SubRosa: A cheap beach house, welcome to the low rent district!

Acadian: I didn’t mind leaving Jerric where he was for awhile, he seemed pretty comfortable.

haute ecole rider: I’m sure at some point he’ll wish he could return to the last chapter!

mALX: You’re right, there could be trouble!

Folks: I’m trying something new this time, writing ahead a little. I like it much better this way, but it means posting will be more erratic. Still haven’t written the whole chapter first, but I’m working toward that! I appreciate your comments and support so much!


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 1

Jerric drank his morning kahve with the sunrise at his back and his feet in the Abecean Sea. The tide was out, and low waves lapped up gently around his ankles. The air was cold enough to make the water feel warm. His breath misted out, blending with the steam rising from his cup. The open water seemed to pull at him, the same way the mountains had made him want to discover what lay beyond them. He decided that the day’s goals would be more modest than that. Join the Fighters Guild. Talk to some mages. Earn a few Septims.

He started at the Fighters Guild hall. The front door opened onto a massive, open room. Racks for weapons lined the walls. Two round targets stood beside an arched doorway, and the middle of the space held a training dummy secured to the floor and a support frame with chains. Long banners hung on the high walls. Looks the same, Jerric thought. He wandered up to the dummy and gave it a casual jab. Chains rattled. They stood alone in the room.

A door opened and closed somewhere up the stairs, and the sound of booted feet preceded their owner. A balding Imperial stepped through the archway with a steaming cup in one hand and a sweet roll in the other. “Help you?” he inquired.

“Uh, yeah. I’m Jerric. I’m here to ask about signing up. I need some work.”

“Fullo Macula, porter. You’ll want to see Azzan about that. Follow me.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jerric followed the porter through a small storage room and up the stone stairs.

The door opened into another large space, this one a dining room. The crackling fire could barely be heard over laughter from the fighters at the long dining table. “That woman is a bit off kilter,” remarked a Nord. “I don’t even want to know what she’s got in her basement.” More laughter followed his comment. Jerric’s eyes went straight to the only Redguard at the table. Rhano. Recognition flared in Rhano’s face before his expression emptied. He did not return Jerric’s nod of greeting. Jerric followed the porter through the dining room and up another set of stairs.

“Fresh meat,” the porter announced as they entered yet another massive room. This one appeared to be the company office. More banners, display cases, and shelves lined the walls. Azzan sat at a desk angled in the far corner. He waved Jerric in with one hand, the other occupied with his kahve.

The door closed behind the porter as Jerric approached the desk. “Jerric,” Azzan said. “Pull up a chair. Decided to join us?”

Jerric did as he was told. “If you’ll have me.” He noted that Azzan’s face was still unlined, and his close cut black hair was yet untouched by silver.

“We’re always looking for new members.” Azzan’s expression became grave. “We heard about what happened at Kvatch. You have my sympathy for the loss of your family. And my thanks for what followed.”

Jerric nodded. He still hadn’t found the words for this situation. He cleared his throat. “I need to earn, Azzan. And I need to train. I have some ideas for working with the Mages Guild, training against summoned daedra. This thing isn’t over.”

“Well, it sounds like the Fighters Guild has a new Associate. Congratulations. I take it you mean all of us training with the mages. I’ll give some thought to what you’ve suggested. I don’t like it, but in these times it may be necessary.”

Jerric was surprised at Azzan’s decisiveness. “Thanks. Do you have a contract for me? I need coin to get my gear back from Morvayn.”

Azzan’s expression was unreadable. “I think I’ve got something that suits your experience. Arvena Thelas has some problem with rats in her house.”

Jerric raised his eyebrows. Once again he found himself at a loss for words.

“Yes, rats,” Azzan confirmed. He sounded a little impatient. “I’m sure she can explain it to you better than I. She lives here in Anvil. Go and talk to her.”

“All right. Mind if I borrow a blade? I don’t want to represent the Fighters Guild with nothing in my hand but my… Without a weapon.”

Azzan snorted. “There’s an iron long sword in the practice room, help yourself. Go take care of the rats. Then come back and talk to me. Good luck!”

The diners were still at the table when he passed back through. He returned their greetings with a wave, not wanting to linger. Fullo introduced Jerric to Mojo, the resident shepherd dog. Jerric scratched his neck instead of reciprocating the dog’s enthusiastic crotch-sniffing. He grabbed the sword on his way out, then he ducked next door into the Mages Guild.

He found Carahil sitting in her office with a quill in her hand. “Carahil, you wanted to see me. Uh, yesterday.” He tried to keep his eyes from wandering curiously over the bookshelves behind her, but he was only marginally successful.

“Yes, Jerric. Come in and shut the door. Please seat yourself.” Jerric sat down and waited while she arranged her desk clutter. She leaned back and folded her hands. “I would like you to relate the events that occurred on the Gold Road,” she said. “I shall include your remarks in my report to the Council of Mages.”

Jerric took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I was traveling west on the road with my pack horse. It was morning, and the sun was behind me. I heard the sound of a frost attack and shouting, so I asked my horse to wait and ran to the fight. There was an Altmer woman fighting with a Breton man on the road, it was Darnand. He wasn’t using his dagger. She was wearing a blue dress, no armor. I saw the Altmer attack him with a targeted frost spell, and he cast a fire spell at her. She hit him again with her frost. When I got to them, he was down. I was shouting, but she didn’t turn around until I hit her with my own frost spell. She kept throwing fire at me until I got my sword into her chest. I guess she switched because she could see I’m a Nord. By then Darnand was back on his feet, and two Imperial Battlemages were coming at us from the west. I recognized them by the uniforms. Anyway, it looked bad for me until Darnand saw who I was and straightened things out. I’m sure I looked more like a marauder than a mage. It could have been ugly if he hadn’t kept his head. We left them with the body. I called my horse and walked with Darnand back to Anvil.”

“You called your horse… You have learned a command spell?”

“No, I whistled. I still don’t know any illusion magic.”

Carahil smiled, it seemed to herself. “Of course. Thank you, Jerric. I am sending your recommendation to the Council along with Darnand’s. You did not request one, but you have proven yourself to me by your purposeful actions in the field. I hope you will consider seeking your recommendations from the other chapters. You will need them to advance in the guild and be given any sort of responsibility. Once you have reached the rank of Apprentice, you will have access to the Arcane University. There you will be allowed to use the Praxographical Center to make your own spells and the altars of enchanting in the Chironasium. Do you plan to stay in Anvil for a time?”

“A little while. I just joined the Fighters Guild for some training, and I already have a contract for them. I found a place to live out on the beach, I won’t be staying here in the guild hall.”

“I see no conflict with the Fighters Guild until you begin to advance in rank with us, and then it will only be in the demands upon your time. Of course I would like you to take assignments from me as soon as you have been promoted to Apprentice. You need not attach yourself to this chapter to use this hall. You may have whatever space you need in the workroom. I trust you will not abuse your privilege.”

“Thank you, Carahil. I’d like to keep storing my gear here, you could break the lock on my hut with a sneeze. And I’ll need the space for alchemy. Is there anything you’d like me to do for now, as Associate? I need coin.”

“Report to Felen. He can always use extra hands.”

“I’ll check with him. I need a new Journeyman’s seal anyway. Thank you again.”

“May I suggest that you test for Expert? You would need to spend more time refining your potions for sale, of course. However, as an Expert you would earn quite a bit more for yourself, and for the guild.”

“I’ll ask him about it. I’ve been using a mortar and pestle I got off a goblin. I guess I’ve gotten better just by making it work.”

“I expect you have. There is more I would like to discuss with you, Jerric. You seem restless. Would you prefer to meet at another time?”

“I can’t sit still for very long anymore, Carahil. I don’t mean any disrespect. It’s the same when I try to sleep. My head just…”

“I would like to calm your mind for you. Do you trust me?”

Jerric stared at her incredulously. “Who could possibly trust an illusionist?”

“Do you trust that I want to help you? I do not suffer fools in my hall, Jerric. I would not waste my time if I considered you lacking.”

Jerric snorted. “Well I believe that. All right, go ahead and mess with my mind. You might not like what you find in there.”

Carahil stretched her hands over the desk. “Illusion magic does not allow me to see into your mind, only to place suggestions there. Give me your hands.”

“I guess that was supposed to be comforting. Can’t you just toss some confusion at me?”

She gave him a cool smile. “Of course, but this is not an attack. I would rather proceed gently.” She waited.

Jerric put his hands on the desk, and Carahil took them. He looked at her slender fingers and thought that she could be made of gold and he of rough stone. He opened her hand on his and examined her perfect oval nails. They were short as he would expect from someone who worked with alchemy, but they looked as carefully tended as a lady’s. Her right palm was ridged with calluses. Hard, but smooth when he ran his thumb over them. He noticed that her fingers were longer than his, but his hand was almost twice the width of hers. He realized that his mind was empty and he was holding hands with the Anvil chapter head like they were a pair of adolescents. He flushed and let go of her.

Carahil’s smile reached her eyes this time. “There, is that not an improvement?”

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. “I didn’t even know you did anything.”

“An important part of mastering illusion magic is concealing its use. Jerric, I would like to offer you counsel.”

“All right.”

“Which would you say is your strongest school of magic?”

“That’s easy, destruction. Wait, maybe alchemy.”

“You are more skilled in destruction spells, that is true. But I believe you have a gift for conjuration.”

“Really. That’s… Carahil, you don’t approve of summoning.”

“I advocate practicing magic that is free from the dark arts. Summoning may put a mage on the path that leads to necromancy. However, in these times we must employ all of the weapons we have at our disposal. In your case, I cannot believe that you would become corrupted by that kind of power.”

“Well, I think you’re right about that. Conjuring a skeleton hasn’t made me want to kill someone to get at their bones.”

“Consider the gladiator games you ran this summer. No, I do not bring it up to chastise you, of course I knew about it. Did you think you could open a Skeleton Arena in my basement without my notice? Some of the wagers Thaurron placed were on my behalf.”

“You’re kidding! That little… please, Carahil, continue.”

“Your ‘Slim’ consistently vanquished opponents summoned by far more advanced conjurers. You were able to direct his attacks, and your observation of his tactics allowed you to form effective strategies for him. Yes, I was there. If you took the time to learn a little mysticism, you would have known.”

“I could use some illusion, too,” he admitted.

“I suggest starting with a simple light spell. He is not a guild trainer, but I believe Darnand has had some success teaching you.” She watched him under a raised brow, and he wondered what she had surmised about the time he had spent with his paid instructor, Abiene. He felt a flush creep up his neck. “There is no need to read your thoughts when they are written on your face,” she observed.

“Do you think anyone else figured it out? She wanted to keep it quiet, you know how mages gossip.”

“If anyone had guessed it would be all over Anvil. I wondered how the most promising restoration trainer I have seen in over a century was unable to help you advance in your studies. I see you did not consider the effect your failure would have on her professional reputation. You have an undisciplined mind. Not all of your power comes from the stars, Jerric. That others underestimate you should not allow you to underestimate yourself.”

“Uh, right.” Jerric appreciated that Carahil did not coddle him, but her direct manner was getting uncomfortable. He decided to change the tone of the conversation. “Learning a new spell from an unsanctioned trainer,” he commented. “Smacks of hedge-wizardry, Carahil.” He watched her response carefully. Teasing one’s chapter head was reckless, even for him.

Carahil smiled in amusement. “You should not get into trouble with a light spell,” she replied evenly. “If I hear he has taught you a new summons, there will be consequences. I will not have rogue daedra rampaging through my hall. You will have to travel to Chorrol for that.”

Jerric grinned back, imagining a clannfear tossing Gulitte over its back. “Thanks, I’ll work on my summoning. It’s funny you should mention it. I’m heading to Chorrol as soon as I have the coin. I guess I’ll take the time to pick up some recommendations, too. Don’t know when I’ll get down to Bravil, but I sure would like to use the university. I have an idea for a spell. A couple of ideas.”

“I believe that the trip would be worth your time. I have another suggestion for you. Felen could mix a potion to help you sleep.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t want to drink yet, either. I guess most drunks don’t start out to be that way.”

“I’ll leave it to you to ask, then. That will be all for today, Jerric. I hope that we will see you here tomorrow.”

“You will. I’ll be in and out every day with my gear here, so I’ll be easy to find if you think of a job for me. And I’ll bring that robe back as soon as it’s cleaned. Whose is it? It’s so fine, I’ve only seen that style in paintings.”

Carahil sat silently for so long he began to wish he hadn’t asked. Finally she spoke. “That robe belonged to a battlemage. I knew him long ago. It was my honor to fight by his side, and my lasting regret that his life ended under my leadership. He was a Nord, and he too was born under the Atronach.” Carahil looked up and met his eyes. He saw a sorrow in her that touched his own. “The lives of men are so fleeting, many of my kind cannot be bothered to know you. However, I find that the briefest fires burn the brightest.”

Jerric didn’t know what to say to that. “You’re a spellsword?” he guessed.

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“No, it actually explains a lot. I remember last summer when you spoke to all of us students. How did you put it? ‘Practical application is often the best educator in the many uses of restoration, even in life and death situations.’ In other words, don’t be a baby if you get your head cut off, just think of the great practice you’ll get putting it back on again. It wasn’t hard to see which of us hadn’t healed anything worse than a scraped knee.”

Carahil laughed, and the sound was surprisingly youthful. “I see you divined my intent as well as my meaning. It would please me to learn that I had underestimated you.” Carahil rose and gestured to the door. “Until tomorrow, Jerric.”

“All right, Carahil. See you tomorrow.”

A wonderful introduction to the Fighters Guild and the bundle of hotness that is Azzan (though Rhano isn't that far behind!).

And an engrossing discussion with Carahil about Jerric's place in the Mages Guild. Yes, I can see how eventually he'll have to make a choice sometime down the line.

Given his reactions it seems like Jerric has been to the Anvil FG before, and definitely has crossed paths with Rhano as well.

“I don’t even want to know what she’s got in her basement.”
I wonder if that is a reference to my favorite Rat Lady! (and one of my favorite characters in the game)

And I see it is Arvena Thelas indeed.

Jerric scratched his neck instead of reciprocating the dog’s enthusiastic crotch-sniffing.
Jerric might get kicked out of the man-club for that!

“No, I whistled. I still don’t know any illusion magic.”
This was so perfect!

Jerric ran a skeleton arena in the Mages Guild basement!

A wonderful scene with Carahil. She is one of my favorite Guild Heads, no thanks to fan fics like yours and Haute's, that really put her in the spotlight like this.

“The lives of men are so fleeting, many of my kind cannot be bothered to know you. However, I find that the briefest fires burn the brightest.”

And there you have the paradox of an elf who measures her time in centuries, loving a human who measures his time in decades.
Looking back. . . I could have missed the pain, but then I would have had to miss the dance.
The advice I give my elf? If you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.

Wow. I have read this story twice now. You should add ‘writer’ to your list of accomplishments, Grits. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but this has been a revelation. When I last left Jerric he was an engaging Nord who spent most of his time in pursuit of his next forgotten evening. Now he is Jerric Lionheart, Hero of Kvatch and Knight Brother of the Blades. The wonder of this story is that all of this has occurred in the most natural and organic of ways. Jerric’s character has been revealed one complex layer at a time over the course of this story, and there appears to be un-mined depths that are still there waiting to be discovered. What you have accomplished here takes most writers years to learn (if they learn it at all).

I won’t single out every moment that I liked in this story because that would probably require a thread of its own. But I would like to talk about a few moments that really stood out:

The first was Jerric’s initial foray into the Deadlands. Panic drove him through that gate in search of a way to reach his family. I thought that allowing him to find courage in the hilt of a discarded sword was perfect! His fight with the dremora and his subsequent dousing in the blood fountain were handled with just the right blend of rage and horror. I was particularly touched by the unspoken conversation between Jerric and Menian in which the former offered his dagger to the latter through the bars of the cage. The power of that moment was undeniable!

The rousing battle to reclaim Castle Kvatch was another high point in this story, but to me it pales in the brilliant light cast by Jerric and Martin’s journey to Weynon Priory. We see the change in Jerric when he chastises the new Emperor and sets Martin’s mind to thoughts of an uncertain future. I loved how, amid this torrent of sadness that threatens to overwhelm him, Jerric is able to maintain his sense of humor enough to ask Martin if Jauffre will let him have the Amulet in the event of Martin’s death, just to prove his point that the Emperor of Tamriel is too important to lose chasing spriggans.

The love triangle that you have developed between Abiene, Jerric, and (D)arnand adds yet another dimension to this story. Abiene’s confusion and the depth of her feeling for Jerric could be chalked up to the tragedy that has befallen him, but somehow I doubt it. I get that she has a crush on (D)arnand, but it never really seems to move her with the urgency that matches her feelings toward Jerric. I think that her heart has already made up its mind, it’s just that her brain refuses to accept it.

