract as well. I have something that will suit. Have Right-Wind put you through a workout. He’s my blade trainer. I’ll give you an assignment when he’s through with you. There’s no need, but it’s customary.”
Jerric nodded. He guessed that the rest of the guild members had no knowledge of his situation.
“We’ve done some training with the Mages Guild in Anvil,” Jerric said. “My partner Darnand Penoit is a summoner. Between the two of us we could help you train against a few varieties of daedra.”
“Azzan has shared your idea. Our local Mages Guild chapter is… not responsive. I haven’t received a reply from Frasoric.”
Probably not one of those friends in high places, Jerric thought. “I don’t know much about the Bruma guild. I can ask around and see what folk there can do. If they’re University trained they would have at least some knowledge of daedric summoning.” Jerric recalled Jeanne’s pitiful scamp. He hoped the others had more to offer. “Anyway, Darnand and I can show you a few things. We should do it outside. There’s always fire.”
“I’ll arrange it for after you return from your contract. Your rank doesn’t reflect your abilities. Show them what you can do, and they’ll more readily accept your command.”
“All right,” said Jerric.
Command. Dammit.He jogged back down the stairs to find Right-Wind.
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This post has been edited by Grits: Nov 16 2013, 11:42 AM