So what happens? Can't leave Jerric stuck in that gate! It's been 2 1/2 years! I need to know!

Previously: County Bruma. Fighters Guild members Jerric, Kjestrid, Shamir-do, and Gjaever entered a Gate to Oblivion. They arrived in an icy, unstable realm. The Gate closed, trapping them. Jerric’s summoned frost atronach Ishckrihk located another open Gate and a possible return route to Mundus.


SubRosa: Ah, “willed” sounds much better. Thank you! I was a little surprised at how Izzy and Jerric connected in the last episode. I wonder if I will ever find a chance to contrast a daedric elemental being with an aedric one. Our Nord is a terrible spy. At least he technically made it out of County Bruma before announcing his full name!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Itchy has been fun to write. Thanks for spotting that wayward d.

Darkness Eternal: Thank you, DE! They will soon figure out where they are.

Kazaera: Thank you, Kaz! The Gate closings can be tedious in the game. I’m glad changing them up a bit in the story world keeps the danger close.

ghastley: Kjestrid is in deeper trouble than she’s ever been, but so far she’s proving her worth. She’s still not entirely sure about Jerric, though. Thank you, ghastley!

McBadgere: Thank you, McB! Here’s another one!

mALX: You got it, Alga’s “Mother Mara mild” line from the game was a warning that even though she and Honmund weren’t married, Jerric should keep his trousers buckled around her man. Poor Jerric was out of sorts with all of the “real” Skyrim Nords and attempts at secrecy. Pretty soon he would have stood on the table at the Tap and Tack and yelled, “I’m Jerric! Come and get me!” Good thing a Gate opened, he knows what to do about that! Thank you, mALX!

kafn8ed: A warm welcome, and thank you very much for the bump! I went back to this story for my NaNo project in November, and here are the results!


Next: A chilly hike.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Twelve

The ground became rockier as they climbed. Icy grit made drifts in the lower areas. The distance felt farther than Jerric had expected. Uncertainty gnawed at his nerves. He couldn’t sink into his travel mind the way he liked.

Ishckrihk led the way, three atronach paces ahead of Jerric and to his left. Jerric wondered how long his summoning would last in this realm, since he was not taking damage and repairing himself. He knew that he imbued the atronach with a certain amount of his magicka at the summoning, but after that it was up to the frost man.

Now that Jerric was paying attention to his magicka, he noticed that the steady flow from his gulp of Jerric’s Juice potion had slowed to a trickle. He squinted ahead at Ishckrihk, remembering how the atronach had reached into his well of magicka as he formed. Here was a being of immeasurable age and experience. Who knew how many Nirn centuries had passed while Ishckrihk was in the Void, or how many lifetimes he had spent in untold realms? Did daedric entities even age? No wonder he was laughing at me.

Jerric trotted a few steps to catch up with him.

“Ishckrihk.”

The atronach angled his head knob in response. “Ck.”

Jerric decided to keep the rest between the two of them. ‘Show me your home.’

Ishckrihk’s head tilted back and then forward again.

‘Your place of origin,’ Jerric explained. ‘The realm where you… spawn..?’ He imagined all manner of young creatures and placed them in the eye of his mind for Ishckrihk to view. Then he recalled what he had told Kjestrid. Instead of young creatures that change as they grow, he pictured snakes and fish hatching and then becoming larger versions of their younger selves.

Jerric’s mind filled with images in reply from the atronach. He struggled to keep his feet moving as he concentrated.

In Ishckrihk’s vision he stood atop one of many cliffs that curved like ribbons impossibly set on their narrow sides. Crystalline spires jutting up from the ground towered over him, bathed in light from a blue-green sky. The height took his breath. Then he realized that he didn’t need to breathe.

The ground was smooth. Hard but made of flowing shapes. In contrast the ice spikes were all angles. A keening sound began. He felt an answering vibration build inside him.

The spikes began to move.

“Jerric!” Kjestrid shouted.

His real eyes opened to the cold as something yanked him backward. Jerric scrambled for balance, wheeling his arms in the air. They had reached the edge of a sharp decline. It wasn’t a cliff, but it would have been a bad fall.

Ishckrihk’s faint light glimmered ahead and down the slope.

“Did you try to walk me off the edge, ice man?” Jerric yelled at him.

Ishckrihk’s head lump turned in imitation of a mortal’s. He lifted his arms up slightly from his sides.

“What was that about?” Kjestrid demanded.

“I forgot I was walking,” said Jerric. “Uh, that is to say, I asked him… Well, he’s not from here, I don’t think.”

Kjestrid snorted. “You said it.” She began her descent, cutting the sides of her boots into the slope.

Gjaever took a position between Jerric and Ishckrihk.

“Jerric said that he does not think,” Shamir-do explained. The Khajiit had bundled his head in such a way that his ears and whiskers still stuck out. His eyes squeezed in catly humor.

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks for the catch.”

“Gjaever had the honor.” Shamir-do gestured for Jerric to move ahead. “But now this one guards Jerric’s back.”

The terrain looked more difficult than it was to traverse. When they reached a point below some far bluffs, the wind became easier to ignore. The mountains and volcano that Ishckrihk had shown Jerric did not become visible to their eyes. Eventually Jerric decided that landscape lay behind the bluffs, as they had dropped in elevation while walking.

The magicka from his potion had stopped its flow. Jerric noticed a slow but steady drain. It was coming from Ishckrihk.

Jerric called a halt. “There’s a situation.”

He waited for them to gather around, Gjaever maintaining his defensive position.

“Keeping him summoned drains my magicka. I have a good supply of my potion, but—”

“What’s your plan?” Kjestrid asked him.

“I want to keep him, at least for now.”

“All right. You’re in charge of your magicka. We’re used to getting along without a lot of spells.”

Jerric weighed his waterskin of Jerric’s Juice as they resumed their walk. He had as much as he could take without poisoning himself, but experience made him wary. He decided to let his reserve get low rather than sipping at the potion. After all, many daedric creatures used magical attacks that he might absorb, including Ishckrihk. The thought of his guildmates’ reaction to his inviting the atronach to attack him with frost almost made him grin. Then the image of Kjestrid bleeding out for the lack of a healing spell brought him back to the moment.

“Ishckrihk,” Jerric called out. “That way, toward the lower pass, right?” He gestured as well as picturing what he meant for clarity. “I’m sending you back for a bit. But stay ready.” Whatever that means to a disembodied being in the Void.

At the affirmative reply, Jerric dispelled him.

They stopped to rest more often than Jerric thought necessary. Rations were consumed without discussion. They left the blowing salj behind and climbed through the pass to a high plain of grey ice. In the clearer air distant mountains became visible, pale streaked with red and black. Lava flows, Jerric decided. That explains the fog. Where the grey clouds cleared, white stars gleamed in a black sky. “This is starting to look familiar.”

An orange speck appeared over their left shoulders as they walked. “That’s the other Gate,” Jerric pointed. “We’re getting closer to the Sigil Tower.” He hadn’t realized the depth of his doubt until the sight proved Ishckrihk true.

When Kjestrid called another rest, Jerric broke the silence. “Soon we’ll get to the settlement. We’ll be able to tell which one is the Sigil Tower by the fire coming out the top. It runs up through the middle of the tower like a column. When we take the stone, we won’t be burned. It’s arcane fire. Don’t let it touch you until we have the stone, though. Then it will pull us in and carry us out.”

Kjestrid worked a bit of jerky to the side of her jaw. “Tell us more about that.”

“Well, we’ll be, uh, not solid. Like ghosts. The fire is hot but it won’t be able to burn us.”

“Ghosts can burn,” said Shamir-do.

Jerric gave him a look, unsure if the cat was worried or just annoying.

“How will we all..?” Kjestrid’s half-question hung in the air.

“You grab the stone,” Jerric told her, “and we’ll all hold on to you.”

“Good plan,” said Kjestrid. She gestured with the dried meat. “Jerric will take the stone, and we’ll each hold on to him.”

Jerric decided not to argue. When the time came, whoever was left standing would deal with the stone. “How are you doing with that ring?” he asked Kjestrid. If he had worn a life-detection charm for this long, he would be hard-pressed to move for all of the vomiting.

“It takes some getting used to,” Kjestrid admitted. “I can almost ignore your life signs now. Like you can talk over a pack of kids playing until your own baby cries.”

“You have children?” Perhaps she had adopted some. Jerric could picture Kjestrid naked as clearly as if they still sat in the steam hut. His navel check had never failed him.

“No.”

He nodded at her hand. “Are you still wearing it?”

“Aye.” Kjestrid raised a gloved fist. With her other hand she stuffed the rest of the dried meat into her mouth.

Jerric put his attention to his own meal. Breakfast felt like another lifetime.

“Have you seen anything alive?” he asked after a moment. “The range isn’t great, so the smallest thing could be worth looking at.”

Kjestrid shook her head, chewing.

“This one has smelled nothing,” Shamir-do put in. He sat on his haunches with knees raised, ever ready to spring up. His tail lay still across his lap.

“You staying warm enough?” Jerric asked him. “This place looks dead, but I’d wager that under this snow we’d find something to burn.”

Shamir-do dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Rest is good but cold, and moving is warm but tiring. Kjestrid sets a good balance.”

Jerric glanced over at Gjaever. The big Nord looked like he might nod off into sleep, but Jerric was not fooled.

“What kind of things have you seen in the other realms?” Kjestrid asked. “I want to hear it from you.”

“The places I’ve traveled are all parts of the same realm,” Jerric said. “There are mountains, rocky hills, volcanoes, and rivers of lava. It’s hot and smells like… Like wind from a forge mixed with dust and meat. Our dead don’t rot the way they do at home. They bubble and seep, but I’ve passed the same bloated horse months apart. It never split open.”

“What kind of animals are there? Do they have wildlife?”

“You could say that. Clannfears sometimes move together in herds like grazing beasts. Daedroths seem to have their territories, like bears or the solitary minotaurs you find. The dremora put the scamps to work, though. I’ve never seen them without some task that they’re doing.” He wiggled his fingers. “It’s the thumbs.”

“Do they fight each other? What do they eat?”

“That’s a good question. I’d like to know how to get them to fight each other. I’ve seen scamps play with, uh, meat, and I’ve seen clannfears nip at bloodgrass. Where the dremora dwell they have these blood fountains for healing. Well, they’re in the towers. Not sure how to describe what the dremora are doing there. I’ve not seen any place that makes me think they sleep or cook or eat. Even their… kills are displayed like trophies or something. They sit, though. I’ve seen plenty of chambers with benches where they sit and who knows what they’re doing.” The black rooms in the towers with their red light and flayed mortals hung like decorative objects haunted his dreams. Now they threatened to appear in his waking vision. “Look, you have all seen some skitt in our line of work. This is going to be worse. There is nothing we can do for anyone here except close the Gate so they don’t get company.”

Gjaever had turned to watch Jerric. His eyes looked like a spirit in a mountain.

“How do you know their blood will heal?” Kjestrid asked.

“I found out by accident. Makes sense, dremora hearts make strong healing potions. So do xivilai hearts. They look like mortal hearts only,” he made a gesture, “bigger.”

Shamir-do let out a hiss that sounded like magesss.

“Darnand is not a necromancer,” Jerric told him. “But some of his books have— never mind.”

“They told us about dremora,” Kjestrid said. “But not about xivilai.”

“Big half-naked grey fetchers. Horns. They cast a lot of spells. They can absorb a lot of spells, too. Tremendous reach. Swing a war hammer with one hand. But they don’t like frost, so maybe we won’t see them here. And they work alone. Not like the dremora.”

“Frost or frost magic?” Kjestrid asked.

Jerric blinked at her. “You make a good point. I don’t know.”

“It is said that the Hero of Kvatch ate the hearts of his enemies to give him power,” said Shamir-do.

Jerric pointed his apple at the Khajiit. “Savlian Matius does not eat people.”

Kjestrid snorted. “We all know who they’re talking about.”

“You’ll get to hear your own names whispered when we get back,” Jerric said. “I hope you don’t have to eat any hearts before this is over.” He tucked the apple core into his pack, reluctant to leave anything of home in this realm.

Yeah, that would be gross, I agree. Hope no hearts get eaten.

Hee hee Jerric communicates with an atronach, through mind-pictures! Wish I could do that with my cat sometimes.

The only hearts worth eating are Daedric Hearts! ;P

Enjoying this still! Glad you got back into this over November . . .

I suspect that if this was the Nano project, instead of an interruption to it, that we might be getting a bit more than one episode.

WOOOOTTT!!

And Renee, daedra-heart-eating is Buffy's party-trick, not Jerric's.

What a delightful New Year surprise!

I found myself reaching for hat, scarf and gloves during this perilously frigid trek. Brrrr!

How very Jerric to follow his curiosity with a question to Itchy Creek then become dangerously distracted by the images that Itchy provided. You have wonderfully developed the details of Jerric’s relationship with his frosty pal – to include magicka management as a significant consideration, given the Nord’s blessing/curse birthsign.

“Rest is good but cold, and moving is warm but tiring. Kjestrid sets a good balance.” - - Shamir-do is a wise cat.

“Savlian Matius does not eat people.” - - True, that. Buffy only knew him to nibble – and gently – on one small elf. . . .

@ghastley - Hee! Buffy certainly led Raminus Polus to believe she had eaten the heart of a dremora. . . but only her paladin knows for sure.


Nit? “I want keep him, at least for now.” - - I know this is dialogue but did Jerric omit a ‘to’ before the word keep?

No, no, this is Julian’s specialty! Cut them up like sweet pepper and eat ‘em raw . . .

Christmas is complete. Books- check. New games- check. Food- check. More Jerric- WOO HOO!

Let me get this quote out of the way first because I just can't help myself- I blame story-induced giddiness...



And I see Grits, working in at the keyboard, and that warms my furry heart.



An eternal question regarding cats- at least in my experience.

The whole description of the Oblivion plane is worth quoting- it says as much about Jerric as about the scenes he describes.

And the closing- which I am going to quote because it is too good not to:



Such wonderful characterization and poignancy.

Looks like Itchy comes from a place not too different from Kal-El's, except for the lack of a red sun. But Superman would not try to walk someone off a cliff. Obviously Frostman plays by different rules...

I liked your world-building of Jerric's magical-fuel limitations concerning keeping Itchy around indefinitely. It helps keep magicians from being overpowered.

We all know Buffy is the one who eats Dremora hearts! Just ask Raminus Polus.

Previously: Fighters Guild members Jerric, Kjestrid, Shamir-do, and Gjaever are trapped in an icy Oblivion realm. They are attempting to close an open Gate in the hope that it will take them back to Mundus. Preferably to Tamriel.


Renee: I wish I could do that with my dog! Although I’m pretty sure he’d just keep showing me pictures of cheese and rotisserie chicken.

haute ecole rider: I’m glad you’re still enjoying it! My favorite Jerric time is story time.

ghastley: A bit more! Thanks, ghastley!

Acadian: Jerric’s relationship with his ice pal has been a lot of fun to develop. I don’t want him to be too powerful or too game-y. Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. The memory of Buffy and Savlian made me smile.

treydog: I see Grits, lol! It seems that Jerric is not much of a cat person. Thank you, treydog!

SubRosa: Oh yes, and I think the inside of the soul gem in Skyim’s Azura quest looked a lot like that fortress, too. I had to use it somewhere. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: We return to County Bruma at the time right before three Nords and a Khajiit entered an Oblivion realm.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Thirteen

‘When you speak to Asgerd, say the word ‘ragged.’ It’s some kind of code so that they’ll listen to you. Now repeat it back so I can say you know it and get Kjestrid off my neck.’

