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!

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!

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!!!

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?

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 !!!

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!”

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.

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...

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

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.

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.

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:



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.

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 !!!!

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.

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.

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

Sunspots!!

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!

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!

Wonderful again, Grits! You not only captured the frenzy and fog of the fight, but tied in several suggestions at the personal tragedies of memories and loved ones. 'She'll be at the castle.' Jerric looking at the curb.

Very effective pacing here; I'm sure anyone reading is breathing a little harder and their pulse is a bit faster.

All of the characters in this episode are very well presented under pressure here. You do justice to each of them and their efforts.

Wow. Talk about the Adrenaline rush. No, not the Regaurd racial power, why do they always think it's that...

You do a great job with the small squad operating against a lot of enemies. Especially with how they just can't seem to catch a break and avoid any of the enemies out there. Shame how the that never works

Particularly liked how the others responded to learning that Jerric was born under the Atronach, as well as his request to handle the magic users. Good stuff.

Couldn't blame them for it :/ Poor men. All this makes Wrothken's crazy look like a walk in the park!

I love the little humane twists on the Legionaires and guards, it takes a little bit of the curb off the situation, but you always bring back the weight of the situation with the little details. Like the bed in the street, the rooms above the shops. It makes the whole situation a lot more personal and human than it ever felt in the game. It's a superb read!

SubRosa: I’m glad Inian is coming across, too. When I saw that he is a castle guard I decided to give him a little more work to do. Thank you again for pointing out those issues so I could fix them, and for your encouraging words.

haute ecole rider: It’s the last push to the castle, whew! Thank you so much for your support!

mALX: The curb was my favorite detail. Thank you mALX!!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I was hoping that the characters would come across in these action-y sections without slowing things down too much.

Captain Hammer: Yeah, if they avoided all the enemies it might have been a little bit boring. Thank you for the encouragement! I’m glad you enjoyed the legionnaires’ comments.

Jacki Dice: This would be a bad time for Jerric to wander into a felldew situation!

Ahrenil: Thank you for pointing out those details, Ahrenil. I’m glad you’re reading!!



Chapter 7: Kvatch, Part 6

Jerric stood inside the North Guard House looking at the round trapdoor set into the floor. Inian dropped a lit torch down. Its yellow light revealed that thick smoke filled the dark passage. “Looks like the daedra came through from the courtyard and got stopped here at the hatch,” said Inian.

“What could still be burning down there?” Jerric asked. There’s no air, he thought. Terror made his wet skin feel coated with ice. He would rather face a dozen clannfears than go into that tunnel.

“Some crates, maybe. Furnishings that were in storage. There shouldn’t be anything else down there to burn,” Inian replied. He looked up at the five of them. “Here’s what we’ll find. It’s a climb down these metal rungs, then stairs down to a straight passage all the way to the end. You’ll find another set of stairs and rungs there going up with a hatch at the top like this one. No turns, no other way out. Watch out for steps up and down throughout the passage. My concern is that the daedra might have blocked the trap door in the courtyard after they set these fires.”

“Is there any other way?” Jerric asked quietly. He tried to calm himself. The thought of suffocating underground had already made him feel short of breath.

“This is it.”

“Let me see if there’s air in the passage, sir,” Rilian suggested. The young guard looked tense and eager. Jerric caught Livius’s eyes and saw his own fear in them.

“All right,” said Inian. “Be quiet getting the other trapdoor up. It’s not easily visible from the courtyard, but be careful. I don’t want a fight in the passage.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rilian. He dropped his legs through the hatch and disappeared into the smoke. A moment later they heard him coughing. “It’s not so bad near the floor!” he called. “I’m going!” The yellow light disappeared with his fading footsteps.

“Masavo, light another torch,” said Inian. He looked up at Jerric. “I’m sending you next.”

“Funny,” said Jerric. “They’ve set everything on fire except the torches.”

“Stay focused,” Inian told him sharply. Smoke began to drift up out of the hatch. “I think he’s opened it! Damn, that boy is fast! Fetch it, we’re all going.” Inian grinned at Jerric and dropped Masavo’s torch down. “You first, Nord. Then Livius.” Fear stiffened Jerric’s limbs. He didn’t let himself think, he just swung his legs over and climbed down into the darkness. He felt some relief when his muscles didn’t hesitate. Smoke started to burn his eyes before he even picked up the torch. He heard Livius hit the floor behind him as he started down the passage, coughing. Good idea to get the frightened rabbits down the hole first, he thought. Now Inian can kick our dreck-dribbling haunches the rest of the way if he has to.

Jerric loped through the long tunnel with the torch in his hand, stumbling over the stairs that Inian had warned them about. It took all of his concentration not to take off running in a panic. He fell into a rhythm counting steps and keeping his breaths shallow until he reached Rilian at the top of the final staircase. The air at the base of the round tower was clearer. Jerric dropped the torch and got ready for the climb up.

The others joined them in the tower. “There’s no cover in the courtyard,” Inian warned them. “It’s designed that way. We’ll be under fire from the top of the walls. Jerric, straight across between the gates and up the stairs to the gate lever. It’s a wheel, turn it to the left to raise them. See if you can get them up as fast as Rilian got the hatch open. Let’s go!”

Jerric needed no encouragement to climb out of the tunnel back into the rain. He dashed between the gates and up the stairs, coughing the smoke out of his lungs. Even though it was wet, the gate wheel turned easily in his hands. He heard shouts from across the moat and screeches from within the courtyard as the gates went up. By the time he leaped down the steps and swung around the corner into the courtyard, the battle had begun.

Scamps, clannfears, and flame atronachs filled the air with their cries and the light from their fire spells. The three legionnaires had taken a position in the middle of the courtyard. They looked like a solid fortress against a swirl of fire. Jerric heard Matius shouting, and the Kvatch Guards filled in on both sides of them. Jerric stood beside the Altmer archer, throwing his spells over their heads at the dremora on the wall above. First he would send a flare to show him his target, then he would follow quickly with a more powerful shock spell. He saw the first dremora fall and glanced to his right where something had caught his attention.

Vonius lay on his side cursing in a rapidly widening pool of blood. His hands pressed around a dremora arrow that had pierced the mail over his upper thigh. A scamp had almost reached him. Jerric jumped over Vonius and slashed through the scamp’s belly, heedless of the claws raking down his arm. He lowered his shield and aimed a second slash through its throat. The scamp slumped forward, and Jerric threw his shoulder into its slippery chest to shove the body away from Vonius as it fell. He dropped to the ground beside Vonius, kneeling in the blood and water. No cover, Jerric thought. He pressed against the injured leg with one hand and got the other ready to pull out the arrow.

Rilian crashed to the stones near them with an arrow protruding from his throat. He lay thrashing on the wet cobbles. “The kid!” Vonius gritted out. “Rilian!”

Jerric scrambled over to Rilian, and for a moment he was blinded by fire as a flare hit his back. When the flames dissipated he saw that Rilian’s eyes were open, locked on his. His legs had stilled, and red bubbles frothed through Rilian’s fingers. No time, Jerric thought. He ripped out the arrow and clapped his hand over Rilian’s on the torn throat. White light swirled around them as Jerric sent his healing spell into the wound over and over, as fast as he could. Rilian began kicking again and coughed out blood. Jerric pulled him upright by his surcoat. Rilian stared back at him with wild eyes, clutching his healed throat. “Stendarr’s balls,” Jerric breathed in amazement. Rilian bent over onto his knees, spitting up blood. Jerric lunged back over to Vonius. He lay flat on his back now with another arrow in his chest. The rain made puddles in his open eyes.

A sick feeling churned inside Jerric’s guts, and he felt the grief and horror flooding back in. Thoughts swarmed around his head like bees, but he pushed them away. He let go of Vonius and rose to stand beside Rilian. The fight in the courtyard was over. We’re almost there, he told himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain on the courtyard stones, and in a moment his mind was clear again. He picked up his shield and joined Matius at the castle door.

Blood soaked the Captain’s headband and surcoat. Jerric saw the Altmer archer standing grim-faced beside Matius, holding a dremora mace in his hand. Jerric guessed he must have eliminated the rest of the dremora archers. “This area’s clear,” said Matius. “You legionnaires are a welcome sight. We’ve got to get inside and find the Count before it’s too late. Inian, we’re under your command. No one knows the castle better than you.”

Inian stepped forward. He spoke to the Altmer first. “Merandil, take Jerric with you and go straight through to the Count’s quarters, you know the way.” He nodded to the legionnaires. “You three go with them to rescue the Count. Get through the living quarters main hall to the corridor at the end. It leads to the Count’s private quarters. Find the Count and defend him until we meet you. There’s a corner in the final hallway you can use to your advantage. I’ll clear the Great Hall with Captain Matius and the rest of the guard. We’ll come for you and the Count when the castle is secure.” He spoke to the rest of the Kvatch Guard. “You on the left, you on the right. You two straight down the middle, let Merandil’s group through. Move out!”

Jerric followed Merandil into the Great Hall. The interior was a shocking wreck of piled, smoldering furniture. Books and silver tableware littered the floor. Smoke obscured the high ceiling. Jerric looked for the familiar entrance to the castle dungeons, but rubble filled the opening. He saw the guards closing with flame atronachs and scamps. This is it, he thought. He reached inside himself for his Nordic Woad and felt it settle like a second skin around him. “The Count!” cried Merandil.