Which brings me to the one thing that I feel the need to call you on: I appreciate and respect your desire to leave toes un-trodden, but I have no copyright protection on the name 'Arnand.' It is a common enough Breton name that it doesn’t strain credulity that two individuals born five centuries apart would share it. If I had been here when you made the change I would have advised you in the strongest words that the forum filters allow not to do it. Now I guess I will just have to get used to calling him Darnand (dammit). In the future please don’t concern yourself with such things. You imbue your characters with so much detail that their individuality is never a question. Your Matius, Maglir, Nerussa, and Carahil are the same character that everyone else gets to play with, but they are all unique as presented in Jerric’s story. I have no doubt that your Arnand and mine would share nothing save a name, a nationality, and (hopefully) three dimensions.

I have enjoyed every moment spent catching up on this story (twice). I salute you on a story well told, and I eagerly await the next update.

My favorite line in the chapter. Jerric stills seems a bit disoriented, but is pulling himself back from the brink of madness and exhaustion that the deadlands took him to. Awesome Write (as always !!!)

haute ecole rider: I kept trying to get Jerric to thoroughly check out the Anvil FG’s double threat of Redguard hotness, but he would not cooperate! On their lowest levels I’m treating the guilds as kind of an employment office, I’m glad Jerric’s double membership works.

SubRosa: Yes, Jerric has some history with the FG and Rhano. His job took him back and forth between Kvatch and Anvil for years. The Rhano history that you spotted will come out in time, I'm glad you pointed it out. Carahil seemed so straight-laced in the game until her bitter rant about forgetting the little people. It’s been fun trying to figure her out. I’m glad you liked the skeleton arena idea. Pre-Dagon Jerric was a fun guy! More Arvena coming up next.

Acadian: We are in complete agreement here. (emoticon for shedding a tear for someone else’s bowgirl?)

Destri Melarg: I am amazed, honored, and skipping in circles over your comments. You read it twice! Even while you were away, you were the invisible reader that made me want to get it right. Thank you so much, Destri!

That moment with Menien in the Deadlands was one of the reasons I wanted to tell the whole story in the first place. I couldn’t just walk away from that.

I love that you pointed out the Amulet joke on Martin and Jerric’s off-road trip. The connection they made kept Jerric from just wandering away after they got to the priory, and finding his humor is what reminded him that there still is a Jerric. Of course he did wander off for awhile, but it’s a process. It almost hurts to write about their friendship, knowing that there is a big stone statue down the road. The ‘escort Martin’ bit can be handled in the game with a fast-travel, but for me it’s one of the most important parts of the story. That you described it as a brilliant light will stay with me.

You’re right on the mark with Abiene and Darnand, and Abiene and Jerric. The first relationship I think is a weak spot in my storytelling. She says she likes him, but I haven’t given her the chance to show it. I’m still looking for an opening in the story, it hasn’t felt right to work it in yet. Her confusion stems from heart vs. brain, you’re exactly right. Then she gave her lady parts a vote, and we’ve seen where that led! For the three of them, the story has really just started.

Thank you for the reassurance on the (D)arnand matter. That’s my insecurity coming out. Some things are so clear in my mind, I think I must have read them somewhere else. Then to find that I might have, yikes!!

mALX: For men and mer I think it must be a tiny bit like it is for humans and dogs, in terms of lifespan. We know they’re going to break our hearts, but we let ourselves fall in love anyway. I guess this analogy only makes sense to dog lovers!! You’re right about Jerric’s mental state. He’s still having unreal moments, sleep issues, but at the point where he can sometimes seem better, even to himself. It’s a little bit two steps forward and one step back.

What just happened: Jerric joined the Fighters Guild and picked up a contract. He stopped by the Mages Guild hall to talk to Carahil while he was in the neighborhood. He’s still there.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 2

Jerric found Felen reading in his day room off the front hall. He paused to take in the sight of the nattily dressed Dunmer. Felen’s sculpted tower of charcoal hair gave him over a foot of additional height. All that blue velvet and gold braid, and never a drop or a crumb spilled on it, Jerric marveled. “Well met, Felen,” he said warmly.

Felen put down his book and stood, smiling up at him. “Jerric, it pleases me to see you. Observe, I have closed my book and placed it out of my reach. You have secured my full attention.”

Jerric smiled back. “Thanks. I lost my Journeyman seal. Carahil said I should ask you to evaluate me before I get a new one.”

“Easily done. Follow me.” Felen led him the three steps to his alchemy counter. He retrieved a jar and opened it, handing it over to Jerric with a flourish. “What do you make of this?”

Jerric looked in. A fine, gritty substance half filled the jar. It looked like sand that was made of translucent grey glass. “Never seen this stuff before, what is it?”

Felen raised his eyebrows and gestured eagerly with the lid. “You tell me.”

“Oh, a test.” Jerric stirred the sand with his fingertip. He sent his magicka cautiously into it, now aware of what he was doing. Its properties came to his mind the way taste and smell told him what spices were in a slice of pumpkin bread. “Well, I could use it to make a potion for resisting fire damage, or for an elemental frost shield. Or I could make a poison that would silence, or cause some frost damage. Don’t know what it’s called though.” He handed the jar back to Felen. “I guess Journeyman will still pay the rent.”

“It is salt from a frost atronach. Collection is quite risky, it is very rare.” Felen replaced the jar and retrieved an ornately carved wooden box. He opened it with a flutter of magicka and grey-green fingers. Jerric watched him select an enchanted seal and inscribe his name onto the blank end. He would use that end to mark the potions he made, and the emblem on the other end to show his rank when he made them. Felen handed the new seal to Jerric. “Congratulations, Associate. You now number among the experts in alchemy.” His expression looked slightly pained.

Jerric turned the seal in his hand, delighted. “Expert! What’s the problem, Felen? Sigrid thinks I’m a natural at alchemy.”

Felen shook his head and made a sound of disapproval. “I am afraid you will find my assessment less flattering. I suggest that you are a battlefield alchemist. Long hours of toil have made you an expert. Labor you undertook primarily to relieve your stunted magicka, I imagine. I see you do not disagree. A natural alchemist possesses a passion for detail, like a baker. All variables are considered, then precisely adjusted for the best result. You fling ingredients together with a casual disregard for technique. ‘Some’ is not an accepted unit of measurement. You are a cook, not a baker.” Felen patted him absently on the forearm. “I mean my counterpart in Kvatch no disrespect. Sigrid lacks only a few decades or so of my experience, but she is a fine instructor and alchemist in her own right.”

“Well,” Jerric replied archly, “Expert nonetheless.” He raised his new seal with a grin. “Now, can I help you cook up some potions?”

Felen chortled with amusement. “I can always use your delightfully titled ‘Tame the Volcano’ potion. You will find that you are now able to add dragon’s tongue for a stronger effect. There is a large supply down in the workroom. Happily, that potion is expected to be foul tasting and cloudy.”

“As long as the symbol appears on the vial, it’s a sellable potion,” Jerric pointed out amiably. “The rest is just aesthetics.”

“Indeed.” Felen’s expression looked slightly pained again. “Since these are intended for sale, I must remind you to refine the mixture until each potion fits into only one vial. We cannot expect our customers to drink from the alchemy apparatus, as your hapless patients undoubtedly have.”

“Battlefield alchemist. You said it yourself. I’ve never had someone complain about my technique while their life is bleeding out on the ground.”

Felen’s expression grew serious. “Apologies, Jerric. It seems more important to strive for perfection in the safety and comfort of one’s guild hall.”

“Don’t worry about it, Felen. Do you know I’ve been drinking my magicka potions out of an old water skin? Ha! Thought you’d like that. You’re right about everything you’ve said. I’ll be back later to make those fire shields. Right now the Fighters Guild has me on a critical rat killing mission.”

“Will you want the coin or credit?”

“Coin, please. I have bills to pay. Say, do you know where Arvena Thelas lives?”

“The Rat Lady, I certainly do. Oh my, Jerric, you cannot mean you are to kill Arvena’s pet rats! She does go on about them.”

“Pet rats? I don’t know, I’ll make sure I ask her. Who keeps rats for pets? Is she part goblin?”

Felen chortled again. “No indeed. Any explanation I might make will pale beside the experience of meeting the lady herself. Follow me to the door, I shall send you off in the correct direction.”

Jerric made his way through the morning crowds without turning any heads. He realized that without his Kvatch Wolf to identify him, he was just another Nord in a busy port town. The anonymity gave him some comfort.

Jerric’s knock was answered by a slim, well-dressed Dunmer woman. Her white hair was streaked with glistening strands of silver, and her bright red eyes gleamed in her narrow, turquoise face. Jerric thought she looked like some sort of living jewel. Although certainly a somewhat wrinkled jewel.

“Ahhh… You must be from the Fighters Guild,” she cooed. “Good. I have a problem. It has to do with the rats in my basement.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m Jerric.” He guessed that this must be the right place.

“That’s right. Rats, in my basement.” Her voice reached a higher pitch. “And something has been killing them! It’s horrible. My poor babies! You must do something! I don’t know what I’d do without them. Their little pink noses, their scaly little tails. Please, get to the basement and find out what’s happening!”

Jerric felt seized by Arvena’s sudden urgency. He pushed past her and headed around into the ground level room, guessing that the basement lay behind the only door there. He was right.

“Please, save my little rats!” Arvena’s anguished cry followed him down the stairs. An enraged snarl rose up to meet him. Agitated squeaks sounded a note only slightly higher than Arvena’s wail. Jerric briefly imagined Azzan holding his sides with laughter. Then he turned a corner, and his humor fled. The image of Azzan was replaced by one of Arvena with her throat torn out. She did indeed have rats scurrying about her basement, and she also had a mountain lion. The lion lunged back and forth between the terrified rats, seemingly unable to choose which one to eat.

Jerric didn’t think, he just drew his borrowed sword and went for the lion. “Shut the door!” he shouted up to Arvena. Her answering shriek was drowned out by a yowl from the big cat. When it turned, Jerric drove his blade in behind its shoulder, angling his body so he could take its fangs on his shield.

The lion dropped to the floor like a stone, leaving Jerric stunned at his own foolishness. His shield was at Morvayn’s, along with his armor and the rest of his gear. He had taken on a mountain lion without even the protection of his Woad. What was the expression, he tried to remember, it’s better to be lucky than good? He knelt and ran his hands regretfully over the dying lion. It looked sickly and weak, but still capable of mauling an elderly Dunmer lady. He wondered what could have brought it in out of the sunlight to die here underground.

Jerric cleaned the iron blade, then he took a look around the basement. Four rats appeared to be in comfortable residence there. He found their silver water bowls and food dishes near a large nest of rugs and chewed up cushions. He knelt down and held out a piece of cheese, hoping to coax the rats to him. They’re pets, just like Mojo, he told himself. And if they give me a disease… well, they won’t be the first.

The rats appeared to be unhurt, so he looked for the mountain lion entrance. He found it around a corner at the back of the basement, next to the rat privy. A large hole in the foundation had once been repaired with loose blocks, which were now moved aside. An area outside the foundation had been excavated and covered from above with loose boards. Daylight slanted down between the gaps. It appeared that someone had been using the opening to shovel rat droppings up into the yard behind Arvena’s house. Jerric could see that the lion had simply pushed through the boards to gain access to the basement. He headed back upstairs to report to Arvena.

The Rat Lady greeted him with wringing hands and a tragic expression. “Well, what have you found? Did you take care of my babies? What was going on down there?”

“Ma’am, do you have four pet rats?” Arvena nodded eagerly, and Jerric breathed a sigh of relief. The lion had looked hungry enough to have swallowed one whole. “Well, I found a mountain lion attack- uh, chasing them. Don’t worry, I killed it. The rats look fine.”

“A mountain lion?” Arvena’s voice began to climb the scales again. “In my basement? But… How? That’s not possible. But, it happened! What if there are more? What if it wasn’t alone? Where there’s one there will be more. Find Pinarus Inventius. He’s a hunter, and knows this area inside and out. He’ll know what to do.”

Jerric made sure she was finished answering her own questions before he spoke. “I think you should let me block up that opening, or get someone else to do it right away. Do you have someone who comes to clean? They might need to find another way to get the rat ski- that is to say, rat droppings outside.”

Arvena did not appear to have heard him. “Please, go find Pinarus, and those mountain lions!” She was wringing her hands so hard, he thought she might hurt herself.

“All right. I’m going to tell the Anvil Guard, too. In fact I’ll show them the lion. I bet they’ll wonder how it got inside the city.”

The city guardsmen Jerric passed in the street were able to direct him to the Inventius house, but none was willing to take responsibility for the animal Jerric had slung over his shoulders. He discovered that if anything garnered more attention on the streets of Anvil than his Kvatch Wolf, it was a dead mountain lion.

A sleepy-eyed, heavy-jowled Imperial answered Jerric’s knock at the Inventius house. “Yes?” the man asked with a remarkable lack of interest.

Jerric shifted his burden. “Uh, I’m a… I’m from the Fighters Guild. I went to kill some rats, but she had a mountain lion. In her basement. She said to talk to you.” The Imperial continued to stand there. “I’m Jerric,” he added.

“Pinarus Inventius,” the Imperial finally responded. “Hunter. Funny, it's always 'rats' for the new associates. Is it some initiation test or something?” Before Jerric could answer, the man waved him to the side. “Put that around back, I’ll deal with it. I have a contract with the city for such things. Although mountain lions… that’s odd. But if they’re around, I can find them.” Jerric walked to the rear of the Inventius house and eased the lion carcass to the ground. He looked around to discover that Pinarus had followed him. “Come with me,” the Imperial offered. “A hunt will do us good, and maybe make that old nut feel better.”

Jerric sighed and glanced down at himself. His Ma had been right about him, he decided. He never could make it through a full day without ruining a new shirt.

The conversation between Jerric and Felen was wonderful - my fave line in it:






ROFL !!!




ROFL !!! If that is in game, I have missed it !!!


Great rendition of that quest, and as always an Awesome Write !!


*

I loved your version of Felen, though he is a little more - prissified - than mine. Still, he is a delightful person and brought a smile to my face as he spoke to Jerric and tested his alchemical knowledge.

And the classic 'rats' case! You've captured the old bat wonderfully!

Well put.

Observe, I have closed my book and placed it out of my reach. You have secured my full attention.


We cannot expect our customers to drink from the alchemy apparatus, as your hapless patients undoubtedly have.
I loved the entire exchange between Felen and Jerric. It was as delightful as it was instructive.

And if they give me a disease… well, they won’t be the first.
Doh!

In fact I’ll show them the lion. I bet they’ll wonder how it got inside the city.
This is what never made sense about this quest to me. Are we to believe the lion jumped over the city walls? Or maybe it climbed them with a rope and pitons? Or perhaps it simply walked through the front gate disguised as a Khajiit? As much as I have always liked this quest, and wanted to put it in the TF, I could never come up with a plausible explanation for a mountain lion wandering around inside a major city. However, I just came up with a new idea on this old quest. Scribble, scribble, scribble...

A fun episode as ever. I have always loved the Rat Lady. I can't believe the fuss people make over a few rats...

I agree with hautee and 'Rosa, the entire exchange between Felen and Jerric was sensational. As was your handling of the first part of this very weird quest.

My favorite part of this chapter, however, is how Jerric so thoroughly and completely describes and encapsulates Pinarus Inventius by mention of his 'jowls.'

@SubRosa - It was always my understanding that the lions burrowed their way under the city wall. I know you never find a hole, but it makes more sense than going over the walls.

Felen patted him absently on the forearm. “I mean my counterpart in Kvatch no disrespect. Sigrid lacks only a few decades or so of my experience, but she is a fine instructor and alchemist in her own right.”
Whew! I'm glad to see no disrespect toward the lovely and talented Sigrid!

The scene with Felen and Jerric was fabulous. You really brought Felen to life and I simply love what I shall now think of as 'Alchemy - Jerric style'.

He realized that without his Kvatch Wolf to identify him, he was just another Nord in a busy port town. The anonymity gave him some comfort.
I hear ya, Jerric. Fully understood.

Who keeps rats for pets? Is she part goblin?”

Sometimes it is simply wonderful to see a well-known quest completed from the perspective of someone else's character. My goodness, you did beautiful justice to this!

“Please, save my little rats!” Arvena’s anguished cry followed him down the stairs.
Passages like this create a truly immersive feel here. It is a simple sentence but one that pulled me right behind Jerric going down that staircase. Almost a magical creation of the feeling one gets doing this quest in the game.

Rat privy - how clever. Sure enough, if you put four rats in a cage, they will reliably all pee in the same corner.

Well, I don't want to finish off my comments talking about rat pee, so let me simply tell you how much fun this episode was to read!

Chapter 9.1:

A very interesting twist on the Anvil Recommendation quest. Those two battlemages are never any help at all! Good that Jerric the Lion was there to save the day!

It is very clear that Jerric is not taking to his responsibilities as a hero very well. He's just running on an adrenaline haze at this point, and it is certain that he is not very sure what he wishes to accomplish. He's just... there, closing gates with not a single though to his own safety. This is quite typical behavior for someone who is unsure of what they are living for, and Jerric certainly qualifies now. He has had his family torn away from him and he cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel Jauffre convinced him to enter. All he has left now is Flash, and I'm not sure he is in any state to lose him, as well. That might just be the final straw for his sanity, which is currently on the fringe of earning him an invite to Dementia. Hopefully, he'll bounce back, but that is a long, hard road to walk, as I feel he is not going to be very willing to accept the fact that his family is now dead.

mALX: The rat privy is a Grits embellishment. I figured they have to go somewhere, and that led to how the hole in the wall got there in the first place. Anvil has some quests that really need more explaining!!