Darnand gripped the edge of his work table. ‘A Gate has opened two miles east of Maiden Spring Trail, below the first ridge,’ he said in his mental voice. ‘I am instructed to say ‘ragged.’ Jerric—’ But the connection was already broken.

Selena stood opposite Darnand, mortar and pestle quiet in her hands. “Associate? Is something amiss?”

May the Dragon guide you. Darnand straightened, schooling his features. “Indeed. I have just received communication from Kjellingsson of Anvil. You will recall, the Associate who—”

“I remember him,” Selena said, her lips in a thin line.

“He has found a Gate to Oblivion. I must relay his message to the Fighters Guild.” Darnand began to put away his inventory materials. Forget this. It is Jeanne’s problem now. He strode out through the lobby without even capping the inkwell, nor sparing a glance toward Jeanne’s position behind the counter.

The Bruma Fighters Guild smelled of sweat, woodsmoke, and leather. A sunken area was occupied by armored individuals walloping each other while an Orsimer yelled at them. Darnand brushed the snow from his shoulders, looking around for someone who seemed to be in charge.

An Imperial separated himself from the group at the edge of the sparring floor. “May I help you?” he called out.

Darnand beckoned him over. “I am Darnand Penoit, Associate of the Mages Guild.”

The Imperial gave him an amused nod. “Mage.”

“I carry a message for your Chapter Head.”

The man held out his hand for the message. When no parchment or scroll was forthcoming, he made a go-ahead gesture.

“The message is for Asgerd.” Darnand folded his hands and assumed the square-shouldered stance that Jerric used when he was being obstinate.

“I’ll tell her you’re here.”

“I shall accompany you. This news will not wait.”

“Suit yourself.” The Imperial walked off without checking to see if Darnand followed.

Asgerd’s office was on the upper floor of the guild hall. They found her pacing in front of a desk, flipping a short metal club in her hand.

“Darnand Penoit, Associate of the Mages Guild,” announced the Imperial. He stood aside and gestured with an ironic flourish.

Darnand took a position inside the room. The Imperial closed the door on his way out.

“I have received communication from Kjellingsson of Anvil,” Darnand said. “He and his companions have discovered a Gate to Oblivion two miles east of the Maiden Spring trail, below the first ridge.”

Asgerd’s expression did not change at the news. “Do tell.”

“I am instructed to say to you, ‘ragged.’”

Asgerd strode to the door and opened it. “Nunzio!” she barked. Then she moved to her desk, rifling through some rolled parchment until she unfurled a map. “Is there more?” she asked without looking up.

Darnand filled in the few details that Jerric had supplied before cutting off their connection. “They intend to close the Gate from within,” he finished. “I know Kjellingsson. By now they will have entered the Deadlands.”

Asgerd had been making notations on sheets of parchment. She handed them to the Imperial who entered. “There’s a Gate open,” she told him. “This is for Captain Gudrid, and this is for Captain Burd. Tell Bumph to ready her team. The support group will follow. I’ll be down in five.” She looked across at Darnand. “Thank you, Penoit. Will I see you at the Gate site?”

“I will be there.” And I hope that Lildereth will be with me.

The best way to make the elf appear was generally to go about one’s business. If it interested her, she would make herself known. Darnand returned to the Mages Guild in search of his Guild Magister.

He was unsurprised to find her in the lobby patting her hair and smoothing her skirt between summoning and dispelling her scamp. “Helloooo there, Associate,” she crowed as Darnand entered.

Darnand folded his hands in greeting. “I beg your pardon, Magister. May we speak?”

Jeanne looked startled. “Y…Yes?”

The lobby was better than her office for his purpose. Darnand projected his voice in the hope that the others would gather. “A Gate to Oblivion has been discovered in County Bruma. Kjellingsson has entered it with a group from the Fighters Guild.”

“Thank you, Associate,” said Jeanne. She raised her fist into the air, then fluttered her fingers. A cackling scamp stepped through the portal that opened, dissolving immediately as it pitched forward toward the floor. “You may go,” she added. To whom she spoke was unclear.

Volanaro and J’skar stepped in through the far hall door. Selena stood in her doorway.

“I beg your pardon,” Darnand repeated to Jeanne. “What support will our Guild offer?”

“The County officials handle such matters.” Jeanne raised her fist and fixed her eyes on it as if her fingers held the mysteries of success clenched against the palm.

Darnand pointed at Volanaro and then J’skar. “There stands the most powerful Illusionist of my acquaintance. I am informed that he is also a summoner of considerable renown. Your Journeyman is known throughout Bruma for ‘blowing things up.’ Is it possible that you are uncertain whom to deploy?”

“Thanks a lot, Breton,” muttered Volanaro, eyes wide. J’skar’s response was an unintelligible hiss.

Jeanne frowned at Darnand. “You are free to go, Associate, if you wish to leave your assigned task incomplete. I have received no contract that would preclude your involvement nor encourage the Guild’s.” She lifted her hand again, preparing to cast.

Selena was the most likely to assist with minimal quibbling. Darnand addressed her. “Have you a map? I must identify the Maiden Spring Trail. I shall await Kjellingsson’s return at the Gate site. Additionally, I should like to leave a message for Lildereth. She too will surely wish to join the defense.”

He followed Selena into her workroom, J’skar and Volanaro on his heels. Darnand placed his map on the work surface and compared it to hers. “Here?”

“I suppose so,” said Selena. “I do not wander the local wilds.”

J’skar shrugged, while Volanaro gave an elaborate eyebrow flourish and shiver.

“I will find it,” Lildereth said at Darnand’s side. All four of them flinched and glared at her.

“Khajiit might almost take Lildereth for Ohmes,” J’skar muttered.

“I have a list,” Darnand said to Lildereth.

“Of course you do,” she shot back. “I know how to pack for a snow camp, Breton.” Then she gave his hand a repentant squeeze. “He will return. It’s what he does.”

Darnand squeezed back. “I shall handle our food and arcane requirements.”

“I’ll get the rest. The militia will break a trail. We’ll follow them on horseback. Meet me at the stables.”

“What shall we do about Ulfe?”

“Let’s leave her at the stables. I don’t want her mixing with daedra.” Lildereth disappeared as silently as she had arrived.

Darnand looked around at his fellow mages. “Who is coming with us?”

Selena gave her head a quick shake. “I will tally the supplies you request, but you will not catch me outside the city in First Seed unless I am in a heated carriage.”

Darnand began to write.

“This one awaits tales of your victory,” said J’skar.

“You are a Destruction trainer,” Darnand said to the Khajiit without looking up. “Join us in defense of your county. Use your ranged spells when the daedra come, and you will stay out of danger.”

“Khajiit is certain that Darnand is jesting.”

“Volanaro.” Darnand pierced him with a look as he handed his list to Selena. “Evoker. You can summon a Dremora Lord. Come with us.”

“I am no battlemage,” Volanaro declared. He fluttered his fingers toward the lobby. “However, if you need someone who can summon a scamp…”


The light snow was still falling when Darnand met Lildereth at the stables. They loaded their packs onto the horses. Tension made his muscles stiff, slowing the familiar task.

“We should make the site by nightfall,” Lildereth said. “This snow will clear up by then.” She lifted her little face to the gray sky. If she offered a prayer to Aetherius, it was a silent one.

Darnand got out his enchanted map as soon as they reached the trail broken through the snow by booted feet and horses. He pushed his tension down until he could feel the familiar smug satisfaction at using an arcane item. If he must admit it, the fact that few others had access to such an artifact pleased him. Years of deprivation made him appreciate what he had. Warm regard for the one who had gifted it to him raised it even higher in his esteem.

The Bruma Militia and Guard must be in a constant state of readiness for such an event, Darnand mused. He wondered if County Chorrol was similarly prepared. Abiene returned to his thoughts, studying there at the chapel. He quickly directed his attention back to the events at hand. Concern over Jerric’s fate could mire him in worries over others for whom he cared. Worry was not productive.

They had covered approximately two thirds of the distance when they met armored figures coming toward them along the beaten trail. Lildereth signaled that they should move to the side.

Darnand hailed them. “What news?”

A woman spoke as she trudged past. “Returning to the city. The Gate is closed.”

“That was fast,” Lildereth murmured. The shadow lifted from her face.

“Indeed.” An unnamed fear squeezed Darnand’s heart. “Pardon me,” he called to the passing figures. “Hello! What happened? Where are the Gate Closers? Are there injured parties?”

Lildereth flashed him a look of near panic before smoothing her features. “Hey!” she shouted. “We’re part of the support team! What are the orders?”

A mounted figure nudged her horse to the side of the trail and stopped. “I don’t have orders for you, elf. Since you’re half-sized, you have my attention for half a minute. Speak.”

“Where are those who closed the Gate? Are they injured? Why are they not at the front of your parade?”

“No one came out of the Gate,” the woman said. “They say it just closed.” She turned her head and nodded back up the trail. “You want to go look at it and see? Follow our tracks. We’ve come straight from there.”

Lildereth slid from Rose’s saddle without a word. She stood thigh-deep in snow on the horse’s far side, away from the people. Darnand joined her, the taste of metal at the back of his throat.

“What are we going to do?” Her voice barely carried over the crunching snow from the passing soldiers. She clutched the edge of his cloak in a shaking fist. “What are we going to do?”

Darnand gripped her shoulder in return. “Mount up,” he murmured against her hood. “Once we are away, we will speak. I have a plan.”

It seemed that they stood for an age waiting for the group to pass, Rose and Banner shifting their feet while the lightest of snows drifted down. Darnand watched Lildereth’s face become a mask. Tears clumped her lashes together.

Then they were alone in the silent forest.

“I am going to reopen the Gate,” said Darnand. He held up a hand to forestall an argument, but Lildereth looked both horrified and hopeful.

“Can you do that?” she gasped. “Ha! What am I saying, of course you can.”

“It may not work,” Darnand hedged, “and we may get caught by either Brumese officials or the daedra.”

“Or the Legion,” Lildereth put in. She gave a wild laugh.

“So I am going to need a diversion,” Darnand finished. “Not you, I want you ready to deal with whatever goes wrong.”

“Those two idiots at the guild. What else? For the ritual? Hump it, let’s be honest. I mean what do you need me to steal?”

“I shall tell you as we ride. You can get everything from the guild stores that I recently inventoried. The critical element is the stone bearing Dagon’s sigil. Thanks to Jerric, I am spoiled for choice. Other than that, one must possess the knowledge of where to raise the Gate in this realm to create a portal to the appropriate location in one’s target realm. Whoever opened the Gate in the first place has already accomplished the link. The ritual is simple for this sort of portal. After all, it must be performed by the most mundane of cultists.”

Lildereth slowly shook her head. “‘The ritual is simple?’”

Darnand looked at the gray sky, then back the way they had come. “What is our best course of action? I believe that we will return in the dark.”

Lildereth nudged Rose back onto the track to Bruma. “I could follow this trail blindfolded, so put that from your mind. Jerric said time moves slowly in the Deadlands compared to here. Hopefully he won’t have gotten far before you get it back open.” She spoke over her shoulder. “So I’ll come with you to the Mages Guild. If there’s something they won’t give you, I’ll take it. If there’s someone who won’t help you, I’ll Charm them until their head swims. If you need the heart of a Countess or the blood of some strange thing, it’s yours. We’ll keep our camp supplies packed. There’s no telling how this will play out.”

Thank Stendarr for this elf. Darnand knew that this was the moment for encouragement and a light remark, but their supplier of such was presently absent.

Lildereth set the pace through the snow, freeing Darnand’s attention to plan his every step in Bruma.

“We shall prevail,” he finally managed.

Lildereth responded with a silent salute.

At first I thought, "there are Oblivion worlds with two gates, they just came out the other one". But then it dawned on me that Darnand isn't in the habit of closing them, so he doesn't know that.

Carry on, and don't pay any attention to my confusion.

Very accurate depictions of the Bruma mages.

Looks like the amount of help I expected from the head of the Bruma Mages Guild. It was a little disappointing that none of the others was willing to step in though. But not surprising either. So it is up to Lil and Darn.

I did enjoy Lildreth's Batman-esque appearance...

Uh oh, something else closed the gate! Of course Darnand is going to re-open it! Simple, and brilliant. Hopefully no one else will find out and think they are Mythic Dawn. Jerric is lucky to have friends as loyal as the two of them.

Eeep! We are in unfamiliar territory – a closed gate with Jerric & Co. presumably still inside. What manner of magicks is this?!? Thank Kynareth’s wings we have the mind of a well-schooled mage with the boundless devotion of dedicated friends to figure out the solution.

’The Bruma Fighters Guild smelled of sweat, woodsmoke, and leather. A sunken area was occupied by armored individuals walloping each other while an Orsimer yelled at them. Darnand brushed the snow from his shoulders, looking around for someone who seemed to be in charge.’ - - A concise but spectacularly rich and evocative scene you paint here! And as friend SubRosa sagely points out, the FG readiness to help stands in disappointing contrast to the cowardly mages of the Bruma MG.

’Warm regard for the one who had gifted it to him raised it even higher in his esteem.’ - - I can’t help but feel I should know who gifted this enchanted map to Darnand. . . but I’m embarrassed to report I do not know. Jerric? Lil? . . . Buffy? Abiene?

’A mounted figure nudged her horse to the side of the trail and stopped. “I don’t have orders for you, elf. Since you’re half-sized, you have my attention for half a minute. Speak.” - - Is it possible to be furious and laughing at the same time?

“I am going to reopen the Gate,” said Darnand. He held up a hand to forestall an argument, but Lildereth looked both horrified and hopeful.’ - - I wanted to stand up and cheer the bookishly brilliant and brave mage!

’If there’s something they won’t give you, I’ll take it. If there’s someone who won’t help you, I’ll Charm them until their head swims. If you need the heart of a Countess or the blood of some strange thing, it’s yours.’ - - Not to be outdone by Darnand, Lil readily demonstrates her own courage, determination and devotion here.

Wonderful episode!

Previously: Darnand and Lildereth learned that the County Bruma Gate had closed, trapping Jerric in an Oblivion realm. Darnand has a plan to reopen the Gate. He and Lildereth started back to Bruma to prepare. Meanwhile in the icy hills on the other side of the Gate that has closed, Jerric and the Fighters Guild team are making their way to a Sigil Tower that he assumes is holding a different Gate open. They hope that closing it will carry them back to Tamriel.


ghastley: Sorry about the confusion. Between me changing the game a bit and then waiting 2-3 years between updates, that’s on me! I have a lot of affection for those Bruma mages. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: Stay tuned for more from the Bruma mages! Being mistaken for the Mythic Dawn is definitely on their minds, especially Lil’s. She is very much the outsider when it comes to Jerric’s Blades business. Thank you, SubRosa!

Acadian: Abiene gave Darnand that enchanted map when the gang was all together in Anvil for Saturalia. He shows it to Jerric one night camped on the Kvatch plateau after Jerric has been ghost hunting in the city, in Chapter 12. This stuff was posted so long ago, I should have mentioned that detail in the intro. I’m sorry about the confusion. I am delighted at your response to Darnand and Lildereth’s heroic moment. Thank you, Acadian!


