The swamp is the small bedroom off of the barracks on the first floor, the one with only one bed and a door. In the story, it is reserved for higher ranking guild members to use when they travel through, instead of giving them a bunk in the barracks. However, the resident Anvil guild members use it on an informal rotating basis for privacy. As Llensi put it (in Chapter 10.3), “you can imagine it is much in demand.” I’m afraid I’ve let my memories of rugby players past creep into the Anvil FG, the yuck factor is rising!!

I had to search back, but it was explained in an earlier episode what "the swamp" is. Just not why it's called that. Consider that a request for enlightenment.

Norbert is perfect. As is Jerric's reaction.

After a small room has been used for physical activity, it tends to take on the elevated temperature, high humidity, and fecund odor one would find in a swamp.



They must use it for Bikram yoga, or maybe spinning class.

ROFL !!!

The thought of her still brought a surge of confusion, so he wanted to keep the lid closed on that mental chest for awhile.
We call it compartmentalizing. It is a very useful skill that seems to be primarily the domain of men. How wonderfully appropriate that Jerric would display it.

A poignant scene with Abiene. Nicely done!

Thanks for the great chow! Azzan puts on a good feed.

The swamp sounds great! Bring your own sock drawer.

Wonderfully rich details, from Jerric grabbing a handful of Mojo, to his observations on how Huurwen's haircut interfaced with her ears.

Chapter 9 Part 3-

What a way to be welcomed back to Anvil! Redguard dumplings and clothing-in-the-buff! Such an exciting day!

Jerric is continuing to dwell on the Deadlands, it seems. I know, the loss of his family at Kvatch was a bitter blow, but he really needs to let his hair down. He was once so good at it, after all.

Quite a dramatic change in character he’s had, in all. An excellent way to nail home the point of how Kvatch was such a travesty for the Empire.

Chapter 9 Part 4-

Very relaxing, this one, and quite a nice, tender moment at the end.

Good to see Jerric gave Abiene a chance. Pushing away those who are close to you is a terrible mistake to make when you are in such a state as Jerric. I really didn’t want to see him make it.

Chapter 10 Part 1-

You’ve done it again! Another heart-warming segment here, and an excellent time to tell us a little more about Carahil!

She really does know her stuff. If only it were possible to perform silent casts in-game, that would have been an immense boon to the stealthy adventurer. Alas, we can only hint at such feats now, but you did a wonderful job with Carahil’s application here. Bravo!

Oh, and remind me not to make any more jokes about Slim Jim, either.

Erm… wait….

Chapter 10 Part 2-

Rats? Initiation? Naw…. Good way to ruin a perfectly good squeaker. I love me my squeakers!

At least she didn’t seem to mind the pillows!

Chapter 10 Part 3-

A most enjoyable dinner, and a great job telling the rest of the story in an interesting way.

I see you have reinvented the wheel of Speechcraft, too! Who needs that useless thing when we have NORDliness! Where are my three-foot platform shoes and pin-on ZZ-Top beard? I need some practice. Wear those; sneak up on someone in the dark, scream out “OOGLIE BOOGLIE SMOOGLEDAGOOGILIE!!!” and watch them jump higher than I am tall. Good times.

Chapter 10 Part 4-

Healers have a very interesting life in your tale. I would hazard a guess that Abiene gave into her temptations with Jerric one time, which if true, that would be an awkward, but rather touching start for their relationship.

Hope that Argonian gets well soon. Not like them to get ill, after all.

Chapter 10 Part 5-

Too bad about the Wolf cuirass, better hope it doesn’t cost too much to repair that.

Soooo… Jerric getting ready for a shot at Mehrune’s Razor? Were those hearts still beating and pumping blood? Or perhaps he was taking the idea of Nords liking their meat rare a bit too far?

Anyways, I wonder what’s going to happen now that Abiene has proved herself to Carahil, and the prying eyes are no longer prying?

----

I'm still working my way through, since I was a bit further behind than I would have liked, but I'm getting there.

SubRosa: Perogis and kapusta, I am so giving that food to the Nords! I was thinking samosas, I had the best Indian food that day for lunch. Somehow they made sour and spicy okra that is not slimy. And there was a dish of corn and mushrooms that was unbelievable. Anyway, for a long time I have thought that Hammerfell cuisine could be like really good Indian food.

mALX: I’m so glad you liked Norbert’s bit of nonsense, so sincerely delivered! He just took on a life of his own. I guess you can tell I like the Anvil FG, probably because they have a dog!

haute ecole rider: I used to work with a bunch of engineers. Our boss was a relentless tease, and he would have a joke going on and on before some of the guys got it. I always had to sit at the head of the conference table (Where everyone could see me, the only female. I am just now realizing this. Grr!) so I spent about nine years of meetings biting the inside of my cheek! Like your character probably does, I envy those who have a poker face!

ghastley: Thanks, ghastley!

Acadian: Compartmentalizing, exactly! And all of the leaky feelings somehow stay in. It’s a mystery. Huurwen is one wood elf who is not shy about her ears.
Bring your own sock drawer.

Thomas Kaira :Welcome back! The Nord persuasion wheel only has one wedge, coercion. I appreciate your comments very much. You have picked out some subtleties in Abiene’s behavior and made some interesting guesses/questions. Whether it’s OK to let his hair down will continue to be an issue for Jerric. After all, he practically had beer instead of blood.

Where we are: Jerric has gotten his assignment from Norbert Lelles. Now he has the afternoon and evening to fill.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 10

Jerric stepped out of Norbert’s shop and looked along the bustling waterfront. He had some time to fill before he returned at nine bells of the evening watch. Men, mer, and tailed folk of all ages made a colorful river before him. The sounds from a tavern called to him from only a few paces away. The Flowing Bowl. He knew the drink would be as cheap as the women, and he could smell that something either broiled or bubbled over a fire. He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms in anticipation. Beer and a brawl, that’s what he wanted. To lose himself for a few hours.

His palm found Redeemer’s hilt in the gesture that now served to ground him. Knight Brother of the Blades, he told himself. Go train, fool.

He collected Rhano, a sandwich, his gear, and Darnand. The two men eyed each other warily when he made the introductions. They made their way through the mages guild hall basement and down a dark passage to the summoning chamber.

They entered the dark room by the light of Darnand’s spell. Jerric closed the door and locked it behind him while Darnand walked around the walls, lighting the candles in their sconces. This room hadn’t been used since the summer’s skeleton games, Felen had told them. Jerric watched Darnand for a moment, admiring his control with the flame. Jerric would have spent most of each candle in lighting it. Then he glanced at Rhano. The Redguard looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“All stone,” Jerric said to him. “Nothing to burn if a fireball goes astray, and no wooden posts to shatter and bring the ceiling down. If things get out of hand. We’re not even under the guild hall anymore.”

The vaulted ceiling was high enough to allow headroom for something taller than a frost atronach, and the room was wide enough for eight men to stand across with arms outstretched, fingertip to fingertip. Still, Jerric could see that Rhano was uneasy.

“Maybe we should do this in a meadow,” Rhano said. “Or on the beach.”

Jerric handed Rhano his mages guild key. “Hold on to this for me, will you? It opens the door.” The flickering candlelight now reached across the square room as Darnand approached them. “I don’t like it down here either, but I have to fight these fetchers inside towers. I’ll walk off a space I should stay within.” He gave Rhano a bland look. “Of course, you can quit now, if you wish.”

Darnand reached them, cutting off whatever reply Rhano would have made. “I shall summon a dremora Caitiff,” Darnand said briskly. “He should be armed with a mace and shield, and he will use lightning against you. He cannot summon any lesser daedra.”

“The ones that still give me trouble carry swords, and wear helmets,” said Jerric. “Some can even summon atronachs to fight with them.”

“They would be Kynval, at the least. There is a spell that summons Markynaz, the Dremora Lords. It is a master-level summoning. I cannot do it.” Darnand rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I shall attempt to force my Caitiff to bring a sword. Their armor and weapons are all bound daedra, I might be able influence his choice.”

“Where do these things come from?” Rhano asked.

“The Void,” said Darnand. “We bring them back from the banishment that is their temporary death. We need not fear that they will somehow betray our intentions.”

Rhano nodded thoughtfully. Jerric realized he hadn’t thought of that.

“Is their armor the same?” Rhano asked.

“Yeah. I’m going to go in with my dagger. That way I’ll know I can use destruction spells on touch, and the summoning will last longer. I’ll still go for the weak spots, though. It’ll be like sparring. Only it will be trying to kill me.”

“You’ll never use a sword against them?”

“Well, yeah. Especially when I need more magicka.”

“Then we’ll train with your sword. Train how you’re going to fight, Jerric.”

“But—”

“I know how an enchanted weapon works. If it needs recharging before we’re through, tough. When you see a dremora, your hand will reach for the blade you’ve trained with. You can be killed in the time it takes to think it through. Are you done moaning? Then let’s get some practice.” Rhano gave Darnand a hard look. “I’ll stand in front of you, mage, in case it attacks us. Stay to the rear on my left. Send the thing back to the Void if I signal.”

Jerric watched Darnand’s reaction carefully. This was no time for a pissing contest. “I would advise you not to draw your sword unless I lose control of it,” Darnand said to Rhano evenly. “It will help me confine its attacks to Jerric. How will I know your signal?”