There was plenty of room to dodge daedra as they ran through the Great Hall. One clannfear’s charge caught Jerric’s side, but its bony head frill glanced off his hip with a white flash of magicka. He stumbled into a shattered column, then he pushed himself up and continued without injury. They followed Merandil up the curved set of stairs behind the throne. They had reached a part of the castle that Jerric had never seen before.

The doorway to the castle living quarters was open, its doors shattered. Ruined furnishings cluttered the floor, leaving little room to move. Twisted bodies lay strewn across the carpet here. The smell of smoke thickened the air, and under it Jerric could smell something much worse.

Scamps and flame atronachs emerged from the doorways along the sides of the hall and began throwing their flares. Jerric stayed between Masavo and Merandil as they worked their way through the room. The uncertain footing made it difficult to dodge the fireballs. The legionnaires easily caught them on their shields. Jerric absorbed most of them, but the increasing pain from his burns made a constant howl in his mind. Merandil began to stagger. He carried no shield, only the dremora mace.

A clannfear stepped out of a side passageway and turned into the room. Jerric heard Livius and Paetus on his left swearing at a flame atronach. On his right Merandil struggled grimly with a scamp, and Masavo was somewhere behind him. The clannfear lowered its head and trumpeted. It charged straight at Jerric. Dammit, he thought, there’s no room. He was able to move a half step to the side, but the clannfear caught him full on his shield. He heard the splintering crack of impact as it tossed him into a burning table. Hot agony seared his hands as he scrambled and rolled sideways out of the fire. He heard Masavo shouting, but he couldn’t listen. The sight of his hands blackened and red where the skin split open filled him with horror. Panic sent his healing spell carelessly over all of himself. He stared down at his healed arms, shaking. Jerric looked up to see Masavo pulling his sword out of the clannfear. Masavo looked over at Merandil and Jerric. “We’ve got this!” he cried. “Go to the Count!”

Merandil caught Jerric’s eye and jerked his head toward the back of the hall. Jerric could see two broad steps leading up to an open, arched doorway there. He pulled his ruined shield from his arm and dropped it as he picked his way through the debris. The floor at the back of the hall was thick with bodies dressed in the castle guards’ white surcoats. Jerric realized that this was where they had made their stand. The hopelessness and despair they must have felt also filled him, and this time he was powerless to stop it.

His family had never been here, now he knew it in his bones. The last thought that he might find anyone left alive slipped away. He tried to bring them into the front of his mind. They stood together in his imagination, and he found he couldn’t see their faces. They seemed so far away from him. The knowledge that he could never bring them any closer sank through him like a black fog. He felt cold inside, alone and empty.

His legs still carried him forward. Jerric knew the hollow look of folk who had gone on living long after their hearts had left them. Now he knew the feeling. He rounded the corner in the hallway, following Merandil. They stepped over at least a dozen torn bodies. Jerric realized that after the guards were killed, the daedra had simply slaughtered these people where they stood.

When Jerric and Merandil entered Count Goldwine’s quarters, a scamp looked up from where it rummaged through the wreckage. These doors had also been splintered open. The smell told Jerric that the Count had been dead for some time. Jerric's eyes found him on the floor in a dark, sticky pool. Merandil pounded the scamp with his mace until it fell, and then for awhile after. A ragged sob pulled Jerric’s attention to the door. Inian stepped into the room, his face utterly defeated. Tears stood in his eyes.

Jerric pulled the woven coverlet from the bed and spread it out next to the Count’s body. Inian turned him until the black wolf on the coverlet centered over his chest. They wrapped the Count’s body and carefully lifted him onto the bed. When Captain Matius found them standing there, Inian silently handed him the Count's signet ring.

The victors made their way back out of the city, but there was no rejoicing. Jerric understood that they had all held onto the hope of finding loved ones alive at the castle. The only folk who weren’t grieving were the ones who lay dead. Even the three legionnaires were somber. He noticed that Masavo and Paetus supported Livius between them. As they walked across the bridge over the castle moat, the rain faded into a drizzle. Smoke and steam still rose from the ruins, but the air was already clearing. By the time they reached the city gate, Masser and Secunda were visible in the sky. Jerric stood on the plateau and looked up at the familiar stars. The smells were horribly wrong, but the damp wind that washed over him felt the same as it had for all of his life. He heard Sigrid speaking to the guards, but their words made no sense in his ears.

Jerric turned and walked back into the city. His feet found a path through the wreckage, and his eyes followed the line of the city wall until he stood where his home had been. Small fires still burned under the rubble. They showed him that there was nothing left but tumbled stones and ash. Savlian had pointed to where the great siege crawler had come over the wall. His family would have been beneath it. He knew they had died here, crushed and burning. Still he had to look for them.

He started searching the dead faces in the street, moving stones and people as he went. His hands turned every broken body until Inian found him at dawn. He took Jerric’s arm and led him away to the encampment like a child.

This. Is. Heartbreaking.

You've captured the harrowing experience of Kvatch as told from the view point of a Kvatch resident. Entwined with that is the crazy chaos that is combat, with comrades dropping left and right too fast to count. Friends are standing next to you one second, and in the next they're gone. And the aftermath is just astounding.

WHEW!!! This battle scene was breathtaking in detail - choking on the smoke in that tunnel was a huge descriptive way of showing what that tunnel was like. Jerric's emotions could be felt through this whole set of chapters - AWESOME WRITE !!!!!

GAAAAAH!!!! Poor Jerric, that last paragraph brings tears!!!

Well done, Grits!

This was very moving and powerful.

I loved the fear and vulnerability you let the situation bring out in Jerric. Yet he did not falter when it counted.

You captured the aftermath very very effectively. In fact, you have really done full justice to the majesty and tragedy of Kvatch.

Wow. I was definitely not expecting this. The fight for Castle Kvatch was one thing entirely, but what you've done with Jerric and the unimaginable loss he's suffered is unbelievable in the quality of your writing. Well done.

Jerric's claustrophobia at going into the tunnel was a good touch, as it makes him a down-to-nirn person with vulnerabilities.

Jerric looked for the familiar entrance to the castle dungeons
This brought a faint smile to my lips!

A very exciting, fast-paced battle in the courtyard. Jerric's being able to save one soldier at the cost of another's life was outstanding writing! You continued the pace through the castle, to its tragic conclusion. Very hot and desperate!

The was of course perfect. Jerric's soul being crushed under the weight of knowing that it was all for nothing, searching through the bodies and ashes for the remains of his family. Powerful stuff.



nits:
I was a little confused about where Rilian was shot. Eventually I figured out it was in the throat, but that was only a few sentences later. Perhaps you might add something into one of the first two sentences in that paragraph telling us the arrow was in his throat?

haute ecole rider: You can imagine it was upsetting to write. What you described is what I was hoping very much to convey. It means a lot that it came through for you. I appreciate your support through this chapter so much, thank you h.e.r.!!

mALX: The tunnel is such a nothing event in the game, but when I thought about it I realized how scary it would be. Thanks, mALX!! I’m glad Jerric’s emotional state came through, it seemed important.

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Jerric was definitely walking a fine line throughout. This chapter has me seriously considering switching from the PS3, if only to make Kvatch pretty again.

Captain Hammer: Thank you, I really appreciate your comments. I knew it was going to be tough when I made Kvatch his hometown, but whew!

SubRosa: I couldn’t bring Jerric back to the castle without having him remember his many walks of shame. Thank you so much for your support. This chapter has been quite a journey! Is the Rilian arrow any clearer? I moved a sentence around a little.




Chapter 7: Kvatch Part 7


Abiene opened the door to the guild hall, fanning herself. She stepped out of the Anvil sun and into the welcome cool. A grumble from her stomach made her wonder if she had missed lunch. Marc Gulitte and Darnand stood in front of Carahil’s counter in conversation with Baeralorn, the mage from the castle. Carahil was absent from her usual position. Abiene realized it was later in the day than she had thought if Baeralorn was already here for his customary afternoon visit. She took in the sight of Marc’s chubby cheeks and Baeralorn’s outlandish stripes of hair next to Darnand’s lean elegance. He looks like a stag standing between a skunk and a tree rat, she thought with amusement. Then his words struck the whimsy out of her head.

“They’re talking of a blonde Nord who ran through the Oblivion Gate and closed it,” Darnand was saying to them. “He went into Kvatch with the City Guard when they took back the city. He fought against the fire atronachs and dremora mages, and their spells couldn’t touch him. They’re calling him the Kvatch Lion.”

Abiene’s heart leaped in her chest, and her stomach filled with butterflies. She hurried down the steps and stood next to Marc to listen, holding her breath. Baeralorn spoke next. “What is his name? Do you suppose it could be Jerric?”

“No one knows his name. They say he fought with a blue sword and frost spells,” replied Darnand. “I think it was him.” Darnand’s eyes met Abiene’s. “Good afternoon,” he said to her politely.

“Most Nords are blonde, it could have been anyone,” said Marc. Abiene wanted to put her hands around his throat. She gave Darnand a nervous smile.

