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

[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

[haute ecole rider]

Again you've done a wonderful job with this quest so far. I really liked how you had Oleta give Jerric the status report instead of our hero eavesdropping on Tierra's report to Savlian. It makes great sense considering Jerric is from Kvatch and knows most of the survivors anyway.

Matius's military planning skills are on fine display here, and I'm enjoying it very much. He's a terrific character to write, isn't he?

Do you know how many times I wrote the castle battle before I said enough was enough? Five times! It was one of the stickiest parts of the MQ for me. So it's good to know I'm not alone.

[SubRosa]

Abiene!

An Altmer brought the news.
A nice nod to that terrified Altmer we meet on the road when first coming to Kvatch.

Jerric felt the foundations of his world fall out from under him
This was wonderfully writ!

Another strong piece. Jerric's fears about his family are shown very well here. So is his determination to win through. His experience at the altar was especially good, and intriguing. This is beginning to take on the overtones of a shamanic initiation. Where one dies a literal or figurative death, and then is put back together, but with something special added deep inside. I smell the brimstone of a time dragon in the latter...

[Jacki Dice]

Poor Jerric His feelings about finding his family come out so strongly that i had to fight back a tear or two -sniff-

[Captain Hammer]

And caught up on this one as well.

Jerric: a new role model of mine. Shame about that nose, but hey, Owen Wilson seems to be able to do it, so it can't be that bad. Besides, as long as the ladies keep thinking that he got it doing various valiant, manly things, their experiences with him will be all the more enjoyable.

I enjoyed the idea that Jerric and his family operate out of Kvatch, as one of the best way-stops along the trade-important Gold Road. That, and his history with Captain Matius, is a very nice touch about a hero trying to save his home.

Your depiction of the Kvatch Gate quest made me sigh in remembrance. One of the toughest parts to write, and you handle it very well. Jerric and company keep a mind on tactics that Oblivions A.S. (Artificial Stupidity) system doesn't allow.

[Acadian]

Two distinct and very good scenes. In fact each would have made a fine story alone.

I particularly enjoyed drawing out the fact that the Mages Guild in Kvatch was a full, vibrant guild - until that gate opened. Lovely flashbacks of Kvatch.

Meanwhile, back in Kvatch, lovely interaction inside the Chapel. No surprise that Jerric will be part of the raid force to retake the castle. I very much enjoy that in this scene and, I expect in your next, Jerric is just one participant among many brave members of the City of the Wolf.

[Thomas Kaira]

Emotions ran heavy in this one. You did a great job portraying the effects the fall of Kvatch are having on the people of Tamriel, a whole lot better than this:

NPC 1: Have you heard about Kvatch? They say that Daedra came from Oblivion and burned the whole city to the ground!
NPC 2: No!
NPC 1: Without question.

You'd think considering how huge an event the fall of Kvatch was for the game, the populace would recognize that. Thankfully, in your story, they did, and they did so very well.

Looking forward to the next big fight.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Feb 8 2011, 05:17 AM

[mALX]

You have done more than bring to life the tragedy of the events in Kvatch; these chapters have immersed us in the events as realistically as if we had experienced them ourselves. AWESOME WRITE !!!!

[Grits]

haute ecole rider: Thank you for the encouragement!! Having Jerric live in Kvatch has put a different spin on this whole quest, which has been interesting.

SubRosa: I’m glad you detected that whiff of brimstone. I’m still not sure where it will take him.

Jacki Dice: I think the guy deserves a nice vacation after this!!

Captain Hammer: I’m glad you’re reading! I’m sure someone will rearrange his nose for him eventually.

Acadian: In retrospect I probably should have posted the two scenes separately. Just the few sentences I wrote about Kvatch made me want to do a story set there before the Gate. Knowing it is doomed somehow captures the imagination.