“You’ll know.”

Darnand took his position and watched for Jerric’s nod. The distinctive sound of a daedric summoning sent a shiver down Jerric’s neck. Red mist dissipated, revealing a dremora Caitiff towering between Darnand and Jerric. Its breath made a sound like a bear’s. Darnand cursed softly in the moment of silence that followed. When it raised its mace, candlelight glittered over its armor.

Jerric waited to see what it would do. His blood roared for him to charge in, but experience let him stay back.

The Caitiff stepped forward and swung his mace downward at Jerric’s shoulder. Jerric slid to his right, dodging the mace. Redeemer reached out and pricked the Caitiff’s knee. Magicka flowed up his sword arm, and Jerric sent a spark of lightning from his shield hand as he danced back. The dremora countered with a crackling bolt of shock energy. It drove Jerric back two steps, staggered with the pain.

He recovered his footing quickly, keeping his knees slightly bent. The mace came down at his head this time. He stepped to the side, slipping around behind the Caitiff’s mace. Redeemer flicked through the back of the other knee, and the magicka let Jerric cast a healing spell as he circled. This time the Caitiff’s shock spell sank into his chest. Its enraged howl made him smile. His first rush of fury gone, Jerric settled in for the fight.

The Caitiff continued its lumbering attacks, swinging the heavy mace from the shoulder or whipping it across from the elbow. Jerric kept avoiding them, countering with stabs at the weak points in its armor. The Caitiff landed a few glancing blows on Jerric’s Wolf shield and armored thighs, but each time he recovered. Finally it pointed its mace at him and roared as the spell sent him back to the Void. Jerric stood panting in the sudden silence.

Rhano stood grim-faced beside Darnand. “What do you think?” Jerric asked Rhano.

Rhano took a moment to answer. “I don’t see any bad habits.”

“I guess that’s why I’m not dead yet.”

“Master Daron trained you?”

“Yeah, after he left the guild.” They stood for a moment in silence, remembering Kvatch’s cantankerous old blade trainer.

“You’re quicker to recover your balance, not so sloppy,” Rhano said.

“I’ve had some practice. In the last… what, eleven years?”

“I have some drills in mind, but I’m confident that you have the advantage over this foe.”

“I have to be able to fight two at once,” Jerric said. “Sometimes three.”

Rhano’s expression didn’t change. “We have some work to do.”

Jerric stepped back into place. At his nod, Darnand brought back the Caitiff.

He lost track of how many times he sent the Caitiff back to Oblivion, and how many times it fought until the spell lifted. He only knew that healing himself was costing him all of his magicka. Redeemer needed recharging. And after the first time he absorbed the Caitiff’s shock spell, it stopped using them.

The Caitiff howled its frustration as the spell carried him away again. Jerric sheathed his sword and turned to Darnand, catching his breath.

“All right, I’m out of magicka. I just need enough for an emergency. Hit me with some frost.” Jerric spread his arms and braced himself.

“What are you talking about?” asked Darnand. They both ignored Rhano’s incredulous stare.

“A frost spell. Go ahead and toss one at me, frost hurts less when I don’t absorb it.” Jerric shifted his feet. “Ready.”

“Have you any potions?”

“Would I ask you to attack me if I did? I have a job tonight, I might need them.”

Darnand gave Jerric his patient look. “Then I might suggest a healing spell. In the event that you do not absorb it, you might benefit from the healing.”

“A healing spell! All these years, and I’ve never thought of it. I’m so glad you have that Breton brain. Yeah, a healing spell!” he grinned at Darnand, feeling giddy. “Any time, my friend.” He thumped his chest. “A healing spell. Ha ha!”

Darnand’s face held the smallest smile. “I shall cast the spell at you from a distance, rather than using contact. The effect if you do not absorb it will be the same as a potion, undirected healing. It costs more magicka to cast this way, which means more for you to absorb.”

“All right. I don’t have anything that needs to be stitched up or moved back where it should go.” He smiled as he watched Darnand go through his motions. White light swirled over him, and he felt the soothing rush of healing. Darnand sighed, and Rhano looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry,” Jerric said. Darnand tried again.

This time it worked, and Jerric felt enough magicka to fuel at least two of his lightning spells. Darnand’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Now we must wait. I must allow my own magicka to replenish.”

“Are you out?”

“No, but I wish to have a larger reserve, in the event of something unexpected.” Darnand glanced over at Rhano. “May I offer you anything? Food or drink?”

Jerric silently applauded Darnand’s instincts. If Rhano felt like a guest, he would be far more tractable. Jerric knew it, but it took Darnand’s remark to remind him.

“No, thank you,” Rhano replied. He put down his shield and stood at ease. Jerric did the same. Darnand walked over to the pile of gear at the door and returned with Jerric’s water skin. Jerric took a long drink.

“How did you two meet?” Darnand asked Rhano.

“Our fathers were partners, the story goes all the way back to Skyrim,” Rhano told him. “They set up shop at either end of their first freight route, Anvil to Kvatch. Growing up, we rode the caravans to visit during holidays and school breaks, at least until Jerric quit school. They sent me up to Kvatch some summers. Jerric and his cousins came here for others.”

“We were a sight,” Jerric said. “One brown Redguard in the middle of a pack of sunburned Nords.” He nodded at Rhano. “You were the thorn in the flower garden.”

“I was the wolf in the dog pile,” said Rhano.

Jerric laughed. “You were the—”

“Regardless,” Rhano interrupted, “That all ended when we were fifteen. Jerric met an older girl in Kvatch.”

“Sandrine,” Jerric said wistfully.

“Breton,” Rhano remarked. “Jerric’s always had a thing for Breton women.”

“It’s because they’re won’t laugh at Little Jerric,” Jerric explained with a grin. “Not like Nord women.”

Darnand ignored him. “You were saying?” he asked Rhano.

“Sandrine,” Rhano continued. “I never met her. To hear Jerric talk she was Dibella incarnate. She gave him his first tumble, then she told him he knocked her up.”

Jerric saw that he had Darnand’s sudden and complete attention. “What did you do?” Darnand asked.

“Asked her to marry me, of course. I wouldn’t have planned it that way, but children are a blessing whenever they might come to you.”

“You were ready to become a father at the age of fifteen?” Darnand was clearly astonished.

“Ready? No. But I wasn’t afraid. There were kids underfoot my whole life, I knew my family would just pull up a few more chairs at the table. There were plenty of parents around to show us what to do.”

“Too bad it didn’t work out that way,” said Rhano.

“Yeah,” Jerric agreed. He took another pull from his water skin.

“What happened?” Darnand asked.

“Turns out her family had some kind of High Rock pretensions,” Jerric told him. “I guess you can’t swing a rat up there without hitting nobility. Anyway, they weren’t happy. Her brother said some things that couldn’t be ignored, and I beat him pretty bad. Sandrine got mad, started screaming at me. Said the kid wasn’t mine, she only lay with me because I was dumb enough to fall for it.”

“Which was true,” Rhano pointed out. “And you were dumb enough to want to take care of her.”

“It was true, but it didn’t exactly calm me down. Or her father, and he took a swing at her. I ended up beating her father, her brother, and some fellow I think was her cousin.” Jerric shook his head. “I’d have half killed the milkman if he’d have shown up at that moment. I was a kid myself, didn’t really think what I was doing. Anyway, when I got out of prison, I just walked straight down to Anvil.”

Rhano picked up the story. “Mother and Fa took him in. Mother always called him her Nord son anyway.”

“I called her Mother,” Jerric told Darnand. “You only get one Ma.”

“What did you call Rhano’s father?” asked Darnand.

Jerric and Rhano shared a look. “Sir.”

Now Rhano shook his head, remembering. “That was a hell of a thing Sandrine did. Most lads would have been relieved, but this one mourned like he’d lost his best friend.”

“Like I’d lost a child,” Jerric said. “It felt like I’d lost one.”

“Why did you leave Kvatch? Was your family angry with you?” Darnand asked.

“Yeah, but they stood by me anyway. It was easier for it all to blow over with me away for a while. I still worked the caravans, just from this end for a couple of years. I saw them often, but the neighbors didn’t have to see much of me.” Jerric grinned at Rhano. “We had some good times.”

Darnand looked between the two of them. “What happened?”

Jerric saw Rhano’s expression darken. “If you want to know, you should ask the mage,” Rhano growled.

“Battlemage,” Jerric spit back. “Superstitious Redguard.” He felt the tension and old resentment fill the silence between them.

Rhano was the one who broke it. “We were going to take on the world,” he said quietly. The lad was still there under the hard planes of his face.

“What do you think we’re doing?” Jerric dropped his water skin by the door. He picked up his shield and walked back to the middle of the chamber. “Come on,” he said to Rhano. “While we’re waiting.”

“Let’s see what you can do with that katana.” Rhano stalked out to join him, drawing his sword.

Beer and a brawl, that’s what he wanted.
Jerric the bad boy. No wonder Abiene wants him rather than Darnand!

Rhino Rhano makes another appearance as well I see. A little claustrophobic it seems. Not to mention the inbred Redguard distrust and distaste for magic.

I was glad to see Rhano's point about training with his sword, rather than the knife. Absolutely true. The whole point behind training is so that the repetition builds muscle memory. Then in time your body will just do it without you having to consciously think it through.