The line you picked out from Felen really captures my vision of him, thank you! I love the excellent names for things that other people come up with in their stories, so Fire Shield had to have a new one. Thank you, mALX!!

haute ecole rider: Oh, Felen! I mean, that outfit! Those shoes! He’s definitely a peacock in my version. But he rolled up his velvet sleeves and led the Kvatch relief effort from the Anvil MG, no doubt keeping his hair pouf upright throughout. I’m glad Jerric’s affection for him (and mine) came through. Arvena is a character that I wanted to present unchanged from the game, she is a riot!

Cardboard Box: I wish I could take credit for that line! Pinarus said it when he was stepping out of his house in the game. In full daedric armor, no less. I guess Jerric was standing close enough to him to trigger a rumor. I couldn’t believe it!

SubRosa: When I pictured Jerric and Felen in Felen’s little alchemy nook, the whole scene jumped to life on its own. I’m glad it worked! Now I can say without spoiling anything that Jerric is not a natural alchemist.

A new idea, yay!! I love to hear scribble, scribble scribble… You would think that urban lions would have caused more fuss than a few sweet little pets. What’s next, slaughterfish in the mermaid pool?

Destri Melarg: Felen and Jerric clicked in a way I would not have predicted, I suppose they share the capacity to enjoy people. I love that you picked out Jerric’s jowls observation, because I learned that at the school of Destri’s Interregnum! The guard with the bad teeth? Inspirational! I’m glad you liked the first part of the quest, the next part gets even weirder.

Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed Jerric and Felen. I expect a Dunmer of Felen’s age has seen it all, but he’s still not tired of it. 'Alchemy - Jerric style,' I am delighted!!

I’m glad you’re enjoying Jerric’s charging in to save the rats mission so far, this quest is right in his wheelhouse. He’s certainly not one to over-think a situation. I don’t think you’ll be surprised at how this one ends up, either.

Thomas Kaira: You’re right, Jerric had not been sticking with the plan, nor did he resist the temptation to lose himself in those Gates. He saved Darnand from a terminal case of freezer burn, but who knows if he would have stayed on the road all the way to Anvil if Darnand had not been there to walk with him. I’m glad you’re still reading.

What just happened: Jerric has been busy helping Arvena with her Rat Problem. We left him on the doorstep of Pinarus Inventius, about to set forth on a lion hunt.



Chapter 10: Septims, Part 3

Jerric sat at the dining table in the Fighters Guild hall, working his way through a stack of ham sandwiches. Most of the Anvil chapter had gathered to share a few pitchers of beer and exchange tales of the day. Sten the Ugly refilled Jerric’s mug and slid it back to him. “So, did you find the mountain lions?” Sten asked him.

Jerric took a deep pull from the mug. He closed his eyes as the cold brew washed down his throat. It’s been too long, he thought. Vigdis kicked him under the table, bringing his attention back to the room. “We found them,” Jerric answered. “A family group, like Pinarus thought. The big female was injured, looked like the younger ones were hunting for her. Maybe daedra drove them down toward town. The marks on her looked like scamp claws, and she was burned. Anyway, we found a bunch of chewed up bodies. The Guard is working with the Legion to find out who they are.”

“Folk have gone missing along the road to Brina’s Crossing,” mused Azzan. “We’ve blamed it on the daedra. I suppose some of them could have been lion kills.”

“I suppose,” Jerric replied. “They were in bad shape. The lions were. Hungry. Don’t know how they got over the city wall, but that’s not my problem.” He took another long drink. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to run around the outside of the city and take a look. Could be a tree down against the wall or something. Yeah, tomorrow I’ll go check.” The others were giving him a variety of looks. “What?”

Azzan snorted. “Well, was she happy when you told her you killed the lions?”

Jerric shook his head. “You would think.” He continued to tell them the story.


Arvena yanked open the front door at Jerric’s knock. “You’ve got to take care of those mountain lions!”she shrieked into his face.

“We did! We—”

“You think you’ve gotten rid of them all?” she cried. “You do? Well, you haven’t! There’s one in my basement right now! Go get it!”

Before he had time to think, he found himself pelting down the basement stairs again.


Jerric had plenty of time to tackle another sandwich while his guild mates howled in delight. Even Rhano finally cracked a smile. “So you killed that one, too,” Rhano guessed. “And hauled it over to Pinarus I bet, like a good little helper. That doesn’t explain how you missed lunch and dinner.”

Jerric gave him a level look. “Well, there’s more.”


Arvena met him at the top of the basement stairs. Her narrow hands fluttered over her hair and gown, smoothing away her agitation. “Thank the gods you killed that thing,” she gasped. “This is ridiculous! Someone’s out to get me, to get my poor babies! I’ll bet it’s that Quill-Weave next door.”

“What..?” Jerric started to ask, then he mentally kicked himself.

Arvena’s brilliant eyes narrowed, and her voice cracked with anger. “She’s the one. She’s never liked me or my sweet little pets. I know it’s her, I’ve even seen her sneaking around in back of my house at night. She thinks she’s so smart. She and all the other women. I’ll show her! I want you to keep an eye on her. Find out what she’s up to.”


Jerric nodded his head as he swallowed his last bite of ham. He chased it with beer. “Of course I did what she asked,” he continued. “Go ahead and laugh. I stayed behind her house for five hours, hiding in a bush. Yeah, hiding. I guess it started working when it got dark, because sure enough Quill-Weave sneaked around back and left a piece of meat on the ground. Lucky for me I had to take a piss. I saw her when I stood up. Otherwise I’d still be under that bush, probably asleep by now. Anyway, it was her.”


Jerric stepped over in front of the Argonian, blocking her passage. “Yes?” she asked nervously, taking a step back. “What can I do for you?”

“I know what you’re doing, Quill-Weave. It has to stop.”

“You know what?” she demanded, glancing rapidly to her left and right. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never go skulking about…” She began to flick her fingers as if they were wet. “Fine. You’ve got me. I figured if I left some rotten meat outside, the nasty little things would come out, and the guards would take care of them.”

“Mountain lions followed the scent. They broke into her basement. She could have been killed.”

“Mountain lions! In her basement? I just wanted to lure her vermin outside! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, except the rats. Please, don’t tell her! And, if you can keep this our little secret, I can make it worth your while. There’s a bit about acrobatics I can teach you. Give it some thought.”


“You could use some help with your footwork,” Rhano told Jerric.

“Yeah. I sure hope I can find someone else to train me.”


This time when Arvena answered his knock she stepped back, allowing Jerric to walk into her sitting room. He looked toward the cellar door, almost expecting another crisis.

Arvena’s demeanor remained calm, at least for her first question. “So, did you follow her? She’s behind it, isn’t she? Tell me what you found out!”

“Quill-Weave was behind it.”

“I knew it. That s’wit! Oh, I’ll get her. You just wait! Must have taken some fast talking to get her to confess.”

“Not really. I’m not so good at that. I guess the part where I stood there in the dark being a Nord was enough to get her talking.”

“Maybe I can teach you a little bit more about how to talk to people. You could present yourself in a more professional manner. And, of course, I need to give you your payment.”


Sten thumped his fist on the table, sending Jerric’s plate briefly into the air. “Dammit, Vigdis! All the gold I’ve given you to train me, and I just needed to stand in the dark being a Nord!”

Vigdis reached over and slapped Jerric’s arm. “Now you’ve cost me. No Nord will ever want to improve their skills if they need only wait until nightfall!”

Huurwen wiped the tears from her eyes. “Take comfort, friends,” she laughed. “A new career in nocturnal diplomacy awaits each of you.”

Azzan shook his head, directing his comments at Jerric. “Well, I don’t know if you’re dumb or honest. Or maybe she’s just nuts. I have your payment from the guild. Thelas already settled up with me. Sounds like the coin she gave you is her special thanks, or maybe you did something else for her. Ha!”

“I did haul two dead lions away,” Jerric admitted. “And I gave her a hand in her bedchamber. By the time she finished with me, I’d sweated off the blood and started to beg for mercy.”

“Is that what happened to your shirt?” asked Llensi. The Dunmer raised a mug gracefully to her lips.

Jerric looked down at his bare chest. “Skitt! I left it at Arvena’s. Well I’m sure not going back for it. She’ll talk me into putting a new roof on her house or something.”

“It is Evening Star,” Llensi remarked.

“So I’m told.”

“Fear not,” Huurwen told him. “You are not the only Nord at this table who cannot keep track of their clothing.”

“Yeah,” said Sten. “You’d think we wouldn’t mind, but Vigdis has more hair on her chest than you do.”

Huurwen spoke over the laughter. “I believe you were telling us how your client exhausted you in her bedchamber.”

“A lady like that has better taste,” Rhano pointed out. “What with rats for pets, and all.”

Jerric grinned ruefully. “She had me shift two big wardrobes in there. Looking for a lost rat toy. Then I couldn’t get them back just right. Turned out the fetching thing was under a chair the whole time, so in the end I left her happy. I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll hear of it, though. That Quill-Weave is a writer, she’ll likely put a rat-humping Nord in her next book. You can say you knew me when.”

Azzan spoke. “We knew you when you were an Associate. I’m promoting you. Congratulations, Apprentice.”

Jerric raised his eyebrows. “That was fast.”

“Worried? I guess closing Oblivion Gates isn’t as hard as it sounds. If you don’t think you can handle it, I can send you tagging along with Pinarus again.”

“No, thank you,” Jerric replied fervently. “I need another contract. Do you have any pet mudcrabs that need looking after?”

“I’ve got something. You’ll want your gear back from Morvayn first. Talk to me when you get it.”

Sten drained his beer mug and stood, sliding the clay pitcher toward Jerric. “I’m turning in. You staying tonight, Jerric?”

“No, I guess I’ll head home in a bit.” He glanced over at Rhano. The Redguard gave him a small nod, but didn’t speak. “Better finish off this beer first.”

Vigdis shoved her chair back. “Who has the swamp tonight?”

“Rufrius,” said Llensi. “He is still out on his date.” Jerric gave her a quizzical look. “The bedchamber adjacent to the barracks, we call it the swamp. It has a door, so you can imagine it is much in demand. When no one of rank is passing through, of course.”

“You share that room for..?”

Rhano snorted. “We take turns using it, for privacy. Fullo makes sure the sheets are changed every week, right Fullo?”

“Whether they need it or not,” confirmed Fullo.

Azzan stood and headed for the stairs. “I’ll go get your gold, Jerric.” The dining room emptied until only Rhano and Jerric remained at the table. Jerric poured the rest of the beer into their mugs. He sat back and waited.

Rhano was the first to speak. “You been over to see Mother and Fa?”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, I think.”

Rhano nodded. “Mother asked me to invite you for Saturalia. She wants you to spend the night, like we’re still kids or something.”

Jerric looked across at Rhano for a long moment. “So, are you going to get over it and train me? I need your help, Rhano.”

“You have the coin?”

“Not yet. I’m working on it.” Jerric couldn’t read Rhano’s expression.

“I know some people who have work,” Rhano finally told him. “Maelona, she’s a Redguard. Short hair, real pretty. Sits under that tree in Westgate all the time. Maeva up in Whitmond. Her no-good husband ran off on her.”

“I know Maeva,” Jerric said. He made a gesture in front of his chest. “The Buxom.”

“Yeah, well they’re down here now. The years have not been kind.”

“Thanks, Rhano.”

“You know my Fa will hire you.”

“I know, and I’m grateful. It’s just that I’m not going to be here long.” He could tell Rhano knew what he meant.

“They want to see you, Jerric.”

“I’ll go. I should have gone already. It’s hard, Rhano.”

Azzan came down the stairs and dropped a small leather bag on the table next to Jerric. “Here you go. I guess you’re not ready for credit.”

“Not until I get my gear back, then I’ll want some training. I need to talk to you about that, Azzan. Have you thought about what I said?”

“I’m not ready to make that decision. Think about your terms, maybe we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Jerric drank the rest of his beer. “I’m headed home,” he said.

He’d had enough drink to loosen his mind, but not enough to numb it. Black thoughts began to rise up as he made his way along the empty beach. He could feel the abyss inside him, now that he had left the busyness and chatter of other folk. He knew how easy it would be to look into it and lose himself in darkness. A cold sea breeze cut through his thoughts, and he clung to it.

It really is Evening Star, he thought. He gave himself a sniff and winced. I’m already cold, might as well get clean. He stripped down and dove into the sea, scrubbing the rest of the dried blood away with sand. One of his rings kept him from drowning, and the other assured him that there were no threats approaching. He swam until he thought he might be able to sleep.

As he headed up the beach with his trousers in one hand and his boots in the other, he noticed light in the windows of his hut. By the time he reached his front porch he knew that someone within had built a fire. The someone’s pinkish glow appeared to be sitting in his chair with their feet tucked under them. Jerric pushed the door open and stood there on the threshold, dripping. She sat with one of his books in her lap and a clay cup at her elbow. Her smile started to warm him from the inside out.

He dropped his boots by the door and grinned back at her. “Abiene,” he said.




(Edited to add clarifying statement.)

Jerric has been to the Clarence Thomas school on how to pick up women the easy way ... just expose the goods and good things will happen ... er ... develop ... er ... something like that.

I loved the comaraderie in the dining hall of the Fighters Guild - you have a huge talent for creating natural dialogue that is so believable one can visualize the scene as if watching it in a film !! Awesome Write !!!

That, and the responses around the table to that line was enough to get me chuckling.

Then this had me laughing!


But this had me rolling!

And: Isn't that sweet!

Is it just me, or do ypu also think that Pinarus Inventius should be some kind of inventor?

I see you have been taking inspiration from haute on telling a story in flashbacks! Good idea. It really works here, not only showing us what happened, but also how Jerric is getting along with his new FG pals at the same time. Sort of a two for one deal.

Jerric reminds me of a St. Bernard me family had when I was little. He would get 4 sandwiches for dinner every night. He would wolf them down too. Two bites, and a sandwich was gone. You had to watch your fingers if you fed him, to make sure you still had them afterward!

Lucky for me I had to take a piss. I saw her when I stood up.
That is our Jerric!

the part where I stood there in the dark being a Nord was enough to get her talking


Speaking of how Jerric is getting along with his new FG pals, I see he is settling in nicely! I loved the conversation at the table between all the guild members. And some mystery with Rhino Rhano. The way he talks about Fa makes him sound like a Nord. Not to mention how he said "mother", rather than "my mother", makes me wonder if they are related...

The scene inside the FG was very active. Lots of new FG members introduced here and multiple brief flashbacks. Initially, I assumed that the italicized flashbacks were Jerric's internal thoughts. Then I began to realize that it seemed your intent was that he was verbally relaying this information to the FG members - I think. Forgive me if I misunderstood.

Once outside the FG, you really opened up a bag of magic goodness! Jerric's thoughts walking home, and discovering a guest at his hearth was magnificent! Your description of Jerric using his rings was brilliant.

Using the flashbacks to tell this chapter was inspired. The banter between the Fighters Guild members really brings the Anvil Chapter to life.

My favorite quote of the day!!

I wasn't sure of it at first, but I thought I sensed a history between Jerric and Rhano that went beyond the surface hostility. That was confirmed in this chapter. Rhano acts very much like a foster brother toward Jerric, I wonder what caused the tension between the two?

mALX: Most people might have put their pants on before opening the door, but Jerric is an optimist!

There was a lot going on around that table, I’m glad the dialog worked for you. It’s hard for me to tell when I have people joking around if they actually sound like they’re joking or not. Thank you, mALX!

haute ecole rider: I’m really enjoying these sections where instant death is not looming around every corner. I’m glad the FG folks provided some laughs! Your recap of the read had me rolling!

SubRosa: The flashbacks were very much inspired by haute! I have been holding out for a segment where I thought it would fit well, I’m glad it worked. I love the comparison to your St. Bernard. Our Nord is also perhaps slightly larger and hairier than is absolutely necessary.

Every sentence I have written about Rhano’s history has triggered the info-dump alarm and then been unceremoniously deleted, so the rest will come in hopefully a natural way. Your insight is as usual right on the mark.

Acadian: You’re right, he was telling the story to his new guild mates, frequently interrupted by them. And at the beginning of the segment, he was already in the middle of the story – where we left off from the previous segment. I added the sentence ‘He continued to tell them the story.’ before the first flashback to hopefully smooth the transitions. I’m sorry about that, those what-the-heck moments really interrupt the flow for a reader. Thank you for pointing that out to me!

Thank you for your kind words about the rest of Jerric’s evening. That was my favorite part.

Destri Melarg: Your use of flashbacks in Interregnum made me think, I want to learn how to do that. Baby steps first! I’m glad you liked Sten’s demonstration of gender equality, FG style!

You have sensed the Jerric and Rhano relationship perfectly. Pretty soon I’ll manage to get the two of them in a room with someone who doesn’t already know, and there will be some explaining.

Where we are: Jerric helped Arvena with her rats and received an unexpected promotion. After he helped lower the level in the FG’s beer barrel, he returned home to find Abiene waiting for him.