Thomas Kaira: I agree, people should be upset! It also makes me mad that Kvatch stays burning. Next big fight, coming right up!

mALX: Thank you, mALX!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 5

Jerric moved out and took his position on the north chapel steps beside Captain Matius. The sky had darkened while they were inside, and the wind drove ash and debris against his face. Vonius stood behind him. Jerric heard his voice under the growing storm. “She’ll be at the castle… she’ll be at the castle…” Vonius repeated to himself. Jerric realized that all of them had someone they still hoped to find, and the strain increased as they got closer to their goal. His eyes moved quickly over the north plaza to Market Street. Flame atronachs were clearly visible in the dusk, and the scamps had already spotted them and begun casting their flares. Matius wasted no time. “Kvatch!” he roared, and they answered him as one voice.

The fireballs were not difficult to dodge at this distance. Jerric saw the guards moving with him as he ran toward the closest flame atronach. He began casting frost spells as he approached. She leaped up and brought her hands down to strike him, and he dodged to the side. He guessed that the dark spots he saw against the flame of her body were her armor. He dodged another graceful leap, then sliced Chillrend across her bright abdomen. Her body jerked from the frost effect, and he gritted his teeth against a sudden jolt of pain. Dammit, he thought. She’s reflecting damage. He danced back on the balls of his feet, sword ready for his next strike. This is going to hurt, he warned himself. When he saw her begin to raise her arms again, he stepped forward and drove Chillrend up under her armor into her chest. Her flames grew dim as she slid off his sword. The dark pieces of armor clanked against the stones when she flickered away into nothingness. Huh, he thought. No blood. He glanced around and saw another target. As he ran toward her it began to rain.

By the time Jerric reached the statue of Antus Pinder, Chillrend’s magicka had run out of charge. The padded doublet under his iron armor was coming apart from the flares he failed to absorb, and he was spitting up blood from the damage the flame atronachs reflected back onto him. The rain had soaked through to his skin. He reached the statue at the same time as Rilian and another guard. Matius was watching the rest of the guards return from the ruins of Guild Court. His blade and white surcoat were dark with blood. He turned and spoke, raising his voice over the rain.

“Rilian, I want you to go get the guard house key from Inian at the chapel. Make your way through the undercroft and around to the North Guard House. Inian will tell you what to do. Jerric, I want you to go with him, will you do it? Good! Keep the daedra off his neck. Looks like you can absorb their spells, that’s an advantage we need. Check your cuirass, Jerric. Those buckles look loose. The rain and dark should give you some cover, tell Inian try not to engage the daedra. We’ll clear the eastern part of the city after we secure the castle. As soon as you raise the gate, join us in the castle courtyard. Our priority is Count Goldwine, then anyone else who made it to the castle. Got it? Fast and quiet, get that gate open!”

Rilian secured his bow on his back and Jerric sheathed Chillrend. They jogged back across Market Street and into the north plaza. Lightning flashes illuminated the sheets of rain that fell across their path and splashed up from the cobbled street. Candlelight from inside the chapel made the tall windows barely visible. Jerric tried to fix his buckles as he went, but he just couldn’t manage it. He tucked his chin against the rain and ran the rest of the way to catch up with Rilian.

They burst into the chapel just as a tremendous crack of thunder sounded simultaneously with its lightning flash. Inian whirled around drawing his sword, then they all jumped toward the south door as it flew open. Three Imperial Legion soldiers dashed in, shaking off the rain. They stopped abruptly at the sight of Jerric and the Kvatch guards with their weapons drawn. “Hold!” one shouted, spreading out his hands. “I’m Paetus. This is Livius, and Masavo is the archer. We saw the flames from the Gold Road while out on patrol. We came to help.”

“Your help is most welcome,” said Inian. He made the introductions, then he turned toward Rilian and Jerric. “Did Captain Matius give the order? Finally, a chance to fight back!” The legionnaires gathered around him with Rilian and Jerric. “We need to open the castle gates,” Inian said to all of them. “I’m afraid we’re in for a tough time, friends. We’ll have to go out through the chapel undercroft, and then through what’s left of the city. Rilian, here’s the guard house key. Rilian’s the fastest guard in Kvatch, and we need to get him through to the tower at the north wall, that’s the North Guard House. There’s a passage there to the castle gatehouse. We’ll go through it and open the castle gates.”