The other dimension to this is that Jerric is training against something that he does not have to worry about killing. That he in fact wants to kill, just like when it's for real. One thing that always makes me roll my eyes are movies where you see training scenes where people use real weapons against one another. What they are training themselves to do is hold back, and not kill their opponents when it is real. Unless of course someone dies every sparring session...

Granted, Jerric could just spar with someone else using wooden/blunted weapons... But in this case, I can see the point of doing it against a summoned Daedra. He wants to practice against not only a swordsman, but against an actual Daedra as well.

And we see the madness that the Atronach birthsign inspires. Hit me with a spell so I can recharge some magicka! I have to confess, I did exactly that with my one atronach character.

“Jerric’s always had a thing for Breton women.”
I think we have seen that already...

So now we finally get the full story between Rhano and Jerric. I must say, that was not only very rich, but quite inspired. Yet there is still more waiting to be coaxed out I see. Good! It is better to reveal such things a little at a time, rather than all at once. It builds anticipation as we wonder what happened.


nits:
We need not fear that they will somehow betray our intensions.”
That is intentions.

Men, mer, and tailed folk of all ages made a colorful river before him.
I love this way of referring to Argonians and Khajiit! So much more elegant than beast folk. I hope you don't mind if I borrow the phrase!

He knew the drink would be as cheap as the women,
Living near Las Vegas, I see many such taverns. They often bear a sign outside proclaiming 'Hot Slots and Cold Beer!' Of course, I've never been inside, but I imagine maybe it refers to gambling devices?

Darnand gave Jerric his patient look. “Then I might suggest a healing spell. In the event that you do not absorb it, you might benefit from the healing.”
Talk about a face palm moment! No wonder those Bretons are so smart!

And some wonderful training with a touch of history regarding Rhano and Jerric!

Now, I've just seen "Thor". Why do I keep thinking "Jerric" whever Chris Hemsworth's face flashes before my eyes?



Interesting characterization of Jerric - but one which I have found to be true IRL. Nearly all men who are 'dads' are born that way, and they do not run screaming from the responsibility of a child if they are fifteen or fifty. Men who are NOT born 'dads' (Examples are easy: 7 out of 10 Hollywood Hunks ) will never parent well no matter how old they get.

Good work on the movement. One thing you and other writers may want to think about, though, is the concept of the "shock absorber". You want your body to bend with the shock of contact so that the shock is spread out over several milliseconds, but you don't want it to be too supple so that your body will swing out of balance, or even so supple that it will be flung away until bone and tendon bring it to a jarring stop (which is what happens to the head when a knockout is made). I know this defensive tactic is not easy to write, but perhaps you might try?

But y'all keep up the good work, mah Grits! You and Trey are mah type of peeps...

ROFL !!! Love that line !!!



Very Jerric statement, ROFL !!! That so fits what you have shown us of his personality !!


The tidbit into the background story between Rhano and Jerric was interesting and really well done. This is like Paul Harvey, I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting for ... the rest of the story ...


Awesome Write !!!!

Come on, even Rhano should know the difference between the two. One's a wimpy, tall, stick figure of a guy with no endurance or strength to speak of, and laughably easy to club into submission. Or taken out with an arrow.

The other, particularly your high level Dremora and Marauder Battlemage, is a difficult enemy with freakish skill, unfair stats, and tougher to crack than a walnut encased in a diamond. Bad enough they wear armor, but the jerks know how to use it as well. And they're not slouches in melee, either.

Unless you've successfully managed to achieve game-breaker status with appropriate equipment. Then it's a cruise either way.

But I digress. It's taken me a while to catch up after falling so far behind, so allow me to squeak by with just this: wow!

Jerric's continued evolution as a real man (a man badly in need of extra pants, 'cause every man could use a spare pair of pants) in a real world continues to impress me. He loves, he suffers, he gets himself into the first case of cosmetic surgery on Tamriel, and develops better fighting skills for his continuing mission to close gates. He ties himself to the two organizations that, properly plied, could help slow the Mythic Dawn's progress. He doesn't blunder around aimlessly, and for all his talk of a Breton having all the brains, Jerric has a very keen way of thinking, even if he does overlook the obvious now and again.

SubRosa: I’m glad the training plan made some sense. In the game it’s easy to pick up daedric armor, but in the story that would just be silly. The other option would be fighting someone in conjured armor and trying to not kill them, which as you pointed out wouldn’t be as effective. Plus, I couldn’t see anyone agreeing to do it! I have really enjoyed the aspect that the Atronach birthsign brings to the game, at least before alchemy provides endless magicka. Thank you for your wonderful words about the Rhano story. It’s a small part of this story that I’d like to write a book about!

Acadian: I’ve seen “tailed” used in several places, I wish I had thought of it myself. It would suit Buffy’s sensibilities far better than “beast”! Jerric does tend to charge along a few steps ahead of his brain. I’m sure this won’t be his last face palm!

D. Foxy: Where did Jerric get that hammer?! I’m so glad that Jerric’s reaction to possibly becoming a teen dad worked for you. As you pointed out, it had everything to do with his character. The temperament that he was born with, fostered by his family’s support.

I re-worked the tussle in this section thinking more about footing, balance, and absorbing contact. And what happens when things go wrong with the above. There’s also the ES shield spell element, so it was interesting to think about! Thank you so much for your tactical input!! Soon I will have to tackle bows. There is an archer character impatiently waiting for me to get my act together.

mALX: I knew better than to say “swing a cat” with this crowd!! That day at Sandrine’s house, he sure found his temper! If Jerric and Rhano were women, they’d probably sit down and rehash their entire history in one sitting. These two just won’t do that! They should get some more time to hang out together, though. If they cooperate.

Captain Hammer: Welcome back! I’m so glad you’re still with us. I like the way you described Jerric’s evolution, it means a lot that you can see him growing. Thank you for pointing out his way of thinking. He’s not in the habit of questioning his assumptions, but he has no shortage of ideas. It will be fun to see what happens when the big-brained Breton makes a mistake.

Where we are: Jerric spent the afternoon training with Darnand and Rhano. Now he has a contract to fulfill.



Chapter 10: Septims part 11

Norbert Lelles opened the rear entrance of his shop and stepped back inside, allowing room for Jerric to duck his head and enter. “Good luck!” Norbert said cheerfully. “I’m going to wait at The Flowing Bowl until this mess is settled. I know I can trust you to keep the place safe. ‘Bye!” He pulled the door shut behind him as he left, and Jerric heard the lock click.

“Wait!” Jerric called. “You should go out the front in case they’re watching!” So much for further instructions, he thought. He tried the door just in case.

“Dammit,” he muttered. The front entrance proved to be locked, too.

The fire in the fireplace had burned low, but Jerric didn’t want to light any candles. Better that the shop look like it usually did after Lelles had gone to bed, he thought. A long sales counter divided the main floor’s single open space from the front wall inside the doorway almost all of the way to the back. The space was laid out for shoppers, not fighting. Jerric saw the stairs tucked behind the counter and headed up to look around. The windowless ground floor already seemed short of air. He had a fleeting impulse to execute his exit strategy as soon as he made it.

Both upstairs bedchambers had windows he could open, but he doubted he could make it through them in a hurry. He decided that either one would work if he had the time to angle and squeeze, so he thumped back down the stairs to make his plan.

He doubted that a mage was “conjuring” the thieves inside. They were most likely using one of the doors. That meant unlocking it, either with a key or a spell. Probably leaving it unlocked while they burgled the place, he decided. That door would be his first choice of exit. Still, locked inside a wooden building was no place to use a fireball. He reminded himself to definitely not summon his scamp.

He would use frost, if it was necessary. He drew his katana and ran through some drills, testing the space. There was room on the sales floor for one person to get behind him while he fought another. Then again, he might use that space to get around an attacker and out the open door, whichever door they came in.

He had plenty of time to doubt his decision. If he stood on the narrower merchant’s side of the counter he could stay concealed until the burglar entered, then step behind him and block the unlocked door. At that point he could declare himself and make the arrest, or otherwise. Of course it would only work if they came in through the back door.

He stepped behind the counter and looked around from this vantage point. His view to the rear door was unobstructed. You might as well try to hide a brown bear behind a lavender bush, he thought. He took a position on the wider side of the counter.

He guessed he had at least a couple of hours before Norbert’s midnight bedtime. He looked longingly at the shelves filled with books. Not enough light to read by, and he had already decided not to use a candle. Should have asked Darnand about that light spell, he thought. Or maybe Abiene can teach me. If I can keep my hands off of her long enough.

Years of standing watch on the caravan trail had trained him to stay awake and limber. He kept his eyes away from the fire’s embers and waited.

The sound of a key in the back door brought him back to full attention. They have to come in before I can catch them, Jerric thought. He called forth his Woad and ducked down behind the counter.

Shuffling noises and the smell of cabbage cooked with onions reached him. He heard a torch flare to life, and the light cast a shadow over the counter. Jerric waited until he heard the door close before he stood to declare himself.

“Stop right there, criminal scum!” Jerric’s mild amusement evaporated when he saw his opponents. Two mer and a Nord stood arrayed by height inside the back door, looking surprised. The Bosmer in front looked the way he expected a thief to look. A Dunmer stood behind him holding a torch, and a Nord was visible behind the Dunmer. From what he could see of the last two, they looked like fighters. The Dunmer tossed his torch into the fireplace, his teeth gleaming in his dusky face.