Also, I made an oops in the last chapter. Llensi meant to tell Jerric that it’s Evening Star, not Frost Fall.




Chapter 10: Septims, Part 4

Abiene woke with the cold sun streaming through her windows. She had the habit of leaving her curtains open to invite the dawn inside, so that she might start each day with a few moments to herself. Last night she had stayed late at Jerric’s hut on the beach. This morning’s pale early light had failed to wake her. She slipped her arms into the ready dressing gown, then padded silently down the hall to the necessary. Folk were beginning to stir behind their closed doors as she made her way back to her chamber.

Abiene pulled her nightdress over her head and spread her exercise mat on the floor. She began to work her way through the stretches that warmed her muscles and loosened her joints before her morning meditation. She was surprised at the number of marks Jerric had left on her. He had warned her that he had been drinking, and now she understood his meaning. She had no idea how careful he was with her until he wasn’t.

As she began her more strenuous poses, a sheen of sweat broke out over her skin. She felt the familiar satisfaction as her body moved through the prescribed postures. Dibella had declined to make her voluptuous, so Abiene had made herself supple and strong. She allowed her pride to fill her thoughts, then she let it go. Instead of the emptiness she was seeking, she found her mind filled with images from the night before. Her sweat reminded her of the slick seawater on Jerric’s skin. The twinge in her knee made her wonder how she strained it, and then flush when she remembered.

This is ridiculous, she told herself. She stopped her routine and stood flat on both of her feet. When her eyes closed, she let the memory of every touch, taste, and gasping breath pass through her. She finished with the image that had warmed her heart as she slipped out the door. Jerric sprawled over the bed with his head against the wall and one foot on the floor, snoring. The cold night had washed over her as she walked back along the beach, this time alone. She chased the memory with her healing light, sweeping away her physical distractions. When she opened her eyes, she caught her own gaze in the dressing table mirror. Maybe I can find some time for a proper soak after dinner, she thought. I’d like to see him again tonight. Anticipation made her smile.

Her exercise invigorated her, and the meditation readied her mind for the day. She stood on her bathing mat for a cold sponge bath at her wash basin. When quick and clean were the goals, she felt no need to linger. Soon she was seated at her dressing table in a cotton shift, taming her curls with a pick and a wide-toothed comb. Ilonea still kept her supplied with smoothing cream for her hair, made by Ilonea’s own loving hands. Every morning Abiene thought of her fondly. Now the light scent brought only pleasant memories.

No jewelry today, she would spend most of it in the healing hall. She gathered her curls in a loose knot at the back of her head. Her white head wrap and robe would wait until after breakfast. She wore her healer’s garb like armor, for she needed as many boundaries as she could build between herself and her patients.

When she heard doors closing in the hall, she knew she ought to hurry. A simple linen dress in her favorite shade of medium brown slipped over her head and buttoned up the side. The high neckline showed off her collarbones, and nothing more. Well-worn flat shoes waited by the door. The draft in the hall reminded her that she had forgotten stockings.

“Good morning, Abiene.” Darnand’s voice broke into her thoughts and scattered them. He stood outside his door, almost smiling at her. She couldn’t see it in the dim hallway, but she knew his dark green mage’s robe would bring out the color of his eyes.

She took a few steps toward him until she could catch the scent of his soap. “Good morning,” she replied with a smile. She took his arm when he politely offered it, even though she doubted she would need support on the stairs. “Do you have a little time this morning? I would like to consult with you on one of my patients.”

They reached the foot of the stairs, and he gestured for her to precede him into the dining room. “Certainly. In what way do you believe I might render assistance?”

Abiene walked to where breakfast was laid out on the sideboard, smiling her greetings to her fellow mages. She handed Darnand a plate, then got one for herself. “Not with the healing, of course. It’s an Argonian child, I’m afraid I haven’t diagnosed her correctly. It appears to be a wasting illness, but she has not responded to my treatment as well as I would expect. I hope your research might provide some insight.” She placed an apple pastry on her plate, then filled a bowl with hot porridge. She sprinkled raisins and dried berries over the steaming oats.

Darnand followed her along the sideboard, filling his plate. “I suppose you have ruled out poison. An ill Argonian is unusual. Of course, I am pleased to do what I can for you. It might surprise you, but I suspect that for a difficult diagnosis we might turn to Jerric.”

Abiene stared at him, kahve pot forgotten in her hand. “You’re right, I am surprised. You’ve worked with him, his healing feels like…”

“An assault, I agree.” Darnand scooped eggs onto his plate next to the pile of fried potatoes. “And he sends his magicka through a person with the force of a hurricane. I do not suggest him for his delicate touch.” Darnand held out an empty mug. “I have a theory about him. If I am correct, he should be able to easily diagnose those maladies that are magical in nature. Of course I will attempt first, I hesitate to subject a sickly child to what might be a troubling experience. It is just another approach we might try if my research fails me.” He glanced at the pot in Abiene’s hand and raised an eyebrow.

Abiene mentally shook herself and filled their mugs with the steaming brew. “Do you suspect some kind of curse? How can you know without examining the patient?” They walked to the table, and Darnand held her hand as she stepped over the bench.

“I cannot, of course. However, given that the patient is Argonian, a magical attack would be the simplest answer. What did you think when you first examined her?”

“I thought she had been cursed by a ghost,” Abiene admitted. “But she said she hadn’t, and she would have known.” Darnand sat watching her with his kahve mug in his hand. “Although… I’ll talk to her about it again. If she’s been sneaking into the chapel through the undercroft, she might be more afraid of punishment than of her illness. Her parents do not follow the Nine. Thank you, Darnand. I’ll treat her with…” Abiene stood, her mind running over her options.

Darnand’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Eat your breakfast, Abiene. She is not going to waste away in the next few moments, and you will need your strength.” His eyes were warm on hers for another instant before he turned his attention to his plate. “Would you still like me to accompany you to the healing hall?”

“You are always welcome there, but I don’t want to take up any more of your time.” Actually, I do, Abiene thought. “Do you want me to tell you how it goes?”

“Yes, I am interested. I am pleased to offer any assistance that you might require, although I must admit that I am not particularly skilled in winning the trust of the young.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell me, I know just what to say. Away from her parents, of course. I’m afraid I wasn’t always truthful to my own mother.”

Darnand’s eyes smiled at her. “Who could truthfully say that they were.” He looked at her while he seemed to come to a decision. “I am sure that you would arrive at this solution on your own,” he continued quietly, “But if she has been cursed by a ghost, I might suggest ectoplasm blended with the oil from bergamot seeds.”

He knows I’m not skilled in mysticism, she thought. And he doesn’t want to embarrass me. “Thank you, Darnand. I was going to have to look that up.” I’ll trust him, she decided. “I would like you to come to the healing hall later. I am going to perform a small surgical procedure on Jerric, and Carahil will observe. I need her recommendation for the position in Chorrol. I would also like your opinion, privately.” She watched his reaction carefully. I’m like a child, hoping for approval from Papa, she realized.

“I am intrigued. I shall work at Felen’s counter this morning, so that I do not miss the opportunity.” He turned his attention back to his plate. “What position in Chorrol?” he asked in a casual tone.

“With Gureryne Selvilo at the Chapel of Stendarr. He combines surgery with restoration magic. He has one position for a student, but it’s already filled. I’ve been waiting for over a year for Carahil to send him a letter recommending me next. She… has some reservations about it.”

“Surely not with your healing?” Darnand glanced up to the end of the table where Carahil sat chatting with Gulitte.

“No. Well, with my ability to keep a distance from my patients, not to become too involved. You know it’s different with me. Easier to get inside another person, but much harder to control.”

“I recall from our lessons together, but I confess I did not fully grasp your meaning.”

Abiene put down her spoon and gave Darnand her full attention. It was important for him to understand before she took the next step. “You know how the mind, body, energy, and spirit are all connected.”

Darnand turned to her, serious. “You told me, but I cannot say that I truly know.”

“It is enough that you believe it. When most folk send their magicka into another person, they can find the physical hurts and diseases. With further study they might also learn to diagnose damage to a person’s magicka or life energy, as you have. For some, all of these things appear woven together, along with any sickness of the mind or spirit. You can imagine how overwhelming that can be, and how deeply personal. At the worst it is a violation of both patient and healer.” Abiene waited, worried that he would look at her as if she was somehow abnormal.

Darnand glanced around the table, then met her eyes again. “Abiene, I am honored that you have shared this with me. Now I begin to understand. I can see that the temptation to overstep must present itself continually. Healing must be a great drain on you. It is hard for me to see why you have pursued it.”

Relief flooded through her. “Because at its best it can free folk of their afflictions, give them their lives back. I have learned how to control it, to avoid offending a patient’s privacy. And to preserve my own. This is what has kept Carahil from recommending me. She doesn’t believe I’m ready. In surgery I will use my magicka to help me guide the knife. The contact with the patient will be intense. She knows I care for Jerric, we all do. If I can perform a small surgery on him without trouble, she will be convinced.” Abiene placed her hand on his arm to make sure he was really paying attention. “And there is something more I should like to try. I will not announce when I do it, but I want you to watch for it. There is no one else I trust with this, Darnand. I value your opinion.”

He bent his head toward her to speak, then looked up and beyond her. “Good morning, Thaurron.”

The Bosmer set his plate next to Abiene and sat down, swinging his legs up and over the bench. “Good morning, good morning! How does the day greet you, my friends?” he bubbled.

What a wonderful little look into Abiene's life. I loved seeing her go through her daily morning yoga routine, and especially her thoughts on overcoming Dibella's lack of gifts. I am glad to see she is still working toward that position in Chorrol as well. It looks like she is almost there now.

Your description of holistic healing was wonderful as well. So too was the description of Jerric's rough and tumble method of using magic and how it effects other people.

I am going to perform a small surgical procedure on Jerric
I think I have the x-ray from that...

Yes, your holistic view of healing is pretty much spot on. You don't have to be the world's best doctor or veterinarian to know that the mind and spirit are entwined with the body and that full recovery is possible only when all are in balance with each other.

And you left us with a small cliffie! What exactly is it Abiene wants to do with Jerric? Other than the obvious, that is!

I will be watching for the next installment!

I recognized the shape of the head right away, Homer Simpson !!!! ROFL !!!!!


*


@ Grits - The entire beginning scene with Abiene needs to be quoted for its excellence in million diverse ways and reasons.

Abiene is not fighting her feelings or holding back in any way, which may not end well for her. I don't see Jerric settling down in one place, specifically not Anvil. I see pain in her future when he leaves, unless like Parwen she is just "riding the wild stallion" while she has access to it in her pasture.





I was knocked out of my chair by this exchange !!! This is as brilliant as it gets!!!!

Either Arnaund/Darnaund is very good at burying his emotions or he is blind, and I doubt he is that wrapped in his studies to miss all the evidence under his nose (especially since she came back so late and her room is situated close enough that he could hear her footsteps - and most likely hear her humming).

I doubt he'll hold it against Abiene, but there may be some tenseness ahead between himself and Jerric. I'd hate/love to be a fly on the wall the day he walks in on them accidentally.


*

What a delightful episode! I loved your gentle touch as Abiene let us know what happened the night prior while going about her morning routine in private. You made what I consider to be a series of perfect choices in crafting this scene.

Thank you for the yummy breakfast interlaced with such interesting conversation. I envy your effective and seamless weaving of background actions with dialogue here. Another healer who does and feels more than simply casting a spell! Wonderful!

Nit: “Certainly. In what way to you believe I might render assistance?”
I'm sure you wanted 'do' instead of 'to' here.

SubRosa: D’oh!! She’d really have to search to find that organ.

I’m glad you enjoyed the time with Abiene. When Jerric looks at her, he sees the most perfect woman in the world. But I thought that those of us who are not sleeping with her might like a more realistic view. We’ll get a little more insight into her character in the next two sections.

It has been interesting to think about spell casting as more than saying the magic word. I’m taking ‘learning a spell’ to mean someone coaching the student until they find their own way of doing it, which would mean big differences between people. I’m so glad that seems to be working!


haute ecole rider: It was fun to work magicka, skills, attributes, and ‘fatigue’ into Tamriel-style healing. I’ve taken ‘health’ to generally mean injuries, which is where most healing comes in. With Jerric’s Atronach sign, he can’t just go get everything fixed with a blessing at the temple. It’s made me think more about the different options people have when something other than ‘health’ is awry.

It will take the next two installments for Abiene’s intensions to fully come to light, stay tuned!


mALX: You’re absolutely right, Abiene has given up trying to diminish the Jerric Effect. She knows he’s leaving at some point, and she knows she’s going to Chorrol for awhile. Seeing that there’s heartache ahead hasn’t stopped her from walking down that beach every night. Of course, at this point he’s only been back three days.

You bring up an excellent point, how far up his own rear must Darnand’s head be? There’s more shortly about what’s on his mind, why he’s been so busy, and why no one thinks Abiene’s hours are odd. I had to smile at the image of her skipping up the stairs at 2 in the morning, humming! At this point if Darnand decided to pay a late evening visit to the beach hut, there might indeed be an abrupt exchange of fire and frost. Flies on the wall, beware!

I’m so glad you shared your thoughts about A,D, and J, it really helps to see if I’m getting things across. You are the architect of so many complex relationships in your story, and my head is swimming with just these three!! Thank you so much for your kind words, mALX! Your encouragement means a lot!!


Acadian: Thank you for spotting that nit for me, it’s fixed. I’m so pleased that you approve of Abiene’s style of healing. Buffy’s empathic healing first made me realize how completely different Jerric is from Buffy in that way, then led me to think more about the whole subject. We’ll see a little more about Abiene in the next two sections.

Your praise made me smile and blush, then grin! Abiene constantly threatens to change the name to “Abiene’s Story,” so I have to keep her distracted. I’m so glad you enjoyed the time we spent with her.


Where we are: Jerric is working through his ‘to do’ list with the goal of earning some money. Abiene has plans for him when he next passes through the mages guild hall. And she wants Darnand to watch.



Chapter 10: Septims, Part 5

Jerric stepped into Morvayn’s Peacemakers, braced for the noise and hot smell. He found Varel Morvayn behind his counter and Enilroth working at the forge. Varel waved him over. “Enilroth has most of your equipment. We’ll settle up while he’s finishing.”

Jerric raised his voice to be heard over Enilroth’s noise. “All right. What do I owe you? I might not have the coin to pick up all of my gear yet.”

“I did not repair your cuirass, Jerric. The enchantment is broken. I could still repair it for you, if you wish, but it will be expensive.”

“I was afraid of that, Varel.” He felt sick over the loss.

“What do you know of mender’s magic? It looked as if you had used repair hammers on your shield and some of your blades.”

“I did, when I could find them. I’m no mender, but I can use their enchanted hammers on mundane things.”

“A mender could do a better job repairing your surcoat than I would, and I know you’ll want to keep it. I suggest you find one and get some training. There’s no one in Anvil who can do it, but I know that Rohssan in the Imperial City is a mender. Her shop is called A Fighting Chance. She could train you to use the hammers on your enchanted gear. It’s a shame to see such things ruined.”

“That mail is Batul gra-Sharob’s work, I’m just sick about breaking the charms laid on it. I was away too long, you saw how I had it held together. I used up one of those hammers just on the surcoat. I couldn’t let it fall apart. Sentimental, I know, but it wasn’t a time of clear thinking.”

“You could use them to mend your socks as long as they weren’t worn away, but it would cost you. I have a supply for sale, of course. You should buy as many as you can afford and use them. I hate to lose the repair business, but you need to be able to work on your own gear, from what I’ve heard about you.”

“What have you heard?”

Varel gave him an assessing look. “That you’re going back into Oblivion, as soon as you find a Gate. That you’re chasing daedra so you can eat their hearts, gain their power. I won’t repeat the less flattering rumors.”

“I guess folk think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Most are glad you’re doing it. Those that know you, understand.”

“Well, I’ll need a new cuirass too, I guess. At least before I go back on the road. I want to enchant some of my gear, but I didn’t think about how I would maintain it.”

“Better keep that katana aside until you see Rohssan, unless you’re sure you can make it back to a town where someone can repair it for you. Your Wolf shield as well. Enilroth brought it back to new condition.”

“Better than new!” Enilroth called out. Jerric wondered how he could hear them over his ringing hammer. Maybe Bosmer ears were big for a reason, he thought.

Varel smiled indulgently. “I’ll let him go over the details with you. He’ll want to show you what he did with your new dagger, too. Where did you get that katana? I’ve seen the type before, but they’re rare.”

“Up north.” Jerric stood looking at his boots. “Varel, I want you to repair the mail anyway. I can’t give it up. It might be a week before I have the coin to come back and get it.”

“I’ll do it. Don’t go back into a Gate without it, Jerric. I want you to live long enough to pay me.” Jerric stared at Varel, disbelieving. “Yes, you can take it as soon as I’ve finished.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Do not spread it around. And don’t come back for a few days, it will take some time.” Varel’s face creased into smiling lines. “Don’t forget, you’ll need a new doublet as well. All that was left of your old one was ash held together by blood. I still have it, if you want it back.”

“No, it just needs a decent burial. Thanks, Varel.”