“Captain said fast and quiet, sir,” said Rilian.

Inian nodded. “That’s right, we just need to get you through. The noise from the rain and the dark should give us some cover. The daedra don’t seem to work together, I’ve been watching. The important thing now is to get to the Count. We won’t engage if we can get by them.”

Jerric looked over at the altar while Inian spoke. He wondered what had happened to him there. He didn’t need fear or rage to drive him anymore, he felt a calm purpose like firm ground under his feet. He drained his canteen while Inian was speaking.

“Check your gear,” Inian told them. “Jerric, you have some damage here. Let me see it.”

Rilian took Jerric’s canteen again and headed for the stairs. “Be right back,” he said.

Inian swore under his breath as he moved Jerric’s arm. “There’s no way I can fix it, you caught too many flares. Look here, this buckle is about to give out. I think you’re better off with just the breastplate.”

“All right.” Jerric made the adjustments. “At least I’ll be a little quicker.”

Inian tugged at the cuirass and nodded with satisfaction. “Keep one eye on Rilian, that lad is fast. I don’t want to lose him in the dark. It’ll be hard to tell where we are out there. It’s bad, Jerric.”

“I hear you.” Jerric swung his arms and picked up his gear. “Ready.”

Inian opened the door to the undercroft, and the stench of scamps hit them like a wall. Jerric and the legionnaires moved through with Rilian and Inian behind them. The evenly spaced columns helped keep Jerric from veering into the way of his allies. “For the Empire!” bellowed one of the legionnaires, but Jerric ignored him. He reveled in the simplicity of this fight. The only thing on his mind was each enemy that stepped in front of him. The scamps’ flares lit up the dark undercroft along with Inian and Rilian’s torches. He felt his confidence surge with each fireball he absorbed, and the ones that hit him were forgotten as soon as he healed the burns. The last scamp’s body flailed onto him, blood jetting out of its neck stump. Jerric kicked it away and spit to get the foul taste off of his lips. He wiped his mouth on his exposed doublet, then he wiped Chillrend and turned to examine the blade in the torchlight. He glanced up and caught Rilian’s wide-eyed stare.

“Did you see that?” said Jerric. “Look, its head is still rolling.”

Inian spoke. “We’ll move from cover to cover. Jerric, you go first, then Paetus and Livius. You three engage any daedra that spot us. Rilian, you’ll run through and do not stop to fight. Masavo, you’re with Rilian. I’ll bring up the rear. Wait for me to give the signal before you go again. The city is in ruins, we might have to backtrack to find a way through. We don’t have time to get lost out there. Ready? No shouting, Livius. Keep it quiet. Now let’s get out of this stink.”

They filed out of the undercroft and back into the rain. Jerric saw the distant glow from two flame atronachs, and when lightning flashed he strained to see the dark shapes of any dremora. Inian grabbed his shoulder to get his attention. He pointed to two-story building some distance away. Fires burned around it, but the first floor lay in shadow. Jerric nodded. Inian thumped his shoulder again, and Jerric moved out into the dark street.

___

Jerric pulled Chillrend out of the dead scamp and dropped to his knee. His left arm burned, he couldn’t tell if it was from the scamp’s claws or from its flare. He closed his eyes and focused his healing spell. Great, he thought. It’s broken again. He slipped the shield off to make sure he healed it straight, then he sent the white light into the injuries. He guessed they had been making their way through the city for at least an hour. Their attempt at stealth was not working. Each fiery skirmish drew more daedra, and Jerric doubted that they had left many alive behind them. He flexed his arm with satisfaction and shook some rain out of his eyes.

A flash of lightning showed him a huge shape rapidly approaching. “Die, churl!” growled the dremora. Jerric reached for Chillrend on the ground, but his hand met only wet cobblestone. He scrambled back and readied a shock spell. Dreck, he thought. Dreck, dreck, dreck. He sent his shock at the dremora’s armored chest when it raised its mace, then he rolled to the side to avoid its strike. He heard the mace hit stone. The dremora howled as Jerric got his feet under him. When he lunged away and readied his next shock spell, another scream cut through the rain. This one sounded distinctly Imperial. Jerric turned to find the dremora on one knee, then it toppled to the ground. Rilian stood behind it. Jerric noticed that he had lost his helmet. Rilian pulled his sword out of the dremora’s neck and looked at Jerric. “Just like you told us,” he said. His words were followed by rumbling thunder.