Jerric didn’t have time to finish his arresting officer speech. Instead he let his katana’s voice join the song of blades being drawn. Even the Bosmer thief produced a dagger.

The Nord at the back of the group was the first to speak. “Looks like we got a live one.”

The Bosmer in front silently raised his dagger, pale eyes wide in the gloom. Jerric quickly reached out and flicked the tip of his katana through his throat. The mer staggered sideways against the end of the counter, gurgling. His dagger hit the floorboards with a clatter. It took an instant for Jerric to realize what he had done. Maybe the Bosmer wasn’t even attacking, he thought belatedly.

The Dunmer started to step past the falling Bosmer, holding his claymore vertically to get past the counter. Jerric’s blast of frost knocked him back a step. The Nord moved to the side, and Jerric brought his shield back up.

“Lay down your arms or join your friend,” Jerric said. The Bosmer punctuated his statement by slumping the rest of the way to the floor.

The Nord answered by casting a spell that shimmered over Jerric like a shroud. His contact with his magicka was severed as neatly as his sense of smell was when he dove under water. Dread tightened Jerric’s gut, and his mind seemed to freeze.

The Dunmer straightened and smiled, his bloody teeth as red as his eyes. Frost glittered on his cheek in the torchlight. The Nord lumbered down the merchant’s side of the counter and began climbing over it. His face also bore a predatory grin. Then he muttered a word and disappeared from sight.

I’m fetched, thought Jerric.

He ran back to the alcove that led to the front door. At least there they couldn’t get behind him. When he turned, the Dunmer was on him.

Leather armor like the Nord, Jerric noted. Probably reinforced with metal underneath. He heard the Nord’s feet hit the floor behind the Dunmer. This is going to be quick, he thought.

Jerric knew he had just enough room to work in the alcove’s entrance, if he kept his feet. He turned his shield to the Dunmer, leaving his middle open. He took the chance that the Dunmer would fall for it. He slid his foot back, balancing for a lunge.

The Dunmer made his first thrust straight at Jerric’s open middle. Jerric pinned the claymore against the frame of the open doorway with his shield. He brought his sword down across the mer’s extended arms, hoping the Nord couldn’t reach him yet. The Dunmer fell back with a shriek, his claymore hitting the floor with a hollow ring. Jerric stepped back into position, waiting for the Nord.

A board creaked loudly in front of Jerric, audible over the Dunmer’s swearing. Jerric raised his shield and ducked under it, slashing where he hoped the Nord’s legs would be.

He felt a hard jolt in the middle of his chest, and he slammed back against the door. His dazed vision picked out the Nord’s longsword lying on the floor, crossed over the claymore. I can’t believe it, Jerric thought. The recoil from the shield spells, he wasn’t expecting it.

He pushed himself off the door and stepped over the swords. Muttered curses guided him. He dropped his weight lower and charged forward behind his shield until he made solid contact. He didn’t get the chance to bring his sword up. His shield wrenched his arm to the side, then pulled him down to his knees. A deep growl sounded an instant before something struck Jerric hard on the chin. Jerric found himself on his back, his thoughts scattered. Surprise had pushed the breath from his lungs, and now something tight around his throat kept him from getting it back. He vaguely realized that in support of the invisible Nord, the Dunmer beside him on the floor was kicking him. Jerric discovered that his right hand was empty.

He reached down for his dagger and found the Nord’s forearm with it. He dragged it upward along the bone as hot blood soaked his shirt. The Nord howled and let go. Jerric thrashed free of him. He sucked in a painful breath and rolled onto the Dunmer, scrambling to his feet. Something seized his shoulder, and a cloud of cabbage and onion wafted into his face. Magicka surged through his arm and into the unreachable well inside him. Jerric reached up and plunged the dagger into the heart of the cabbage breath. The Nord blinked into sight, then crashed backward with Jerric’s dagger protruding from his mouth.

That fetcher used his Frost on me, Jerric realized. He turned around.

The Dunmer was back on his feet, blood streaming down his dangling hands. The katana wasn’t made for chopping, but Jerric guessed that he must have done some real damage anyway. “If I see a ghost, you’re dead,” Jerric told him. The Dunmer stopped his muttering. “They’ll splint your arms in prison. Or we could just make this your end.”

The Dunmer gave him a single nod. Jerric decided that meant he surrendered. He picked up his katana and slung his Wolf shield over his back, feeling for his magicka.

Still silenced. Never again without a dispel potion, he thought. His regrets increased when he remembered the ring in his pocket. Enchanted to detect the life energy of any creature, including the invisible. Double damn.

A knock on the shop’s front door made them both jump.

“That you, Burrus?” Jerric called, keeping his eyes on the mer. He had informed the night patrol that they might have an arrest to make. “Go around back, this door’s locked.”

Turning the Dunmer over to a member of the Anvil Guard was the easiest part of the night. Jerric stepped into The Flowing Bowl, looking for Norbert.

A blood-drenched Nord with a sword in his hand gets attention even at midnight in a dive bar, Jerric discovered. “Peace,” he said to the room at large. “I want Lelles.” Weapons began to go back into concealment.

Norbert catapulted to the front of the crowd, doubtlessly assisted by the hands of others. Stark terror filled his face for a moment. Then he closed his eyes in relief. “Jerric,” he said. Then he brightened. “Were you able to take care of my problem with break-ins?”

Jerric was momentarily at a loss for words. Eventually he came up with a reply that was not peppered with expletives. “Yeah. Two dead, one in Guard custody. I’ll go back over there with you. I left my dagger in the Nord.”

Back in the shop, Jerric cleaned his blades while Norbert assessed the situation. Burrus had already left with the Dunmer. Norbert examined the remaining two. “You’ve gotten them! Wonderful! But… these men are familiar to me. Both of these men have worked for me! Amazing… I even trusted them to open up the shop in the mornings. I can’t imagine what turned them to a life of crime. Sad. Well, I’ll speak to Azzan in the morning, and make the rest of the payment.”

“Better change the locks again,” Jerric suggested. Breathing through his mouth only made him think he was tasting death instead of smelling it. He decided that unless he was asked, he would leave disposal of the bodies up to Lelles and the Guard.

“Indeed! Perhaps I should supervise the locksmith this time,” Norbert replied. His face lit up with a cheery smile as Jerric opened the door onto the waterfront. “Take care!” Norbert called after him.

Jerric made his way through the staggering sailors, dockworkers, and harlots toward the Anvil Dock Gate. I’ll just head home for now, he decided. Stow my gear at the guild hall tomorrow.

He took some time reviewing his performance. First he forgot about the enchanted ring. That was just thick-headed. He never had it when he stood guard before, and that made him overlook it. He had already kicked himself over not carrying a potion to dispel a curse against his magicka. That was a lesson he almost didn’t live to learn. He had chopped with his katana instead of slashing at the Dunmer’s leg or middle, clearly he needed more time with his newest blade. Even without magicka to fuel its enchantment, he would have been better off with Redeemer. Finally, he had forgotten that with Jone’s gift, he could have turned himself invisible.

Most distressing, he had killed the Bosmer without even thinking. He was not one who counted his kills, either to brag or to later regret them. But he had treated a startled thief like some murderous bandit or daedra.

It’s done, he told himself. Think no more about it. He stopped and glanced up, finally realizing where his feet had taken him.

The mages guild hall. Dammit. He was still no closer to his bed.

Perhaps someone would still be awake. He reached for his keys, exhaustion giving way to hope.

Holy Cow, what a fight !!



ROFL !! You could have been writing about ETN !!! Loved that line !!



Powerful ending!! AWESOME WRITE !!!

What a great presentation of this quest!

'Norbert Lelles opened the rear entrance of his shop and stepped back inside, allowing room for Jerric to duck his head and enter.'
Such an unobtrusive yet effectively welcome reminder of Jerric's size.

Fabulous how you shared Jerric's thinking with us as he planned for a confrontation.

'The Nord answered by casting a spell that shimmered over Jerric like a shroud. His contact with his magicka was severed as neatly as his sense of smell was when he dove under water.'
And a beautiful description of Jerric falling under the effects of having his magic silenced disabled by his foe.

'“Indeed! Perhaps I should supervise the locksmith this time,” Norbert replied.'
Doh! So that's why even though Norbert has had the locks changed several times, those pesky thieves still got in. The locksmith was in on it!

'He took some time reviewing his performance. First he forgot about the enchanted ring. That was just thick-headed. He never had it when he stood guard before, and that made him overlook it. He had already kicked himself over not carrying a potion to dispel a curse against his magicka. That was a lesson he almost didn’t live to learn. He had chopped with his katana instead of slashing at the Dunmer’s leg or middle, clearly he needed more time with his newest blade. Even without magicka to fuel its enchantment, he would have been better off with Redeemer. Finally, he had forgotten that with Jone’s gift, he could have turned himself invisible.'
Just as Jerric planned before the fight, he evaluated his own performance after. I'm so glad he noted the value of his ring and carrying dispel potions!

Except for Norbert, I always considered this quest as boring. Booooring. But you made it fun, exciting and interesting!

In addition to what has already been noted, may I add this:



Now that's some smart thinkin' I suppose Jerric is the exception to the rule about blonds!