Darnand’s voice sounded calm, but Abiene had spent enough time watching him to see the tension in his posture. “A Nord battlemage from Kvatch with amber eyes and those scars on his face? Jerric was born under the Atronach, that would explain how he absorbed the spells. He would jump into Oblivion to save his family, don’t you remember how he talked about them? It’s enough to give me hope.”

Marc nodded. “That’s true. He couldn’t open his mouth without saying something about his Ma. What a pity.”

Darnand ignored him and looked back at Abiene. “As soon as Felen is ready, we’re leaving with supplies. Glafeviel is coming with us, she plans to stay with anyone who is left from the guild. The Mages Guild will still have a Kvatch chapter. The people there will need us.”

Marc spoke in a querulous tone. “Why lion? The Kvatch Guard wears the black wolf.”

Darnand shot him an irritated look, and his voice further betrayed his annoyance. “Because he fought alone, perhaps. He’s not one of the City Guard. Maybe the yellow eyes, Jerric does have a leonine appearance. He’s certainly larger than the average city guardsman. Why do you think, Gulitte?”

Baeralorn glanced between the two Bretons, looking mildly entertained. “I didn’t know you and Jerric were such good friends, Darnand,” he observed. “I might have named him the Kvatch Jester. I seem to recall he got the best of you on more than one occasion.”

Darnand turned on Baeralorn just as Marc opened his mouth to speak again. Abiene found her voice and interrupted them. “Does Jerric have a blue sword?” she asked.

She watched Darnand compose himself. The firm resolve in his face gave her something to hold on to. “I have no idea, but when I see him I’m going to ask,” he said. “He survived the battle. The Kvatch Lion is still alive.” Darnand took her arm and led her a few steps into the small receiving room. She heard Marc and Baeralorn continue talking in the hall. “I know you share my optimism, Abiene. Do you have a message for Jerric? I could take it for you.” His eyes seemed to search her face.

Abiene’s emotions swirled her thoughts into a confused mess. The breathless hope that Jerric might still live mixed with the thrill that Darnand was showing an interest in her. She warmed to Darnand’s hand on her sleeve, but then the memory of Jerric’s heat raced over her skin. She took a shaky breath, and then another so that she was sure her voice would sound firm. Darnand stood waiting. “I’m sure he has a great deal on his mind other than his restoration trainer,” she said primly. “If you think of it, just tell him I hope he returns to Anvil soon.” Please bring him back to me, she thought. I need to see him again.


Sigrid smoothed her hair and stepped out of her new tent. Legion Riders had brought them yesterday along with bedrolls, cots, and cooking supplies. For the first time in nearly a week she felt refreshed. She shook out the folds of her blue gown, now clean. I suppose I should be thankful I was up late that night, she thought. At least I’m not still wearing a nightdress.

She walked the few paces to Oleta’s tent and peeked in. Oleta looked up from where she knelt folding bandages. “He’s up,” Oleta said. “He checked on his horse, then I sent him to the creek to wash. Try Tavia’s cookfire.”

Sigrid nodded briskly. “How is he?”

“Healed. Rested. Still not talking.” Oleta sighed and looked down at her hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have kept him asleep for so long.”

“He wasn’t himself. You did the right thing, Oleta. We need to give him some time to adjust,” Sigrid replied. “Remember, for him this all just happened.”

“At least now we have canvas over our heads and something to feed him. See if you can get him to eat. It’s been days.”

Sigrid walked through the camp until she spotted Jerric on a log bench beside Tavia's cookfire. He sat with his forearms braced against his thighs, back hunched and head down. He wore the clothes that she had washed for him. His wet hair looked clean. It's a start, she thought.

She moved to the fire and sat down near him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. “I’m pleased to see you, Jerric,” she said softly. He didn’t respond, so she decided just to talk to him. "It looks like Tavia found something for her pot. And I smell kahve.” Sigrid searched his bleak face. His wide eyes stared at nothing, utterly empty. "The fires have burned out in the city. There's already talk of rebuilding." She wondered if he even knew she was speaking. “Supplies are starting to come in.” She reached out and touched his arm. "We have lost all we had, but we’re starting again. I could use another mage. You have a future here, Jerric."

He held an empty cup in his hands. Sigrid gently took it from him and filled it with kahve from the pot hanging over the edge of the coals. She gave it back to him, pressing his fingers around the cup until he gripped it. Steam rose. Sigrid sat and waited.

Finally he met her eyes, and she saw that he was back behind them. His face wore all of the guilt and sorrow she was feeling. “I should have been here, Sigrid. I slept not half a day’s walk from here while they burned.”

Sigrid steeled herself for what she knew she had to say. This was no time for gentle words, only the truth. She hoped he was ready to face it. “You would have died with them, Jerric. I used my spells to get through the fire, but you would have fought until your last breath and then died along with the rest. Do you see any other Nords out here, or any children? No one escaped who was slowed by little ones. The only difference you would have made is more blood on the ground and your ashes in the wind. Don’t tell yourself you could have saved them.” Sigrid realized that her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her knees to still them.

His expression didn’t change at her words. “I couldn’t find them. They have to be somewhere, but I couldn’t find them.”

“They’re not here, Jerric, they’ve gone on together to the great halls of Sovngarde. Even your smallest cousin had a dragon’s heart. Can you at least take some comfort knowing that?”

“I don’t know what to believe. My Fa’s shadow has already found me in my dreams. How can I avenge him? I don’t even know who to kill.”

“There’s nothing you can do for them. You have to let them go.” Sigrid realized that her words weren’t just for him. “You’re still alive, Jerric. Don’t waste it.”

They sat in silence for awhile, and then he spoke again. “I can’t stay in Kvatch. I wish I was strong enough, but I don’t know how to be here without them." Jerric rose and drank the kahve. "I have a promise to keep," he said, and he handed her his empty cup. "Where is Brother Martin?"

It's good to have a quiet chapter after the last couple heart-pounding ones. It's time to sit, think about what happened, grieve. It's not yet time to start thinking about the future. Your writing reflects many of the same things most trauma victims go through. The progression of emotional events are well represented here, with Jerric just coming to terms with events, and Sigrid already a bit further along and starting to think about tomorrow and the day after.

And Abiene is torn between lust for Darnand and her fondness for Jerric? I can relate to that!

That is a little better with Rilian's arrow. But it you still have to read several sentences in before you find where the arrow is. I think the most confusing part is the bit about his legs having stilled, which makes one think of the arrow is lower. It is basically a matter of what you think the reader should know first. You might consider something like this:
Jerric scrambled over to Rilian, and for a moment he was blinded by fire as a flare hit his back. When the flames dissipated he saw that the fletchings of an arrow rose from Rilian's throat. The soldier clutched at the missile with both hands, and red bubbles frothed through his fingers. Rilian's eyes were open, locked on his own. No time, Jerric thought. He ripped out the arrow and clapped his hand over Rilian’s.


Now on to the new episode. First off, it is nice to see Darnand again, after so long. I love Abiene's observation about the skunk, tree rat, and stag. Since he is the latter, I am guessing that she might be housing him now? From what I see later on, I guess not. Yet at least. The Kvatch Lion is also a good nickname, given Jerric's blond hair and of course a lion's mane.

“Does Jerric have a blue sword?”
I would think Abiene is more familiar with the color of Jerric's sword than any of the guys. Unless Servilla the Serpent was not an isolated incident...

At least I’m not still wearing a nightdress.
Damn! If only she had went to bed early!

Finally, even fully-dressed as she is, Sigrid gives excellent advice. Both pointing out that Jerric's coulda', woulda' shoulda' been there would just leave him as dead as everyone else, as well as the fact that it is time to take what you have and get down to the work of living.


nits:
Sigrid stepped out of her new tent, smoothing her hair. Legion Riders had brought them yesterday
This makes it sound like the legion riders brought hair, rather than tents. You might consider reversing the smoothing and stepping?

Delightful seeing Abiene again, albeit under poor circumstances. It is wonderful that the Anvil guild is responding to their guild mates in Kvatch.

The last part of this story, where Sigrid is trying to comfort Jerric (and herself) is quite touching. Sigrid's plight at Kvatch has always tugged at my heart, and Jerric's plight is now poignantly fresh in our minds after the several wonderful chapters that preceeded this one.

She should remove her top, the headlights would blink his attention to her.



This sentence is as powerful as it gets - huge emotions in Jerric here that leaves the reader with the same numbness and feeling of being stunned beyond what the human mind can comprehend. Your ability as a writer has always been obvious to the reader, but never so much as in these Kvatch chapters - Totally Awesome, there could be no other word more deserving of your story !!!

But a few lines later:

That would have been delayed indefinitely if she'd done as you suggest.

You are right about that, here is what he would have seen (covered up, of course) :


http://images.uesp.net//thumb/4/44/OB-npc-...-npc-Sigrid.jpg


*

The Lion of Kvatch.

Sorry, just had to draw attention to that. The use of the animal motif is only enhanced by Jerric, not only for his physical resemblance (a blond man with a decent beard is nothing if not leonine) but for his heart as well.

Of course, you realize that I'm never going to think of him as anything other than "Jerric the Lionheart" now.