Jerric picked up his gear and followed Rilian’s pale shape to the rally point. He guessed that the storm was moving away from them. Inian and the legionnaires crouched in the shadows, waiting. Inian spoke when they knelt down. “I thought we’d be at the Arena by now,” he said. “But I don’t think we’ve reached Market Square.”

Jerric looked into the building beside them. There was enough fire to see inside, but the furnishings were jumbled and burned. “I can’t tell if that’s a sales counter, or just someone’s kitchen,” he said.

Masavo spoke up. “I saw a bed in the street back there. It was upside down, but I could tell it was a bed.”

“The shops had dwellings over them,” said Inian. “Let me think.”

“I know!” cried Rilian. He darted out into the darkness.

“Dammit! Rilian!”

“Want me to go after him?” asked Jerric. He doubted he could catch up, even if somehow he headed in the right direction.

“No. Maybe they won’t notice him,” Inian sighed. “Canteens. Take a drink if you have one.”

Paetus didn’t, so Jerric passed his over. “How’s the knee?” he asked Paetus.

“Not good. If I had the time, I’d wrap it.”

“Want me to take a look?” Paetus stretched his leg out, and Jerric sent his magicka through it.

“Just wrenched. I can heal it if you want,” said Jerric. “You’ll have to let me have the next mage, though.”

“All right,” Paetus agreed. Jerric healed the knee. His magicka was getting dangerously low.

“Born under the Atronach,” explained Inian.

“Oh. So that’s his excuse,” said Livius. “Crazy son of a…”

“I’m back!” announced Rilian, dropping down between them with a grin. “We’re on the edge of the Arena. I looked at the curbs. My father used to make me wait while he watched the games.” Rilian sounded breathless and exhilarated. Jerric thought that perhaps they had all gone a little crazy.

“Good work!” said Inian. “But don’t run off again, you have the key. That means we’re almost there. We’ll go around through that spot, see where it’s clear? Masavo, you’re out of arrows. You get to go first this time. Then Jerric and Livius, then Paetus with Rilian. Remember, Jerric wants the mages.”

“And the flame atronachs,” said Jerric.

“You can have them,” Masavo said fervently. His cuirass was blackened with soot. Masavo took off running across the littered street.

This post has been edited by Grits: Feb 10 2011, 06:55 PM

[SubRosa]

He guessed that the dark spots he saw against the flame of her body were her armor.
Either that or sunspots...

Another grueling battle in the streets, and once more Captain Matius shows us why he is the captain. Likewise with Inian.

I looked at the curbs. My father used to make me wait while he watched the games.
This was a nice touch.


nits:
In the game, Reflect Damage only works against melee attacks. So Jerric's frost spells would not have been reflected. That would have taken Reflect Magic. If you are purposely changing it for the JF, no worries.

Three Imperial Legion soldiers dashed in{,} shaking off the rain.
You missed a comma where I inserted it above.

He heard the mace hit stone at the same time the dremora howled and he got his feet under him.
This sentence is rather long, with a lot happening in it, and no commas to break up each thing. You might consider going to back and rewording it some, and adding some commas.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Feb 10 2011, 09:35 PM

[Grits]

SubRosa: Thank you!! I addressed the issues. The reflect damage was an oops!

Sunspots!!

[haute ecole rider]

Let me begin by saying that SubRosa caught the nits I noticed.

Now let me say this: Rousing! Rawr!

Be still my beating heart, there's still the castle to go.

Well done, again!

[mALX]

Holy Cow! I was holding my breath through this whole chapter! Powerful imagery of the whole scene, and I agree with SubRosa, that moment of recognizing the curb he used to sit on was HUGE! Awesome Write!