Like that's gonna happen!

What a wonderful TES-friendly use of a common expletive!

And I can not tell you how many times I've forgotten about a particular potion, spell scroll, enchanted gear, or spell that could've been useful in a given situation until after the dust settled! Then it's facepalm time!

Jerric's thoughts of strategy, and even taking the time to practice a little with his sword to see just how much room he had to fight in, were good touches. It shows what a professional he has become. At least when it comes to fighting.

You might as well try to hide a brown bear behind a lavender bush
This was a wonderful little saying.

“Stop right there, criminal scum!”
I suppose Jerric has heard that so many times from the City Guard and Legion that it has become ingrained upon him!

A quick and dirty fight, as most RL sword battles were. Jerric turning over a criminal to the Guard, now that had a to be a surprise of for both of them! (as usually Jerric is the one being hauled away to the drunk tank!).

Never again without a dispel potion
Yep, the age-old lesson. That, and Jerric's other musings after the fight show that same growing professionalism I mentioned before.

mALX: The entrance into The Flowing Bowl was a little tribute to all of those cowboy-walks-into-bar scenes in movies, glad you enjoyed it! Thank you for pointing out the ending.

Acadian: Now the purpose of my Silence question comes to light. Since that discussion, various Markynaz have been giving us lessons on how not to use Dispel. For example, right after you’ve fortified your magicka and summoned an ally. D’oh! I’m still not entirely sure how things went wrong the last time, field-testing theories in the Deadlands can get frantic.

haute ecole rider: I agree about this quest, it’s mostly wait, wait wait. Snore. Or when I tried it with my first character fresh out of the Imperial Prison: wait, wait, die. I’m glad you enjoyed Jerric’s spin on it. Triple facepalm, nice!!

SubRosa: Thank you for noticing Jerric’s growing professionalism. He’s seldom had to make a plan on his own. Couldn’t resist giving him that criminal scum line, even though it put him at risk of arresting himself!

Where we are: Jerric had a late night busting thieves for Lelles. Also: if you wonder what Jerric’s beach hut looks like, it’s the Imperial City Waterfront shack plus a couple of windows. We’re pretending it’s in Anvil.



Chapter 10: Septims, Part 12


Jerric lay with Abiene in his arms, feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. He looked down at her flushed face, watching her breathing return to normal. She reached up and placed a languid hand against his cheek. He held it there with his own.

“That was…” she whispered.

“Mmm hmm,” he said, smiling. “That’s what happens when you come to see me in the morning.” When he kissed her palm, her shoulders twitched in response. Too soon to touch her again, he decided. “Who’s Vidkun?” he asked without thinking.

Her cheeks flamed from pink to crimson, and she hurriedly pulled herself out from under him. “I--”

“Whoa, no, don’t be upset! I’m not. You didn’t exactly have your wits about you when you said it. I just wondered is all.”

Abiene scooted up and curled against the headboard. She hid her face behind her knees. “Jerric--”

“Forget I mentioned it. Stendarr’s stones, I’m an idiot.” He sat up and cradled her against his side, leaning back against the wall. “I can’t believe what comes out of my mouth sometimes,” he said apologetically.

“I can’t believe it, either,” Abiene mumbled. She stayed curled into a ball with his arm wrapped around her.

Jerric decided that if the roles were reversed, he would be embarrassed too. Still, he couldn’t leave it alone. “It’s just… Well, it sounds like a Nord’s name.”

“It is.” Abiene turned toward him until her forehead rested against his chest. Her words tickled when she spoke. “I’ll tell you in a moment. I’m still trying to die of shame.”

“There’s no shame here.” His restless fingers lifted the sweaty tendrils of hair off her face. “Unless you tell me it’s what you named your kitten.” She jerked her head back with a gasp, staring up at him in shock. “No! Not your kitten. I mean a real cat. Because I thought I was being pretty impressive when you said it. And I wouldn’t want you to be thinking about a pet cat at that particular moment.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m shutting up now.”

“Thank the gods.” Abiene moved around a little more. “All right, I’m ready to tell you.”

“Do you want some kahve first?”

“Please.”

Jerric reached for the mug on the chest at the end of the bed. The kahve had gone cold, but Abiene wanted it anyway. She took a long drink, then he took a sip before he put it back. He waited while she composed herself.

“Vidkun is a boy from Leyawiin,” she explained. “A man, now. We went to school together, until he left to go to work. My first real love. We were together until I went away to the Arcane University, and I still saw him whenever I went home to visit. He wouldn’t leave Leyawiin, and I wouldn’t stay. Of course we kept it a secret, my parents didn’t approve.”

“I guess they wouldn’t like me, then.”

“My father would like you, in his own way.” She brushed her palm absently across his chest. “I haven’t seen Vidkun since last Saturalia. When I went back home for the holidays.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“Is that why… when we first met?” She looked up, questioning. “Well, I said pleased to meet you, and you said let’s work upstairs in my chamber. I said it’s warm in here, can I open a window. Next thing I knew, you had your nails in my back and I was the luckiest man in Cyrodiil.” He watched her blush again, and this time she smiled. “I mean, I know I’m not that special.”

“Don’t say that.” She sounded troubled. “It’s true, the first time you reminded me of Vidkun. I was feeling lonely, and I had a difficult patient that morning. That always makes me feel… empty, I suppose, and vulnerable. And there you were, so full of life. You don’t even look that much like him. I mean, you’re both Nords. But it was your smile, or the way you looked at me. And I liked the way you smelled. It was a hot day, and you smelled like outdoors and sunshine.”

“I’m sure I smelled like armpit. Sun’s Height on the Gold Coast is hard on a Nord, no matter how much time you spend with soap.”

Abiene smiled again. “Anyway, I liked it. And you made me laugh. You were so… You remember how it was. After that time, I just wanted you.” She reached for the kahve, and he handed it to her. “Did you ever do that? Say the wrong name?”

“Not that I know of. And I’m sure I would have been told. But I don’t always catch the name, so I guess I’ve learned not to say one.” Abiene turned shocked eyes on him. “Well, I don’t have a love story to tell you,” he laughed. “I have to admit to being easy.” Jerric’s stomach rumbled. He took the kahve back and sipped it sheepishly. “I guess I slept through breakfast.”

“I should have brought something for you, I knew you’d be sleeping in. Darnand said he talked to you last night when you put your things away in the basement. He said it was around two of the morning watch.”

“It was. I had a job that ran kind of late. I meant to come straight back here, but I headed off in the wrong direction. Too tired to think. I guess Darnand didn’t sleep in, if you talked to him this morning. Or maybe he just stayed up all night.”

“I don’t think he gives himself much rest. Or perhaps sometimes he just puts his head down and sleeps at his work table.”

They shared a smile over that image. Jerric gathered her close in his arms, so that her head tucked under his chin. “Let’s do something together today,” he said impulsively. “I mean out of bed. It’s Loredas. I can take you to lunch, or we can go to the market and look at all of the people. Don’t get me wrong when I say this, Abiene. I love that you come out here to see me. But we don’t really talk until we’ve humped each other senseless, and by then we’re too tired. Spend the day with me. It doesn’t have to be a date, people know we’re friends.”

“I don’t mean to treat you that way. I’m sorry, Jerric.” She reached up and held his face in her hands. “I know you like to take your time, and I always push you. I have to go back and treat my patients, but after that we can spend the rest of the day together.”

This is how I’ll remember her, Jerric decided. With her cheeks still pink and this tender look on her face. I won’t think of yesterday.

“Come and pick me up at the guild hall,” she continued. “I’ll be ready by eleven bells. We’ll go get some kahve and walk around the market, listen to the bards and the minstrels. I want to see the view from the top of the lighthouse, will you to show it to me? And there’s a new Breton restaurant in Westgate, let’s go there for dinner.” She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him slowly, the way he liked the best. He marveled at the gentle way she melted in his arms. Then she shifted on his lap and froze, eyes wide. “You mean you didn’t…”

He grinned at her. “Not yet,” he said proudly. “I wanted to watch you first.” He started to say something more, but she stopped him.

“Hush,” she whispered, her face alight with mischief. “No more talk until we’ve humped each other senseless.”

I thought Jerric's beach hut looked like this.

So Vidkun's ugly, drowned head finally bobbed to the surface of the well! Abiene's embarrassment was expected. Jerric otoh, handled it awfully well. Most men have trouble hearing about the other sausages that their girlfriends have dined upon. Granted, he was foolish enough to actually ask her about it. That rarely ends well.

Even without the awkward moment, the fact that Abiene is calling out Vidkun's name does not spell good things for her relationship with Jerric. By his own admission, their relationship is based solely upon sex, given how that is all we see them do together, and how quickly they tumbled into bed together in the first place. If she is unconsciously thinking of Vidkun during sex, then Jerric himself is just a stand-in. I'd say he has good reason to start looking for a new girlfriend, before she finds another stand-in.

I’m sure I smelled like armpit.
I laughed at this. I am sure he smelled like that too! How straight girls find man-stink hot is one of those things that always eludes me.

Or perhaps sometimes he just puts his head down and sleeps at his work table.
Now that does sound like Darnand indeed.