Next: Darnand's plan.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Fourteen

Darnand entered the Mages Guild Hall to the hiss and stink of Jeanne’s scamp. He paused to allow Ulfe and the invisible Lildereth through the door. In any other chapter attempting such a simple trick would be foolish. Here no one felt the responsibility of vigilance.

The reception hall was empty save for Jeanne and her intermittent daedra. Clinking glassware told him that Selena was occupied in her workspace. “The Gate to Oblivion is closed,” Darnand announced as he strode past, glancing around for J’skar or Volanaro. He could not allow Jeanne to needle him with demeaning questions about his inventory task. Leaving her in a pile of greasy ash would be satisfying but was no way to advance his cause.

Volanaro and J’skar had dined together in the lower level. Both of their plates were empty, but they lingered over beverages.

Darnand closed the door quietly and sat down at the end of the table between them, leaning in as if to share a confidence. He spoke first to forestall whatever droll comments they were preparing to make. “Gentlemen, I have for you a challenge the like of which you will not see again.”

Volanaro lit up like a child on Saturalia morning. “Do tell,” he said, rubbing his palms together.

“This one listens,” purred J’skar. He fondled Ulfe’s ears as the great hound examined his empty plate.

“The best part is that you will be in no danger of discovery,” Darnand continued. “You need only provide the diversion,” he said to J’skar, “and you must simply cast your prank disappearing spell on me,” he said to Volanaro, “and I will open the Gate.”

Volanaro poked Darnand with his elbow, chuckling. “That has the makings of a humorous tale, but you are an amateur, my friend. To convince me that you are serious, your story should have at least some hint of plausibility.”

J’skar smoothed his whiskers. “This one was not pranked at all, Breton.”

“No,” Darnand said, “that wasn’t the prank! The Gate to Oblivion has closed! I am going to reopen it.”

Now Volanaro looked annoyed. “What part of this is amusing to you? People die in these Gates. If you think I would find that funny, you have misjudged me.”

“Listen to me,” Darnand tried again. “That Gate closed with the Fighters Guild group inside it! By now the whole city knows. If you lot ever left these walls you would know by now, too. Kjellingsson is trapped in there. Kjestrid, the blonde warrior with the big sword, and Gjaever the mountainous redhead are trapped in there. Shamir-do,” Darnand searched his memory for Jerric’s description, “the jaguar Khajiit is trapped in there. Would you leave them to die and do nothing?”

J’skar’s claws scraped shallow grooves in the tabletop. “This one is much aggrieved. Kjellingsson deserves a better fate. But what would you have us do?”

“There’s nothing we can do!” Volanaro cried. “Curse it, why did they go in there?”

“Lower your voices!” Darnand hissed. “I tell you, I have a plan. However I trust no one to help but you.”

J’skar leaned back in. “What about the Bosmer, Lildereth?”

Darnand fought the urge to summon his daedroth and leave them fighting it. “Of course Lildereth is helping. Much of our plan is her making, and even now she is doing her part. Will you please listen to me?” He looked at each of them in turn, waiting until they had settled. “First, I trust that even if you choose to stand by and do nothing while our friends perish horribly in the Deadlands and their souls are possibly consigned to eternal slavery, you will not betray me to any authorities.”

Both Volanaro and J’skar looked disgusted at the idea. Neither interrupted.

“I have the materials to reopen the Gate,” Darnand continued. “I believe that I know enough about the ritual to force it open, though I admit mere study may not be sufficient to the task.”

“That must have been hard for you to say,” Volanaro smirked.

Darnand ignored the remark. “I have defended a Gate before while Kjellingsson went into the Deadlands to close it. Now that it is closed, the Gate site will be guarded. They will not let me approach the site, much less conduct a daedric ritual upon it. What I need to make this attempt is a diversion that will draw the guards away, and concealment while I open the Gate.” He sat back and looked between them.

The Altmer’s eyes narrowed. “How will you conduct the ritual?”

“I suppose you will not simply trust me? Very well. I possess a sigil stone already inscribed by the hand of Mehrunes Dagon. The enchantment to create a translimnal portal with the necessary circumpenetration to pierce Oblivion resides within it. Awakening the stone to its purpose requires the incantation be spoken with harrada root while the runes are inscribed with a stalk of blood grass.”

“What does that mean, ‘with harrada root’?”

“I will hold the powered root in my mouth as I speak, and,” Darnand made a gesture in front of his lips, “blood from my weeping tissues will infuse the words. The active sigil stone will then transport itself through the limnal barrier to the lock which has already been prepared in the Deadlands. We know it is there, because a Gate has already been opened on that site. As Kjellingsson describes it, the limnal lock is located at the top of a Sigil Tower. Assuming that I have survived, I will contact Kjellingsson and inform him that he is free to return through the Gate. Along with his companions.”

“All you need is harrada root and blood grass?” J’skar asked. “That seems too easy.”

“And a sigil stone,” said Darnand. “Do you know anyone else who has one?”

“How do you know all of this?” Volanaro demanded.

Darnand’s patience evaporated. “You have a copy of Limnal Bridges right downstairs on the reception hall shelves, at eye level.” He gestured above his head to indicate Volanaro’s height. “Are you telling me you have spent eight hours every day for years standing in that chamber, yet you have never read it?”

Volanaro leaned forward, conspiring again. “My spell of Mischievous Concealment will allow you to approach unnoticed and conduct your ritual. I doubt these mage-fearing locals will use life detection magic. Your incantations may be heard, but you will not be seen until I dispel the effect or a full day has passed.” He flipped his hand back and forth. “Give or take. We never tested the limits, preferring instead to maintain the illusion that J’skar had completely—”

“Thank you,” Darnand interrupted. “You have given me hope that we might save them. I know that the spell will require all your resources. If only I could think of a clever diversion…”

J’skar shot to his feet, lashed the air with his tail, then quick as a blink hunkered down at the table again. “Friends,” he clasped his palms together, “this one shall cast a variety of daedra into the woods from Volanaro’s scrolls! The guards will give chase! In this way we will have our diversion, but this one’s magicka will be in reserve in case something goes awry.”

Volanaro leaned back, a sly smile on his face. “Why, J’skar! How cautious of you.”

J’skar’s ears flicked backward. “We will be outdoors, my friend. Caution is called for.”

“What sort of daedra?” asked Darnand.

“Scamps!” J’skar exclaimed with glee. He gestured toward the Altmer, whose smile had become insufferably smug. “In honor of our glorious leader’s eternal scamp project, Volanaro has created scrolls to sell to all of Bruma’s most mundane, onion-smelling, mushroom-eared, and clod-footed citizenry!”

“At a huge discount,” Volanaro put in. “Even the smallest child can have a scamp at its heels, and a better one than those produced by Bruma’s Guild Magister!”

“He has made enough to fill the streets with scamps!” chortled J’skar.

“Not all of the streets,” Volanaro said, inclining his head in feigned modesty.

“Mad as Sheo’s corset. It is a wonder you two have not been strung up.”

“They are harmless, of course,” J’skar amended. “They prance, they,” he giggled, “scamper, they shoot sparks from their claws and fart multi-colored bubbles, but they do not attack people.”

“I have combined the summoning spells with illusions such as those used at New Life Festival,” Volanaro confided.

“Have you sold many of them?”

“None,” Volanaro frowned. Then he brightened just as quickly. “But if anyone comes in to shop, we are ready!”

This mer can create daedra with customized abilities, yet he sits in this hall inventing jester’s tricks. Darnand pushed aside his recriminations and addressed the Khajiit. “How will you—” He whipped back around to Volanaro. “This hall’s spellmaking altar is functional?”

Volanaro crossed his arms over his chest. “If I got caught using something like that, I could be expelled from the Guild.”

Darnand considered that he might be in the throes of a vivid but ridiculous dream. He turned back to the Khajiit. “J’skar, tell me your plan for the diversion.”

“After Volanaro prepares himself with this one’s assistance and covers you with Mischievous Concealment, this one will walk forward and hail the guards.”

“I shall accompany you,” Volanaro said to J’skar. “They will have no way to detect that I have depleted my magicka.”

“Aha!” said J’skar. “This one gives you the honor of using the first scroll!”

“Yes!” Volanaro cried, slapping the table. As Darnand massaged the bridge of his nose, the Altmer lowered his voice and continued. “I shall use the first scroll before you hail them, and then as we approach I shall alert them to its presence!” He made a dramatic wave. “Daedra! Daedra in the woods!”

“Then this one will use another, in the opposite direction!” J’skar raised a palm to Volanaro, who struck it with his own.

“Stay together so that the guards don’t accidentally shoot you,” said Darnand. “You are certain that the scamps will not attack?”

The Bruma mages shared a glance. “Not entirely certain,” Volanaro admitted.

Selena spoke from the doorway. “You will need horses.” She stepped in and shut the door behind her. “Don’t give me those looks, I could hear you three from the corridor. Associate, do you know what Lildereth is doing?”

“Yes,” said Darnand, hoping that he did.

“Then I didn’t notice a thing. I’ll stay behind and handle Jeanne.” She tossed a jingling pouch onto the table. “For your mounts. You can pay me back later. You’ll want your cloaks and your weather charms, you two. Get moving! You have a pack of warriors to save.”

Darnand placed an arm across his chest in a spontaneous salute. “Selena, if I may beg a favor…”

Her look reminded him that she was acting out of duty, not affection.

“My dog,” he said hastily, placing a hand on Ulfe’s warm back. “We had intended to leave her at the stables, but if we should not return…”

“Do you wish me to confine her while you are gone?”

“For three days. Then let her come and go as she pleases, just provide her with food and water whenever you see her. If she finds us at the Gate after that, it should already be over.”

Selena nodded. “Stay safe, magisters.” She coaxed Ulfe out of the room.

Volanaro and J’skar had risen from the table. “We will meet you in the lobby in two hours,” Volanaro said to Darnand.

“We will meet outside in twenty minutes,” Darnand corrected. He decided not to tell them to act naturally. No doubt Jeanne was used to turning a blind eye to their antics, lest she spend her days reprimanding them rather than insulting the air with scamps.

Despite the perilous situation and high stakes, this episode absolutely bubbled with humor!

“This one listens,” purred J’skar. He fondled Ulfe’s ears as the great hound examined his empty plate.’ - - This passage struck me for its well-crafted details that help set this scene so nicely.

It took him a couple tries, but Darnand finally got just the right mix of appeal to duty and prank to draw Volanaro and J'skar into helping his quest.

Wow, Darnand’s plan is impressive and I was delighted to see the pair of misfit mages contributing a great deal to its likelihood of success. Volanaro will cloak Darrnand with that trademarked Mischievous Concealment spell while J’skar provides a distraction. And what a distraction I expect it shall be, as the mage-cat fills the forest with multicolored bubble-farting scamps!

I quite chuckled at the scrolls crafted to ensure every dog, child and their brother could conjure a better scamp than the guild’s worthless guild-magister.

Jeanne gets a bit a bad rap in the game for using a minimal spell, but since you get the XP just from casting, regardless of the spell power, she's actually being very efficient. Still, that's about all I can in her favour.

If the scamps are "better than Jeanne's" they could be a problem. How big a bubble could they produce if they all conspire together?

Leaving her in a pile of greasy ash would be satisfying but was no way to advance his cause.
But still, no reason not to leave her a pile of greasy ash...

I loved Darnand's description of opening an Oblivion Gate.

What a brilliant idea to outdo the Guild Master with scamps, better than hers! That got me thinking that maybe the reason Jeanne's scamp always vanishes after a few moments might be because she cannot keep one longer than that. She can only handle a spell with a 3 second duration...

Previously: Darnand and Lildereth secured help from Bruma mages Volanaro, J’skar, and Selena. They plan to reopen the Gate, allowing Jerric and the Fighters Guild team to return to County Bruma.


Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! This section with Darnand and the Bruma boys was lots of fun to write. It just took a threat beyond “warrior's work” to get them moving.

ghastley: Darnand agrees about Jeanne’s probable intention with her scamp spell, and Atronach Jerric could learn from her about efficient practice. In Jerric’s world the Bruma MG specialized in Necromancy until the recent ban (which now includes any summoning of undead on Guild property), so she’s legitimately working on a new skill. Yikes, Volanaro’s scamp army floats away in a giant rainbow fart-bubble! Where will they land?! Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: I’m sure there is a pile of ash somewhere in Jeanne’s future. I got to do some fun research with Darnand on the Gate ritual. Sounds like Jeanne’s scamp is a premature evacuator. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: In the Oblivion realm.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Fifteen

The cold was taking a toll on Shamir-do. If he faltered, any one of the Nords could carry him. Jerric decided that while his impulse was to put some of his own clothing on the Khajiit, the group would be better served by keeping three of the four of them in better condition than compromising a second for little return.

They left the high plain and descended into a broad, long valley. The wind became a cold breeze. Occasionally distant pops and cracks sounded in the mountains, Jerric guessed from unseen ice movement. They began to see more black jumbled rocks poking up out of the snow.

The next rest break was only for Shamir-do. Jerric chafed at the delay. Rather than glaring at Kjestrid while they waited for the sands in her mental hourglass to shift, he spent the time kicking down through the strange, loose snow around one of the outcrops. “This was lava once.”

“What’s on your mind?” asked Kjestrid.

“If we’re in the Deadlands, there should be fire under here. I’ve never seen part of Dagon’s realm that didn’t have lava and the land, if you can call it that, breaking and moving around. Rock slides, lava flows...” He looked around for he was not sure what.

Kjestrid punched him in the chest. “Kyne’s blood, you’re on to something!” She pointed to the edge of the closest ridge, where fog drifted along the ground. “Over there!”

A short trudge brought them across the valley. Jerric still had no idea what Kjestrid had in mind, or what she attributed to his idea.

She directed the group to a place where steam leaked from fissures in the bluish-grey surface. “Here,” Kjestrid said. “Step carefully. There may be a cavity underneath, don’t want to fall through. I’ll stand watch. Shamir, you watch that way. Gjaever, you and Jerric dig through this… snow.”

Jerric pulled the skitt shovel from the side of his pack and got busy. Kjestrid’s intent soon became clear. Dibella’s kitten, she means us to dig down to where the rock is hot. By the time he was thigh-deep in a trench, he had a thought. “Hold, Gjaever! Let’s give our ice man a turn.”

The frost atronach roared through his portal with a sound of ice shattering. Once fully formed, he stood for a moment taking in the scene. This time when he moved his hand-spikes together and inclined his head, the greeting included all of them

“Ishckrihk.”

“Kuhk-kick.”

“Here’s the thing,” Jerric said, “Unless you can find something for us to burn, we’re going to dig down and see if the rock is hot under there.”

Ishckrihk inspected the trench with a gesture so human it was eerie on his featureless head-blob. Then he stomped a short distance away and shot his arm into a longer appendage, sinking it into the snow. He swept it to the side, causing a burst of salj that obscured his next action. The leaking fog turned to steam, trickling out rather than misting, but not hissing out on a rush.

“It is hot under there,” Jerric said. He decided to celebrate with some elk jerky.

“Shamir-do!” Kjestrid called him over. “Hop down and see if that’s a good spot to rest.”

Shamir-do was soon nestled against the rock. Jerric noted that liquid was trickling away under the snow. He tested it against his tongue with a gloved finger. “That’s not water,” he declared, spitting it out. He looked at the frost atronach. “What is this?”

The resulting jumble of images sent him retching to his knees. He managed to swallow down the stringy bits of jerky before they could escape his mouth. “For the love of Mara,” he choked. “All right, let’s try that again. Slow down! Don’t show me the whole thing at once.”