The chapter itself was a great exercise in the emotions that occur after a battle. The way the residents of Anvil's Mages' Guild respond to the reports about the closing of the gate, how Abiene reacts to learning that Jerric may still be alive, and their plans for the Kvatch guildhall are all excellent ingredients that make this story work.

haute ecole rider: I put a lot of thought into what Sigrid would say to him. I’m really glad it made sense. Yep, Abiene is definitely conflicted. She’s had that slow burn for Darnand since before last Saturalia, but then along came Jerric. She is definitely fun to write, I’m so glad she is relatable. Thank you, haute ecole rider!!

SubRosa: Thanks for welcoming Darnand back. He’s certainly giving Abiene some mixed emotions. Glad you liked the animal comparisons, especially the lion. It seems to fit Jerric much better than Hero of Kvatch. I had to laugh about the blue sword. It says a lot about my mental state that I missed it!! Also thanks for pointing out Sigrid’s advice. I wanted to give her more than just a legendary rack. I fixed the sentence that implied the Legion brought Sigrid a wig. D’oh!

Acadian: Thanks for welcoming Abiene back. I’ve missed her! We’ll see more sides of her soon, good as well as stuff she could improve upon. I feel the same way about Sigrid, I’m pleased that she touched your heart. Your kind words are so encouraging, Acadian.

mALX: Sigrid is going to have to flash her headlights in another story! Poor Jerric brought her a bag of scamp skin, then got distracted by events and failed to make a pass at her. Thank you for your kind words, mALX. That you can feel what he’s going through means so much to me!

ghastley: Not sure how many people manage to look Sigrid in the eye. If she took her top off, poor Martin would have a long, lonely walk to the Priory.

Captain Hammer: Just what I was hoping for, but I didn’t want to spell it out. Thank you so much, Captain Hammer!! I’m pleased to hear the different sections worked together. I wanted to bring some characters back into the story, but I was concerned that the way I did it might be too choppy.


A note: Although I play around with events from the game, Vonius really died during the game battle, and the sigil stone in this section is the actual one that Jerric got. You should have heard me shout. Thank you for reading!



Chapter 7: Kvatch Part 8

Jerric walked toward Brother Martin where he sat idly by the fire. Martin saw him and rose as he approached. Jerric had missed the resemblance to Emperor Septim before, but now it was clear in Martin’s pale eyes and solemn face. “I heard about how you helped the Guard drive the daedra back,” Martin said. “Well done.” Jerric recognized the same resonance in Martin’s voice.

“Brother Martin, I need to speak with you privately.” Martin didn’t reply, but he followed Jerric away from the fire. “Do you know who I am?” Jerric asked him.

“Of course. You’re Kjelling and Sonstra’s youngest. We met when you were just a lad, but it’s been years since I’ve seen you in the chapel. I’m well acquainted with your mother. She spoke of you often.” Martin stopped and turned toward Jerric. “Do you need a priest? I don’t think I’ll be much help to you. I’m having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want anything to do with it.”

“There is a plan, Brother Martin. It gives me no comfort to tell you, but we’re part of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Martin’s voice took on a bitter edge. “I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra. What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”

Jerric didn’t know how to speak any way but plainly. “Brother Martin, you are Uriel Septim’s son.”

“Emperor Uriel Septim? You think the emperor is my father? No, you must have the wrong man. My father was a farmer.” Jerric saw anger and denial in Martin’s face. A part of him already believes me, he realized.

“You know the man who raised you isn’t your father. I was there when the emperor was murdered. He told me I must find his last son and close shut the jaws of Oblivion. His last words were of you, Martin. The daedra came here for you.”

“An entire city destroyed to get at me?” Martin demanded, aghast. “Why? Because I’m the emperor’s son?” Horror flooded into Martin’s face.

“I don’t understand what they want,” Jerric said quickly. “There’s something about the Dragonfires being out and Oblivion. I only know that they’ve killed the emperor and all of his heirs, and now they’ve come for you. They destroyed Kvatch, and then they left. Why would they leave if they wanted the city? If you really knew my Ma, then you know it’s not in me to lie. Do you want to wait here and find out that I’m right? You’ll know it when they come back for you.” Jerric had tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but he could hear it himself. He willed Martin to believe him.

Martin looked away toward the trees, and conflicting emotions battled in his face. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s strange, I think you might actually be telling the truth.” Martin’s expression changed to wariness, and he looked back at Jerric sternly. “What does this mean? What do you want from me?”

“Come with me to Weynon Priory,” Jerric urged. “Brother Jauffre is the Grandmaster of the Blades, I’ll take you to him. He’ll tell you what you must do for the Empire.”

Now Martin appeared calm and resigned. “You destroyed the Oblivion Gate, they say. You gave them hope. You helped them drive the daedra back. Yes. I’ll come with you to Weynon Priory and see what Jauffre has to say. Lead on, when you’re ready.”

Jerric felt relief, followed by the pressing need to get away from Kvatch immediately. “Brother Martin, please gather what you’ll need for a week’s journey through the wilderness. We can stop to pick up more food, but you’ll need blankets. Also I suggest you put aside your priest’s robes as soon as we are out of sight. The assassins who killed the emperor were mer and men. We should assume they will be looking for you.” Jerric rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to think. Beyond convincing Martin to go with him, he didn’t have much of a plan. “I’ll meet you at the foot of the Kvatch Road as soon as I can. You shouldn’t tell anyone where you’re going. I need to speak to Captain Matius before I go.”

“Berich Inian is the Captain of the Guard now. We made Savlian the Steward of Kvatch until the Council decides what to do.”

“I need to speak with Steward Matius, then.”

Martin gave him a brisk nod and headed toward the city gate. The city must be secure, Jerric thought. Get yourself moving. He walked to the tent where he had seen Matius earlier. The former Guard Captain seemed smaller in his civilian clothes. He stood outside at a desk made from a door placed over standing logs. Sheets of parchment were spread across the surface, held down with stones against the breeze. Matius looked up and began to speak as soon as Jerric reached him.

“Good, you’re on your feet,” he said. “Here’s what you missed. We’ve started salvaging from the city. Some supplies have arrived from Anvil, and more are on the way. Count Hassildor has promised aid. Legion Riders have brought more every day. I’ve made Berich Inian the Captain of the Kvatch Guard again. You and I have had our differences in the past, Jerric, but the Guard could use you. Kvatch was rebuilt from ruins before, and she’ll do it again.” Matius’ voice rang with pride and determination. In his mind Jerric put up another statue next to the one of Antus Pinder.

“I’m leaving, Steward Matius. I don’t know if I’ll return.” He returned Matius’ gaze without shame. “I have always respected you, however foolish my actions. I believe that Kvatch will rise. But not for me.”

Matius nodded. He turned and retrieved some things from the tent, and he held them out to Jerric. “I hoped you would stay, but I want you to take this, regardless of your decision. I’m through with fighting. It may serve you well in the days to come. Batul made the adjustments while you were recovering.” Jerric looked at the Kvatch Wolf embroidered on the surcoat in his hands, speechless. Matius’ cuirass, he realized with awe. “I thank you for risking your life to help us,” Matius was saying. “I can ask nothing more of you, Jerric. Go your own way, and may Akatosh guide you.”

Jerric didn’t trust his voice. Steward Matius gripped his arm, and then Jerric just walked away. A few steps took him to the City Guards’ tent. Inian stood outside with Merandil. The Altmer nodded at something Inian told him and left as Jerric approached. “Captain Inian,” Jerric said. Then he couldn’t find the words.

Inian gave him a long look. “I guessed you might be going,” he said. “I had hoped you would stay with us.” Jerric was relieved to find no judgment in Inian’s expression.

“How could I?” Jerric managed a small smile. “You don’t have a prison cell for me.”

“Any of these tents would hold you.” Inian smiled back at him. “No dungeon has ever seen a more pleasant inmate. You know, old Brocchus never bothered to check for mail unless he came to work and heard you in the drunk tank singing. He told me you were just as reliable as the flags that they hung outside the caravan office, and much easier for him to see.”

Jerric looked at his feet and nodded. “Old Brocchus. He could sure spin a tale. And he never minded starting over when I passed out in the middle.” He looked back at Inian. “I’ve got to go,” he said simply.

“Hold on another moment, Jerric. I have something for you.” Inian ducked into his tent.

“I can’t take anything from you, Captain. I should be giving you what I have, but I can’t.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Your fines probably outfitted half of the City Guard.” Inian emerged from the tent with a Kvatch Wolf shield in his hands. “They told me you carried this in the Deadlands. Vonich would want you to have it. He went through the Gate to try to save his bride. Vonich was a good man, one of the best. You’ve earned it, Jerric.”

“He saved us all, Captain Inian. He and Menien. They told me what I needed to do in the Deadlands.”

“We’ll keep his name alive along with all of those who were left there. Kvatch has a new generation of heroes, and some of them are living.”

Jerric knew what Inian meant, and it made him uncomfortable. “As soon as I can, I plan to tell the tale of Savlian Matius, Hero of Kvatch. You’ll be in it too, Captain Inian. It won’t do any good to talk about me after I’ve left. The real heroes are the ones who stay and pick up the pieces.”

“I’m too old to stand here and try to convince a post that it’s made of wood.” Inian got his arm around Jerric, cuirass, shield, and all. He thumped him on the back. “Akatosh guide you, Jerric. Whether you know it or not.”

Jerric walked to Batul’s tent, following the sound of her hammer. She saw him approaching and got his greaves ready. “Here,” she said. “Get that cuirass on too, I want to check the fit. You were kicking like a wild thing the last time I saw you.”