While prying into one's lover's past is generally a bad idea, Jerric was actually wise in this case since he was so assaulted by the name of another during their lovemaking. To ignore it would have led to resentment and mistrust on his part for sure. He did indeed handle things well. And honestly, I believe Abiene handled her passionate booboo well also. Shed some light, offer some reassurance and move on. . . or rather, hump each other senseless some more.

“Not that I know of. And I’m sure I would have been told. But I don’t always catch the name, so I guess I’ve learned not to say one.”
Jerric is brilliant in his country bumpkin kind of way. Wise and practical, that man.

Do you understand that nobody's going to able to use the word "senseless" without extreme care from here on?

Abiene needs to use one nickname to call all her lovers, that way when she calls it out in the midst of passion they will all think she is calling their name, ROFL !!!!

This chapter effectively told Jerric where he stands with Abiene, just in case he didn't get it by how quickly their first encounter (and every one since) turned to passion. He may say he knew he wasn't that big a draw, but I doubt it was a great thing to hear anyway.

For some reason my mind boggles at the man I have envisioned as Jerric being compared unfavorably to the (cough) man I have seen as Vidkun in the game, ROFL !!!

Awesome Write!!!

SubRosa: I like your beach hut much better!! Jerric is simply applying the same standards to Abiene that he has for himself. Neither of them expects that they are the other’s first anything. Man-sweat is mysterious to this straight girl, even though I’m susceptible to it! How can some men just plain stink, but others stink like something you want to [Grits rejects all verbs that come to mind as inappropriate for the forum]? It’s some kind of unfair advantage! Yet there it is. The days-old workout shorts on the bottom of the laundry pile are the exception, of course!

Acadian: Thank you for endorsing their handling of a subject neither really wanted to discuss. Abiene sure knows how to change the subject!

ghastley: And here I thought it was “kitten” that could become dangerous.

mALX: I suppose that’s why “oh my god” is so popular. It’s non-specific, and could be considered flattering.

Where we are: Jerric and Abiene have agreed to spend Loredas together, fully clothed and upright. Also, I just noticed that somewhere in the last two posts we passed the 100,000 word mark. I am so very grateful to everyone who helped us get this far!!! Thank you for sticking with us!



Chapter 10: Septims, Part 13

Exercise and errands filled the rest of Jerric’s morning. When he reached the guild hall, the chapel bells were ringing the eleventh hour of the morning watch.

He found Abiene in the reception room waiting for him. Her hair curled unrestrained around her face and down her shoulders. She wore a soft-looking white blouse with a quilted bodice over it in her usual shade of brown. Her gathered tan skirt fell to her ankles. Jerric decided that her shoes looked appropriate for a day walking on cobbles. He wondered what she was wearing under her skirt. His eyes lingered over her waist and torso on their way back up to her face. He found her eyebrows raised in amusement, and returned her smile. “Do I pass inspection?” she asked.

A grin was as close as he could come to the reply that came to his mind. “I’ll be right back. I need to go down and put away these parcels.”

“Been shopping already?”

“Picking up some things I ordered.”

He watched Abiene’s hands reach out for him before she stopped the gesture. She pressed them together instead. “Your new doublet suits you.”

“Thanks. Tulia’s Threads. I just said ‘something presentable,’ and she did the rest. There’s a chill today. You’ll want your cloak.”

When he returned, Jerric found that Marc Gulitte had joined Abiene in the front hall. When she looked up at Jerric, he saw Marc’s eyes quickly travel the same path that his had recently taken. He felt a surge of irritation. Recognizing his own hypocrisy didn’t make it easier to bear. The Breton looked like he was viewing his lunch.

Jerric took Abiene’s cloak and held it for her as she stepped under it. “Gulitte,” he gritted through his teeth.

“Jerric. Abiene. Enjoy the market.”

They stepped out into Anvil’s main plaza, inside the Main Gate. On Loredas the space served as a market square. Every manner of stall, stand, and cart had been set up around the evergreen oak and pond. Folk flew colorful flags and banners advertizing their wares. This market served as a venue for local farmers and artisans to sell directly to their customers. Jerric looked over the scene with delight. Every Loredas could be a treasure hunt, for those with coin and leisure time.

Abiene took his arm and smiled up at him. “Where should we begin?”

“Kahve,” said Jerric. “The dreck I made this morning was both scorched and cold.” He glanced around quickly before he continued. “Though the time spent while it cooled was sweet.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t started the fire with such a large ball of flame. I never knew one could burn a liquid.”

“I was in a hurry. You were cold.”

“You mean I was unclothed.” Her gaze drifted back over the market, and a secret smile played on her lips. “We should at least step out from under the guild portico before our resolve weakens. If you will recall, it was you who suggested that we get out of bed.”

“I’m a little sore,” he admitted.

“You were showing off.”

He grinned at her. “Yeah.”

Jerric led them directly to his favorite kahve stand. Three Redguard sisters operated it only on market and festival days. He had no idea what they did with the rest of their time. They were a blur of motion, filling orders, taking coins, and washing mugs.

Two Imperial women took the place in line behind them. Their conversation quickly became intrusive.

“Did you hear about Balbus and Honoria?” One woman was saying. “Word is they moved in together.” She made a disapproving sound. “No talk of the chapel for those two.”

“I know! It’s shameful! Her poor mother would turn in her grave, if they had ever found a body to bury.”

“They’ve been running around for months, right under the town’s noses!”

“I heard they were seen dining at the Count’s Arms, then who knows what else they did there.”

“I have a fairly good idea. You’ve seen the way she walks. Like she just can’t wait for it.”

Jerric felt Abiene squeeze his arm, and he glanced down at her. She appeared to be studying the shoulders of the Dunmer in front of her.

“Who moved in with whom?” the second women asked.

“He with she. It’s what I would expect. She has that cottage in Westgate, and I doubt he has a pot to piss in.”

“Well I see what he gets out of it, then. She’s a fool to lower herself.” Jerric heard a dismissive sniff. “Folk won’t want to buy their bread from a tramp who carries on like that.”

Jerric reached over and pressed Abiene’s hand with his own. “In Dibella’s own city, you wouldn’t think we’d have to listen to such dreck,” he remarked.

“What can I get for you?” one of the kahve women called to them. Her smile broadened when she recognized Jerric. “I’m asking the lady, I know how you like it.”

The woman at the coin box glanced up. “Black and bitter, like his heart.” She giggled with her sisters as she handed a cup to the Dunmer she was serving.

“Very hot, with milk and just a little foam, please,” Abiene said. “No sweetener.”

Jerric handed over the coins and took their cups. “It’s good to see you again,” the Redguard woman told him. Her smile at Abiene was just as warm. “Ma’am.”

They wandered toward the edge of the crowd, sipping their drinks. “You are outrageous,” Abiene said. “Is there anyone you don’t flirt with?”

“I have to compensate. Folk don’t tend to like me right away.”

Abiene looked at him over her cup. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I mean, folk look at you and think, ‘Here’s a nice woman. Sweet face and the hands of a healer. Dibella must love her.’ They look at me and think, ‘There goes a man on his way to a killing. Maybe he’ll stop and do some raping first.’ So I start off with a smile.”

“I don’t think so, Jerric. At least not lately.”

Recent events were a subject Jerric didn’t want to think about. “Let’s go look at the goods.”

The season meant mostly game and winter greens in the food stalls. They made their way through to the craftsmen’s area. Arrangements of dried flowers seemed to be popular with women of a certain age. Jerric thought that the wreaths and bundles looked useful for starting a fire.

An elderly Breton couple stopped them and began discussing various conditions of their skin and feet with Abiene. Jerric decided that was his cue to return their cups to the kahve vendor.

“Toys!” Abiene exclaimed when he rejoined her. “Saturalia is coming. Let’s find the woodcarvers.”

The toy vendors were clustered together, offering wares that folk had spent their leisure time all the past year making. Abiene passed up the dolls to look at plush animals, some of them made from fur. She held a toy kitten up to her face and looked over at Jerric, smiling wickedly. He coughed to cover his outburst of laughter.

Jerric picked up a tiny wooden teacup and held it on his palm. The floral decoration was so delicate, he couldn’t believe someone could paint it. “You must use a brush made of eyelashes,” he said in wonder.

“Almost,” the Nord behind the stand replied. “Perfect for the little miss in your life. Just the right thing for her dolls’ tea party.”

Fjirsten would love this, he thought. Yellow is her favorite color.

He had left himself completely unguarded. The black pit he carried inside simply reached up and swallowed him. Grief took his sight. Eventually he realized that Abiene must have led him away. The handkerchief he held pressed against his face smelled of her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered when he finally met her eyes. “I didn’t think.”

“I didn’t, either.” His voice was not ready to speak, he decided. She kept one hand on his elbow and the other against his waist until he could give her a shaky smile.

“Saturalia,” he said determinedly. “Are you going home for the holidays again this year?”

“No. Anvil is my home now. I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m more myself when I’m not with my family. I love them, and I miss them. I’m sure I’ll get to Leyawiin before another year passes. This year I just don’t want to take the time away.”

Jerric understood the last part, but he knew it would only bring sorrow to acknowledge it. “Let’s get some lunch,” he said. “I’m starved.”

They followed the sound of street musicians toward Chapelgate. Most of the market booths would be taken down in the next hour, and Anvil’s social hub would shift toward the Chapel of Dibella with its gardens and arcade. Jerric knew the Westgate shops would also see an increase in traffic, but the food carts he favored could be found toward the Castle Gate.