Jerric closed his eyes and let himself sink into Ishckrihk’s images. As in the last vision that Ishckrihk had shared, he stood on a high place. The air was perfectly clear, so clear that he wondered if there was air at all. Light glistened through the limbs of a dozen frost atronachs, gathered in a rough circle. If the attitude of their head and shoulder ice sections could be described in human terms, they peered into a pale blue-tinted pool. Something moved within it.

He shook himself free of the vision, but it lingered for a disturbing few seconds before his eyes cleared. “I don’t get it,” he said to Ishckrihk.

“Try again,” Kjestrid offered. “We have time while Shamir-do warms up.”

This time Jerric found himself in Ishckrihk’s vision surrounded by ice-blue light. He-Ishckrihk rested in a firm matrix of clear material. The light rippled slowly as if he was under water. He rose without effort, uncertain if he was being pushed upward or lifted. A dozen frost atronachs stood in a circle around him. As his perception broke a surface, he was able to see them all without turning. When Jerric’s stomach heaved he tore his awareness back from Ishckrihk’s before he had to swallow his snack yet again.

Hands on knees, Jerric waited for the world to right itself.

“Well?” asked Kjestrid.

Jerric lifted his head. “One more time.”

Ishckrihk made a low, booming sound. He tilted his head stump up to the sky.

“This one knows the feeling,” Shamir-do wheezed at Ishckrihk from the trench.

“Welcome back,” Jerric laughed to the Khajiit.

Shamir-do climbed out. “This one is refreshed.”

As Jerric focused his attention back on the atronach, a sound like distant thunder rolled down the valley. At the same time the ground shook just enough to be worrisome.

‘Jerric!’ Darnand’s mental voice bit through Jerric’s thoughts. ‘It is I! Gods help me, it worked!’

“Darnand? What in rutting hells?”

“Where?” called Kjestrid, scanning in a circle.

“Not here. In my head. He’s— Give me a minute.” Jerric clenched his teeth to remind himself how to speak. ‘You figured it out! This is going to change everything! You are a star, Breton!’

‘I— What is your meaning?’

‘You reached me across the Void! How did you find me? Am I in the Deadlands?’

‘Yes, my friend. We are both in the Deadlands.’

Jerric’s eyes fixed blankly on the snow began to water. ‘What have you done?’

‘I have rescued you.’ Panic warred with triumph in Darnand’s mental tone. ‘Are you far from the Gate? I have reopened it so that you may return.’

“Godsdammit!” Jerric said and thought. “Go back through before the pods eat you. Watch your step, there’s a trap in the ground. By the Nine, now I have two Gates to close!”

‘I cannot return the way I came. Though it was not my intent to do so, I have traveled with the stone to the limnal lock. I believe I am in a Sigil Keep. I am presently rendered invisible by Volanaro’s spell, but I fear magical detection. Jerric… Please hurry.’

Jerric spoke to Kjestrid. “There’s a situation.”

‘I will not be able to defeat these foes. I shall conceal myself until you and the others— Oh. I am discovered.’

‘We can’t even see your tower!’ Jerric silently shouted. ‘I can’t reach you! Take the stone and hold on! The fire will carry you back out the way you came.’

‘Not while you and the others remain. I shall attempt to escape and hide until… No good. Tell Abiene—’

“There’s another Gate open! Don’t let yourself be captured! Take the stone, we’re not trapped! Take it! Darnand!”

Darnand’s presence was abruptly gone, leaving a silence as if a door had just slammed shut. Jerric let his breath out in a rush. “I think he made it.” He looked over to find Shamir-do’s eyes alternately popping open and squinting against the cold. Gjaever had his head turned away, likely searching for something to fight. Kjestrid looked murderous.

“Did you hear some of that?” Jerric asked. Breton, you’d better not be dead.

“Your mage came through the Gate. And you told him to close it.” Kjestrid visibly mastered her ire. “We have traveled farther than you thought we would need to, and we still haven’t seen your tower. Are we not trying to leave this realm?”

“Not that way. He doesn’t need to die in a Sigil Keep, and we don’t need to leave a Gate open. Besides, we’ve come too far to return. And now we know that this is the Deadlands. That’s helpful. It’s not a part that I’ve seen, but this is Dagon’s realm.”

“How do you know that?”

“He used one of our sigil stones.” Jerric scraped some ice from his beard. “Damn it all, I hope the guards don’t kill him when he falls back into County Bruma. Maybe Volanaro’s spell will hold.”

Kjestrid and Gjaever exchanged a look. “What exactly do we know that will help us?”

“Well. Everything that I’ve told you, and what you’ve heard from Asgerd, is, uh, probably true. About this place.”

“So helpful,” said Shamir-do. “Much more helpful than an open Gate.”

Jerric turned on him. “Listen, cat—”

“Someone will have noticed your mage’s activity,” Kjestrid interrupted. “We need to stay low. Walk along the edges going forward. See less but not be seen.”

“All right.”

Ishckrihk seemed to know what was needed before Jerric gave the order. He bowed to Kjestrid, turned and bowed to Jerric, then burst apart into a thousand gleaming shards.

“So much for staying low,” Shamir-do muttered.

“What was he trying to tell you?” Kjestrid asked Jerric.

Jerric kicked at the grainy material. “I think they’re made out of this. There are a lot of cold places in Tamriel. Dagon could be making an ice army.”

They all looked back the way they had come, mountains and hillsides covered with the alien not-snow. After a moment Jerric motioned them to the low ridge across the bottom of their new valley. At Kjestrid’s nod, Shamir-do took the lead. Kjestrid followed at Jerric’s side, then Gjaever.

I'm really liking that this Oblivion World is different, and thus provides new challenges that nobody is prepared for, including the second Gate and the not-exactly-snow.

Darnand has so far had no nett effect on Jerric's situation, having had to close the Gate he re-opened, but he does now know that there's a second gate, so I'm assuming that will be his focus next. I look forward to seeing what he and Lil do with that information.

And Itchy's always the star, but this place is made for him, or is he made from it?

This is getting very epic!

You really bring the sense of bone-chilling cold to life - brrrr.

Yikes! The rescuees must now rescue the rescuers it seems.

Oh, and good tip Jerric learns from Itchy – Don’t eat the yellow grainy snow.

Hmmm, what a strange part of the Deadlands. It looks like it has a polar vortex as well...

The frost atronach roared through his portal with a sound of ice shattering.
This was a great introduction.

Brilliant idea by Kjesty to dig down to the warm parts. I am guessing that is ash rather than actual snow? Or Daedra juices? Izzy's mental projections reminded me of how they describe what happens when a daedra is killed and reforms in the waters of Oblivion (or something such).

Zoinks, Darnand's plan seems to have backfired!

Previously: Darnand reopened the Gate, accidentally traveling to the Sigillum Sanguis. Jerric told him to close it again. He and the Fighters Guild team are still in a cold part of the Deadlands.


ghastley: Poor Darnand’s efforts have gone completely unappreciated! I imagine he has wanted to try opening a Gate since the first time he touched a sigil stone. This has been a fun Oblivion World to write. Thank you, ghastley!

Acadian: Ha! Itchy was ready to dump Jerric into the snow if he didn’t catch on to what he was saying. Of all the mortals to get summoned by! Thank you, Acadian!

SubRosa: That’s exactly what Izzy was trying to tell Jerric. The snow is a bunch of frozen daedric creation gunk like the azure plasm pools in Coldharbour (and possibly other realms). Darnand is going to have to add “I am not a daedric cultist” to his standard denial. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: Let’s get out of here.

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Sixteen

“There,” Jerric said. “That’s a Sigil Keep.”

The three Nords and Khajiit knelt looking down from their ridge onto an endless broken plain. Lava flowed like rivers through snow-dusted, rocky hills. An island housed a cluster of towers, one glowing red-orange at the top. At the base of its bridge stood an open war gate. Two smaller towers flanked the gate.

“Shamir-do, go take a look,” Kjestrid said.

Shamir-do disappeared between the rocks. After a moment Jerric saw him making his way down, hidden from all but the highest tower.

“That’s too far for life detection to work,” said Jerric.

“Shamir can see a torchbug against a bonfire,” said Kjestrid. “He doesn’t need life detection. Now tell me about what you can see.”

“Those small towers house the war gate controls. They’ll be open inside with a ramp spiraling up and something guarding it. Across the bridge the approach looks clear, which means fire turrets. They’re spaced so there’s some overlap in the target areas. Imagine a circle with a fire turret in the center, a little larger than…” Jerric searched his memory for the terms.

“The radius of the circle is that distance plus a bit,” said Kjestrid.

“Yeah the radius. There will be mines where the turrets can’t reach. Sometimes those idiot scamps set one off, which I guess is why they don’t concern themselves when they hear me crashing around out there.”

“If you set off a fire turret or a mine, no one comes to investigate?”

“Not so far, and I’ve been hit by a number of them. It’s arcane fire. I can absorb it sometimes. I stay away from the mines, though. They explode with fire and some kind of…” he made a blowing-up gesture. “It hurts.”

“The pressure wave,” Kjestrid suggested.

“Yeah. Don’t get caught in the, uh, pressure wave. Sometimes I think I should have stayed in school.”

“How would you do this alone?”

Jerric’s eyes returned to the war gate. “As much as I’d like to kill everything that moves, I’d avoid fights if I can. When I get to the top of the Sigil Keep where the stone holds the Gate open, there’ll be dremora in there with something big as backup. I have to be fast for the last push.” Jerric shifted his weight to the other knee. “That war gate should be closed.”

Shamir-do returned. “A clannfear and a scamp dead on the ground. Two arrows, two kills. This one did not go into the towers.”

Jerric lunged to his feet. “Dammit, I let us sit here and stare at that open war gate. Someone came through here already. From wherever that Gate is open, must be. They’re going to close it, same as us. Forget the guard towers, whatever’s in there is dead. Now we’re in a race.”

“We’ll go in pairs,” Kjestrid said. “Shamir with me on the right, you two on the left. Jerric and I will run first. Gjaever, tell Shamir what Jerric said about the traps. You know these?” She made a quick series of gestures at Jerric with her left hand.

“Yeah.”

“Watch me. See there?”

Jerric gave her the signal.

“Good.” Kjestrid motioned that they should go.

A dremora lay dead on the bridge, and empty chest pieces from fire atronachs littered the ground outside the Sigil Keep. They followed a blood trail inside.

Shamir-do knelt at a discarded shield. “That is not daedric,” he said over the thrumming fire.

“Bonemold,” said Kjestrid. “Leave it.”

The interior looked familiar. Jerric drew the group into a nook, near a spider daedra carcass. “We’ll go through passages and chambers around the outside, then we’ll end up back in this central core. In here we can be seen from the ramps above. Let’s hope whoever’s ahead of us is dead. Shamir leads if we get to a dark section. Watch for traps. We run.”

Jerric felt an odd anticipation in his chest. The dread of losing his team to the Deadlands became a specter dancing outside the circle of his cares, unable to touch him. Even the thought of Abiene was like a memory of grief, without the familiar ache. I’m going to die in flames, he remembered. Maybe today.

The doors opened at his touch with their meaty, tearing sounds. Kjestrid, Gjaever, and Shamir-do followed, for once not trying to protect him. Bodies lay scattered in the first open chamber, two dremora and six others in fur and bonemold armor. Jerric checked for a pulse at the neck of one Dunmer, but found none. The others were obviously dead where they lay. He moved on without speaking.

Shadows moved above as they circled the flame pillar. Soon they would get to kill. Jerric led them into the next set of outside chambers.

A claw trap of the type triggered by a floor plate held a dead Nord, pierced through her armor. Her blood was still wet but not dripping. Jerric ignored the hollowed-out bodies hung from support pillars. Their entrails had been pulled into an intricate web to form a canopy, but not recently.

Coming back out onto the central ramp they surprised a black-robed dremora. Jerric put Redeemer through her chest before she could cast. He stood on her throat while she died, glancing back at his companions. Gjaever had his axe in hand, attention focused down the ramp. Kjestrid knelt and looked ahead, so smooth and sure that she could be in her own home. Shamir-do looked up the central pillar. He signaled that there was something above them.

Perhaps all of the other mortals were already dead. Jerric decided not to count on it. He moved to the inside wall and ran on.

Another shadowy chamber choked with bodies and reeking of death. Jerric stepped over the daedra and checked for life in the fallen Dunmer. As he bent, Kjestrid drew steel.

“That one is still upright,” said Shamir-do. His arrow pointed at the shadows beside one of the membranous windows.

“Drop it and come forward,” Kjestrid barked.

A figure wearing bonemold plates over leather armor stepped into the flickering light. She placed a dagger on the floor. “You’re not cultists.”

“Who are you?” Jerric said.

“Nereli Llandam, House Redoran.”

Jerric pointed at the bodies with the tip of his sword. “Why aren’t you dead?”

“I’m the scout.”

“Anyone else left?”

“No.”

Jerric sheathed his blade. “I’m Jerric. Why—”

“Explain yourself, Llandam,” Kjestrid said.

Nereli made a vague gesture. “We were sent in to close the Gate. There were too many of us. They saw us coming. Who are you?”

“Bruma Fighters Guild,” Jerric said. “The Gate we came through closed. Was that your doing?”

“No. We came straight to this tower. The frost atronachs got some of us out on the snow. Once we got in here we stopped carrying our dead. I found the Sigillum Sanguis but couldn’t get to the limnal lock. I came back to wait and to see if anyone had potions.” At the last, she nodded at her fallen comrades.

“What’s guarding the sigil stone?” Jerric asked.

“I saw three dremora and a daedroth. There’s too much light to sneak past. If some left I was going to try running through.”

“Why not go back out the Gate?” Kjestrid asked. She still held her sword casually at the ready.

“We were ordered to close the Gate or die trying,” Nereli said. “By now the House Guard will be on site. There’s only one way I’m getting out of here.”

Jerric glanced at Kjestrid. Once they were engaged with the daedra in the Sigil Keep, there would be nothing to stop Nereli from grabbing the sigil stone and leaving them stranded.

Kjestrid gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. She spoke to the Dunmer. “What can you do?”

“I can shoot.”

“Any spells?”

Nereli shook her head. “My ancestor guardian may come to defend me, if I have a chance to pray first. I never know if she’ll listen.”

Kjestrid stepped close enough to look down at Nereli. “I’ll give you time to pray.” She pointed at Jerric. “He’s going to take the stone. He’ll wait until we all have a hand on him.”

Shamir-do hissed.

“Shamir-do is right,” Kjestrid said, keeping eye contact with Nereli. “I could end you here and not risk that you’ll cross us. If you move for that stone before Jerric gets to it, I will.”

Nereli lifted her chin. “Yes, sera. Thank you.”

“Let’s—”

Gjaever interrupted with an urgent gesture. Shamir-do melted into the shadows. Kjestrid grabbed Nereli’s arm and pointed Jerric to one of the pillars.

As he concealed himself, four scamps entered the chamber followed by a dremora. Its voice sounded like jagged stone grinding on metal. The scamps began moving Dunmeri corpses, one lifting the shoulders and the other at the feet.

Kjestrid motioned for Jerric to stay, but when the dremora howled he stepped out from behind his pillar. Shamir-do shot two of the scamps. Nereli shot the other two, almost as swift as the Khajiit. Gjaever rushed the dremora, cleaving its head and one shoulder nearly from its body with his heavy axe.