“I guess I was dreaming.” Now there’s an understatement, thought Jerric. He shrugged into his gear and stood for inspection. He felt magicka strengthening him even as it glinted across his vision. This cuirass is enchanted, he realized with amazement.

She checked him over and appeared to be satisfied. “I’m good,” she observed. Jerric thought that was another understatement. Batul picked up a long sword in its scabbard and handed it to him. “Do you recognize this? You brought it back from the Deadlands. It belonged to a good friend of mine. I made it for him.”

“I recognized your work, Batul. It got me through a bad time in the Deadlands, I can tell you. It’s a lot like the sword my Fa had you make for me.”

“I know it is. You should have it.”

“Batul, thank you.” He thought how inadequate the words seemed. “You made a new scabbard. How did you have time for all this?”

“I haven’t slept much. None of us have. What am I going to do at night, go sit in a burned out tavern? Work keeps my mind from dwelling on what I’ve lost. Take a look at the blade, Jerric.”

He drew the steel blade and whistled at the white magicka that shimmered over it. “You enchanted it! How?”

“Sigrid did, with the stone you brought back from inside that Gate. Look at the scabbard and figure it out.” She turned it in his hands.

“Atronach’s Redeemer. What, does this sword absorb magicka?” he asked, astonished.

The smith clapped him on the shoulder, and he staggered half a step. “You’re not as dumb as you look. She told me what to write.”

“Batul, I could kiss you. I can’t pay you for all of this.”

She barked a short laugh, probably the first heard in the encampment. “Go kiss Sigrid, you know you want to. Lion of Kvatch.” He gave her a quizzical look. “That’s what they’re calling you. On account of your crazy heroics. Or because you don’t know how to use a comb, one or the other.” She stepped back and looked him over again. Appraising her work, he decided. “You closed the Gate, and I got my tools back. Let’s call this one even. I’ll charge you next time, though, you can count on it.”

“Thank you, Batul.” This time the smile came more easily. “I mean for not eating my horse.” Jerric headed down the road toward Flash.

“Ha!” she called after him. “You’re just lucky we didn’t have any onions.”

When Jerric reached Flash, he found Sigrid there waiting for him. He dropped his burdens next to the pile of packs and tack and ran his hands down Flash’s neck. “Remember me, fellow? I’m afraid I’ve been pretty rude lately.” Flash turned his head and snorted some breath against Jerric’s chest.

“I’ve packed you some food,” Sigrid said. “Oleta won’t give me any peace if you don’t take it.”

“I’ll take it,” Jerric replied. He rummaged through his packs on the ground. “Here, it’s scamp skin. I was bringing it to give you.”

They traded packages. “For my Mage’s Bane poison. Thank you, Jerric.” Sigrid stood in the shade of a twisted pine tree. For the first time Jerric noticed how young she looked, and how lost.

“I wish I could give you more, but I’m afraid I’ll need it,” he told her. He started balancing the packs and preparing to leave. “Batul told me you enchanted my sword. How did you do it, Evoker?”

Sigrid straightened her posture, and her characteristic strength and pride sounded in her voice again. “The stone you retrieved is a Sigil Stone. It carried both the enchantment itself and the power to imbue an object with it. The process is very similar to alchemy. You already have the ability to read the enchantment, you just need to hold the stone and an object and use your will to combine them. The way you read the potential in ingredients and then will their fusion in your mortar. I doubt you even realize what you’re doing; alchemy seems to come naturally to you. You were one of my easiest students. Your skills developed quickly despite your casual technique and obvious distraction. I’ve read about sigil stones, but I was still surprised that I could actually use it. I hope you’re pleased with your sword, I should have asked you first.”

Jerric decided there was just no polite way to explain his distraction during their alchemy lessons. “I’m more than pleased. I just dropped the cursed thing on the ground and walked away from it. I’ll thank you every time I use this sword.” He secured the last buckle and stood beside Flash. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to stay, he thought. Calm purpose rose up inside him, and he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted. Surprisingly, the thought was a comfort.

Sigrid stepped forward and put out her hand. “I’ll have more to trade than sandwiches the next time we meet, Associate.”

Jerric took her hand and squeezed it for a moment. “Until then.” He clucked his tongue to Flash, and the two of them started down the road to meet Martin.

What, you're not waiting until dear Savlian Matius is dead first? May he live a long and useful life!

Ya think?

I rather enjoyed this chapter, from Jerric telling Martin about his ancestry to speaking with Steward Matius and Captain Inian to saying farewell to Batul and Sigrid.

So I see Jerric is taking the Bosmer path, through the wilderness. A good idea, since it is likely that more assassins might by lying in wait on the obvious routes to Weynon. Likewise, his idea that Martin should get out of his robes and wear something normal is again, good thinking.

So Matius is now the Steward? That makes good sense, as well as promoting Inian to his old job. His decision to give Jerric his cuirass makes much more sense now, as he is now formally giving up the military life and becoming a civilian leader.

I loved the little bit about Bocchus and Jerric in the drunk tank! Little things like that really make a character and setting come alive.

Atronach’s Redeemer is a wonderful name for a sword, and with a perfect enchantment behind it!

Or because you don’t know how to use a comb


I loved Sigrd's explanation of how alchemy and sigil stone enchanting work. It seems Teresa is not the only natural alchemist around.

A great prelude to leaving Kvatch.

“I’m too old to stand here and try to convince a post that it’s made of wood.”
I loved this!

You consistently and effectively wove just the right touches throughout this story that displayed that Jerric and these people all knew each other and were all residents of Kvatch.

In the scene with Batul, you really struck that magical blend of truth, poignancy and humor. Well done!

'Calm purpose rose up inside him, and he realized it didn’t matter what he wanted. Surprisingly, the thought was a comfort.'
This is a brilliant passage. Despite what could almost seem contradictory, it makes absolute perfect sense.

haute ecole rider: I’m glad you enjoyed it! It was mostly taking care of business, but the characters made me want to linger.

SubRosa: You got it, and now Jerric has a reason to thank Maglir. I’m glad you approve of Savlian’s new job. The game’s treatment seemed abrupt and unsatisfying to me. Darnand disagrees with Sigrid on the subject of Jerric’s alchemy, and Felen will weigh in on the subject soon. Darnand would point out that if Jerric was a natural alchemist like Teresa, surely he would find a way to make himself smell better. Apricots and vanilla, aaaaah! Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Thank you for your kind words, Acadian! Batul struck me as a no-nonsense survivor, and someone Jerric would have known well. To my surprise, she was ready with a joke. The passage you pointed out is important to understanding Jerric’s mindset throughout this chapter. Starting over has been postponed for him, and grieving has been interrupted. Thank you so much for drawing attention to it!



Chapter 8: Running, Part 1

When Jerric and Flash reached the rocks at the base of the Kvatch Road, Martin stepped out from his cover. He wore plain clothing under a dark grey cloak. His sturdy shoes looked well-worn, and Jerric guessed they were his own. A dagger hung from Martin’s belt. He carried rolled blankets and a small pack in his hands. Jerric took the bedroll and added it to Flash’s load. “Do you want to put that on Flash, or carry it?” Jerric asked him, nodding to the pack.

“Carry it.” Martin shrugged it over his shoulders. “Lead on.”

They started walking down the Gold Road. Meadowlarks trilled their joy from the thickets on both sides of the road. Flash playfully nudged Jerric’s back as they walked, snorting wetly on his neck. The sun shone warm in the cloudless sky. Jerric had a troubling feeling of disconnection. He had to look down at his stained surcoat to remember what was real. He realized that he needed to make a plan.

“I think we should take the road as far as Skingrad,” he decided. “I know a place to stop for food, and I need to get my sword recharged. We can cut north from there across the Imperial Reserve and hope we’re not seen leaving the road. What do you think, Brother Martin?”

“Just Martin now, I must leave the priest behind.” They walked a few more paces. “You will be recognized in your Kvatch cuirass. Young Rilian told your tale to everyone who came through the camp while he was recovering. That lad could be a bard.”

Jerric considered. “I suppose it won’t hurt to be seen going east. We could be heading almost anywhere in Cyrodiil. I’d like to push hard until we get to Skingrad. Only stop after sunset until moonrise, then keep going as soon as we have enough light. We can rest when we get away from people. Can you do it? Good. I’ll go into the Mages Guild, you and Flash should be safe hiding out around the Grateful Pass Stable. Shout if there’s trouble, you should get Tilmo from the stable and a Skingrad guard.” He dug into his daypack and pulled out Sigrid’s package. “Flatbread around some kind of meat. Here you go. Eat and then we’ll save our breath for walking.”

They passed a lot of folk on the road, and Jerric’s cuirass did attract attention. They kept moving each time someone hailed them, calling out their greetings and waving off the questions that followed. Jerric set a pace that had Martin trotting every few steps to keep up. The number of small caravans headed toward Kvatch made Jerric hopeful. Soon Sigrid will have some salt to put on her mystery sandwiches, he thought.

They got most of the way into Gnoll’s Meeting Camp before the residents had them surrounded, peppering them with questions. One lad’s piercing treble rang out over the other voices. “Jerric, aren’t you the Hero of Kvatch? The one who closed the gate and saved the city?” Jerric recognized the freckled face and solemn, dark brown eyes. Carmia’s boy, Faustino.