“Redguard food,” Jerric said as they walked. “I know what I want. Let’s not eat too much, so we’ll be hungry for dinner. We should go kind of early. I have a job with Darnand tonight. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. My appetite is seldom as urgent as yours.” Her raised eyebrow dared him to deny it. “You should choose where we go for lunch. I don’t know much about Redguard food.”

“How is that possible? You live in Anvil!”

“I dine at the guild hall. Roast meat and potatoes. It’s a Nord’s kitchen.”

“Well this will be something new, then. You try something new, and then I’ll try something new. I don’t know much about Breton food, so it will be fun.”

They stopped at an arrangement of three carts grouped together. Jerric knew that one cart held chilled foods, one was hot, and the middle was loaded with condiments. Fragrant steam wafted into the air. The young man at the hot cart wore a light shirt, despite the day’s chill.

Abiene looked slightly worried. “Nothing too spicy, and not too sour.”

“Do you want to pick it out?”

“Of course,” she laughed. “But that wouldn’t be fair!”

“Do you want something sweet? We could get ran alai. That means small cake of cheese in a slimy white sauce.” The young vendor rolled his eyes, and Jerric tried to look serious.

“That sounds delicious.” Abiene’s face said otherwise.

“Here, how about this, then. It’s called rota chatapay. That means crispy fried vegetable roll.” He made the exchange with the vendor. “This time of year it’s stuffed with sliced cabbage, potatoes, garlic, onion, and spices. Look, you cut a slit along the top and dump the sauce in. Whoa, not too much! Better let me have that one and try again. That stuff will burn you coming and going, if you get my meaning.”

Abiene laughed again. “Please, don’t explain it any more.”

There were no plates to return to the cart. They walked slowly as they munched their chatapay, letting the crumbs fall to the paving stones. The chapel pigeons flew in for cleanup. Their activity attracted the smaller and much faster sparrows. Battle ensued.

One sparrow landed on Jerric’s forearm and fixed its fierce gaze on him. “By the Nine! Quick, finish before you lose a finger. I’ll draw them away.”

Abiene tossed the end of hers to the ground. It disappeared into a cloud of feathers. “The day is saved, mighty warrior.” She handed her handkerchief back to him with a smile. “Still, best brush the crumbs off your beard. I can’t imagine the attention you would attract running through the streets, adorned with birds.”

They joined the parade of folk strolling past Chapelgate’s gracious houses. Most sported planters filled with winter flowers. Some had already begun decorating with evergreen boughs for North Winds Prayer. Jerric’s eyes picked out the wreaths made of holly, his favorite. Which ones does Abiene like best, he wondered. He began to think how little he knew about her.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” Jerric asked. He realized belatedly that the question sounded rather abrupt.

Abiene didn’t seem to need an explanation. “Peonies, definitely. I love their fragrance, and they only bloom for about a week. Less if it rains. It only makes them more precious.”

“Peonies! I never would have guessed it. They’re so big and blowsy, and you’re…” he looked her up and down. “Not.”

“Well, I adore them.” She placed a graceful hand on her chest. “Perhaps because they don’t share my shortcomings.”

“I think I’ve shown you my views on that subject. Now whenever I see a peony in bloom, I’ll think of you.” I wonder if I’ll see spring, he suddenly thought.

“What’s your favorite?” Abiene asked.

“Flax flowers, any color.”

“That’s only because of their seeds! You’re supposed to think of your favorite flower.”

“Well as many times as flax seeds have saved my life, I’m sticking with my choice.”

“I already think of you when I see flax flowers. You left a trail of flax seeds everywhere you went last summer.”

“I pick them as soon as they start going to seed. When you pluck the seed heads off, it encourages them to bloom again. You can keep a flax plant in bloom for a long time that way.”

“Well, at least choose a favorite color of flax flower.”

“Blue,” Jerric said without hesitating. “Your turn to ask a question.”

“Why haven’t you asked me to train you?”

“What?” Jerric stopped and looked at her, surprised.

“There’s more to the school of Restoration than healing. You know that.”

He thought about it for a moment while folk walked past them. “I’ve been focused on my offensive skills. What I need for summoning and destruction. Saving up so I can afford the spells.” He looked at Abiene curiously. “What do you suggest?”

She took his arm and started walking again. “First, there is a spell that will temporarily increase the magicka you can hold. In your case it would cost more to cast than it will allow you to increase. However, I am sure you can now make a potion to restore your magicka far beyond what your body can retain. A fortify spell could be useful if you cast it before you drink the potion. It would allow you to use the magicka that would otherwise be wasted.”

Jerric took a moment to consider her words. “I could use it with a potion to fortify my magicka, too. Darnand told me about Xivilai. They can absorb spells like I do, supposedly. I’ll need a lot of magicka if I meet any of them.”

“All right, so that’s one spell I can teach you. There are spells that will temporarily enhance your skills, and even your attributes. What would be the most useful?”

Jerric thought for another moment. “Spells that would make me stronger and faster. Pretty much everything in the Deadlands is stronger than me.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult. You will have to evaluate when to use them in combat. I should think before you fight spell-casters, so that your magicka won’t be depleted when you fight.”

“Right. And when I’m running for my life, then it will be worth the magicka.” He squeezed her hand and smiled at her, but she did not seem to see the humor.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about daedra.”

“Well, what have you been doing every night since I’ve been back?” he teased. “Don’t tell me I’m interfering with your studies.”

Now she smiled. “It was my walk back from the beach that gave me the idea about fortify spells, that time you fell asleep. I heard a noise and ran like a deer.” She glanced up sheepishly. “Probably a mudcrab.”

“It could have been anything. I wish you would have wakened me to walk you to the harbor.” He tried to keep his tone light. “There could be a Gate opening at any time. Don’t leave the city walls unless you’re prepared.”

“I’m better prepared than you, in some ways. I can escape onto water, and they’ll drown. I can turn myself invisible and run. I can use chameleon and walk close enough to touch them, then absorb their life energy into mine with a spell.”

Jerric stopped again, gripping her tightly. “Don’t do the last one. Please, Abiene, if something happens, just get to safety.”

“I’m no fighter, and I don’t expect to suddenly be one. I’m just letting you know that I’m not helpless.” She looked up at him, quiet and solemn. “Jerric, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry.” He let go and kept walking while she rubbed her arms. “Tell me more about the spell to absorb life energy. We’re having a problem with storm atronachs. They don’t seem to have any weaknesses.”

Abiene took his arm again. “That’s quite simple. Just give them a weakness.” She glanced up with a smug smile. “You mean your Breton scholar didn’t think of that? I can teach you the spell I mentioned, or you can get it from Marc. But I think you should use a spell to weaken them against magical attacks first, then fight them with your destruction spells.”

Jerric looked at Abiene with new eyes. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I may not know about fighting, but I’ve heard every kind of way that folk get hurt. Of course, that weakness spell is from the Destruction school. I’m sure someone in Skingrad will have it.”

“Or Vigge the Cautious. We’re going to Kvatch first.”

“Will Kvatch still specialize in Alchemy?”

“I guess. They still have Sigrid, and they’ll need plenty of potions with the reconstruction. It’s still a good place for an Alchemy school. The West Weald is rich with ingredients, and most mages could use the exercise of climbing up the road to the plateau. They don’t need a fancy building for an alchemy lab. I guess I’d rather work outside, anyway. Especially with potions that call for something rotten.” Jerric had a thought. “I was going to ask you to train me, but I forgot. Will you teach me a light spell, too?”

“Of course.” Abiene’s face held a look he had never seen before. Pride, he realized. She apologized for treating me like a piece of meat, but I never thought about how I was treating her.

The chapel bells rang out right over their heads. Jerric glanced up at the sky to confirm the time. This has been the quickest afternoon of my life, he thought. “Let’s walk through the Chapel gardens,” he suggested. “The glass house should be open today.”

So Jerric and Abiene got to spend a quiet day at the market. The gossiping between the two women in line for coffee behind them was excellently done, as was Abiene's reaction to it. That is exactly the same thing she is setting herself up for by shacking up with Jerric. Something her mother warned her about over Saturalia as well. I am sure it will not dissuade her hormones though, it never does! I am a little surprised that Carahil has not warned her about the same thing, to be honest. At this point one would have to be pretty thick not to notice that she and Jerric are an item.

I bring it up because in Abiene's Saturalia and here in Jerric's Story you have established that respectable women do not sleep around. Unlike men, they have to be very discreet and keep their sexual activities secret. (much like up until a few years ago IRL). Abiene is on the verge of being labeled a skank, just like the woman being gossiped about in the kahve line. Given how patriarchal the society you present is, that would doubtlessly cause her serious problems with advancement in the Mages Guild, not to mention make it impossible for her (and probably her sister) to ever marry a respectable man, and disgrace her family.

Seriously though, it was nice to see Jerric and Abiene acting like a bf/gf in public. It shows that maybe they might actually form a relationship that is beyond sex. If he marries her, then at least her reputation would be saved.

‘There goes a man on his way to a killing. Maybe he’ll stop and do some raping first.’
And that is of course exactly why Abiene is shacking up with him, and not Darnand. No straight girl can resist the bad boys.

Fjirsten would love this, he thought. Yellow is her favorite color.
This was perfect, so completely out of the blue.

