Postcards from Tamriel, Stories and such that fall somewhere between a snippet and a thread Options

[Renee]

Buffy, eh? Ha. So... you're the slight elf I've seen here and there, from a distance and sometimes up close. Roaming around Cyrodiil on your fancy steed, tempering your latest fancy bow, assisting those who need it, and punishing those who get in your way. Uh... 'tempering'. Probably not the correct term. Hey, I'm not the adventuring type! Prob'ly I'd shoot myself before I could hit anything with that gleaming piece on your back.





You don't know me, but now I know you, and uh.... maybe we should keep it that way. I've been known by many names: Kasmir, Vincent the Spice Merchant, Bargo the Redguard, and so on. But my real name's gotta stay a secret for now. Just until that guard over there stalks off. Guards, ya know...?

Hmm. Seems like he's looking right at me. Uh oh. He is! Hey, gotta run. You know how it is! ... Hmm, well maybe you don't.

[Acadian]

[Acadian]

Dear Jerric,

Has it been another year already? I hope your birthday finds you enjoying perhaps a day of cliff diving followed by an evening of cake, mead and tavern maids.

I think of you often and always imagine you in some cold snowy place.

Be well and enjoy your day, my friend.

Fondly, Buffy

[Grits]

Dear Buffy,

Your kind birthday greetings put a smile in my heart. You reminded me how we both enjoy a waterfall, though you dance at the bottom while I hurtle off the top. Come to think of it, we have a few other things in common. We’re both sun-tops, sometimes don’t fit on Imperial furniture, and— Well, there’s a page in Darnand’s notebook about it. I’ve been telling him my stories. Here it is.

Sweet water and good hunting to you, dear Buffy.

Your friend,

Jerric


***

20 Sun’s Dusk, 3E421
Kvatch

Jerric jogged down the stairs in his socks, remembering to be quiet until he hit the bottom and slid where Marcus had spilled the floor wax last spring. He could hear the woodcutter’s lass already stacking the day’s supply into the wood box. He moved easily through the rooms in the near dark. After all he had lived in this house his entire life. Eighteen years to the day.

Birthdays at home meant a family dinner. All who were in town would gather this evening to celebrate, tease him, and enjoy his favorite meal. Jerric’s favorite meal was to be surprised, so even he didn’t know what they were having. That would be tonight. This morning he had plans.

Rhano wasn’t going to like it. Their friendship had been strained since the summer. Rhano had joined the Fighters Guild when he turned eighteen as the two of them had always planned to do. Jerric had taken a few days off to stay with him in Anvil. They had moved Rhano’s things into his new quarters and then gone out to celebrate.

Their festivities began at the Frisky Kitten but swiftly moved to the Castle Anvil dungeon courtesy of the City Watch. In the morning they stood before the constable in their torn and bloodied best tunics, explaining the altercation at the brothel, the brawl in the street, and then the fight inside their jail cell. Rhano’s career with the Fighters Guild had begun with a reprimand and probation. Jerric had tried to pay back Rhano’s birthday money since their fines were mostly Jerric’s fault. His friend wouldn’t take it. Rhano was still angry.

Jerric’s boots and cloak were on the side door bench. Wary of birthday pranks, he approached with uncharacteristic caution. One boot had a sweet roll stuffed into the toe, and the other held about an inch of apple jelly. He guessed the jelly was Willem’s doing, but the sweet roll could have been anyone. His cloak was neatly stitched together the whole way down the front. That was surely his Ma’s handiwork. He chuckled as he stepped into Willem’s boots, licking jelly off his fingers. So far they hadn’t slowed him down. He tossed the sweet roll to the nearest dog and slipped cloakless into the frosty morning.

It took a quarter of an hour to reach the market stalls and get his breakfast. Plenty of time to flirt with the kahve sellers, then chat with the bookseller sweeping her step, and then buy kahve and a roll for the city guard heading home from her night shift. Of course it would have been rude to let her eat alone, so he had another.

The sky was pinkening when he reached the familiar broad steps. Inside, the scents of solvents, herbs, and ancient books made him grin. This must be the best-smelling guild hall in Cyrodiil. In Kvatch they made the necromancers practice outside the city.

A blonde woman strode into the entry as if on the way through to another chamber. Her gown was brilliant blue and made of velvet, marking her as a noble or a member of the intellectual class. She wasn’t much older than he was, but she already held respectable rank.

She stopped when she saw him. “Jerric! You’re out late.” She took in his fresh shave and clean shirt. “Or is it already morning?”

Jerric kept his gaze on her warm smile and not on her neckline. “Hello, Sigrid,” he said. “Today’s the day! I’m here to join the Mages Guild.”

[ghastley]

“Jerric! You’re out late.”

That's Jerric, all right!

She took in his fresh shave and clean shirt.

That's not!

[Acadian]

What a fun snippet that Darnand managed to capture, highlighting both Jerric and Buffy are in the same guild.

A birthday dinner to mark the big day! Better than an apple jelly and sweet roll a la boot breakfast.

’Their festivities began at the Frisky Kitten but swiftly moved to the Castle Anvil dungeon courtesy of the City Watch.’

Joining the Mages Guild is a wise choice. After all, he and Rhano have pretty much sullied their reputations with the Fighters Guild.

Sounds like Sigrid has already given Jerric the ‘Hey! My eyes are up here!’ talk.