“The city was destroyed, no one saved it,” Jerric told him. He saw Faustino’s face fall, and he realized that they needed to believe in a hero. This isn’t about you, he told himself. He looked around at the other folk who were crowding him. “Savlian Matius is the Hero of Kvatch. Almost everyone that’s left alive, he got out of the city. He discovered that the Gate could be closed, and he led the fight that drove out the daedra. Savlian Matius serves the people now as Steward of the city.” Jerric took a breath. “Berich Inian is the Hero of Kvatch. He leads the City Guard now as Captain. Menien Goneld. Ilend Vonius. Many brave folk went in to close that Gate, and most of them were lost in the Deadlands. Those are the names of your heroes. They kept the daedra from your homes. Now there’s work to be done in Kvatch, and opportunity for those with the strong backs and stomachs to do it.” Martin stood beside Flash while Jerric made his speech, and Jerric could not read his expression. “They need food and supplies,” he continued. “In these times you don’t need to wield a sword to be a hero.”

Jerric saw questions on many faces, but he turned away from them. He caught Carmia’s eye. “A moment, Carmia.” She walked with him the few steps to the cookfire. The others talked amongst themselves now, comparing their versions of what he had just said. What rumors did I just start, he wondered. He turned his attention to Carmia. “I need food for a journey. I can’t explain, and I can’t pay you. There’s trouble.”

Carmia gave him a piercing look. “You’ve never asked anyone here for a favor, and I don’t expect you will again. And don’t let it out that I did one for you.” Carmia began filling a small sack with vegetables and apples. “I trust your trouble won’t follow you here.”

That was the risk he had not wanted to take. “If anyone asks about me, don’t try to lie. You can’t hide that I was here, but you don’t know where I’m going.” He kept his voice low. “I want to you consider moving to Kvatch this winter. Faustino’s already a hunter; he’ll thrive wherever you put him. It’s Lavina I’m thinking about. How old is she now, eight? She’s grown up wild out here, and free. But there’s a cost to that, too. I know why you made the choices you did, but now it doesn’t have to be that way. In Kvatch you can live inside city walls, and no one will care who you used to be. We lost all of our children, Carmia. Every one of them. Lavina would have a chance to be anyone she can be. Out here she won’t have many options, and you have to split the coins you get too many ways. You turned away from your old life, how are you going to feel when Lavina finds out the easiest way to earn is on her back? Matilene was hardly more than a kid when she tried to stick her hand down my drawers. And I guess you know the next fellow didn’t turn her down.”

“You’re one to judge Matilene. She’s taken plenty of drakes from you over the years.” Carmia shoved the filled sack against his middle hard enough to make him wince.

“Only after we were both old enough. I’m the last one to judge her, but you know most of her earnings go to drink. How much of that is so she can stand to smell the next stranger? I’m asking you if that’s what you want for your daughter.” Jerric made a show of handing something back to Carmia. She took the imaginary coins from his empty hand.

“City walls are a cage, Jerric. Lavina’s not yours, stay out of it.”

“I know she’s not, Carmia. Just like I know some day I’ll walk down here and see her looking at me with those hard eyes, just like the others. I’ve said more than you wanted to hear, but I’m not sorry.” He raised the sack of food. “Thank you for this, I won’t forget it.” He started up the path toward the road.

“Jerric!” Carmia called after him. He turned around at looked at her. “You’re not wrong,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

Jerric nodded. He collected Flash and Martin, and they left the camp.


The chapel bells rang four of the morning watch as Jerric jogged toward the Skingrad Mages Guild. Julianos, he thought. I’m sure I’m a stranger to you. He slipped quietly through the silent hall to the second floor living quarters. The central lounge was empty, but still lit by candles. Vigge’s door stood open, as did Erthor’s. Not a good sign, Jerric thought. He listened at Sulinus’ door and heard snoring. He listened at Adrienne’s door and heard nothing. Vigge’s most likely to be in there with Adrienne, he decided. Or maybe not, as he remembered the bathing room incident. He knocked softly on Adrienne’s door, then again louder. He opened it a crack. The room appeared to be dark. He opened the door wider and called out. “Apologies. It’s Jerric.” He pushed the door all the way open, and light from the lounge fell across the floor.

Adrienne slid down from the bed and strode to the door. Her blonde hair lay over her shoulder in a neat braid, and her bare feet made no sound on the thick rug. Bretons, Jerric thought. Put her in a nightgown, and even this frightening harpy looks sweetly pretty. “I trust you have a good reason for waking me?” she demanded.

Adrienne’s tone matched her expression in its severity. So much for appearances, thought Jerric. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Guild Master,” he said respectfully. “I’m looking for Vigge.”

“Vigge has gone to Kvatch,” she snapped. “Are you a member of the Guard now, Associate? I trust you didn’t steal that.” She indicated the wolf on his chest.

“No. It belonged to Captain Matius, he gave it to me. Steward Matius.” How did we miss Vigge on the road, Jerric wondered. Must have passed while we were at Gnoll’s Meeting. Get to the point. “Look, I need my sword recharged, and I can’t wait. I don’t even have enough coin to cover what it will cost. I know it’s not your problem. I’m asking you to help me.” Puppy dog eyes won’t work on this one, he thought. She probably eats puppies.

“I’m sure you don’t expect me to perform this task for you. You’ll find soul gems in the cabinet in Vigge’s workroom.” Jerric stood stunned while she glared up at him. “Well?”

“Nothing. Thank you.” Jerric retreated before she changed her mind or remembered she hadn’t mentioned payment.

Vigge’s cabinet contained baskets spilling over with soul gems, unmarked and disorganized. He glanced over at the door that he guessed Druja slept behind. No, he decided. I can figure this out myself. He held Chillrend in one hand and picked up a soul gem in the other. Like alchemy, he thought. Probably. He gingerly sent his magicka into the gem and discovered that it hummed with energy. Startled, he almost dropped it. He gave the gem a nudge with his will, and the energy buzzed through him on the way into Chillrend. He felt the gem crumble in his hand. The dust sifted away to nothing before it hit the floor. Huh, he thought. That felt kind of nice.

He picked up another gem and tested it. This one felt less powerful. Then he had an idea. He sent his magicka into Chillrend this time, and he was shocked at how much he learned. He had an instant sense of the sword’s power, the nature of its enchantment, and how much energy was left inside it. He even felt the void that could still be filled with magicka. He picked through the soul gems until he found one that closely matched Chillrend’s emptiness. Another nudge, and power thrilled through him again. Vigge has an excellent job, Jerric decided. He pocketed a handful of gems and headed for the door.

He spun around on the threshold and strode back to the kitchen before he could start feeling guilty. It’s for the Empire, he told himself. Cook will forgive me. He filled a bag and left, crunching on an apple.

I tried not to spam your thread with quotes, but could not help it on these two chapters.


All the interchanges between Jerric and the Kvatch residents were so natural, absolutley perfect blend of the comfortableness of people who have known each other all their lives - and the trauma and loss they just endured. All of them could have been quoted for examples - but this one was my favorite:






This scene was a perfect ending to the Kvatch crisis:




Sort of like the lone wanderer and dogmeat leaving the wasteland at the end of Fallout 3, lol. AWESOME !!!


***

I love this (snipped) - what a perfect line !! :




This has to be the best answer I've seen yet anywhere to answer the question, "Hey, aren't you the one they call the 'Hero of Kvatch'?" :





AWESOME !!!


This had me stunned breathless and speechless :




*****



BWAAAHAAA !!!!


*****

The whole end of the chapter where Jerric learns how to recharge his weapons was incredible !!!


You have made Jerric feel like a living, breathing person we may know personally. Everytime I read your story I am struck by what a tremendously creative imagination you have; a huge ability to weave characters that are believable and memorable...and the skill and talent to form words that paint mental images in the readers mind.

AWESOME WRITE !!!! (as always !!!)

Ahh, time for a big bowl of grits for lunch!

Flatbread around some kind of meat.
Since Flash is still alive, we can guess that it is not horse. Still, there was a lot of two-legged meat that got cooked recently in Kvatch...

The city was destroyed, no one saved it,
This is something I always think when someone calls me the Hero of Kvatch in the game.

Now we see the payoff for your introduction of Gnoll's Meeting Camp. Not only a friendly stop for Jerric to gather supplies, but perhaps a jumping-off point for some people to help rebuild Kvatch? Jerric's speech was wonderful, pointing out all the heroes that helped mitigate the disaster at Kvatch, and who are still needed to put things right again.

Even better is his conversation with Carmia about her daughter. All truth there, and ugly truth at that.

Finally, a wonderful description of using soul gems to charge Chillrend.

Forgot to mention:
Darnand would point out that if Jerric was a natural alchemist like Teresa, surely he would find a way to make himself smell better.
It is not that he is not capable of it. Jerric is a man, so he has no desire to smell better. Or comb his hair, etc...

'Jerric set a pace that had Martin trotting every few steps to keep up. '
What a delightful little nod to the game and exactly how followers tag along.

'Savlian Matius is the Hero of Kvatch.'
I have said, ever since meeting him at Kvatch, that when it comes to a noble selfless hero, he is the gritty real deal.