Jerric walked over to examine the dremora. “No armor. Just a tunic. I haven’t seen this before.”

“He would have low status,” Nereli said, retrieving an arrow. “Directing a scamp work party.”

Nereli soon got another chance to prove herself. She put an arrow under the chin of an armored dremora from her position lower on the ramp. As it staggered toward them clutching its neck, Kjestrid stepped up with her greatsword. She spent a moment thrusting it through the gaps she found in its armor, Shamir-do at her side. The dremora finally toppled, the impact drowned out by the pillar of flame.

On the ramp outside the Sigillum Sanguis Jerric called a halt. He gestured to the domed ceiling with its mouth-like opening in the center for the pillar of fire. “That skin stuff is the floor up there.”

“Tell me about the dremora,” Kjestrid said to Nereli.

“Two of them are robed, one carrying a staff and one a mace. The other is armored and has a battleaxe.”

“No bows?” asked Jerric.

“No.”

“Gjaever, Jerric, and I will get their attention,” said Kjestrid. “Shamir-do and Nereli, stay together and shoot the mages. Gjaever will close with the armored one. I’ll dance with the daedroth.” She looked at Jerric. “They call you Mages Bane. I hope they’re right. When you three are finished with the robe-wearers, come support us. I’ll leave it to you to prioritize. Questions? Here’s your chance to pray.”

Nereli dropped her other knee to the floor and bowed her head. Shamir-do fiddled with his arrows.

Jerric took a swig of Jerric’s Juice. He focused on his Woad until it settled over him like a second skin. Ishckrihk would have trouble getting through the door, he reasoned. Then he remembered the atronach stomping at full speed through the trees. He could simply flow under the door frame. Jerric opened the portal for him and readied his shield.

Kjestrid watched through the open doorway while the flames roared and the wind howled across the hole in the tower ceiling. She signaled Jerric left and Gjaever right.

Ishckrihk’s footsteps made the already vibrating floor shake. Jerric watched his footing as he ran up the rib-like stair spikes. The membranous ramps curved down to meet the ring-shaped floor on the side opposite him. One of the mages and the armored dremora stood near the ramp. The other mage and the daedroth must be above, Jerric reasoned. Or Nereli’s information was false, or perhaps the guard had changed while they had been fooling around with the drudge and his scamps.

When the mage lifted a fist, white light flowed down his body. The warrior started around to the left. Gjaever moved to intercept her. An arrow arced up from the stairs and skimmed the mage’s shoulders, making his magical shield flash at the impact. While Jerric ran toward him gathering frost into his hand, the mage made a casting gesture at Jerric. Then he gripped his staff in both hands, moving the end in a circular motion. A clannfear stepped through the portal that opened, at the same time the sound of shattering ice came from behind Jerric and his frost hit the mage. The clannfear turned its horns toward Jerric. A glance back confirmed that Ishckrihk was gone.

Shock was a better weapon than frost against the clannfear, and making physical contact with it would result in hurting him as well. Jerric put his back toward the wall and sent a bolt of lightning into the clannfear.

Another arrow arced up, this one piercing the mage’s side. Gjaever closed with the armored dremora on the other side of the fire column. Kjestrid ran past them and toward the high platform.

Their two archers should be able to handle a wounded mage and its summons. Jerric dodged the clannfear’s charge, then lifted his shield and ran at the mage. As the mage’s fire blinded him, Jerric ducked behind his shield and knocked him onto his back. It took two staggering steps for him to recover his balance. Then he ran up the ramp after Kjestrid, the magicka absorbed from the mage’s spell singing through him.

The daedroth stood on the platform near the sigil stone. Kjestrid approached it with her arms out, weapons shouldered. The daedroth shook itself as a shield spell settled over its scales. Kjestrid yelled something at it. The daedroth opened its jaws and belched a gout of flame.

Jerric realized that he was also yelling. The daedroth was alone with them on the platform. Where was the other mage?

When Kjestrid saw him, she reached back for her sword. Jerric sent a bolt of lightning at the daedroth’s midsection. Shamir-do pelted up the far ramp, Nereli on his heels.

“Gjaever?” Kjestrid shouted at him. As the daedroth swung its clawed hand at her she ducked under, momentum carrying her through a shoulder roll to her feet.

“Archers!” yelled Shamir-do.

Kjestrid was on the wrong side of the daedroth. As it turned with her, Jerric slashed at its hip. The daedroth’s tail sent him sprawling. Gjaever appeared mid-air jumping over the daedroth’s tail. He yanked Jerric to his feet and with a mighty heave pushed him toward Shamir-do and Nereli by the sigil stone.

“Kjestrid!” Jerric yelled.

Somehow she was there, shoving her chest against him. “Take it!”

“My sword!” Jerric’s hand was empty. Kjestrid caught his shield arm. An arrow flew past their heads, then another.

“Come on!” she yelled into his ear. Shamir-do’s answering howl cut through the shrieking flames.

Jerric reached for the stone. Something hit them hard enough to make him stagger, but he grabbed it. As the world turned to fire, someone screamed.

Clark would have misunderstood this.

And are you allowed to have a cliff-hanger indoors?

Finally, something Jerric recognizes and knows how to deal with as they sight a sigil tower. I was glad to see the newcomer Dunmeri bowgirl quickly earn her keep as the group ascends.

’Its voice sounded like jagged stone grinding on metal.’ - - Indeed, an eerie sound you can never forget.

A heartpounding battle for the stone. It seems with the stone in Jerric’s hand, the gate will close. Who survives is another question. We can hope that each of Jerric’s party had latched onto a piece of Jerric but we shall see. Darnand and Lil’s fate is another question entirely.

I love the juxtaposition of the rivers of lava flowing through the snowy hills. It makes me think of Iceland.

Looks like Jerric et al. are not the only ones hunting daedra.

Ewww, dremora art with the intestines. That reminds me of the 'gut gardens' one of the Ayleid Kings was said to have.

Dunmer are inside the Sigil Keep? They must have come from another gate, one terminating in Morrowind. Very neat wrinkle.

This reminds me of the old days playing Oblivion. I used to love taking characters with Reflect Damage against Clannfears. Then I would just block, and let themselves kill themselves by battering against me.

Now that was a rousing brouhaha to get the sigil stone. I hope everyone makes it back. Even if it is without their sword.

Are you writing Jerric again???? GAAAAAAAAAAAH !!!! Let me download another "Text to Speech" reader and catch up!!! I can't see the forums anymore; Acadian usually sends me a Link to anything I should see = he probably was so excited you were writing again that he forgot to tell me!

"I'll be back!" (said in Arnold's voice).

Previously: The Bruma FG gang found a Dunmer on the way through the Sigil Keep. Jerric has the sigil stone in hand.


ghastley: I’m sure Kjestrid would not have described herself chest-first, but that’s how Jerric experienced it. Thank you, ghastley!

Acadian: It’s a good thing there is so much Jerric available for grabbing. Also good thing they did not all latch on to Shamir-do. His poor tail! Thank you, Acadian!

SubRosa: Iceland was the exact inspiration for this part of the Deadlands. I watched a video of lava flow in the snow and thought, hey what if… The Ayleid gut gardens were where the daedric decoration idea came from. I figured the dremora had probably been around during those times, too. Thank you, SubRosa!

mALX: I hope your text reader works out for you. Let me know if it doesn’t. We could have a live reading on discord or something, lol. I’m glad you’re still read / listening to the story!


Next: Where are we?

Chapter 17: Bruma, Part Seventeen

Darnand paced back across the cell. The iron bands on his wrists felt cold enough to burn, draining his magicka.

J’skar groaned from behind the stone wall to his left.

“Peace, my friend,” whispered Volanaro from the cell opposite. “Eventually they are going to question one of us. Do not draw attention to yourself, lest it be you!”

“Many thanks,” Darnand muttered.

“Hush, all of you,” said Lildereth. She winked into view outside Darnand’s cell. Before he could speak she had the door open, hands at his wrist restraints. When she released the clasp, magicka began to flow like honeyed tea down a raw throat. “Drink this.” She placed a vial in his hand. “It’s some of Jerric’s Juice.”

Darnand was so grateful for the potion, he didn’t even try to strain the clumps with his teeth. The trickle became a flood.

Lildereth addressed the other two mages. “I mixed up your arrest documents. It will be a while before they sort it out, and by then someone will have come to speak for you. I’d put you in different cells to buy time, but that won’t make a difference. You’re the only Khajiit and Altmer in here.”

“You are not leaving us?” Volanaro gasped.

“I’ll let you out, if you like. Then you can be fugitives like us.”

“This one will stay put,” hissed J’skar. “But if a dark elf caravan comes to town, do not let this one be sold to the Dres.”

“House Dres has renounced slavery,” Lildereth told him, taking Darnand by the arm. “I doubt they will make an exception for you. You two really should look at the Black Horse Courier now and then.” In the central corridor she turned back to them, a gentler tone in her voice. “J’skar, Volanaro. You did well. Trust that you will not come to harm. Thank you both.”

“Lildereth,” Darnand began.

“Just follow me. I already packed us up. Quick and quiet, like I’ve shown you.”

“I must—”

When the elf slid a hand down his wrist, his worries faded away.

“I know,” she murmured. “You can’t help him from in here and he can’t help us get out. Wait until we’re clear.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t speak again until you see the horses.”





Jerric felt before he could hear or see. Weight pushing him down, an uneven surface beneath him. The smell of blood and burned hair. Damp air touched his cheek. In his ear a garbled cursing, while from below a muffled wail.

“Shor’s stones,” Kjestrid wheezed. “If you’re alive, get the hells off me!”

“Gjaever,” moaned Shamir-do. “Dark moons.”

As the black blotches swam away to dots in front of his eyes, Jerric caught a glimpse of Gjaever’s beard. The weight lifted with a muttered apology.

“He’s alive,” said Jerric. “By the gods, you’re heavy. Did we get the elf?”

“You got her.”

Kjestrid began to thrash beneath him. He rolled over, legs tangled up in the pile. The sigil stone vibrated against his chest like a wounded hornet.

Cheers sounded all around them, trailing off into silence. Jerric spent a moment looking at the clean blue sky while the others got up. Snow-covered mountains rose to one side of his view. As someone pulled him to his feet, he saw arched and pointed rooftops in the distance below. And beyond, an ocean.

Gjaever’s guild surcoat and cuirass were a smoking ruin. He pulled them off from the front, exposing tattoos that glowed blue even in the sunlight.

The people gathered around had to be the Redoran Guard that Nereli had mentioned. Nereli walked over to speak with three of them. Kjestrid put her back to Jerric on the left, while Gjaever took a position on his right. Shamir-do pressed against his back as they stood together. The guards kept their weapons in hand.

“I guess she has some explaining to do,” Jerric said.

“This one will not go into custody,” Shamir-do hissed.

“No one is taking you anywhere without us,” said Kjestrid.

Gjaever hawked a wad of phlegm onto the scorched ground.

Nereli walked back over to them. “There is some discussion that you may be cultists. It would go a long way to establish trust if you surrendered the sigil stone.”

Jerric started to object, but Kjestrid pressed a hand against him. “We will discuss that with whoever is in charge of rewarding us for your rescue and arranging our accommodations.”

Nereli bowed her head. “I have not described the situation as a rescue.”

“Think about it,” said Kjestrid. “My team survived and yours did not.”

Nereli turned back to her superiors.

“I’ll go with you this time.” Kjestrid handed Redeemer to Jerric, then stepped forward to the three officers at Nereli’s side.

“How did..? Gods, do I owe that woman,” Jerric said to Gjaever and Shamir-do. He made deliberate eye contact with the nearest guard while he sheathed the sword he thought lost. “I guess we’re in Morrowind. Anyone speak Dunmeris? I’ve picked up a few phrases, but…”

“As we are not in a brothel, this one doubts they will help. Gjaever was stationed here.” Shamir-do turned to the other Nord. “Tell this one, friend, what do the greyskins say when they put the chains on Khajiit? Shamir wants to know whom to kill first.”

“Uh,” said Jerric.

One of the guards said, “We all speak Tamrielic, sommehlel.”

“That means ‘imbecile,’” Jerric explained. Then he had a thought. ‘Darnand!’

Two attempts to reach him yielded only silence. Jerric took a gulp of his magicka potion and tried again.

‘I am here.’ Relief permeated Darnand’s mental voice. ‘Where are you?’

‘Morrowind, I think. We all made it out, but the— I’ll tell you the rest when I know more. What happened in Bruma?’

‘I forgot that though invisible I would leave tracks in the snow. Lildereth released me from the Bruma dungeon and brought me to the road where… Oh. Lord Martin wishes me to convey… They are pleased that you are alive.’

‘Me too. Where’s my dog?’

‘Asleep before the fire. Lildereth has gone to assist Volanaro and J’skar in Bruma. I do not know if she will be admitted to Cloud Ruler Temple upon her return. These Blades are slow to trust.’

‘Well, make sure to tell them you are not a necromancer. You should say that a lot.’

A moment passed without either speaking. Jerric began to piece together what Darnand had said.

‘Flash is here with me,’ said Darnand. ‘I asked Lildereth to bring the rest of your belongings up from Bruma, if only to give her occupation. As before she will be intercepted on the road.’

‘You’ve met Martin.’

‘Yes. I am with him in the library.’

Jerric recalled Martin’s knowledge of the Sanguine shrine that he shared on their flight to Weynon Priory. He had also confessed to unconscionable and dangerous deeds, and the deaths of friends. Martin and Darnand might not be the best influence on one another.

‘Get someone to take a message to Asgerd,’ Jerric said. ‘I’ll tell you more later, but she’ll want to know we’re alive.’

‘I will do so. I would ask that you keep me apprised of your situation. Lildereth… is overstrung. Her attempts to locate Cloud Ruler Temple earned the Blades’ attention. Their failure to capture her infuriates Grandmaster Jauffre.’

‘Breton, what are you asking?’

‘I know not.’

Darnand’s words in the Sigil Keep when he thought he would die now returned to Jerric’s mind and stuck like a burr. Tell Abiene, he had started to say. Tell Abiene what? He decided not to bring that up now.

Coward, he cursed himself.

Kjestrid’s return made him break the connection.

“We’re in the Velothis.” She nodded at the distant rooftops. “That’s Blacklight. Nereli and her team came from a village not far from here. That’s where we’ll go for now.”

Nereli had joined them. “I’ll get you a room at the corner club, if I still have a job there. B’vek, most of our staff just died in that Gate. I guess he’ll have to keep me.”

“You’d lose your job for closing the Gate?” Jerric said. He’d heard that the Dunmer were a bunch of daedra-worshipers, but that seemed brazen even for a dark elf. “Is your boss a cultist?”

“You outlanders wouldn’t understand,” said Nereli. “He’s not a cultist. His wife died in there, too.”

“There’s a Fighters Guild hall in Blacklight,” Kjestrid said. “We won’t need to stay here for long. Gjaever, let me look at that.”

Three welts crossed Gjaever’s back from shoulder to hip. Across the middle the skin had broken enough to weep but not freely bleed. Gjaever tolerated the scrutiny for a moment, then began cutting the straps and buckles from his ruined cuirass.

“Bring the whole thing,” Kjestrid told him. “Once we’re indoors we’ll see what we have left. Maybe I can use some of it.”

Jerric realized that Gjaever’s bow and pack were gone. He caught Kjestrid’s eye and tilted his head at the big Nord.