“Don’t mention it. I mean that. Even to Enilroth, let him think you’ve paid me.” They both glanced over at Enilroth. The young Bosmer rolled his eyes without breaking the rhythm of his tapping. “How does he do that?” Varel demanded, exasperated. “I would swear the lad can read minds.”

“So I can take my greaves, gauntlets, helm, both swords, shield, old dagger and new… I’ll want a hand axe to get at those daedra hearts I’m supposed to be eating… How much is that?”

The Dunmer’s face took on its usual shrewd expression. “Let me start with a question. How much do you have?”

Jerric concluded his transaction with the two mer and headed over to the Mages Guild hall. Darnand greeted him from Felen’s counter. “Jerric,” he called, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Set aside your burdens, we have business at the healing hall.”

“Good day to you, too,” Jerric replied. “How about some lunch first?”

Darnand stared at him. “Lunch? It is just past ten bells.”

“Breakfast then.”

“Stow your gear, Jerric. Let us go. Abiene stayed late at the healing hall last night, I do not wish to keep her waiting this morning.”

So that’s what she’s told them, Jerric thought. He passed through the guild hall to his cupboard in the basement with exaggerated care. His own width presented enough of a hazard to his fellow mages, even without the weapons he carried.

On his way back to Darnand, he scooped up a snack from the dining hall. Gulitte and Darnand appeared to be in some kind of standoff in the front hall. Jerric chuckled to himself as he shouldered his way between them. “Let’s go, Darnand,” he chided, holding the door open. “It’s rude to keep your healer waiting.”

Jerric followed Darnand out the front door and around the building to the healing hall. He carried a red apple in one hand and a green apple in the other. He alternated taking bites from each, enjoying the contrast between tart and sweet. Darnand held the door while Jerric stepped into the healing hall’s vestibule.

Wide double doors in front of them stood open to the healing hall’s large main room. Light streamed through the high windows that ran down both sides of the room. Jerric could see the rows of patient beds with their accompanying chairs and small tables. Some were shielded from his view by canvas screens. He knew that figures in various states of distress and recovery must be reclining there, some attended by worried relatives. The scent of pine oil gently touched his nose.

It wasn’t until he was standing in the healing hall that he realized Carahil had followed them. He smiled at her sheepishly around a mouthful of apple.

“Please find Abiene,” Carahil told Darnand. “I shall take him to the procedure room.”

Carahil led him through one of the side doors and down a set of well-lit stone stairs. Jerric recognized the cool light as the same that illuminated the lower levels of Cloud Ruler Temple. He peeked over the top of one of the wall sconces as he passed. The half-bowl shape was filled with small chips of glowing aquamarine stone.

He followed Carahil’s tall form into a small, equally bright room. Open shelves lined the walls, and the center of the room held a high bed, almost a table. A metal fixture hung over the bed, lighting it with Welkynd stones. He found a metal waste can and dropped his apple cores in, then wiped the juice on the seat of his trousers. Carahil’s gaze was on him, and he flushed. He had time to notice that the shelves held a great deal of folded linen before Abiene and Darnand entered the room, saving him from having to comment.

Abiene wore her white robe with an apron, and her hair was contained under a white wrap. He found that his fingers wanted to twine themselves in the curling tendrils that had escaped. She walked to him and took his arm, looking up intently into his face. “Are you ready for this?” she asked.

“Yeah. I mean, you just want me to hold still, right? I don’t think I need to study for it.” When she didn’t smile back at him, he realized how tense she must be. He glanced over at Darnand. “Are you here to make sure I don’t run away?”

“Indeed,” Darnand replied crisply. “Shall I paralyze you now, or would you like a head start?”

“In the chair,” Abiene said. “Here, straddle it and lean forward over the back.” She pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to a very young Altmer lad who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Jerric felt Abiene’s hands on his shoulders, giving them a secret squeeze. She stepped away and began making her mysterious preparations with the Altmer.

Carahil stood where Jerric could see her. “Did Abiene explain the procedure to you?” she asked.

“She’s going to cut on me a little, then heal it. On that scar.” He tipped his head toward the affected shoulder.

Carahil looked over Jerric’s head at something. Abiene stepped around where he could see her. She used her fingertip on his skin to illustrate her explanation. “I’m going to cut along the edges of the scar here and here, then run the knife under the skin to remove the adhesions,” Abiene told him. “You will still have a scar, but it will not pull at your skin any more when you move your shoulder.” He could hear metal clinking on metal behind him. He caught the scent of her hair, the mint stems she liked to nibble, and the faint tang of her nervous sweat. “I need you to hold still, Jerric. It’s going to hurt.”

“Not as much as when it happened, I’ll bet.” He smiled up at her. “Go ahead, I’m not worried.”

She worked quickly, murmuring softly to her Altmer helper. It burned fiercely for a few moments while he guessed she was cutting, not even long enough for sweat to pop out on his skin. Swirling white light was followed by some splashing and wiping. Abiene’s hands on his shoulders again told him she had finished. “There,” she said to Carahil triumphantly.

Jerric could still see Carahil’s face. She nodded briskly to Abiene. “You have your recommendation.” Then she smiled and swept out of the room.

“I’ll finish up, Yanerion,” Abiene told the Altmer. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Yanerion folded his hands and bowed to Abiene, almost reverently. He shot Jerric a curious look, but didn’t speak as he too left the room.

Abiene let out a great sigh of relief. She stepped back around in front of Jerric. “I’m glad they left, it will be much better this way,” she said over his head to Darnand.

“What will be better?” asked Jerric.

And I'm still hanging!

Great description of the surgery from the patient's perspective.

Though a spell to numb the area before cutting would be great - the TES version of a local anesthetic. Hmm - *scribbles notes to self*

Okay, I'm back. It's great to get inside Jerric's head again. The transactions with Morvayn and Enilroth were fun, especially this: This speaks volumes of the relationship between master and journeyman! They remain two of my favorites of the Anvil residents.

That you’re chasing daedra so you can eat their hearts, gain their power.
No, that is Buffy who eats their hearts! I did love these rumors flying around about Jerric Lionheart. I see Varel may not have a lion's heart, but he does indeed have a heart, seeing that he is willing to do the work on Jerric's gear for whatever he might have in his pockets.

“I shall take him to the procedure room.”
When a hot Altmer woman says this, well, it does bring up some interesting images!

Ahh, so that is the procedure? A clever idea, both showing that inexpert healing can lead to less than optimal restoration of the body, and how that can be fixed through surgery. I am with h.e.r. in that I imagine anesthetic spells would probably be common (and probably a good way to incapacitate people in combat!) Both as a local and as a general form (a simple Drain Fatigue would do that, so long as the effect was big enough). Likewise, do not forget the plethora of drugs which can do the same. IRL, people have been using poppies and the like for thousands of years as anesthetic for surgeries.

I enjoyed the description and thoughts on repairing equipment and how it interfaced with the game. Nicely done!

Jerric wondered how he could hear them over his ringing hammer. Maybe Bosmer ears were big for a reason, he thought.
Ahem, Bosmer don't have big ears. They simply have small heads and bodies.

Darnand stared at him. “Lunch? It is just past ten bells.”
Well, Jerric (two fisted apple eater that he is) knows that the most important meal of the day is the next one!

The whole surgery scene was neat, and your descriptions rendered it very easy to clearly see the facility. And what better place than the MG at Anvil?

“What will be better?” asked Jerric.
Jerric, you took the words out of my mouth.

Of course, after these ominous words I was expecting anything:



GAAAAH !!! Abiene can't be planning on breaking the news to Darnand right in front of Jerric after he just went through surgery!

... (edited out several ridiculous and inane jokes regarding that scenario) ...

Jerric may have bluffed off a brave front to the others, but noticing every scent, sound, etc. in the room - that is nerves, and a touch of fear maybe.

Great Chapter, and Awesome Write (as always !!!)

haute ecole rider: All is revealed next! I’m glad you liked my treatment of Varel and Enilroth. After I enjoyed your winsome Enilroth (banging away with his wide grin), I found that mine was suddenly younger! And yay, sribbling!!

SubRosa: And I think it was Julian who calmly sliced up a daedra heart like a bell pepper! Varel will be looking for the rest of his payment, thus the admonition for Jerric to stay alive. But it was awfully nice of him to give Jerric his gear back in the meantime. When I wrote Carahil’s line, I did have a brief flash of her in long, black gloves holding various implements of discipline. Maybe she’s trying to tell us something!

Acadian: Jerric apologizes for possibly implying by extension that Buffy’s ears might be anything other than perfectly sized. I’m glad you liked the repair hammer explanation, it took a long time for that idea to bubble up to the surface!

mALX: You’re right, sitting still while someone cuts him is not one of Jerric’s practiced skills. Anyone but Abiene would probably not have gotten such cooperation from him. Thank you, mALX!!

Where we are: Abiene did a little slicing on Jerric, earning her ticket to Chorrol from Carahil. Now she is ready to enact the rest of her plan, with Darnand’s interested assistance. They’re still exactly where we left them.



Chapter 10: Septims, Part 6

Abiene continued to address Darnand. “Yanerion will be a powerful healer when he matures. In a short time by an Altmer’s way of thinking, he will be a candidate to study with Master Selvilo. Some mer would reserve the position for an Altmer over a Breton without even considering it. This past year that I’ve worked and waited for my chance has been the blink of an eye to Carahil. And after all, the time it takes to train us is the same. Yet the mer will still be practicing centuries after I am gone.”

Darnand’s voice came from behind Jerric. “That does not make it right.”

“No. And I do not accept it.”

“Carahil thinks highly of your skills as a trainer,” Darnand pointed out.

“That does not work in my favor. My students advance quickly.” She glanced down at Jerric. “Usually. The empathy that gives me an advantage in training will be a liability in surgery, in Carahil’s eyes. That’s why I had to show her I could cause some pain without hesitating. She thinks I won’t be able to practice this kind of healing, that training me will be a waste of time.”

“It would be better if you did not have to inflict pain,” Darnand remarked. “Surely there is a spell… Perhaps paralysis, reversed somehow. The patient would be able to move, but feel no pain. Combined with…” Darnand’s voice trailed away.

“I imagine that there is.” Abiene’s hands gently stroked Jerric’s shoulder. He had to bend his neck to see her face. Her eyes still looked over his head, and he doubted she realized what she was doing. “The healers at the temples use medicines as well as potions. There is much for me to learn there. I’ve never even cut into a person’s skin before today. I knew I could do it, but she’s right, it was hard.”

Jerric cleared his throat, still looking up at Abiene. “What will be better?” he repeated.

Abiene looked down and met Jerric’s gaze with a small smile. She took his face in her hands, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. Darnand stepped around to look over her shoulder. “This deep scar, here.” She ran her thumb along the crease that extended from his brow to his hairline. “I would like to try to improve it. There is no guarantee, and I might only make it worse.”

Jerric snorted. “How could you make it worse? Go ahead, get some practice.”

“Come this way.” She guided him up onto the high bed under the glowing stones. “Lie down, and tip your chin back. There, like that.” Now she was all business again. She positioned Darnand’s hands against his face while Jerric looked up at the ceiling. Jerric could feel that Darnand held some kind of cloth. To catch the blood, he realized. “This will take longer, I’m afraid,” Abiene told him. She took a nervous breath and glanced up at Darnand. Jerric couldn’t see what he did, but it made Abiene smile. She looked back at Jerric. “Close your eyes,” she told him softly. He felt more cloth against his eyelids and brow.

This time it burned for so long that his sweat beaded up and trickled down his sides. The cloth in Darnand’s hands got wet enough to feel cold against his skin. Abiene and Darnand murmured to each other until Jerric heard the knife clink down. Now Abiene’s hands on his face didn’t soothe the pain away. Instead it felt as if hot needles were piercing the open edges of the wound. He felt his knees drawing up against his will, and he clamped his hands over the edges of the bed to keep himself still. He heard Darnand’s quick intake of breath as the burning grew more intense. Jerric wondered what Darnand was seeing.

Finally the pain lessened abruptly. Abiene let out a breath, and drew a long, ragged breath in. The cloth was taken away, then wiped back over his skin. Jerric opened his eyes.

Abiene sagged against the table, and Darnand moved quickly around to catch her. Jerric sat up and swung his legs over the edge as Darnand eased her into the chair. Now Jerric could see the bloody knife lying on a metal tray at the head of the bed-table, surrounded by blood-soaked cloths. His eyes passed quickly over them on their way to Abiene.

She slumped in the chair, pale with exhaustion. Her face held triumph and oddly, defiance. Darnand stood before her, gripping her hands. Jerric could see them both in profile. Darnand stared down at her with respect in his face, and something else. They both look like they just won something, Jerric decided. He began to feel a little left out.

“Tell me,” Darnand said to her. There was a note in his voice that Jerric had never heard before.

Abiene’s dark eyes blazed up at Darnand. “You saw.”

“I want you to say it,” Darnand insisted. Jerric felt completely puzzled by their intensity.

Instead Abiene looked over at Jerric, and her face softened into a tired smile. “How do you feel?” she asked him.

“Fine,” Jerric told her. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. The skin felt smooth and pliable, as if there had never been a scar. He wiggled his eyebrows experimentally. “Better than fine. That wasn’t just a healing. What did you do?”

“That was a restoration,” she said. “I wasn’t sure that I could do it. I removed the damaged tissue, then I helped you grow new skin.”

“You did what?” Jerric didn’t understand.

Abiene began to look nervous. Darnand stepped over and picked up the tray. There was a strip of bloody flesh on it about the length and width of Jerric’s finger. “She removed the scar,” he explained. “There, that was it. Then she restored your skin. Not just with healing, but with true restoration.” Darnand put the tray down and retrieved Jerric’s shirt. “Look, this tear could be a cut that would be easily healed,” he explained excitedly. “Just place the edges together. But here the cloth is worn away, the fabric is gone. What Abiene did is re-weave the cloth, as if the threads had grown out new again from the edges. In your case, the difference is subtle, as the wound was only skin.” Darnand looked over at Abiene with what could only be pride. She gave him a quick nod of approval. Jerric realized that Darnand had not known what she was going to do, either. Darnand gave his attention back to Jerric. “It looked like it hurt.”

“Yeah, it hurt.” He pointed at the tray. “So that bit of meat there, that’s a piece of me?” He felt a little sick to his stomach. Darnand covered it again with a piece of reddened cloth.

Abiene stood and joined them. “Are you angry? I should have brought a mirror. The scar is gone, Jerric. It’s all new skin.” She glanced at Darnand and back at him, placing her palms lightly on his knees. “Imagine the possibilities. So many times I’ve had to heal over someone’s eye, because part of it was lost. Now I know I can restore it.” Her own eyes held a light that he found disquieting. He must have shown it, because her face filled with distress. “It’s not wrong, Jerric. Every part of your body knows how it’s supposed to be, complete. I didn’t impose my ideas on you, or change you. I used my power to make you whole again.”

“After you cut off a piece. I’m not angry. Well, a little. Yeah, I guess I’m angry. I just wish you would have told me first.” She started to turn away, blinking back tears. “No, it’s all right. I’ll get over it,” he told her quickly, reaching out to take her hands. He felt hurt in a way that he wanted to deny. “I trusted you, but you didn’t trust me,” he explained. The new distance between them was worse than the betrayal, he decided. He wanted to draw her into his arms, but her glance over at Darnand stopped him.

“We are both trusting you with this knowledge,” Darnand said solemnly. “This magic is far outside the bounds of the guild school of Restoration. It has more in common with necromancy than the way the Mages Guild teaches healing. This kind of power in the wrong hands could be devastating, but it is wrong to fear it. Only respect it, and use it correctly.”

Darnand’s words only made Jerric more uncomfortable. “How did you know about black soul gems?” he asked Darnand. “Gulitte had never heard of them.”

Now Darnand looked worried. “Black soul gems are used in necromancy, they are not widely known. I hope you will not mention them to anyone else. I stumbled across a reference in my research. I still have not learned how they are made.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t say who told me about them.”

Abiene’s eyes were wide, fixed on Darnand. “Why are you studying necromancy?” she asked tightly.

“Please do not think I am seeking that kind of power. I believe there is a war coming that has nothing to do with daedra. Half of the Council of Mages resigned when Traven became Arch-Mage. Many others left with them. They did not just go join the Bakers Guild.”

“Great,” Jerric said, disgusted. “Dagon isn’t enough, now we have to worry about our own fetching mages?”

“Perhaps not,” said Darnand. “I would like to proceed with our plan. Necromancers have been driven to the shadows, but the daedric threat is upon us. I would not have chosen to bring this matter to your attention now, however it seemed preferable to letting you assume I have commenced a career in necromancy.”

Jerric looked down at Abiene’s hands in his, trying to get back to the present issue. She had wiped her fingers dry, but they were still reddened with his blood. “So if what you’re telling me is right, could you take this piece you cut off of me and grow another Jerric?” he asked.

Abiene gasped, obliviously sickened by the thought. Darnand nodded gravely. “In theory, though it would require unimaginable power,” Darnand replied. “And the creature would be akin to a flesh atronach, with no spirit of its own. You begin to see why this knowledge must have been concealed. Abiene has not created a new magic, she has rediscovered an old one.”