The whole scene with Carmia was powerful, poignant and very well-written.

Adrienne is one scary puppy-eating Breton! Wow. What a neat job you did with her.

And finally, Jerric discovers Vigge's whole little basket of sex toys soul gems and how nice they can make one feel.

I'm inclined to agree with Acadian about Salvian

So a quick stop in Skingrad, and we learn so much.

Others have commented on Jerric's attitude when he meets people following Kvatch.

What I found really interesting was Jerric's actions at the Skingrad Guildhall. His process of charging Chillrend and loading up on soulgems, his thoughts about taking an apple from the kitchen, and his dialogue with Adrienne (not to mention his thoughts about the sleeping arrangements) make it a great installment.

mALX: I appreciate your comments so much!! It helps me to learn which parts stand out for you. You are so encouraging!!! Jerric definitely went on a few little rants at Gnoll’s Meeting. Since he has been such an enthusiastic patron of brothels, I thought he should speak up about the darker aspects of the profession. Your kind words made my day, mALX!!

SubRosa: Two-legged meat !! Your comment inspired a remark that you will find in the section after this one!! You’re right about Gnoll’s Meeting. Who better to rebuild than those who have already scratched something out of nothing. Blurting out that the city was destroyed and then making his speech to change what he said was an important moment for Jerric, I’m glad you pointed it out. As was what he said to Carmia, he needed to acknowledge that it’s not all fun and games for the working girl. Thank you for your insightful comments, SubRosa!

Acadian: We’ve had a lot of where is Martin moments in the West Weald. Most memorably they passed too near Shardrock and got mixed up with the bears. Jerric killed one and got away, then he couldn’t find Martin. Kept getting the message that he’s unconscious. Eventually he had to go to the nearby shrine and keep fast travelling there until he caught Martin in a brief moment of consciousness. That episode didn’t quite make it into the story!!

The Carmia scene meant a lot to me, I’m glad to hear it came across well. I’m so glad you enjoyed Adrienne. I figure anyone who can lose one quarter of her employees is either very distracted or has a screw loose. Maybe both. And if Vigge has to play with little buzzing stones all day, who can blame him for… no, that’s still no excuse for his behavior. Thank you, Acadian!

Zalphon: Me too, Zalphon!

Captain Hammer: The late night visit to the Skingrad Mages Guild was a little like riding along in Jerric’s mind, and I was worried that I put too much Jerric-thought in it. You’ve eased my mind. He really started waking up when he got to Skingrad, and I wanted to show it. Thank you, Captain Hammer!



Chapter 8: Running, Part 2

Jerric, Martin, and Flash walked north through a rocky meadow valley. Sparse woodland lay behind and to the west, and denser forest rose up to the east. Flash snatched mouthfuls of grass as they went. The land had started to rise and fall in small hills under them. Their pace had slowed to accommodate the terrain. Tall trees blocked their view of the distant highlands, but Jerric had complete confidence in his sense of direction outdoors. As many times as they cut left or right to avoid the steepest hollows, he easily got them going straight again. No matter where they came out on the Black Road, he thought Weynon Priory should be easy to find.

Ferns and calf-high grasses swished against Jerric’s legs. A high breeze sifted through the treetops in the adjacent woods. They sounded as if they could speak to one another. The afternoon light made jewels of the late summer flowers peeking through the golden meadow grass. Jerric knew he should be drinking in the peace, but he wasn’t. Lack of sleep or decent food had worn down his nerves. He had to keep his mind from drifting back to Kvatch, and it wanted to go there the way a tongue can’t help testing a sore tooth. He needed to feel that clear sense of purpose again. Instead he felt irritable. He looked over at the source of his annoyance.

Martin looked down at his feet as they walked. His shoulders slumped, and he moved as if his pack was filled with stones. This sad little man is my emperor, thought Jerric. He has to lead us into war. Enough of this. “Tired?” Jerric asked him. “Hungry? What’s the problem, Martin?” He let anger give his voice a hard edge.

Martin shook his head. “Kvatch,” he said morosely. His voice sounded heavy with regret. “I wish I had never gone there. I brought destruction down on them.” He sighed. “I blame myself.”

“I blame you, too,” Jerric shot back. Martin looked over at him, startled. Jerric returned his stare until he saw an answering anger in Martin. “That’s right. It’s unfair. This has nothing to do with who you are. It’s what you are. So you can try to hide from it, or do what you need to do. Are you going to keep hiding?”

Martin drew himself up. He looked extremely affronted. “Of course not.”

“Good. You said you’d left the priest behind, but you need to leave the rest of it, too. These are your last days as just Martin. You need to do what it takes so you’ll be ready for what’s coming. When the people look to you, they’ll want to see an emperor.” Jerric watched Martin as they walked. I hope I know what I’m doing, he thought. He was surprised to feel his annoyance receding.

“You’re right,” Martin said, finally. He lifted his head and looked out over the meadow. “Dwelling on the past will not advance our cause. I must view it as self-indulgence, for it serves no other purpose. It is time I looked to the future.”

Flash snorted and stopped in his tracks. Unease tickled the back of Jerric’s neck. “Or maybe the right now,” he said. He gestured for Flash to wait, but the horse was not moving forward. “There’s something…” Jerric loosened Chillrend and slipped his shield over his arm. He moved forward cautiously, looking to the right into the woods. They were on the edge of a darker, denser part of the forest. Jerric had hoped to escape the predators from both the meadows and the forest by staying along the border, but now he thought he might have exposed them to both kinds. Jerric heard brush cracking to pieces in the woods. The ground began to shake with the thunder of something heavy galloping at them. “Martin, run!” Chillrend rang joyously in his hand, but his gut clenched with alarm. He saw the dark shape, and a grunting roar confirmed it. “Bear!” he shouted.

He stumbled over the uneven ground as he ran toward the menace. The ferns concealed fallen logs that tripped his feet. He held his shield arm out for balance and brought Chillrend up. The bear looked like a black mountain bearing down on him, and its open maw was a fanged cave. I should try to scare it, Jerric thought. He called up his fire spell and cast it at the charging beast. The flare hissed against the fur along its side. The bear lowered its head away from the flames, but it didn’t slow down. Jerric stepped and slashed at its burned shoulder as it stormed past him. Pale fat peeled open over raw muscle under his newly sharpened blade. He was impressed for a fleeting instant until his heels hit something hard. The bear thundered to a halt and turned around, bawling out its pain and fury. Jerric saw treetops and sky as he toppled over onto his back. His elbows slipped on the crushed ferns, but his feet found the log that had tripped him. Pushing against it got him nowhere. The bear reared up over the log, spittle frothing out in ropes. Blue light flashed, and Jerric sent his fire spell crackling over the bear again. The bear let its breath out in a deafening roar. Jerric rolled frantically to the side as it bulk crashed down onto him. He heard a dry snap like wood breaking. Pain blocked out the rest of the world for a moment, until he realized the bear was on him. The stench of burned hair filled Jerric’s mouth and nose. His mind screamed with panic over its labored grunting. Then the bear flashed blue and was gone. Martin stood in its place.

Jerric looked down and saw that his knee was somehow facing the wrong way. He realized that he was shouting. “Aaaah, my mother fetching leg, you skiit-sniffing coochka!” he howled. Martin had begun to reach for him, but he drew back, his face full of alarm. “Not you, the bear! Dammit, pull it straight!” Jerric heard a rippling laugh, and his stomach lurched with more than pain. “Spriggan! Pull it, Martin!” Martin did. While Jerric screamed again, Martin healed him. Jerric stared at him for an instant in shock. Then he scrambled to his knees, searching for Chillrend. “Run, Martin!”

The spriggan’s balletic leaps made her seem to float over the ground as she approached. Jerric’s hand found Chillrend, then his legs launched him at the spriggan. The pain’s sudden disappearance left adrenaline surging through him. The spriggan scribed graceful arcs in the air with her arms, giggling. Before she could finish her spell, Jerric had reached her. He dropped his weight behind his wolf shield and bashed her to the ground. Her legs felt hard under his, even through his armor. He raised Chillrend and chopped at her torso and neck. Chips of bark and wood flew through the air. She struggled under him, but not for long.

Jerric pushed himself to his feet, shaking. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down. He turned to look at Martin walking toward him up the small rise, through some small shrubs. He saw Flash grazing down in the meadow beyond, unperturbed. His stomach heaved up some more bitter liquid, and this time Jerric leaned to spit it out. Martin opened his mouth to speak.

A splintering crack sounded from the shrubbery behind Jerric. He saw Martin’s face change in an instant. Blue frost filled his hands, and his battle cry rang through the air. “For Akatosh!” he called with majestic fury. The air froze along Jerric’s side as the frost hurtled past him. For a moment Jerric didn’t know whether to turn and attack or kneel at Martin’s feet. He heard the shrub’s leaves softly crackling as they curled up from the frost, and he turned to look. There was no other sound or motion. Whatever it was, he thought that Martin must have killed it.

Jerric motioned for Martin to stay back. Sword at the ready, he moved behind the shrub to investigate. Then he shook his head and laughed in relief. A large rat lay curled on its side, frozen solid. “That’s one powerful frost spell,” Jerric remarked. He dropped the rat in front of Martin. It bounced a little when it hit the ground. “Here’s your kill. Dragonborn.”