“His Woad. We’ll talk later.” Kjestrid pressed her forehead to Shamir-do’s. Gjaever did the same, clapping a hand on Jerric’s shoulder to bring him into the circle.

“If you are ready,” said Nereli, making a polite gesture. “We’re on foot. This is no country for guar.” She led them to a position in the departing Redoran Guard’s procession.

So great to see you posting again, Grits! This Bruma installment has been fun to read. I am particularly fascinated with Jerric's ventures in Oblivion! So awesome that you've returned!

’The iron bands on his wrists felt cold enough to burn, draining his magicka.’ - - Null iron! Like you, I instantly borrowed the concept as soon as McBadgere posted it in one of his episodes long ago.

Lil’s arrival and actions were wonderfully consistent with what we’ve come to expect from the mysterious elf.

’Jerric started to object, but Kjestrid pressed a hand against him. “We will discuss that with whomever is in charge of rewarding us for your rescue and arranging our accommodations.” - - Jerric has many redeeming qualities but trying to explain his way out of a pickle is not one of them. Brilliant rescue by Kjestrid here.

You tantalize with some interesting crosscurrents here that have always flowed mysteriously among Jerric, Abiene, Lil and Darnand. Heh, I expect none of the foursome truly understand their emotions regarding the others.

Wow neat, so Darnand and Jerric can communicate from a distance too. Where is Darnand? I know he's in jail, but which province?

That Sigil Stone raid is pretty intense!

Let me see if I've followed all this.

Darnand re-closed the gate he opened, so he popped back out near Bruma. I assume he is in jail for the re-opening, and suspicion of Mythic Dawn membership, although it could just be for the "distraction" with the scamps.

The other gate was near Blacklight, which is a loooong way away in mainland Morrowind, over the border from Windhelm. Presumably the distance is less through the Deadlands, as there's no need for the gate locations to "match" anything. If anyone points this out to Darnand, he could become the inventor of dangerous shortcuts .

I assume Jerric and Co. are suspects, because they weren't part of the crew that went into the Blacklight gate, and so could be the cultists that opened it. Jerric naturally assumes he's guilty of something, because he usually is.

Ninja Lil comes through with the boys in prison, as expected.

I am reminded of a comic book pile of villains on top of a superhero as Jerric and company gather their wits back on Nirn. Except of course Jerric does not hurl them off in an explosion of superheroic might!

Mountains to one side and ocean to the other. Uh oh, they are not in Bruma anymore. Sounds like Morrowind.

I love Gjaever’s enchanted tattoos.

And a lovely Dunmer welcome. It will be interesting to see how things shake out in Blacklight. At least they are not too far from Bruma, as things go.

I loved how Jerric's errant thoughts of Abbie slipped through the mental communication. Good thing he's a manly man, and put the damper on that!

Previously: Jerric landed in Morrowind. Darnand made his way to Cloud Ruler Temple.


Darkness Eternal: Thank you, DE! This departure from the game has been fun to write. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

Acadian: McBadgere’s writing continues to inspire me. The other day out of the blue I remembered how one of his characters tricked their captors into letting him out of the carriage so he could open a gate and free some neglected animals (horses?). This was very much a Lil and Kjestrid episode for me, so I was delighted to see that you mentioned both of them. Thank you, Acadian!

Renee: Thank you, Renee! Darnand is in Bruma. He had not been to Cloud Ruler Temple before the last section. Darnand and Jerric can communicate over distances using a conjuration spell. Similarly Darnand and Abiene can communicate using the crystal ball that he gave her for Saturalia, but it’s not as reliable.

ghastley: You are correct on all counts, and you have anticipated Darnand’s next idea. I’ve changed how the Gates work a little from what the game books tell us. In Jerric’s world the initial more complicated ritual makes the connection between specific locations, and the sigil stone opens the portal. That’s how he could use a sigil stone from a different tower to reopen the Maiden Springs Gate. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: When I was writing the scene Jerric surprised me with the intrusive Abiene thought. He is good at compartmentalizing things, but as soon as he and Darnand were confirmed to both still be among the living, his question popped right back up. The Plan has him thinking that subject over much later in the story. Leave it to the characters to screw up The Plan. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: After five and a half years, we have reached a new chapter!!

Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part One

“Is that a bug?” Kjestrid poked at her breakfast.

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “You going to eat it?”

Kjestrid transferred the food to Jerric’s plate using her fork and the barest tip of a finger. Her face looked like she was trying not to make a face.

“It’s an ash hopper leg,” Jerric told her. He crunched through the shell to get at the meat. “I think they mean to honor us with this Dunmer food. Must have come a long way in a wagon. This isn’t ash country.” The meat was fibrous but tender, like well-steamed crab. Kjestrid didn’t look like she would welcome more discussion on the subject, so Jerric kept that observation to himself.

Shamir-do scraped some of his food onto Kjestrid’s plate. “Here, this one cannot finish his kwama egg. Khajiit went too deep into the sujamma last night.”

“Thanks.” Kjestrid shoveled in a few forkfuls. “These are funny eggs. What kind of bird is a kwama?”

Jerric mimed antenna by wiggling his fingers. “They’re a kind of big, uh…”

“Bug,” Shamir-do finished.

Kjestrid put down her fork and carefully swallowed. Then she gave her plate a small shove.

Nereli joined them at the table. “We’re ordered to leave in an hour. Will you be ready?”

“Do we have a choice?” asked Kjestrid.

Nereli lifted a shoulder. “If you give Captain Brenos the sigil stone, she might let you go. You’re not in custody.”

Shamir-do’s ears had flattened when the Dunmer sat down. “This one is not in custody, but also not free to go. Is this how the Dunmer give up their slaves?”

“We don’t own any slaves,” Nereli explained, as if to a child. “No one in this village did, and my family never has.” She reached for the kahve pitcher. “We’re too poor.”

Shamir-do’s tail lashed the air as he lifted from his seat.

Gjaever’s chair made a loud scrape along the floor. He strode to the door without comment. Shamir-do followed, hissing.

Nereli glanced between Jerric and Kjestrid. “What?”

“Was there anything else?” Kjestrid asked her.

“I’m coming with you to Blacklight,” said Nereli. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

Jerric looked at her. No conversation topic came to mind.

“You’re leaving Mattapi,” Kjestrid said. It wasn’t a question, but it was better than the silence.

Nereli nodded at the door. “Yes. My pack is over there. Last night I traded most of my things for the supplies I gave you. And a handful of coins. Not much to show for all my years in this place.”

Jerric had assumed that the few items had been donated by villagers. “Uh, thanks.”

“I owe you my life,” said Nereli.

Jerric filled Kjestrid’s kahve mug. While she gave it a suspicious glare, he emptied the pitcher into his own. “It’s not good, but at least it’s from real beans,” he said to Kjestrid.

Nereli warmed to that subject. “Sorry about the food. It’s all from tins in the back of the pantry. Raufin would have cooked a Nord breakfast for you. Too bad she died.”

“In the Gate?” asked Jerric.

Nereli nodded.

“I’m sorry about your friends,” Jerric said. “Those that stayed here don’t seem happy that you made it back.”

“That’s why I’m leaving. Every house reminds me of someone I left behind in the Deadlands. Every face I see tells me that they’re thinking of loved ones whose bones will never rest with their ancestors. Surviving wasn’t a victory for me. It’s a shame I’ll never erase, or ever forget even for a minute as long as I live here.”

Nereli’s losses were too close to his own. Jerric shared a glance with Kjestrid. She made a little grimace. Jerric answered with a slight lift of brows. Elves.

“What will you do in Blacklight?” Jerric asked.

“I’ll find work at a corner club. Or maybe the Fighters Guild will take me.”

“You can shoot,” said Kjestrid.

Nereli took a sip of her kahve.

“Do you know anything about these councilors we’re supposed to talk to?” Jerric asked.

“I don’t know any of them personally, but I know of them. There will be a hearing. You’re not on trial.”

As uneasy as Jerric felt, he wondered if Shamir-do had just made a run for the hills.

“I’m going to take a dump,” Jerric announced. He picked up his kahve and headed for the door.




“He described a suspended cage without door or lock,” said Darnand. “No mechanism was apparent nearby, and Goneld was unable to explain how to open it.”

Lord Martin steepled his fingers. “I suspect the cage was a lesser daedra, controlled by a spell.”

“Do you suppose the spell is a general command or specific to each cage-entity?”

Martin acknowledged Darnand’s unspoken reasoning with a nod. “It is likely that Jerric will find others imprisoned in such cages, or even become trapped in one himself. This is a worthwhile use of your time. You have my leave to pursue it. All of the Temple’s resources are available to you.” He waved a hand toward the library.

“Where else are documents kept?” asked Darnand. “Are there perhaps private collections?” Though this mountain fortress seemed an unlikely place to store the Empire’s secrets, it was an ideal location for the odd Knight Brother or Sister to pursue individual interests. These Blades couldn’t spend all of their time bashing each other and shoveling snow.

“Possibly. I shall inquire.” Lord Martin looked to Jauffre, but the Grandmaster seemed lost in his own thoughts.

Delaine approached their table. “I beg pardon, Your Grace.”

“Yes, Delaine?”

He spoke to Darnand. “She’s back.”

“What is she doing?” asked Jauffre.

“Sitting on her horse in the middle of the road. It’s snowing.”

Jauffre gave Darnand a hard look.

“I shall go to her immediately,” said Darnand. He addressed the Grandmaster. “Though you still harbor suspicion, she has my trust, my respect, and my gratitude. How shall I return?”

“Captain Steffan will accompany you,” said Jauffre.

That made Darnand pause. “You do not intend another attempt to capture her.”

“Nor to invite her into the Temple,” Jauffre confirmed. “Captain Steffan merely wishes a word.” He jerked his head at Delaine. The teenager strode off with apparent purpose.

Darnand made his way to the civilian quarters under the temple. Here he had been given a chamber with a host family. As far as he could tell, the resident Blades spent some nights in their ground-level barracks and some in the underground apartments. Perhaps it had to do with the type of duty they had been assigned.

His borrowed quarters were silent and dark. Darnand flicked a ball of light from his fingers, in too much of a hurry to fumble with the glowstones. He snatched his worn cloak from its hook and quickened his pace back through the stone corridors. Martin’s work table in the Great Hall was far enough from the fire that he had already dressed in his warmest robe and leggings.

Captain Steffan made an imposing figure standing on the ramparts. He wore Blades armor and the usual Akaviri katana at his hip. While his black brows and olive complexion identified him as Nibenese, grey eyes and almost Nordic stature indicated mixed heritage.

It was wise of Captain Steffan to approach Lildereth at Darnand’s side. Otherwise he may receive an arrow. Darnand folded his hands in a magister’s greeting, uncertain what protocol required.

Captain Steffan extended his arm for a warrior’s clasp. “Penoit. A belated welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Ready to go for a walk?” The Imperial sounded good-natured. Despite the light snowfall, he wore no cloak.

“Yes.”

Captain Steffan took charge of the conversation. “Take a look at this stonework.” He patted the wall as they descended to the front gates. “That’s some real craftsmanship, that is.”

“Is that local granite?” Darnand had noted the different types of stone used for paving, structural, and decorative work within the temple buildings and compared it with Bruma’s building materials and the outcrops they had passed without consciously thinking about it until Steffan raised the subject.

“Aye. We’ve found the quarries.”

Darnand learned about Akaviri construction methodology as they walked until they saw a figure on the road.

Lildereth dismounted at their approach. Darnand glanced back to find a reference point for where they had become visible, but of course the Temple had already disappeared. Arcane mist hung over the woods behind them, obscuring the hills. Mountains were distant shadows through the snow.

Darnand saw the moment Lildereth realized that he bore good news. He decided to get the Blades business finished first. “This is Captain Steffan, commander of Cloud Ruler Temple,” he said.

Lildereth gave the captain a polite nod, but did not extend her hand.

“You’ve led us on quite the chase, Lildereth,” Steffan said, his tone mild.

“You don’t have to chase me. You could just invite me in.”

“We don't even have a record of anyone getting as close as you have,” Steffan said. “Tell me, how did you disguise your tracks so convincingly?”

“I was mounted on an elk.”

Steffan pointed to Darnand, chuckling. “You're my witness. Pelegius owes me ten Septims.”

Darnand fought for patience. “Captain…”

“All right, to the point. Lildereth, your guilds hold you in esteem. By all counts you are a responsible citizen of the Empire. How is this possible? Lildereth of Athay died in the Five Year War.”

Lildereth lifted her chin. “I didn’t.”

Captain Steffan waited.

Lildereth remained silent.

“I have work to do,” Darnand said to the captain. “If you are not going to welcome her or arrest her, would you please excuse us?”

Steffan walked a few steps away, but remained within hearing distance.

Lildereth caught Darnand’s hands as he reached for hers. “Tell me,” she said.

“He is well and in Morrowind. All of the Fighters Guild group survived the Gate. I await further news.”

“We are scattered to the winds,” Lildereth murmured. She began removing packs from Rose.

Darnand got to work at her side. “How does he accumulate so much… stuff?” They made a pile of Jerric’s belongings in the snow. Darnand glanced at Captain Steffan’s back, wishing to instead see a pack mule.

Lildereth handed him a bundle of mail, tied neatly in her way. “There’s a letter for Jerric,” she said.

Darnand didn’t need to think about what that meant if she mentioned it. “What does it read?”

“Some kind of code. His Auntie shares news.”

“Thank you for sparing me the decision to open it. I shall inform him as soon as I return.” He illustrated with an absent head gesture in the direction of Cloud Ruler Temple.

Lildereth regarded him for a moment. “If you can reach him now, he may have some action I may take on his behalf. Since you’re occupied up there in the fog.”

“As ever, yours is the better plan. Lildereth…”

The elf gave him a slanted brow.

“I am grateful that you are with me. I might even say that I am pleased.”

“I’m out here in the snow, Breton. If I was with you, I’d spend less time drying my socks and listening to wolves.”

Darnand placed a palm on Rose’s neck to steady himself against the spell’s disorienting effect. ‘Jerric?’

The Nord’s presence filled his mind like afternoon sunlight. ‘Breton. You just saved me from doing murder. I’m about to strangle some of these elves.’

Darnand paid close attention to his magicka. The spell consumed it at the same rate across provinces as it did within the Anvil Mages Guild Hall. Perhaps it would be possible to communicate between realms, if they could manage to connect.

‘All this waiting is wearing us down,’ Jerric continued. ‘We have gear to replace and we’re running up a tab here, but they won’t give us leave to work yet. Shamir-do is as nervous as a puffling in a needle factory. Kjestrid’s so picky about her food you’d think she was a countess, and Gjaever makes me look like a child when we spar. I can’t break his guard.’

A conversation with Jerric was its own journey. Darnand settled in to follow whatever path the Nord’s mind took.

By the time they finished, Darnand’s eyes were burning. Concentrating must make him forget to blink. A high-ceilinged chamber of dark stone lingered in his mind’s eye like a ghost. Did Jerric now see a shadow-vision of snowy woods?

“What’s it like?” Lildereth interrupted his musing.

Her expression clarified the question. “It is intimate and uncomfortable,” Darnand said. “When we speak I can almost… You recall that morning after you joined us on the Kvatch plateau?”

Lildereth smiled. “Yes.”