“Why did you try this on me?” Jerric asked quietly. He held on to Abiene’s hands, though she tried to pull away.

“Because she wanted to help you,” Darnand stated firmly.

Abiene stopped pulling, and Jerric saw the guilt in her eyes. “Because I knew you would forgive me,” she whispered.

Jerric quickly ducked his head, sliding off the high bed. If she wanted him to keep their secrets, he would have to leave the room immediately. There was no way Darnand would miss the hurt he knew must be written across his face, and no way either of them could explain it away. “I’ll catch up with you later, Darnand,” he said into his shirt, pulling it over his head. “I’ve got to see about a job this morning.” He didn’t look back at Abiene as he walked out the door.

Wow. Just wow. You had a lot going on in this chapter.

Not only the re-discovery (yes, I think it should be rediscovered an old one) of tissue restoration (a hot topic in RL medical research for the past ten years, I might add) is highlighted here. There is also a shifting in the relationships between the three.

Abiene chose Jerric to try her idea on not only because she felt safe with his trust, but also to challenge her own ability to deal with her empathy. Performing this kind of procedure without any kind of pain relief is hard, not just on the patient, but also on the empathic healer (which is why we veterinarians love our drugs - for the pets, not for us!). Yet she was afraid to trust him with her intentions, simply because her idea was so radical she thought his trust would fail.

Jerric was hurt that she didn't trust him with her intentions. Understandably so. Trust is based on communications that pass in both directions, not just in a single direction from one to another. Trust built upon one-way communication is plagued and shaken by doubt. That is the root of conflict between friends, and something that drives many of the best dramas. You made it very clear that her lack of faith in him hurt more than her ministrations did.

Darnand is beginning to see Abiene in a new light. Yes, he always cared about her, but I always got the sense it was as an older brother cares for his younger sister. But now, he is seeing her as a person, not just another short-lived human.

There's more, but I'll stop right here so others have something to comment on!

Abiene hasn't heard about getting the patient's permission before performing procedures on them, obviously. Then to drag in his best friend to watch and glory in HER discovery (or re-discovery) - oh yeah. And to top it all off, Jerric may have just realized where Abiene has been spending her nights in his absence.

Abiene may have just gotten her last late night rendezvous with Jerric. He may be able to forgive, but will he forget? That remains to be seen.

This chapter was powerful in description both physically and emotionally. AWESOME WRITE !!!

Abiene makes a good point about the real-world effects that beings with vastly different life-spans living side by side. This is something that Bethesda ignores completely, and most other games, and even fantasy authors. Consider enlistment terms in the army. Twenty years is nothing for an Altmer, but a huge chunk of a human's life. Every Altmer could serve in the legion, retire at forty and receive a pension (and possibly land) for the next four hundred years of their life. Or the flip-side. What age would Altmer be expected to start school in Summerset Isles? Twenty or thirty? And finish at eighty or ninety? A human would die before ever becoming an adult, by Altmer law.

I would like to try to improve it.
Yikes, that does not sound good!

I used my power to make you whole again
That concisely sums up what Restoration should be. I honestly never pictured it as anything else. Although now that you have me thinking about it, perhaps novice level spells like the heal minor wounds could not create new tissue, only do little things like close up old wounds? It is an interesting thought, and would mean a major reworking of how ES healing works. But it might make the setting feel richer, as one could not simply cast Heal Minor Wounds a hundred times and regrow their lost arm.

It looks like you might be planning on using Darnand in a future fic, dealing with the necromancers perhaps? Maybe Abiene as well? I have to say, this episode has been a relief simply because Abiene is doing something of substance. Until now she has simply been the stock girlfriend character that nearly every male action hero has. In Jerric's Story at least. It is nice to see her growing into a role beyond simply that, as she had in Abiene's Saturalia.



nits:
There was a strip of bloody flesh on the tray about the length and width of Jerric’s finger.
You should probably put this in the paragraph above it, where Darnand says “There, that was it." . So the reader knows what he is referring to.

Not exactly a nit, but rather than use the term "golem', perhaps Flesh Atronach might be better, as they are already a feature of the ES universe?

I also enjoyed Abiene's take on the Altmer mage's advantage over the Breton mage based purely on lifespan.

Just a fascinating episode with such interesting ideas of healing on Nirn.

Half of the Council of Mages resigned when Traven became Arch-Mage. Many others left with them. They did not just go join the Bakers Guild.”
This was a perfect touch of levity in the midst of a tense episode.

Abiene stopped pulling, and Jerric saw the guilt in her eyes. “Because I knew you would forgive me,” she whispered.
Very, very powerful moment here. What a wonderful lead up to it you did.

Nit: “It would be better if you did not have to inflict pain.” Darnand remarked.
I recommend a comma instead of a period after pain to introduce the speech tag.

Looks like Abiene and Jerric are both trying to walk the fine line between withholding information that they think will hurt, and trusting the other. And those topics are always impossible to discuss, and equally impossible not to.

Which all makes for a great story. Especially as you've got this working in multiple directions at once for Abiene, with Jerric, Darnand, and Carahil, on many different levels.

haute ecole rider: You absolutely got my intentions in this segment. The whole time I read your comments, I was saying, “Yes! Exactly! Yes!” It was a challenge to present what Abiene did here through Jerric’s somewhat bewildered eyes. What a thrill to see that it made some sense. Whew! And I changed it to “rediscovered,” thank you.

mALX: Wait, wait, Abiene has not been sleeping with Darnand. That intense moment between the two of them was Darnand getting his first glimpse of that part of her character and liking it, while she realized that Darnand had finally gotten the message that there is more to her. At the same time Jerric was sitting there rubbing his forehead in confusion, as you pointed out. All of the good things about her are still true, but Jerric has some thinking to do! Or not, we’ll have to see. I love your enthusiasm, mALX! Thank you so much!

SubRosa: The way I decided to look at regular healing was that the magicka heals the injury the way the body normally would only much faster, or almost instantly with a powerful enough spell. Jerric’s scars result from him incompletely healing himself to conserve magicka, letting the skin heal the rest of the way on its own. The game does give us Aelwin Merowald’s old injury. If he could have it healed some more, why wouldn’t he sell the Jewel of the Rumare and do it? I had a hard time finding lore about healing, so I went with this way to make the setting richer, as you said.

I would love to keep going after this story, there is a lot more tale to tell! And I sure don’t see Jerric as the Arch-Mage. I’ll have to see how I get along with Darnand. I’ve dumped most of what I’ve written for him, because his thinking is so linear and dry. Abiene is wonderful fun to write, but she is not someone who would go out adventuring. I switched that sentence you pointed out, it makes much more sense the way you put it. And flesh atronach, perfect! I haven’t played the SI yet, so I had to look it up. Thank you!

Acadian: Thank you for spotting that errant punctuation, I fixed it. I think there could be substance behind some of the racial tension in Tamriel, since the differences in things like lifespan would have real repercussions. Thank you for drawing attention to Abiene’s line. It took a long time to get to that moment! Your kind words are so encouraging.

ghastly: You’re right, Jerric and Abiene have reached a point where silences can’t really be comfortable, because they’re too full of what they’re not saying. Thanks for pointing out how complicated Abiene has made things for herself, including trying to conceal her intensions from Carahil.

Where we are: Abiene surprised the boys with her rediscovery of true restoration and some newly revealed facets of her character. Darnand surprised the other two with his theoretical knowledge of necromancy. Jerric ducked out to regain his composure.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 7

Jerric stood on the street in front of the Mages Guild and Fighters Guild halls, weighing his options. Now that he had his weapons back he could talk to Azzan about his next contract. His grinding teeth and clenched fists told him that his mood was not ideal for his guild mates’ inevitable jesting. He needed to find Maelona and see if she would hire him for something. And he desperately wanted to head straight down to the waterfront and fight until he was exhausted or imprisoned.

The pretty Redguard woman, he decided. I’m unlikely to kill her.

He headed toward Westgate to look for Maelona, joining the stream of quickly moving folk in the middle of the street. Many of them were pages or messengers, or youngsters just starting their apprenticeships. They raced about their masters’ business at a pace that kept Jerric at an easy lope. Stretching out his legs always helped him clear his mind. By the time he reached the evergreen oak near the Dock Gate, he was ready to be civil.

Jerric looked up at the great tree as he approached. He thought that no matter how many times he saw it, his awe would never diminish. Like the other massive evergreen oaks throughout Anvil, this tree had already been large when the city was built around it. The parks and plazas were designed to take advantage of their shade in a hot climate. This old tree’s canopy reached a much greater width than height. Its thick, sinuous branches snaked out in all directions. Stone benches were built in a ring surrounding the raised center of its root mass. The branches hung out past the benches far enough to keep most of them in shade. Jerric immediately spotted a Redguard woman seated alone on one of the benches.

The woman wore her tightly curling hair trimmed close to her head in a style that set off her soft features. Her long green chemise was mostly covered by a felt tunic and overskirt in a becoming russet color. Her dark green cloak hung tucked behind her shoulders, leaving her arms free. Jerric noted that the cloak also served to highlight Maelona’s assets, rather than conceal them. She sat straight and composed on her bench with her hands folded in her lap. She looked up at Jerric’s approach.

“Hello there,” she said pleasantly.

“Hello. I’m Jerric.”

“My name is Maelona,” she told him.

“Pleased to meet you. My friend Rhano said you might need a job done.”

Maelona gave a sharp nod. Her expression became annoyed. “How would you like to get my husband, Gogan, out of hot water?”

“Sure.” She gestured to her side, and Jerric sat down next to her on the bench. “What’s he done?”

“Believe me, he’ll need all the help he can get to worm his way out of this one. To think he’d fall for the gang’s scheme…” She pounded her knees with her fists. “Agh! I could kill him!” Jerric guessed that she would get to the point eventually. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling, and you look confused. Let me explain. There’s a gang of women in Anvil preying on the town’s men. They use their wiles to lure men out to some remote location and rob them blind. It’s been going on for some time now. The city guard hasn’t done very much about it, because frankly, the men who are robbed are so embarrassed, they don’t want to report it. Take for example the good-for-nothing husband of mine, Gogan. He cared more about their charms than my own.”

Jerric decided that Gogan must be some kind of fool, considering the charms that Maelona obviously possessed. The thought was accompanied by the knowledge that it would be unprofessional to remark on that subject. He smiled and inwardly thanked Arvena for her teaching.

Maelona continued her tale. “When Gogan was, uh… with the women, they took something quite valuable from him. No, it’s not what you’re thinking. He was carrying a precious family heirloom with him when he was lured out to their lair. The ring I gave him on our wedding day. The ring belonged to my mother, and it has been in the family for generations. I’m willing to give you all of the money I have to get it back. One hundred gold. Can you help us?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll help.” He bit his tongue to keep from asking what she thought he assumed the valuable thing was. He didn’t have a clue, and his curiosity needled him.

“Thank you,” she said. Her tone sounded relieved. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you much help, but I’ll do what I can. All I can tell you is that the best place to start is at The Flowing Bowl. It’s a tavern located outside the city walls on the waterfront.”

“Yes ma’am, I know the Bowl.”

“The Flowing Bowl attracts the worst Anvil has to offer,” she remarked with disgust. Jerric couldn’t tell if her scathing glance over his person was meant to include him in her judgment. “Gogan may be able to give you more information beyond that.” She placed her hand on Jerric’s leg. “When you go to The Flowing Bowl, always be on your guard,” she warned him earnestly.

“Uh, I will,” Jerric assured her. Now what was I going to ask next, he wondered. She removed her hand from his thigh, and he remembered. “Where can I find Gogan?”

“At home, hiding his face.” Maelona scowled, and Jerric felt included once again in the disgrace of all men. “I’ll take you there.”

Jerric followed Maelona’s cloak as she swept through the crowded street, staying about one long step behind her. He noticed that she moved with an almost feline grace. She did not turn her head or speak to anyone that they passed on the street. Jerric kept his greetings to quick nods at familiar faces.

Maelona led him into a modest house a short distance away on the main street. “Gogan!” she called up the stairs as Jerric pushed the front door shut behind him. She indicated the doorway to the right of the entry hall. Jerric stepped into the room to await Gogan.

Jerric could see that this room served as the home’s only living space. Low armchairs upholstered in some swirling dark red pattern flanked the hearth. A small wood fire warmed the room. A round table with two chairs stood to one side of the doorway, and a line of cupboards and storage furniture filled the wall to the left. He guessed that this arrangement must be fairly typical of these small Westgate houses. He had never been inside one. Footsteps on the stairs made Jerric turn back toward the door where Maelona stood watching him.

A Redguard man walked into the room, frowning. His burgundy linen clothing placed him in the middle class, but told nothing of his occupation. “What do you want?” he asked abruptly.

“I’m told you might be able to give me some information about a scam some women are running in town,” Jerric said. “I’m Jerric,” he added.

Gogan’s frown darkened to a scowl. “I see my wife couldn’t keep her big mouth shut,” he spat. “Yes, it’s true. I lost the family ring to those sirens. I’m ashamed about the whole incident, but not ashamed enough to ask for your help.”

“Well, your wife has hired me,” Jerric told him calmly. “I’d like you to tell me what happened, so I guess I’m asking for your help.”

Gogan glared at Jerric for another moment, then he seemed come to a decision. He continued in a friendlier tone. “I was sitting in The Flowing Bowl when the most alluring Nord woman you’ve ever seen walked in with an equally attractive Imperial woman following. After we exchanged words, I followed them out to a farmhouse. It was the old Gweden farm, up on the ridge southeast of town. Inside, they asked me to remove my clothes, get comfortable. Well… I did… and then suddenly they brandished weapons and robbed me! They sent me away with barely a stitch of clothing! Harlots! Just please, help me get my ring back. I want to save what’s left of my marriage.”

Jerric took a closer look at Gogan. Something about the man’s smooth voice and proud bearing made Jerric suspect that they were not strangers. “Do I know you from somewhere?” Jerric asked. “You look familiar.”

“How should I know?” Gogan demanded irritably. “I don’t keep track of who you’ve met. You just look like a Nord to me.”

Jerric tried to imagine Gogan with a bloody nose and one eye swollen shut, but that didn’t help. Next he tried to picture him in an Anvil Guard’s uniform. He grinned with sudden and complete recognition. “You’re with the City Guard!” he exclaimed. “I knew I’d met you somewhere.”

“You’ve got the wrong fellow!” Gogan insisted.

“Oh hey, sweet lady of Wayrest,” Jerric belted out. “Oh hey, sweet lady of mine! Remember that? I sang it all the way to prison that night. Had it stuck in my head. Damned pirates!”

Maelona stood in the doorway, rolling her eyes. “For the love of Dibella, he must know you!” she cried. “Now please, no more singing!”

Gogan had the grace to look abashed. “I didn’t think you’d remember, you were a few sheets in the wind. And most people don’t see past the uniform,” he explained.

“I never forget an arresting officer,” Jerric told him. “It’s either a good experience or a bad one, not in between.”

Gogan’s face relaxed. “It’s the same when you’re on my side of the law. It’s a good arrest that doesn’t end in blood. Of course, you were bloody when I got there, but not enough to cost me extra ink and parchment.”

“Is he some kind of criminal?” Maelona asked Gogan.

“Just a drunk and a brawler,” Gogan assured her. “Nothing serious.” He turned his attention back to Jerric. “I’m working undercover now, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anyone that I’m with the Guard.”

Jerric chuckled and looked down at his boots. He decided that now even Arvena’s training would not help him make a favorable impression on this employer. Then he realized what wasn’t making sense to him. “Wait, if you’re in the City Guard, why don’t you just go over to the Bowl and arrest those women?” he asked.

“None of the victims will come forward,” Gogan explained. “They’re all married and too embarrassed or just too embarrassed.”

Jerric was getting more confused. “Why didn’t you just arrest them when they told you where to go? You must have guessed who they were when they told you to go all the way out to Gweden Farm.”

“I don’t expect you to understand the subtleties of law enforcement, Jerric,” Gogan snapped. “We’ll do it our way. You go to The Flowing Bowl to meet the women, then go out to Gweden Farm like they’ll say. We’ll follow you and arrest them. Will you help us, or not?”

Jerric saw Gogan and Maelona exchange a look, and some silent communication seemed to pass between them. Suspicion bloomed in his head. Maelona was clearly annoyed, but she did not seem like a wife who had been betrayed. Any woman in Jerric’s family would have been too busy killing her husband to care about the ring, he realized. “Are you two even married?” he demanded.

Maelona rolled her eyes again. “No, we’re partners,” Gogan admitted. “We’re both working undercover for the Anvil Guard. But you can still help us with the operation.”

Maelona turned to her partner and hooked a thumb at Jerric. “He’s not as dumb as he looks, you might as well tell him.”

Gogan grimaced. “All right, here’s what happened. The story I told you is true. I thought they were interested in me, and I fell for their scam. They got my wedding ring, or at least the ring we’re pretending with. It’s made of brass, not worth much. Night after night I’m stuck in here with this one.” He thrust his hand out to indicate Maelona. “Thin little nightdresses! Some kind of skin cream that smells so nice! I’m merely a man, with a man’s weakness. That Signy is the most attractive Nord I’ve ever seen. When those women tempted me, how could I resist? What a mess I’ve gotten myself into.”