Martin viewed his prize. “At least we can eat mine,” he replied. The grim sovereign was gone from his face, and a smile played around his eyes.

Jerric nudged the rat with his boot. “I guess. If we had a few days to thaw it.” He eyed Martin. “You’re not going to ask me to carry it along, are you?”

Martin gave him an arch look. “I’m not going to order you to bring it, no.” Then he laughed. “I suppose we could burn your kill and cook mine on its fire.”

They walked back down to the meadow. Jerric’s tension eased as his heart rate returned to normal. “I’m no hunter,” he admitted. “I guess it’s raw carrots and dry bread again, until something else attacks us.” He clucked his tongue to Flash and started walking. “Maybe we’ll run afoul of a murderous deer.”

“A rogue sheep would also be welcome.”

They walked in the sun for several minutes. “Martin,” Jerric said.

Martin looked across at him. “Yes, Jerric?”

“They say you have dragon blood in your veins. Do you think it’s true?”

“I think it’s true that the Septims had the dragon blood. I’ll be certain what flows through my veins when I hold the Amulet of Kings.”

“Well, I think I got a look at the dragon back there. If you’re killed before we get to the priory, do you think Jauffre will give me the Amulet of Kings? I’d light the Dragonfires for you.”

Martin looked disconcerted. “Well, Jerric, I don’t think it works that way.”

“Oh,” Jerric replied. “So the next time we’re attacked, how about if you stay behind me?” Jerric made an attempt to look stern.

“Oh, of course.” Martin looked mildly embarrassed. “I suppose I should have run when you shouted.”

“I suppose,” Jerric replied. “But thanks for killing the bear.” He dug into his daypack and passed bread and carrots to Martin. Flash nudged his back again, so he bit off chunks of carrot and handed them to Flash as they walked. Jerric decided that their argument and the following fight with the forest creatures had lightened the mood considerably.

“What do you know of the Doom Stones, Jerric?” Martin asked. His easy tone confirmed Jerric’s thoughts.

“Nothing. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What are Doom Stones? Even if it’s a long story, I have the time to hear it.”

“Magical standing stones, they can be found throughout Cyrodiil. They are covered with runes that glow at night. Doom Stones stand in stone circles. They are named for the stars and heavenly features.”

“What do they do?”

“Nothing any more, most believe. Some think their magics are still at work, just unknown to us.”

“All right. Why are you telling me this?”

“You know how the gods watch us, and guide us with their unseen hands.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Jerric replied wryly.

“It is my theory that the Doom Stones only respond to those the gods deem worthy. I have sought out several of these stones, and had no success unraveling their mysteries.”

“Unraveling their… What did you do, exactly?”

“I went to the stones and sat within the rings. I fasted, prayed, and cast spells upon the stones. I made… offerings. Both during daylight hours and at night. Nothing.”

“But clearly you’re not unknown to the Divines.”

“I did not always follow the Nine. My deeds of renown would not cause them to smile upon me. My life since I converted and became a priest of Akatosh has been a quiet one of study and reflection. You, however, have certainly gained the attention of the gods. I wonder if you would be able to activate a Doom Stone’s magic?”

“What do you think would happen? This isn’t a good time to get struck by lightning. And you need to tell me more about these evil deeds of yours. Should I sleep with one eye open?”

“You have nothing to fear from me. Pride and hunger for power moved me in the past, and I suffered for it. People died. My friends died. But that is past.”

“So, back to the stones.”

“Yes. Some of them are named for the birthsigns, and some for the heavens. The reason is lost in the mists of time, but I believe that they were named with a purpose. Perhaps they impart powers to the supplicant, powers similar to the ones granted by the stars at our birth.”

“That’s interesting. I could use some extra powers. All right, Martin, you bring this up now because…?”

“I believe I am familiar with this area. We’re near the shrine of Sanguine. We will pass within a short distance of one of the Heaven Stones.” Martin looked over at Jerric. “The Jone Stone,” he intoned.

Jerric kept walking. “All right, let’s go see.” Martin’s eyebrows went up. “You thought it would be hard to convince me? They say curiosity killed the Khajiit, but I’m a Nord so we don’t have to worry. Lead the way. We’re going to have to limit the offerings, though. We don’t have much to give, and I’d like my blood to stay inside me.”

“I think we should reach it by nightfall.”

“So,” Jerric said a few moments later. “The shrine of Sanguine?”

“A story for another time,” replied Martin.

By the time Jerric had begun to doubt that Martin knew where he was going, he stopped them at the top of a wooded hill. Dusk shrouded the rocks and fallen logs, but a ring of tall stones below them stood out from their surroundings. These stones were a light tan color, unlike the grey outcrops that sprinkled the forest and adjacent meadows. As they drew near, Jerric saw that the area between the outer ring of stones and the central monolith was empty, blackened ground. He began to get an uneasy feeling. He gave Flash the signal to wait. Martin led him to the front of the monolith. It stood easily three times Jerric’s height. Red runes flared to life as they watched, glowing with an angry light. “Uh, Martin…” said Jerric.

He felt Martin’s hand on his back. “Step into the ring. The stars shine upon the stone, we have arrived in time to witness it.” Martin’s hand pressed against him. “Go ahead.” Jerric stepped gingerly onto the black dirt and faced the glowing stone. “Try kneeling,” Martin suggested.

“No way,” Jerric said nervously. “Any gods who’re watching would know it was a lie. I’m about to piss myself and run, not kneel. Do you think there’s going to be fire?” Martin didn’t answer. He shifted his feet and held his hands out to the stone. “All right, here I go.” The stone shuddered silently to life under his hands, but he didn’t flinch. He sent his will gently into it, the way he had with the soul gems. To his relief there was no flash of fire. Instead he had the sense that he was somehow being filled, or becoming denser. He stood for a long moment against the stone. Then he stepped back to Martin.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Martin sighed. “I thank you for your indulgence.”

Jerric stared at him. “You mean you didn’t notice anything? Something happened, Martin. I got Jone’s gift, or something. Here, I’ll try it.” Jerric held his hands out slightly to the side and felt for the new something. “It’s not a spell,” he said. “It’s a whole new part of me. I think it’s like my Woad. It’s not connected to my magicka. Stand back and watch. I’ll try it.” Jerric reached for his new power, and it slipped over and through him like it had always been there. “I feel… I have no idea. What do you think it did? Hit me, maybe it’s a shield.”

“Well,” said Martin, “You’re invisible.”

Jerric held out his hands. “Ha ha! Look at that. Invisible! And I don’t even know any illusion spells. Martin, this is outstanding! You have to try it.”

“Oh no, I don’t think I should seek anything from the gods right now, if they are even the source of this power. It is enough that you have brought me new understanding. I thank you for it.”

Martin’s reluctance made Jerric remember his unease. He hoped the new power didn’t come with a price he didn’t know about. “Well I guess we should camp near here,” he said. “No fire tonight. Let’s find a spot out on the edge of the meadow. Flash can graze, and there will be more moonlight.” He started walking away, then he remembered Martin couldn’t see him. “Invisible!” he called out. “There’s something more, too. I guess I’ll have to study on it.”

Yaaay for the pep talk! Martin certainly needed a kick in the tush to get him out of his blue funk. I noticed it worked on Jerric too, though how Jerric could kick himself in the tush is beyond me.

Loved the encounter with the bear and the spriggan. Those things are almost as bad as the will o'wisps! I never know if that damned bear charging me is a real one, or just one of those beeyoches' summons. Sometimes I hear that annoying giggle, other times the first thing I hear is the whoosh of the spell. Sometimes nothing at all, just that black mountain of fur coming at me!

And I loved the discussion of the Doom Stones. It felt pretty true to what little we have about them in the Lore. Though most of it are just hearsay, and not really contemporaneous accounts, but still . . .

S'more!

He had to keep his mind from drifting back to Kvatch, and it wanted to go there the way a tongue can’t help testing a sore tooth.
This was a wonderful metaphor.

Poor Jerric! I know what it feels like to dislocate a knee. I did it myself years ago, and had to pop it back in place myself. The pain was indescribable. My leg has never been the same since.

A rousing battle with the spriggan and her black bear! I see not everyone has the luck of Teresa, who would have petted one and probably watered the other!

They say curiosity killed the Khajiit, but I’m a Nord so we don’t have to worry.
But satisfaction brought the Khajiit back! Nords are not quite so fortunate however...

Finally, I loved Jerric's reaction to the doomstone. The ones that are surrounded by flowers and other plants all look nice and inviting. The ones that are all blasted and burned dirt always give me the heebie jeebies too!


nits:
Why is he telling me this, Jerric wondered. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
It seems redundant for Jerric to think it, then say it immediately. I think you can just drop the part about him thinking it.

I wonder if you would be able to activate a Doom Stone’s magic.
I think you probably want a question mark at the end, rather than a paragraph.

Hey, I want some healing like that! Broken femur one minute, running at a Spriggan the next! But that's exactly what the healing magic in the game allows, so that's just the way to write it.

I'll second Haute's comment about the summoned and real bears, except that I usually kill the Spriggan and then it's panic when the bear with her doesn't disappear, because it wasn't hers.

Nice frozen rat piece. Balances the intensity of the Spriggan encounter perfectly.