“I can almost smell his hair. I confess this type of communication ill suits me.” Darnand gave himself a mental shake. “He is in Blacklight, his return to Cyrodiil uncertain. There is a delay with Redoran authorities. He does not require assistance. The code is an instruction to meet Baurus in the Imperial City. The book we have been seeking is found. He believes that Baurus has met with some difficulty, as the Auntie’s message was meant to come from Grandmaster Jauffre. I shall proceed immediately on Jerric’s behalf, with or without the Grandmaster’s approval. Will you accompany me?”

“How could I miss the culmination of your great book hunt?” Lildereth’s laugh was like a warm breeze. “You’d better get approval. I can’t break you out of a dungeon I can’t find.”

“Let us leave Kip and Flash with the Blades. I shall — ”

“I’ll meet you on the road,” Lildereth clasped his hand in hers. “Let’s leave today. Bring Ulfe. You should tell Abiene. We’re the closest thing to family that he has.”

There would be time on the road to consider her meaning. Darnand tucked the mail into a pocket and cast the spell that would allow him to carry a Nord’s baggage up the mountain without humiliating himself in the presence of a Blades officer.

I never did figure out whether she was glad she got out first, or regrets leaving the others. Is this about to get resolved, or does it come up again in five year's time?

Nice to see Cloud Ruler Temple, Martin and Steffan.

Lil’s as mysterious as ever, of course.

The long distance telepathic conversations between Darnand and Jerric are both fascinating and funny – the odd couple forced into periods of mind-sharing.

So I take it the last chapter was part of the 5 Year Plan?

The Plan makes me think of this Harry Potter quote "when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose."

Bugs for breakfast. Ugh. Even the super-mutants in the fallout games rank bugs as the worst food. Worse than ghouls.

Well, at least Kjestrid is in no danger of losing her figure while in Morrowind...

Looks like Nireli will be sticking around the story for a while longer. I wonder if she will be joining the Scooby Gang? She no longer has anything to tie her down, or to live for really.

Brilliant of Lil to use the local wildlife to disguise her passage!

It appears the news of Lil's death was greatly exaggerated...

Hah! The game is afoot! Time to meet up with Baurus and go hunt some Mythic Dawnies!

I've finally caught up!

Your description of the last Gate, and the FG's encounter with Nereli left echoes of "Huzzah!" echoing in my mind. Whew! Just a memory . . .

Then back to CRT and ah ha! Captain Stefan! The most underrated NPC in the whole game. I see that you put your own twist to him, and yet he shares the same heritage as my Stefan Arngrimsson . . .

Five years to write a chapter . . . Hmmm, I have a story waiting fifteen years for its finale . . .

So glad to see you continuing this, I'm still enjoying everything you put down to text!

Previously: With Jerric delayed in Blacklight, Darnand and Lildereth decided to follow the Path of Dawn.


ghastley: She’ll need at least five more to figure that one out. Better make them elf years. Thank you, ghastley!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! Poor Darnand. He has to share way too much with Jerric.

SubRosa: Lildereth had an elk mount in her online game (until I gave away my PS4). I had to work that in somehow. Just as I was thinking that Kjestrid might be getting a little too badass in the Gate, she surprised me by being a big baby about her food. She might have trouble maintaining her corn fed stature on an elf diet. Thank you, SubRosa!

haute ecole rider: Maybe it’s because you meet him in the snow, but I could only think of Steffan as a Nord for the longest time. In my mind he looks like a RL acquaintance who has Columbian and Scandinavian heritage. Dark hair, brown skin, and crystal clear blue-grey eyes. He is so beautiful it’s hard to concentrate when he’s talking. Also he is a dentist, so his teeth can blind you. Thank you, haute!


Next: Let’s find a fancy Bosmer.

Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part Two

Darnand let the door slam shut behind him. Mid-day sun glared off the Market District’s white stone buildings. He stomped around the corner to the Merchants Inn.

Lildereth stepped outside just as he reached for the door. She had changed into a gown and left her bow with their packs. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders.

“We have missed him by a half day,” Darnand said before she could ask. “Gwinas already bought the third volume. Godsdammit!”

“What did Phintias say?” Lildereth linked her arm through his and drew him a few steps down the street.

“He offered a number of insults, then confessed that the book was out of his hands. I got a description. Gwinas is a blond Bosmer with his hair in what Phintias described as an elf-knot. He is wearing red silk robes trimmed with gold. I suspect that wherever he is, he is studying his latest acquisition.”

“We might catch him,” said Lildereth. “If he’s come from Valenwood he may have more business in the city, and as you say, a collector will want to gloat over his prize. He’s probably rich. You check the Tiber Septim Hotel, and I’ll check the Elven Gardens inns.” She pressed the Ring of Khajiiti into his palm. “This will make you faster and less likely to attract attention while you’re running. Cut straight across to get to Talos Plaza. Look, use the tower as a guide. Check the Arboretum if he’s not at the hotel. A Bosmer may like to read under the trees, no matter what Imperial getup he’s wearing. I’ll meet you in our room in a few hours.”

“What about—”

“I will chase him all the way to Valenwood if I must, but for now let’s just each look for him. I doubt his gold-trimmed robes are for traveling. ‘Husband.’” Lildereth’s kiss on his mouth reminded him that they had roles to play. Then she gave him a little shove, her pointy fingers hidden in a fold of his cloak.

This time of day glancing up at the White-Gold Tower meant looking nearly straight into the sun. After a few dignified strides in case unfriendly eyes were watching, Darnand took off at a run. The Ring of Khajiiti felt heavy on his finger.

Since it was still an appropriate time for the midday meal, Darnand checked the hotel first. A red-robed Bosmer sat alone at a dining table in the center of the Tiber Septim Hotel’s lobby, swinging his feet and sipping from a silver goblet. The plate in front of him held the remains of a meal. He clutched a loosely wrapped book-shaped package to his chest with one arm. Gwinas.

Darnand moved to a pillar and simply stood there, counting on the Ring of Khajiiti to make him look as if he belonged. He did not want a scene in front of witnesses. When Gwinas rose and walked out the main door, Darnand followed.

As Lildereth predicted, the Bosmer entered the Arboretum and started toward an empty bench. Darnand began to close the distance, intending to sit beside him.

Gwinas turned on his heel and frowned at Darnand. “Have you been following me?”

“Pardon me,” Darnand said, leaving a polite space between them. “I could not help but notice your book.”

“Leave me alone!” Gwinas cried. He twisted his body to the side, protecting his prize. “This book is mine!”

That escalated quickly. Darnand made a placating gesture. “So I see. Perhaps you mistake my intention. I want to buy it from you.”

“It isn’t for sale. You’ll have to find a copy somewhere else.”

“No. I have waited too long for this one. I must insist.”

“I won’t be bullied!” Gwinas shrilled. “I’m not some pathetic bookworm you can just push around! I have friends, you know!”

Bullied? Perhaps that would be more effective than reason. Darnand made his best judgmental scowl. “Friends… In the Mythic Dawn?”

“I never said anything about the Mythic Dawn.” Gwinas put his small chin in the air, looking down his nose at approximately Darnand’s mid-chest. “In fact, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Do not play the fool with me,” Darnand growled, leaning in.

“V-very well.” Gwinas gulped. He raised up on his toes and continued. “I can see you’re familiar with Mankar Camoran’s Commentaries. I know that daedric cults are not quite the thing socially, but that’s just foolish prejudice and superstition. For the adventurous, open-minded thinker daedric worship holds many rewards.”

“You are out of your depth, Gwinas.” Curse it. That sounded like a height reference.

“I beg your pardon?” Gwinas sputtered. “I’ll have you know that I’ve visited the Shrine of Sheogorath during the Festival of the Mad! I’ve spoken with Hermaeus Mora beneath the full moons! I’ve—”

“‘I have sipped brandy at Sanguine’s pleasure pavilions,’” Darnand sing-songed in the elf’s higher pitch. “‘I have sprinkled glow dust upon the Shrine of Azura!’” He thrust his hand out in a fist. “Do you recognize this?”

“The Ring of Khajiiti,” Gwinas breathed.

“Then you know that I have personally petitioned a Daedric Prince and received Her favor.”

Gwinas’s eyes were round as a human’s. He reached out a tentative finger. “May I… touch it?”

Darnand extended the ring, then snatched it back at the last moment, earning a gasp from the quivering elf. “I should not risk my Lady’s wrath,” he intoned.

Gwinas tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe, arms still wrapped around the book.

“Gwinas,” Darnand said, “It is true that I was following you. These cultists are no dilettantes dabbling in titillation and welcoming tourists to their shrine. This is a cult of Mehrunes Dagon, committed to bringing about the end of our way of life. They are the ones who murdered our Lord Uriel and all of his heirs. Even now they search for every last innocent who bears a drop of Septim blood. And you would claim them as friends? Once you call upon their evil, do you suppose they will allow you to go on your way?”

“What?! The Mythic Dawn were the ones..? You have to believe me. I truly had no idea. I mean, I knew they were a daedric cult. Mankar Camoran’s views on Mehrunes Dagon are fascinating, revolutionary even. But to murder the Emperor… Mara preserve us!” Gwinas had turned pale as a Nord.

“You had better give me that book.”

“Yes. Of course! I don’t want anyone to think I had anything to do with their insane plots! Here. Volume Three is yours. Take the cursed thing. What you do with it is your business. Auri-El and Stendarr, I wish I’d never heard of this book!” He thrust it at Darnand.

Darnand did not remark upon the elf’s sudden faith in the Divines. “I need the fourth volume as well.”

“You can only get Volume Four directly from a member of the Mythic Dawn. I had set up a meeting with the Sponsor, as he called himself.” Gwinas fumbled in his robe until he produced a folded page. “Here, take the note they gave me. It tells you where to go. I don’t want anything else to do with the Mythic Dawn. Please, won’t you go in my stead? You have… experience in these matters. They don’t ever need to know my face. I mean, you could say you were me.”

“I shall. You are right to fear, Gwinas.” Darnand tucked the note into the book and the book into his shoulder bag. “Will you stay in the city, my friend?”

Gwinas shook his head, eyes bugging out again.

Now he supposes I will not survive it. Perhaps I frightened him too much. “At the least provide a way for me to contact you,” Darnand said. In the event that this turns into a dead end. “As you are something of an expert, I should like to consult you with my findings. Surely your own curiosity—”

“All right!” Gwinas yelped. “I shall remain for one night and no longer. If you do not come to my hotel I’ll assume you are dead!”

“You may feel more comfortable if you change hotels,” Darnand suggested.

“More comfortable than the Tiber Septim? Psht. Oh! You mean I should worry less about being murdered in my sleep. Gaah! I shall never sleep again!”

“Perhaps the All-Saints in the Temple District? It is located near the Talos Plaza Gate. You will not have to move far, and it is close to the Temple of the One.”

“Indeed. As you say.” Gwinas rubbed his palms together then brushed them up and down his arms. He blinked up at Darnand, clicked his heels together, and gave a little bow. “I thank you, my nameless friend. No! I do not wish to know your name. Go with care, and with the blessings of, er, with the blessings of the Nine! And of Your Lady of Infinite Energies! And… and all of the good ones!”

Darnand inclined his head, solemn as one of the park’s marble guardians. As the Bosmer scampered off, he allowed himself to smile.

What a fun episode – Gwinas was adorable!

‘A red-robed Bosmer sat alone at a dining table in the center of the Tiber Septim Hotel’s lobby, swinging his feet and sipping from a silver goblet.’
‘Gwinas put his small chin in the air, looking down his nose at approximately Darnand’s mid-chest.’
- - I see Gwinas suffers from common Bosmeri complaints of chairs that are too high and Bretons that are too tall!

Brilliantly deft of Darnand to try intimidation when his first effort failed, then to invoke the Daedric ring to emphasize his point. Darnand’s verbal acumen here really contrasts that of his large Nordic friend who would have doubtless tried, “Uh, gimme the book, elf.”

That was a nice mixture of Beth's dialogue and your own, and the Ring of Khajiiti part was genius!

Now you've got me wondering why Darnand wants to keep Gwinas around, after getting the book. Maybe just in case it's not the book he expects?

Lil in a gown, now that is a sight worth seeing!

I can imagine that whatever Phintias said started with his usual sarcastically satirical venemous "Good Day!"

"Its mine, its my precious!" is what I half expected Gwinas to say!

Looks like Darny had no trouble playing bad cop. I loved his big-stuffing with the Ring of the Khajiti!

Previously: Darnand acquired Volume Three from Gwinas. Also, he had a note.


Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! You’re so right, Jerric does not have much variety on his Speechcraft wheel. I have been looking forward to the Gwinas part. He is a favorite.

ghastley: Darnand wants Gwinas in town in case the meeting doesn't work out. Then he could try to find out how he made contact with the Sponsor and set up his own meeting, or turn the information over to the Blades. He is feeling the pressure to get results with Jerric out of the picture. Thank you, ghastley!

SubRosa: Lil in a gown always makes me smile. Phintias is lucky Darnand didn’t leave a scamp in his shop when he stomped out. Good thing he has too much love for all those innocent books. Thank you, SubRosa!


Next: Let’s find out what the Nords are up to in Morrowind.

Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part Three

Jerric gazed idly at the towering shelves. They ran the full width of the building in rows too deep for him to see the back from this angle. Each one was packed to the ceiling with books and scrolls. “This library looks like a harpy’s nest,” he said. “How do you find anything?”

“Keep your voice down,” hissed Nereli. “You don’t find anything. You have to ask to look at a book.”

“I don’t want to look at a book,” Kjestrid murmured.

“You need information,” said Nereli. She gestured toward the desk at the front of their line. “That’s where you get it.”

Gjaever appeared to be asleep on his feet. He still wore the shirt he had been given in Mattapi. It still failed to close over any part of his torso.

“We look like a bunch of scholars,” said Jerric. He cut his eyes at Shamir-do.

The Khajiit responded with the squint that denoted amusement.

“I don’t fit in here, either,” Nereli said.

Jerric looked at the other library patrons, then back at Nereli. Her grey cheeks and nose were freckled by the sun, hair cut straight and plain at chin level like Kjestrid’s. She had probably made that faded tunic herself. Their neighbors in line wore robes in a rainbow of jewel tones, all trimmed in metallic braid. Stiffened shoulder pieces in imitation of the Redoran peaked pauldrons seemed to be the fashion. Most of the Dunmer had black hair and red eyes, like Nereli. However the city elves wore their hair sculpted in styles that must need paste to hold them together.

“Nah, you don’t,” said Jerric. “You look like one of us.”

Nereli shot him a look of pure gratitude.

When the group in front of them shuffled off, Kjestrid and Nereli stepped up to do the talking. Jerric assumed his guard posture behind them. Gjaever did the same at his side. Shamir-do stood in the middle. He seemed most comfortable when surrounded by the Nords.

The clerk behind the desk wore dark gloves and protective sleeves over his robe. He flicked his fingers impatiently as Nereli handed over her credentials.

“We need to find the best way to County Bruma, in Cyrodiil,” she told him.

The clerk said something in Dunmeris.

“That’s what we’re asking,” said Nereli. “We need to find the fastest way that we can afford.”

The clerk spoke to a slim youth in a trim-fitting tunic. The lad darted off between the stacks without comment.

“He’s getting something,” Nereli explained over her shoulder.

Jerric kept his eyes on the clerk. There would be time later to jest about these stuffy elves.

When the runner returned, Kjestrid and Nereli put their heads together over the scrolls he had retrieved. The clerk smoothed them out on his work surface and spoke, still in Dunmeris. Nereli’s replies were too soft for Jerric to hear.