Jerric decided that now was not the time to take exception to the remark about men’s weakness. He glanced at Maelona. She had her arms crossed over her lovely chest and an extremely irritated look on her face. “I know Signy,” Jerric said to Gogan. “If she’s the most attractive Nord woman you’ve ever seen, I don’t think you’ve seen enough Nord women. You need to get to a brothel, and quit picking up tramps in taverns. I don’t want to lecture you, but the guild is there for a reason. It’s safer for you and it’s better for them. But I guess you know that now.”

Gogan glared at Jerric again. “Let’s get back to the point. Word is getting out about the gang, and the town’s men aren’t fooled as easily. Now these women are demanding more from those of us they’ve already tricked, to keep what happened quiet. Blackmail. They got a valuable family heirloom from Heinrich Oaken-Hull, and I heard some poor fetcher crying in his beer that he had to give them one of his wedding gifts. Astia Inventius just reported her jade necklace stolen, and I’m sure Pinarus took it to keep those sirens quiet. Who knows what else they’ve gotten. It looks bad for the Guard when we can’t solve these ‘crimes.’ It has to stop, and I’m not letting it get out that they tricked me. The rest of the Guard would never let me hear the end of it. We’ll have to set them up.” He gave Jerric an assessing look, and his expression was not pleased. “You’ll have to do. They’re getting desperate, it might work. Do you have any jewelry, or at least a decent shirt?”

Jerric shook his head. “Signy saw me lose a bet at The Flowing Bowl last summer. She won’t think they can embarrass me to keep me quiet. She knows I don’t have any shame.”

“What did you do?” Maelona asked.

“What you don’t know won’t get me arrested. Let’s just say that… well, let’s not say anything. Anyway, I know someone else who would be perfect. Darnand Penoit. He’s a Breton mage, and he looks like money. They’ll be on him like slime on a mudcrab. I might need a day to convince him, though. Let’s do it tomorrow night.”

“We’ll meet you at Gweden Farm for the arrest,” Gogan agreed. “Tomorrow night.”

Well, looks like you punched way more holes in that swiss cheese plot than I did!

I liked that the two of them are 'just' partners. I had to laugh when Gogan was complaining about pretending to be married to one as fetching as Maelona.

And you're right, Signy is nothing next to Sigrid!

Oh, and it's intentions, not intensions.

A lovely description of the evergreen oak near the dock gate. What a perfect choice of tree for the hot Anvil climate.

How perfect for Jerric to have recognized Gogan as a city guardsman! And one who hauled him off to the drunk tank no less! That was the thing that never made sense to me about them being undercover. The only way for it to really work would be if they were complete strangers in the city, which neither he or Maelona are.

Any woman in Jerric’s family would have been too busy killing her husband to care about the ring
Not just his family!

I loved Jerric's point about the prostitute's guild. They must be putting a real crimp in the lifestyles of tavern tramps everywhere!

I get the feeling that Jerric is quite familiar with the Flowing Bowl. It seems like the just the sort of place a person who ran a skeleton arena would frequent! Given the untold story about him and Signy, I see my guess was right!


nits:
Jerric followed Maelona’s cloak as she swept through the crowded street, staying about one long step behind her. He noticed that she moved with an almost feline grace. She did not turn her head or speak to anyone that they passed on the street. Jerric kept his greetings to quick nods at familiar faces.
Maelona led him into a modest house a short distance away on the main street. “Gogan!” she called up the stairs as Jerric pushed the front door shut behind him. She indicated the doorway to the right of the entry hall. Jerric stepped into the room to await Gogan.
The hungry forum at the space between your paragraphs.

One thing you might want to reconsider in your plotting is that it might seem more plausible if Gogan had never been tempted by the sirens at all. Perhaps he tried to act as bait with Maelona waiting in the wings to swoop down and arrest the sirens. But they recognized him as a guardsman, and backed off without doing anything. So now Gogan and Maelona need to come up with another way to catch the sirens in the act. Hence using a sap hero like Jerric.

It's so fun to work a familiar quest into the story now and again! I'm looking forward to how Jerric does. I love his reasoned idea of tagging Darnand to be the 'mark'. That was a delightful twist!

Like SubRosa, I quite liked the detail you lavished on the oak, with its canopy of shade above and inviting benches below.

“Uh, I will,” Jerric assured her. Now what was I going to ask next, he wondered. She removed her hand from his thigh, and he remembered. “Where can I find Gogan?”
Perfect! Your intent here is crystal clear, but you deliver it without overstating.

Nit? It was the old Gwenden farm, up on the ridge southeast of town.
Although you can certainly change names if desired, the farm in the game is Gweden and I suspect that changing the name to Gwenden was unintentional. Subsequent to this passage, I noted three more mentions of Gwenden.

*




WOO HOO! Caught an eyeful of it, huh? ROFL !!!!! (JUST KIDDING!)


Nice twist on the Siren quest!!! And for Jerric to lecture Gogan about the "cathouses" rather than tramps in taverns in front of his "wife," ROFL !!!






ROFL !!! Great line !!!

Loved this chapter and how you have reshaped that quest, especially Jerric's helpful role in it !!! Awesome Write !!!!

*

haute ecole rider: This quest has never made sense to me! I’m still not sure from the game if they’re really married!

SubRosa: My first take on the quest was exactly that, Gogan never picked up a siren, so he needs new bait. Then there is the line from Faustina where she says, “I should have known after I fenced that stupid ring and discovered it was a fake. Worthless! All part of the guard’s plan I suppose.” And there are also the bizarre items in the basement to deal with. I don’t think the men would have brought their wedding gift urns and sliver vases along to hook up with some strange women. So I had Gogan fall for it to explain how they got his ring, then added blackmail for the presence of mysterious objects. Yeah, this quest doesn’t make a lot of sense!

Acadian: As many times as I have read that name, I would have bet my life that it was ‘Gwenden’! Thank you, I changed it. It will perhaps not be a shock that Jerric gets his difficulty with the printed word from me. I very much appreciate the help with nits, because they are often things I just don’t see. I like Anvil so much I decided to upgrade their trees. Otherwise you could probably bake bread on those benches in the summer!

mALX: I had to laugh at the lecture, too, coming from the biggest tavern tramp of them all. Thankfully he did not decide to back up his advice by sharing any personal experiences.

Where we are: Jerric made a plan with Gogan and Maelona to catch the sirens.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 8

Jerric entered the mages guild hall kitchen through the back door. He caught Bertille’s eye, and she smiled at him. “You again!” called out Hjordhild. The burly Nord cook had surprisingly little sympathy for the metabolic needs of one of her own. “There’s three meals set out each day, sit yourself down for them. I can’t have my cooks running around stoking your dragon’s belly. Mid-day meal will be out at one of the afternoon watch. You can wait for it!”

“That’s nearly an hour away!” Jerric objected. Bertille wordlessly handed him a napkin-wrapped package. From the size and heft he guessed it contained at least two sandwiches. He winked his thanks at Bertille and grinned over at Hjordhild. “If I knew someone was offering to stroke my belly, I’d be here more often,” he declared.

Hjordhild coughed her wheezing laugh. “Out!” She waved her hand towel at Jerric. “See, if you feed them from the kitchen, they’ll just keep begging,” she told Bertille.

Bertille had gone back to cutting a pale yellow cheese into cubes. She tossed two at Jerric in rapid succession as he backed away, bumping against the corner of the long central counter. He caught them in his teeth and saluted the kitchen at large with his sandwiches, ducking through the door into the dining room. He got past Thaurron without conversing by pointing to his mouth, obviously chewing.

A few more steps and he had reached the basement stairs. He sighed inwardly as the familiar scents reached him. Alchemy, destruction magic, and conjuration all left their signatures in the air. It’s no wonder that some mages seek deserted towers and caves for their work, he decided. Smelling one’s own stench does not make the aroma of others any more agreeable. He grimaced as he swallowed a hint of fireball and zombie along with his bite of cheese.

He found Darnand seated on a tall stool at his work bench at the far end of the basement’s main room. Candles in sconces lined the walls, and tall candle holders stood ready at the sides of the tables. Jerric walked down the shadowy center aisle past mostly empty work spaces to the pool of light around Darnand’s area.

He dragged another stool over and sat across from Darnand, holding out a sandwich. “You ready to take a break?” Jerric asked. “You can skip going upstairs if you want, and help me enchant some things instead.”

Darnand brushed off his hands and reached for the sandwich. “An excellent notion.” He nodded at the clay pitcher standing next to his mortar and pestle. “The water in this pitcher is still just water.” Jerric picked it up and chased a bite of ham and bread with a swallow of water. “I am using that to rehydrate columbine root pulp,” Darnand remarked. “Please do not add too much of your lunch to my potions.”

“What are you making?”

“Guess.” Darnand took a bite of sandwich, watching him.

Jerric glanced around the table. When he saw the bowl of small seeds, he snorted. “That’s a waste of good lotus seeds. Folk should put on sweater if they’re cold, instead of drinking a potion.”

Darnand nodded. “Agreed, but Felen has an order from the castle. I expect it is drafty this time of year, and I am not going to tell the Countess that she is wearing inadequate stockings.”

“Sigrid would tell her. They need feather potions more than we need warm nobles. I guess I could walk up the coast some morning and see if I can find some more lotus plants. The seed pods are always full until they pop open in the spring, nothing eats them.” Jerric folded his sandwich in half as he stood, earning a raised eyebrow from Darnand. “I’ll fetch my gear. Be right back.”

He finished the last bite by the time he reached his storage cupboard. Darnand had cleared the table when he returned. Jerric put the larger pack down on the floor with a clank, and he set his daypack carefully on the table. “Let’s get the sigil stones out one at a time,” Jerric suggested. “I don’t know what will happen if we let them all roll around together.” He watched Darnand brush the crumbs off his hands and stand up, reaching gingerly into the pack. “Tell me what you think we should do. I know what I think, but you might have a better idea.”

Jerric watched Darnand he took his time reading the stones. Astonishment played across his face, then excitement, followed eventually by a grim intensity. Jerric relaxed, knowing that Darnand understood the stakes that they faced. This kind of power was not easily won, and the responsibility of wielding it to their best advantage weighed on Jerric. He felt relieved to have Darnand to advise him.

The vibrating stones began to set Jerric’s teeth on edge. He suspected that Darnand might be inclined to spend too much time studying them. Jerric wanted to get this part over with, before the few mages who were working here today returned from their lunch. “I have an idea,” Jerric started. “We have two of these stones bearing the same enchantment. Fire damage or resistance to fire. What if we enchanted something and sold it? I think we could make enough to get all the way to Chorrol and back, maybe farther. I have to admit, it’s hard to wait for the new spells. I feel like time is running out.”

Darnand’s expression was unreadable. “Take another look, Jerric.”

“What do you mean?”

“Read this one again. I know it is unpleasant, but trust me.”

Jerric placed his hand on the humming stone that Darnand retrieved for him. He sent his magicka cautiously into its swirling power. He could reach out almost naturally now, like listening for something. The fire damage enchantment came to his mind immediately, identical to another stone’s. He kept his hand in place, waiting. The other possibility rose up slowly in his mind. “Fire shield,” he breathed. “A powerful one.” He drew his hand back and stared at Darnand. “I would have missed it.”

“That shield enchantment will change everything. I was worried about how you will survive strikes from daedroth when your magicka is low from casting shock spells. This is it.” Darnand looked at him more closely. “Is there something in your eye?”

“What? No!” Jerric rubbed his fingers under his eyes. “Fire shield.” He couldn’t continue.

“I am afraid I do not know enough about armor to evaluate it further.”

“It’s nearly as strong as my Woad, and it will last. It would make my mail stronger than steel plate. That was my biggest problem. How am I going to run and dodge in heavy armor, if I can ever afford to buy it. With this I could… I’ll be able to take a blow and keep going in light armor, or none at all. I’ll still get broken bones, but not so many. And the dremora with swords probably can’t take off a limb with this enchantment. That’s always been a danger. Darnand, this could work.”

“I fail to grasp your meaning.”

“Our whole plan is nuts. Run up to a daedroth and touch it to death? It’s suicide. I might actually survive for a while with this.” Jerric shook his head. “And fire really hurts. Those fire towers are everywhere, and sometimes I have to stand in front of them and let myself get hit, hoping to get some magicka back. I’m good at healing myself, but it still hurts. Every time. Getting burned so much takes a lot out of me in the Deadlands. I mean, it wears on me. It’s just one more thing I have to push down and get through.” He smiled, and Darnand looked a little alarmed. “I’m going to get to kill a lot more of them now.”

Darnand cleared his throat. “What do you want to enchant with it?”

Jerric reached down and retrieved his helmet, placing it on the table with a clunk. “This helmet. It can go longer without repair than my shield. What else?”

“I found the one that will allow you to trap soul energy. I estimate the effect will last no more than twenty seconds.”

“Twenty seconds is plenty. Any longer sounds too much like a fair fight. I’m not in the honor business, just killing.”

“You will use it primarily against animals, and lesser daedra.”

“Well, twenty seconds is what I’ll have to work with, then. The animals that run away I’d rather not kill, and daedra will keep attacking.”

“You should not use this enchantment on your primary weapon. This is how you will recharge all of your equipment, so you cannot let it run out unless you have a soul gem already filled to recharge it. A bow would be ideal.”

Jerric shook his head. “I’m useless with a bow. A dagger, I’ll slash and then drop it, pick it up after the fight. I got one at Morvayn’s today, so we can go ahead and use this stone.”

“A dagger, are you sure? You will have to get in very close.” Jerric just looked at him. “All right, do you want to do it, or shall I?”

“Here you go,” Jerric told him, handing him the dagger. “I know you want to. Do you know what to do?”

“Hold them in my hands,” Darnand guessed. He closed his eyes, and Jerric watched a shudder run through his frame. The sigil stone moaned into dust, sifting away in a glittering rain. Magicka shimmered over the dagger. Darnand opened his eyes and handed it back. Jerric thought he looked a little pale.

Jerric unsheathed the dagger and showed it to Darnand. “Take a look at that. Don’t touch the blade.”

“I would rather touch a cobra.” Darnand took a look. “What does it say on the blade…? Your Soul Is Mine.” Darnand stared at Jerric, eyes wide in what looked like disbelief.

“Enilroth did it for me, for free. He said he’s glad he can go run around in the meadows again, now that the Gates are closed. Look at the script. That lad does beautiful work. So I hope you didn’t mess up, that’s a pretty bold statement if the enchantment doesn’t work.”

“I did not mess up. Shall I enchant your helm?”

Jerric handed him the helmet and nodded at the sigil stone. “Be careful, I don’t want to put it on and experience fire damage.”

Darnand held the two items in his hands and closed his eyes in concentration, swaying slightly as the sigil stone disintegrated. He handed Jerric the newly enchanted helmet while the magicka still glistened on it. “I do not know much about armor, but I believe I have seen this type of headwear on the Emperor’s own guards. Where did you acquire a Blade’s helm, Jerric?”

Jerric took the helmet back, cursing inwardly. He sincerely hoped that most folk did not have Darnand’s memory for detail. “I’ll thank you to keep that observation to yourself,” he said. “Now it’s a Nord’s helm. It’s the Helm of the Nord.” He looked closer at Darnand’s face in the dim light. “Are you all right?”

“I feel a bit…”

“I know. Try not to think about it. Anyway, you told me they aren’t really souls.”

“In a sigil stone, they might be. The more I read about daedric magic, the more I need to learn. That brings me to a subject we should discuss. Would you like to join me at a tavern?” Darnand gave Jerric wide, innocent eyes.

Jerric returned a narrow look. “After you tell me. I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.”

Darnand sighed and leaned against the table. “I have been reading about the daedric princes, and their worshippers here in Cyrodiil. This could take some time. Are you sure you would not like an ale?”

“Out with it. Sit down if your thin little mage legs can’t hold you. I can’t wait to hear how you stumbled across information on daedra worship while you were accidentally studying necromancy.”

Darnand glanced around cautiously before he continued. “The daedric cults have shrines throughout Cyrodiil. They are not illegal, but they are difficult to find. I have discovered the possible locations of several. I propose that we travel there and speak to the cultists. Learn how to summon their prince, and try it. I have read that they sometimes demand that tasks be undertaken on their behalf, but they have been known to grant powerful artifacts to mortals who earn their favor. I doubt I could attract one’s attention, but you…” Darnand gestured at Jerric, as if he needn’t explain further.

“I know, why don’t we start with Mehrunes Dagon. I have some business with him.”

“I am serious, Jerric. Besides, I have been unable to find any information about a possible Dagon shrine. And I am certain that I am not the only one looking.”

“Daedric cults. I don’t like it, but I think you’re right. I read a book while I was at… while I was away. Modern Heretics. I don’t want any part of most of the daedric princes, but there might be a few who will help us. Azura, maybe. Though I don’t know how we’ll find the time to go play around up in the Jeralls.”

“They will not help us. We might be able to earn their favor, that is the best we can hope for.”

“Their favor being some trinket we can use against Dagon. I get it. And if we find any more Gates, we can close them.”

Darnand did not look excited at that prospect. He leaned in, and his face became intense again. “I believe we could locate the shrine of Meridia somewhere west of Skingrad. The person I spoke with said she did not travel more than half of a day from the Gold Road to find it.”

“I don’t know, Darnand. I can walk a long way in half of a day.”

“Imagine that you are an elderly Imperial woman. Now how far can you walk?”

“That narrows it down,” Jerric agreed. He smiled in anticipation. “I have a friend who told me about a daedric shrine.” He grinned as amazement swept over Darnand’s features. “The shrine of Sanguine, up north of Skingrad. If the weather is clear, I bet I could find it.”

“You astonish me,” Darnand admitted.

“There’s more. Doomstones. What do you know about them?”

“Little. Please, enlighten me before your attempts to contain yourself cause you to rupture something.”

Jerric reached for the power Jone’s Stone had granted him. He was gratified to see the amazement renewed on Darnand’s face. “See? Or I guess you don’t. And I don’t even know one illusion spell. Look them up, I want to find some more if we can. Free power with no training. At least I think it’s free, I haven’t noticed anything bad happen to me.” He cringed at his careless remark. “Well, nothing lately.”

Darnand nodded. “I have a few sources already in mind. I infer that I need only locate the stones, as you have demonstrated familiarity with their use.”

Jerric picked up his helmet and watched his hands shimmer back into view. “Well, I got one to work, if that’s what you mean. The Jone Stone. I guess we’ll find out if I can use any others, or if you can.” As he turned the helm in his hands, the rest of his purpose in visiting Darnand returned to his mind. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got a job for us tomorrow night. Your part is easy. All you have to do is pick up a couple of sluts in a tavern and go back to their place. I’ll do the rest.”

He could not look more shocked if I just slapped him with a slaughterfish, Jerric thought. It took him a moment to decipher the cause.

“Ha!” Jerric laughed. “I’m not prostituting you, Darnand. It’s an undercover job for the Anvil Guard. I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow. Really, all you have to do is try to be friendly and agreeable.”

“I suppose I ought to trust you,” Darnand said. He did not look convinced.

“I suppose you ought,” Jerric imitated his haughty tone. “Or you could find us some work. Stendarr’s stick, I thought you’d be happy.”

Darnand gave Jerric a dour look. “This is happy,” he replied in a somber tone. Then a smile broke over his face like the dawn. He whacked Jerric on the shoulder with his open hand. “It is difficult to trick you, my friend. I have finally achieved it!” Darnand shook his fingers as if they stung. “I am pleased that we are about to embark upon our journey. It begins tomorrow night.”

Jerric laughed with Darnand. “Say, you should wear your jewelry, if I forget to tell you. That ring you always wear, let me take a look at it.”

Darnand pulled the ring from his finger and handed it to Jerric. “My signet ring,” he explained.

Jerric held the ring on his palm, reaching into the pack with his other hand. “You always wear it?”

“Always,” Darnand confirmed. “It is from my mother’s– What are you doing?”

Jerric’s stomach clenched as the power flowed through him. He handed the ring back to Darnand. “Now the next Altmer wench won’t take you down so easily.” He picked up his pack from the floor, shoving his helmet inside. Darnand stood looking stunned, holding his ring. “I need you alive, Darnand. Good thing you already had a nice ring. Now I wish I had something hideous to enchant for you. A big feathered hat, and you’d always have to wear it.”

Darnand’s face still held complete shock. “This will help me… an enchantment… resist magical…”

Jerric laughed and headed back down the aisle. “Well you’re acting like it’s cursed with paralysis. Take your time with those stones. I’ll catch up with you later,” he called back to his friend. “I have to get going, or I’ll miss my chance for another lunch at the Fighters Guild.”

Nice little touches that bring the Mages Guild alive. The kitchen, with it grumpy cook and helpful one, the dark study area, stinky magic in the air, and Jerric's observations on lotus seeds.

And fire really hurts.
As ever nothing escapes Jerric!

So first necromancy, now daedric cults. Darnand is certainly working hard to get his degree at evil magic school!

Your part is easy. All you have to do is pick up a couple of sluts in a tavern and go back to their place
Sign me up!

So Jerric is moving along with more of his preparations for the war against the Mythic Dawn and Dagon. I see Darnand has become the Microchip to his Punisher, being the go-to academic and mage there to figure things out and make gear for him. This is actually the sort of thing you might consider Abiene doing as well. It is what I meant about taking on a role of more significance, and doing things that can directly influence events, even if in a small way. I do not see her running around the woods smiting things with an absorb health spell (although it would be quite effective!), but she is a competent magician nonetheless, and could be doing background magic stuff.

What a delightful episode!

After a rash of chick flicks on this forum, it's so great to see male bonding here. It's my favorite part of testosterone fiction (my term for action flicks and war stories) since it allows me to see a side of men that women so seldom get to see. And it only happens with another guy that is trusted deeply by the protagonist.

I really enjoyed seeing Darnit Darnand and Jerric bonding over sigil stones. It makes me feel like a fly on the wall, sure, but I don't mind!

This is the sort of things that keep me hooked on testosterone fiction (as opposed to chick flicks) because that kind of sharing is so rare between men or from men in general - period. We women tend to be quick to share our insecurities with someone we trust, but it seems more difficult for a man to do the same thing. So when he does it with his closest buddy, or another man he trusts at the moment, I really enjoy eavesdropping on this sort of exchange because it's so precious.

And as Sage Rose pointed out, there are so many little things that make me smile, as the grumpy cook (is she really grumpy? Riiiight) and Jerric impatient to grab another lunch at the Fighter's Guild after just finishing the illicit one he charmed off of Bertille.

Your story remains as delightful as ever!

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These three quoted lines show your awesome ability to set a scene visually:





First two quotes: With your talent for writing perfect dialogue that comes across as totally natural and believable - while moving the story forward with what appears to be ease. Your ability with dialogue borders on genius!!




Third quote: Your use of small details slipped into a scene add realism and immersion into your story - these little touches pop up throughout your story. They are a powerful tool that you are expert at using!

AWESOME WRITE !!! (As Always !!!)




SPEW !!!

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I agree that this was great fun. Really well-written, full of nice little touches that bring things to life. Great job with the sigil stones. They make your teeth hurt! Nice helmet and handy dagger that the fellows made for Jerric.

sometimes I have to stand in front of them and let myself get hit, hoping to get some magicka back
I maintain that only crazy folk are cursed to born under the atronach. Jerric so delightfully fits this bill!

We may be in for some daedric shrine quests it seems. Keep looking for that marooned dragon shrine.

'Oh yeah, by the way, I need you to snag us a couple sluts tomorrow night. No worries, its sanctioned by the guard and I'll tell you everything you need to know.'

Delightful throughout!

SubRosa: Darnand was the go-to academic for Abiene, too. Now that she has achieved her personal goal of getting a ticket to Chorrol, we’ll have to see what she decides to do about Jerric. It would be interesting to see what would get her to run through the woods, smiting things! I appreciate your comments very much, as they make me re-examine how I think about things. It would be very easy to write Abiene as simply a recipient of Jerric’s affection. Thank you for standing up for her! Hopefully no one is keeping track of Darnand’s reading material. I don’t think Carahil would like it!

haute ecole rider: They all say that “Carahil runs a clean hall,” so it has been fun to write about it. It must be a good place to work and live. I’m with you about the buddy stuff, and so delighted that you pointed out their growing friendship. I thought that getting them out on the road would be fun, but getting them to the point where they’re ready has been even more rewarding. Thank you for your very encouraging words, haute!

mALX: Thank you so much, mALX! The kitchen scene was fun to write. The “couple of sluts” line popped up right when I thought I had finished that section, it was me who almost forgot!!

Acadian: Jerric has been the architect of many forehead-slapping moments, and admitting to getting hit by a fire tower on purpose must rank right at the top for nuttiness. I’m glad you enjoyed it! Darnand is learning that Jerric can be a tiring associate. Thank you for your kind words, Acadian!

Where we are: Jerric and Darnand used some sigil stones and made some plans over sandwiches in the Mages Guild basement.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 9

Jerric moved past the dining room doorway as lightly as he could, hoping not to attract attention. He could hear Thaurron’s animated voice speaking over Gulitte’s low drone. He guessed that they were already at the table, and one of them must be talking to Abiene. The thought of her still brought a surge of confusion, so he wanted to keep the lid closed on that mental chest for awhile.

As he walked into the entry hall adjusting his sword belt, he glanced up to find her standing in the opposite doorway. She wore a brown dress now instead of her healer’s garb. Her face looked pale and worried. For an instant he thought how fragile she seemed, like a delicate shell. Her spirit always filled her the way light fills a room, spilling over into the darkness outside. Now she seemed impossibly remote.

He tried to keep his tone neutral. “Abiene.”

She stepped out into the hall, keeping her eyes on him and her hands pressed together. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“No, you were right,” he told her. “I’ve already forgiven you.” He looked down and fussed with his belt some more, unnecessarily.

She reached out and placed her hand on his arm, stilling him. “You know what I mean, Jerric. Please don’t pretend otherwise.”

He looked down at her hand for a moment. “Yeah.”

“I broke something between us,” she continued softly. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

“You can’t. And I know you’re not good at doing nothing.” Jerric took her hand in his own. “Give me a little time, Abiene. I’m not going to toss you aside over one mistake. At least try to trust that.” His anger had gone, but there was still plenty of hurt. He knew it showed when he saw it reflected in her face. “Don’t miss lunch,” he said to change the subject. “You Bretons don’t carry enough meat on your bones.”

She gave him a little smile and reached up, sweeping crumbs from his shirt. “I see you didn’t miss it.”

He caught that hand too and brushed her knuckles quickly across his lips. Hope flared instantly in her eyes. “Just a little time,” he told her.

She gave his fingers a quick squeeze and turned away, not looking back as she passed through the receiving room and out of his sight.

Jerric trotted next door to the Fighters Guild hall. He paused in the dining room to give Mojo’s soft ears a thorough scratch. Mojo’s eyelids drooped with appreciation, and his panting warmed Jerric’s hands. The gods love a dog with sweet breath, thought Jerric.

His guild mates’ voices filled the large room from where they had gathered around the long table. Azzan sat at the head, Rufrius at the foot. Sten the Ugly, Vigdis, and Llensi Llaram sat along the far side of the table. He recognized Huurwen across from them from her short, armored back and her Bosmer ears, prominently visible over her cropped hair. It seemed that Rufrius and Huurwen still favored the same hair style, even to their choice of grey sweatband.

Jerric’s nose told him that the meal had been served, and he hadn’t missed it. With a final pat for Mojo, he ambled over and took the chair opposite Rhano. The mages guild benches aren’t made for folk wearing swords, he realized. The fighters guild hall was one of the few places where it was not impolite to dine while armed to the teeth.

The current topic of conversation was Rufrius. “What was going on in the swamp last night?” Sten asked him. “Sounded like you were wrestling with hogs in there.”

Rufrius leaned over and grabbed the water pitcher. “There was some grappling,” he admitted. “And a sow wouldn’t be too far off the mark, if you put her in a red dress. But I must remind you, a gentleman never tells.” Rufrius filled his cup and reached for Jerric’s, filling it without comment.

“Then I expect you’ll give us a full report,” Azzan remarked.

There’s definitely a Redguard in the kitchen, Jerric decided. Two platters of triangular fried dumplings were making their way along the far side of the table. He could tell by the garnishes that one kind contained spiced cabbage, the other a mixture of potatoes and minced meat. Rice and mushrooms rolled neatly in flatbread made rows on another platter. Rufrius handed him a bowl bristling with skewers of venison cubes and onion, fragrant with more spices. Jerric filled his plate and passed the bowl along, content for now to feast and listen.

At a pause in the conversation, Jerric glanced up and found Azzan’s eye on him. “You’ve been to Morvayn’s,” Azzan observed. “Are you ready for that contract?”

“Yeah.” Jerric took another blissful bite of juicy venison.

“Go talk to Norbert Lelles,” Azzan told him. “You know his shop down on the waterfront?”

“I know it.”

“Lelles Quality Merc-andise,” Vigdis remarked, cutting her eyes at Sten.

“How would you spell it?” Sten asked her.

“He’s been having problems with break-ins,” Azzan continued. “He’s hired us to put a stop to it.”

“Maybe it’s those thieving wolves,” Rhano smirked.

Rufrius reached over and gripped Jerric’s forearm. His swarthy, patrician features showed only deep concern. “If you suspect mountain lions, you must consult with Pinarus Inventius,” he said solemnly. “We could all learn a great deal from a man who hunts in heavy armor.”

“All right,” Jerric laughed ruefully. He decided that he should expect a ration of dreck to go along with his meals at this table. He glanced up at Rhano. “Do you have time for some training?”

“Say the word,” Rhano replied evenly. “Azzan tells me you have a scheme to spar with some daedra.”

“Yeah,” Jerric said, looking at his plate. He noticed that the table had fallen silent. “Darnand Penoit can summon what I need, and you can teach me how to do a better job killing it. I think we should use the summoning chamber at the mages guild, there will likely be some fire.”

Jerric glanced back at Rhano, then followed his gaze over to Azzan. “Do it,” Azzan said. “Rhano and the mage can work out the details of what’s owed.” He looked around the table at his fighters. “This may be something we implement for the rest of us. We could all use the experience. In case this crisis isn’t over.”

Nods and grim looks passed around the table. Jerric took the opportunity to shift a few more dumplings to his plate.

Llensi cleared her throat. “Vigdis, you’re in the swamp tonight. Rufrius raised the bar again. We’re expecting some entertainment.”

The conversation only deteriorated from that point, and Jerric finished his meal without further comment. He grabbed a couple of leftover dumplings for his daypack and filled his water skin before he departed.

Foot traffic was heavy along the waterfront. Jerric kept his elbows in and went with the flow until he reached Norbert Lelles’ store.

When he stepped inside, the proprietor himself greeted him. Jerric always thought that the Breton’s close-set eyes and slight upward squint gave him a somewhat addled look. He supposed that the spelling mistake on Norbert’s sign did not detract from his reputation as an affable idiot. “Greetings, Jerric! Welcome to Lelles Quality Merchandise. We have a wide range of goods to suit your needs. Oh, or perhaps you have something to report about your beach hut. So, what can I do for you?”

“Greetings,” Jerric replied. “No problem with the hut.” He lowered his voice for privacy, as there were several others crowding the store. “I’m here for the Fighters Guild. Azzan tells me you have been having some trouble with break-ins.”

Norbert did not seem to require discretion. “I’ve lost a great deal of merchandise over the last few months,” he announced to the room. “I keep replacing it, but they keep stealing it, new locks on the doors be damned! They always come at night, after I’ve gone to bed. Maybe a mage transports them inside! You can just stay in the shop overnight. See what’s happening. Arrest the thieves, or… You know.”

“Kill them?”

Norbert looked flustered. “Not in here, if you can help it. The mess, you know.”

“Right,” said Jerric. “What time do you go to bed?”

“Always before midnight,” Norbert told him firmly. “Early to bed, early to rise, good for bread, and baking pies.”

Jerric bit the inside of his cheek until he trusted his voice again. “I’ll come by around nine of the evening watch, after you’ve closed up. We’ll talk some more then.”

Norbert placed his finger beside his nose and gave an exaggerated wink. Jerric simply turned and fled.

Darnand's reading material? Does he have a subscription to PlayElf as well?

Well we had the oligatory awkward moment between Abiene and Jerric. But not too bad really.

even to their choice of grey sweatband
Ewww, that always makes me think of a vulcan trying to disguise themselves.

“Then I expect you’ll give us a full report,” Azzan remarked.
Score one for Azzan! I am dying to find out what "the swamp" is now!

Was that pierogi I tasted for dinner? I just made kielbasa and kapusta myself!

“Lelles Quality Merc-andise,”
I always loved that little touch with the misspelled sign. Did Sten make the sign? After meeting Norbert, I do not think so. That guy clearly did not inherit the brains in his family!

Another great chapter showing the comeraderie around the Fighters Guild dining table !! I love what you have done to that room in the guild, and everytime I see it in the story (know I am in for a great treat) !!!


Here is my fave line, Jerric fighting to keep from bursting out laughing in front of Norbert and barely making it, lol. I had trouble myself, Norbert was hilarious in this episode !!! :




The awkwardness in meeting Abiene again was expected and understood - you did a first rate job portraying it !!!

Awesome Write and chapter, I loved this one !!!

Another delightful Jerric episode! I'm with SubRosa about the obligatory awkward moment, and no, it wasn't too bad at all. Jerric's got more class than his exterior and manners let on.

Enjoyed the conversation around the Fighters Guild table! And I'm dying to know about the 'swamp,' too! Does it have two guys, one named Hawkeye and the other named Trapper John, sitting around an illegal still?

And Norbert was just too funny! And I just about jumped out of my chair when you described Jerric's trick of keeping a straight face. About ten years ago I wrote a character who did just exactly that when he needed to keep a straight face himself! And he got teased for it by his best friend! And that character remains one of my favorites that I've written!

Please enlighten us as to what the 'swamp' is!