After a time, Shamir-do whispered, “Azura.” His cat ears apparently had no problem with Nereli’s reserved tone. When Gjaever grunted agreement, Jerric recalled that the big Nord could understand the clerk’s gibberish.

“Hey!” said Jerric, loud enough to make the runner flinch.

The clerk switched to Tamrielic without apology. “If you use the Gate at the shrine on Azura’s coast to reach the one in Cyrodiil, you will have to travel farther than you would if you simply walked across Tamriel.”

“Where—” Kjestrid started.

“I am not going to discuss the particulars with you,” the Dunmer interrupted.

Nereli spoke up. “Then where do you suggest we go in Morrowind in order to exit through the Gate at the Shrine of Azura outside Cheydinhal?”

“How can it be farther?” Jerric asked over their shoulders. “Is Moonshadow that big?”

The clerk glared at a point above Jerric’s head. “First you travel to Azura’s Coast. Then you travel across Moonshadow.”

Jerric’s hands wanted to measure the clerk’s neck. He scratched his groin to distract them. “So it is that big. You could just say so.”

“I did say so,” the Dunmer snapped. “That is exactly what I said!”

“Where should we go?” Kjestrid asked.

The clerk answered by speaking to Nereli. “There is a small shrine in the hills about a half-day’s walk south of the city, here. They have no stable Gate to Moonshadow, but the priestess may open a portal for you. However first you must gain permission from Azura.”

“Permission to travel,” Kjestrid said as if confirming her understanding.

“Permission to ask,” sniffed the clerk.

“Are you serious?” Jerric said. “Gods blood!”

“How do we summon her?” asked Kjestrid.

“You expose your ignorance, outlander. You cannot summon the Mother of the Rose as if she was some winged twilight for your amusement. The priestess will submit on your behalf during her usual rituals. Then, if your petition is acceptable, the priestess will relay The Lady’s terms. Only upon agreement will she open the portal for you.”

“All right,” said Kjestrid. “How often does she do her rituals?”

The clerk made a dismissive gesture. “We do not keep her schedule here. Next!”

Kjestrid drew the group away before anyone could give in to violence. “Sounds like you were right, Shamir-do. Azura is sheltering her devoted in response to the Oblivion war. This kind of travel is outside the scope of our contract. What do you all think?”

“I will take the Dunmeth Pass to Windhelm and then walk across Skyrim,” said Gjaever. “I would rather shave my beard than step through another cursed portal.” He placed a heavy hand on Jerric’s shoulder. “Good journey, my friend. It was an honor.”

“For me too,” said Jerric. “But no farewells yet. Won’t we see you again as we all prepare for our trips?”

“If he has to speak, he likes to get it all out at once,” Kjestrid said.

“This one will travel with Jerric. Khajiit wants to see what trouble he will cause in Moonshadow.”

“Didn’t have to tell me that, cat,” Jerric grinned. “Besides, how would we get Azura to even talk to us without your sugar-whiskers on our side?”

Shamir-do smoothed his whiskers. “Moon sugar is a ritual and a right. Not a condiment.”

“I for one hope we meet as few daedra as possible.” Kjestrid turned to Gjaever. “We haven’t replaced all of your gear yet. Stay with us a while longer. I’ll see about getting the Redorans to cover our bills. Plus as much extra as I can squeeze out of these bone-wearing knife-ears.” She glanced at Nereli. “That is, out of our noble hosts. Thank you for coming along today, Nereli. That stuffed robe wouldn’t have spoken to us without you.”

Nereli shrugged. “What else do I have to do? Besides, I have a debt to all of you. I wish I was more help at the hearing.”

Jerric gave Kjestrid an encouraging punch on the shoulder. “If anyone can get us paid, it’s you. See you afterward at the Guild Hall. In the meantime I’m going to get a drink and catch up with my Breton.”

“Does he have some gold?” Kjestrid asked as Jerric walked away. “Hey! We’re in a bind for money here! Where did you get the gold?”

Jerric waved a hand as if returning a farewell. Whether by fight or by favor, it should not be difficult to get a drink in any city.

Outside he picked a random direction and strode into the crowd. After a block he noticed Nereli had joined him, trotting the occasional few steps to keep up. As usual she looked like someone had just pissed in her saltrice.

Jerric didn’t slow his pace. “What do you want, Nereli? A fight or an angry hump? I don’t have any tales to amuse you and we already trained this morning.”

Nereli ignored his rudeness. “A drink sounds good. I don’t have any gold either.”

Jerric didn’t speak for another half block. “You pick us a corner club. We’ll figure something out.”

Snooty Dunmer are perfect for keeping Jerric in good form. And that library certainly had some!

So it looks like most of the crew is going with Jerric to try sweet talking Azura into a lift back to Cyrodiil.

Funny at the end. Jerric and Nereli seem to get on pretty well – broke and needa drink.

I liked the contrast between the regular city elf library patrons and Jerric et al. Quite a difference!

Jerric’s hands wanted to measure the clerk’s neck.
This is wonderfully descriptive

she looked like someone had just pissed in her saltrice
this is another great description

I am liking Nereli. She is wonderfully down to Nirn. Such a great contrast to the other city Dunmer.

To the cornerclub we go! Sounds like Loria's way of hiring mercenaries...

I am looking forward to seeing Moonshadow, if indeed it is a trans-dimensional romp in the future. Visiting a Daedric Realm that is not entirely hostile will be a pleasant change.

If this is true: "If you use the Gate at the shrine on Azura’s coast to reach the one in Cyrodiil, you will have to travel farther than you would if you simply walked across Tamriel.” then why are they considering it?

I seemed like a good idea at the time?

Gjaever is taking the shortcut, apparently.

My favorite quote from the latest chapter...





I hope they don't encounter too many daedra either.

Previously: The Morrowind crew decided to petition Azura for passage through Moonshadow. Gjaever is going to walk home across Skyrim instead.


Acadian: Nereli’s situation is too close to Jerric’s recent losses for comfort, but he can’t turn down a fellow traveler who needs a drink. Thank you, Acadian!

SubRosa: Jerric’s “Main Quest, Mostly” adventure has rather grown in scope. Nereli has been fun to write alongside Jerric. She does not expect kindness or sympathy or for things to work out in her favor. When her life falls apart, she just packs her bag and goes on living. Thank you, SubRosa!

ghastley: I am sorry about the confusion! There were two routes through Moonshadow under consideration. One is through a stable Gate that in this story Azura’s followers have opened at her shrine on Azura’s Coast. This is the shrine you find in the Morrowind game. They are told that would be the long way since the trek through Moonshadow from the Azura’s Coast Gate to another stable Gate that Azura’s followers have opened at her Cheydinhal shrine is longer than they expected. They didn’t know this until the grumpy librarian looked it up for them. (Darnand is going to be upset that they didn’t copy his Moonshadow map.) The way they are pursuing now is through a temporary portal that they hope the local priestess will open for them at a nearby hill Shrine to Azura that is not in any game. Theoretically she could place them closer in Moonshadow to their planned exit through the Cheydinhal Gate with Azura’s cooperation. Jerric feels the time pressure to take a shortcut, and Kjestrid feels the responsibility to finish delivering him to Cloud Ruler Temple (or nearby) as she was tasked in their original Echo Cave patrol. Gjaever is done with this daedric nonsense. Shamir-do wouldn’t mind half-seeing Moonshadow. I hope that clears things up, and I’m sorry about the confusion! Thank you, ghastley!

Renee: These three Nords are a little out of place in a Dunmeri library. Thank you, Renee!


Next: Darnand and Lildereth have taken Jerric’s place following the Path of Dawn in Imperial City. Darnand has acquired Volume Three of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries.

Chapter 18: The Path of Dawn, Part Four

The chamber door opened and then closed, admitting a surge of tavern noise from downstairs. Darnand stacked the books and moved his notes to make space.

Lildereth slid their plates onto the table. “Have you figured it out yet?” She placed a bottle of wine next to the water pitcher.

“‘Green Emperor Way where Tower touches.’ I have known the code since I read the first volume. The final book will complete the clue. I should think it will be a celestial reference. ‘Mage’s Hand,’ or the like. No, it will be an event that occurs daily and varies little with the seasons. Perhaps the midday sun.” Darnand poured the wine. “Before I go into the sewers, we should meet with Baurus.”

“You should meet with him,” Lildereth said. “I’m not trusted, remember? We don’t know what the Blades have told him about me. I don’t want to get skewered by a twitchy Redguard if he has some wrong idea.”

Darnand nodded. “I will seek him out at Luther Broad’s Boarding House, though it is likely that he has accommodations elsewhere. That location was compromised.”

“If you show yourself there, then you may be compromised. I can look for the Sponsor in the sewers and try to get that book away from them, but I don’t like my chances sitting out in the open for the meeting.”

“I will not send you down there alone. I suspect that they have precautions in place against just such an infiltration.”

Lildereth pressed a knuckle into her lip. “Instead of openly asking about Baurus, I could give Luther a message for him. Saying that he should look for you somewhere else.”

“I may have been seen with Gwinas, and you are here as my wife. We might both be in danger.” Darnand waved his fork around. “Even now the spiders could be watching us.”

Lildereth laughed. “Now that’s the right level of paranoid. In another minute we’ll have talked ourselves into skipping out on the whole caper.”

“In all seriousness, you may be overheard at Luther Broad’s.”

“I’ll be careful. When I say, ‘Mister Broad, please tell your friend who is in hiding to meet my friend who has the very important thing he needs so they can make their secret plan,’ I’ll whisper.”

Darnand regarded her for a moment.

“I’m jesting. Luther won’t even know he has a message until he checks his pockets. And he doesn’t smell like a man who uses a laundry, so eventually he will find it.”

“Then he will have to reach Baurus. That could take some time.”

“What else can we do now but wait? You’re not going to the meeting without telling him.” Lildereth took his forearm and slid her hands down until she held his between her palms. “Darnand, I can see what you’re thinking. Don’t risk it.”

When Darnand squeezed her hand, she let go. “I will not go alone yet. I shall wait until the day after tomorrow. That gives him two nights and a day to reach me. He may be dead, Lildereth. If he is living, he will come.”

“You said he knows Tar-Meena. Wait there, at the Arcane University. If he doesn’t show then we’ll go to the sewers together.” She opened his bag. “Here, let’s write the note.”

Darnand took the bag from her, giving her a sideways frown. He shoved his plate aside to make room for his pen case, portable ink well, and after a moment of shuffling, a palm-sized scrap of paper.

“Breton, if the note is that small, he’ll never find it.”

Darnand retrieved a blank half-sheet and placed it on the table. He readied his pen. “Will you compose the note, or shall I write it and then discard this page for the note you then dictate to me?”

Lildereth pressed close as was her way and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll save you the paper and tell you what to write.” She assumed a nasal tone, Darnand imagined meant to sound like him. “‘Dear Auntie, I am a mage come in place of your nephew. I await your...’ Hey! All right, I guess that will work. ‘Our friend will know where to find me.’”

Darnand’s pen paused. “You suppose he will know?”

“I suppose he’d better figure it out. I hope that Tar-Meena hasn’t gone on vacation. They say the Hist is calling its folk back to defend the Marsh.”

“Perhaps we should first verify Tar-Meena’s presence at the University.”

Lildereth’s chin poked into his shoulder. “Go ahead and write it. If you find out Tar-Meena isn’t there, we’ll come up with a different plan.”

Darnand finished writing and placed the paper to the side to dry. He cleaned his pen and replaced the items in his bag. “Where will you stay while we wait?” he asked, keeping his eyes on his task. Lildereth would sometimes answer with more detail when she wasn’t being observed.

“I’m sick of this hotel room,” she sighed. “But so far it’s been safe.”

Darnand recalled Brother Venco’s reasoning at their meeting in Weynon Priory. “If somehow we are mistaken and you are already under surveillance, an attack on your person would betray the extent of the enemy’s knowledge.”

Lildereth shot him a green look. “Perhaps I should arrange for an attack on your person.”

“Forgive me,” Darnand said. “I—”

‘DARNAND.’ Jerric’s mental shout made him flinch.

‘I am here. You need not push harder to compensate for the physical distance.’

‘Oh. What’s happening in Cyrodiil?’

‘Lildereth is with me. We have obtained the third book and have means to acquire the final volume. As Luther Broad’s is known to the enemy, we are writing a note so that—’

‘Sounds like the elf’s plan. Forget it, Baurus wants to catch these scamp humpers. Unless he’s in a shallow grave somewhere, he’ll be sitting at the bar with his stick out and a katana on his hip.’

‘You have saved us a needless delay, my friend. If he is there, how do you propose I approach him?’

‘Walk up, sit down, and tell him you have the book. Then do as he says slowly so that he doesn’t cut you. Bring Volume Three to show him.’

‘He has been out of contact for some time, according to Jauffre.’ Darnand said. ‘What if he does not come to Luther Broad’s?’

‘Use Tar-Meena as a contact and do what I would do. How do you get the last book?’

‘Directly from a cult member.’

‘Dammit, I wish I was there. Be careful. I don’t want to find your corpse in the Deadlands.’

‘I shall. What did you wish to tell me?’

‘Oh, right. I’m cutting through Moonshadow to the Azura shrine in County Cheydinhal, if the plan works. But first I have some puckered grey backsides to kiss. Every shortcut causes a delay with these bug munchers.’

“Say hello for me,” said Lildereth.

‘Lildereth says hello.’

‘Hello back at her. How’s my dog?’

Darnand turned to face Lildereth. ‘Can you see her?’

There was a moment of silence, but Jerric’s presence stayed in Darnand’s mind like heat through a shuttered window. ‘No, I can only see the elf. Hey! I can sort of see the elf!’

‘Excellent,’ said Darnand.

‘Ha! Now I’m going to—’

‘Spare yourself the trouble. I have already seen it.’

Lildereth laughed. “You look pained. It’s just like he’s here.”

‘What are you eating?’ Jerric asked. ‘I can tell you’re at a table.’

“Mutton,” Darnand said, both to Jerric and aloud.

“Do you remember the first meal we shared?” Lildereth said.

“Did you hear her?” asked Darnand.

‘It was mutton,’ Jerric said, a laugh in his mental voice. ‘From Flossy the venerated sheep of County Anvil.’

“He remembers Flossy,” Darnand said.

“Maenlorn likes to know who his food comes from.” Lildereth smiled into her goblet.

‘I’d murder for a bite of that mutton. Or a slab of good, Colovian beef.’

“He requests beef at our next meal,” Darnand said.

“I could go get us a fruit pie.”

‘I don’t know if she’s cruel or kind.’

Darnand pressed his fingertips against his temples. “Does your head ache?” he said aloud to Jerric.

‘Yeah. But it’s worth it.’

Lil really shows her cloak and dagger expertise here. I love the mannerisms that you weave into the small elf. It will be interesting to see if Jerric’s approach works better than Lil's coded message. I’m also looking forward to the possibility of perhaps seeing Baurus. And maybe even Tar-Meena.

Jerric and Darnand are refining their communication link but I’m sure it is not very much fun for Darnand!

Sounds like Darny figured out the riddle much easier than I did.

“Will you compose the note, or shall I write it and then discard this page for the note you then dictate to me?”
He's learning!

Lots of nice spycraft here. Which of course is all going to be just tossed out the window because Baurus is probably just sitting there with his sword out looking for someone to kill! But still not as bad as a Peresphone plan: Kill everyone in the city until she gets to the one she wants...