No. Anvil is my home now.
? What happened to Abiene going to Chorrol to study more restoration?

“Why haven’t you asked me to train you?”
Here is a good question, in which Abiene shows that she has learned something in her years in the mages guild. Her suggestion to use a Weakness to Magicka first was excellent. I always add that in as an effect to my offensive spells, so I don't have to cast it separately. It does not work on the first hit, and you have to make sure the weakness has a long enough duration that it is still active when you hit the second time. But does it make a difference!

I can escape onto water, and they’ll drown.
Abiene did not know that Dremora can be found with Potions of the Sea on them! (seriously, what the heck are they doing with those!)

What a delightful day spent in the vertical position in my favorite city! I enjoyed everything, from Jerric's and Marc's assessment of Abiene's outfit to the kahve stall and the two prudish gossips to the Redguard pocket food! And in the end Jerric asking Abiene's advice about useful spells in the restoration school! No wonder she felt validated! It seems to me their relationship is growing beyond mattress sports. Is that a good thing? I hope so, since I really like both characters and want each to find their happiness!

As Rider said, a delightful day! And what a wonderfully festive atmosphere in the beautiful city of Anvil.

'Jerric thought that the wreaths and bundles looked useful for starting a fire. '
That's our Jerric!

'There were no plates to return to the cart. They walked slowly as they munched their chatapay, letting the crumbs fall to the paving stones. The chapel pigeons flew in for cleanup. Their activity attracted the smaller and much faster sparrows. Battle ensued.'
This is lovely, like so many of the details you wove into this episode.

I loved the exchange between Abiene and Jerric regarding their favorite flowers and the accompanying rationale - so very suiting to both of them!

I was surprised they chose to walk around talking instead of finding some fun, sporty-type activity while they adjusted to standing up - like darts/croquet/polo/a picnic, etc. It felt a little awkward at first between them, but seemed to be more comfortable toward the end of the chapter.

"Fjirsten would love this, he thought. Yellow is her favorite color." - loved this part. I don't think Abiene realized how her choosing not to go home to her family may feel to Jerric who has no choice in the matter because they are gone. His reaction here brought it home.

Awesome Write !!

Grits, regarding scents - here again is Professor Foxy to the rescue!

BEGIN LECTURE

Human scent created from sweat is a cocktail of literally hundreds of chemicals, and one of the major incredients in the sweat of a human is his or her Major Histocompatability Complex molecules (we'll call them MHC from now on). Mixed with that are oils, salt, and a hundred and one other molecules, including our usual sexual suspects, testosterone and oestrogen.

Now apparently the MHCs of each human are unique, almost as unique as the DNA. They determine the immune system of the human, and if you have a lot of them you are almost bulletproof as far as diseases and infections are concerned.

Therefore evolution has apparently bred us to prefer mates who have different MHCs from our own - and we can find this out through the scent of their sweat. Since women have a keener sense of smell than men, they are more susceptible to falling in love through their noses...men, being more olfactorily challenged, have to use their eyes to fall in love.

Note that when women are either pregnant or on the pill, their scent selection may be reversed - they may prefer the scent of similar, rather than dissimilar, MHC.

Gay women have an automatic averse reaction to testosterone, so they are not turned on by the sweat of any man: to them we all stink the same - which is to say, to high heaven.

Gay men, however, gather around testosterone like flies around honey. Which is why there are statistically more gay army and military doctors than in the general male population.

You might want to look up the Wiki article "Major Histocompatability Complex", in particular the chapter "MHC and sexual selection."

Foxy's lecture is spot-on. The natural preference for (male) mates with an MHC complex different from our (women) own has an evolutionary advantage in that it maintains genetic diversity, which is vital from a species standpoint. Less chance of hereditary predisposition to devastating disease, resistance to hostile bugs, and so forth means increased chance of survival to reproduction.

Interesting stuff, isn't it?

SubRosa: As the daughter of social climbers, Abiene definitely comes from the part of Imperial-dominated society who insists on discretion. I got that from the in-game gossip about people hooking up. As you pointed out, Abiene is trying to keep up appearances for her family. Jerric doesn’t come from that world, and neither does Carahil. Even with the Nine there can be wildly different standards of behavior. Dibella’s priests are referred to as orgiasts who offer erotic instruction, yet Alga is sick of being hounded about “Mara Mother Mild” and getting married in the chapel. One of the things that makes the ES world so interesting to play in for me is the variety that all of the cultures allows.

Abiene is going to Chorrol for awhile. She’s saying that when she thinks of home, it’s Anvil, not Leyawiin. There’s a little more on home and family in this section. Thank you so much for your comments, they are both thoughtful and thought-provoking!

haute ecole rider: You’re right, there’s more going on now than fun in the sack. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that things will get hectic before long. I’m so glad you like them both. It was nice to give them a relaxing day.

Acadian: To hear that their choices seemed right made me smile. I so enjoyed writing the lovely Loredas in Anvil. The second half of the day is next.

mALX: Abiene chose the activities, otherwise it would probably be “Let’s go out to the meadow and you can watch me play ball.” I love that you picked up on the opposing family situations, and the awkwardness that brings. They touch on it again in this section.

D. Foxy: Thank you, Professor Foxy!! Very interesting indeed, and extremely complicated. I never thought of fish having immune systems, but of course they do. You explained it perfectly. Then I went and read the article and had to go back and read your explanation again to clear my head.

And it’s great news. I am sometimes asked how Mr. Grits gets away with certain outrageous behavior, like going out with the guys on a weeknight. In the past I have said things like, “He’s a grown man. I don’t have him on a leash, except by special request like on his birthday.” Now I can say, “It’s the MHC. He let me sniff his chest.” Much more dignified.

Where we are: Loredas. Jerric and Abiene had some lunch and enjoyed each other’s company. Here is the rest of their day.




Chapter 10: Septims, Part 14

Jerric stepped into the glass garden house and held the door for Abiene. Humid air closed around them like a blanket. He quickly removed his doublet and took her cloak. The ceiling was high enough to accommodate palm trees and great hanging vines, and the building stretched the length of the chapel. The atmosphere was heavy with exotic scents.

Small, tropical finches streaked through the branches, adding their splashes of color to the high greenery. Giant blue and violet tree frogs were visible crouched on limbs over the paths. Colorful mushrooms carpeted the shady areas, and the sunny spots were bright with flowers. Jerric and Abiene strolled along the walkways, keeping pace with the other Anvilites who were out enjoying the afternoon.

“Look at that couple, there,” Abiene said, indicating a Bosmer and an older-looking Imperial man. The Bosmer wore a gown of sapphire velvet, accented with panels of paler blue silk. Her auburn hair was swept to the top of her head and ornamented with an arrangement of gold and blue ribbons. Platform heels gave her inches of extra height. Her companion wore a russet velvet doublet and short, puffy breeches, with hose of the same color. His shoes were also made of velvet. Jerric hoped for the man’s sake that the afternoon would remain free of rain. Jerric leaned down to catch Abiene’s soft words. “What do you suppose is their story?” she asked.

“I don’t know them.”

“I don’t either, that’s perfect. We can make something up.”

“They met when they both were young,” Jerric suggested after a moment. “She could be his age, it wouldn’t show on her. They’re here in Anvil for the holidays, maybe visiting the pack of kids they had over the years. Maybe grandkids, so they got out of the house for the afternoon to save their sanity. They’re going out tonight. Probably some event at the castle, I doubt she plans to walk far in those shoes.” He glanced over at Abiene to see how he did.

“Boring,” she sighed. “He was a young noble living in Valenwood. One day his hunting party was set upon by bandits, and she happened by and saved his life. No one else survived. She nursed him back to health in the forest. They fell in love, of course. When he had healed enough to return to his home, he discovered that in his absence, his enemies had sullied his good name with lies! She helped him seek justice. They left a swath of bloody vengeance in their wake. When finally his honor was satisfied, they took the gold of their vanquished foes and set out to see the world. Every day they wear silk and jewels, and in their ship they sleep on a bed of the softest feathers.” She gave him a triumphant glance. “Oh, and they’re here in Anvil for the chatapay.”

Jerric laughed. “Close, but you made one mistake. The Bosmer is an assassin, sent to kill the noble long ago. She hired the bandits that attacked his hunting party. During the battle she was so impressed by his swordsmanship that she instantly fell for him. She’s waiting to complete her contract until he lies dying anyway. Then at the last moment she’ll take his life, fulfilling her honor.”

Abiene looked thoughtful. “Then how do you explain her shoes? She must be ready at any moment to defend him, in case someone else picked up his contract.”

Jerric shrugged. “Women look good in heels.”

“Jerric! My dear Abiene!” They looked over to find Thaurron approaching. “A fine day, is it not?” Abiene bent when the Bosmer reached them, and he kissed her cheeks in greeting. “I missed you at the market. No packages?” He raised his own parcel. “I was fortunate to find what I needed. Sparky has been naughty again, and I have a few things of Carahil’s to replace.”

“Where is the little fellow?” asked Jerric. “We could have used him earlier for aerial defense.”

“Oh, I dare not bring him in here. Too many blossoms to rip and toss about. And he has only recently stopped flying into windows; walls made entirely of glass might prove difficult to explain. Besides, the guards only tolerate him because they think he’s a summoning. He’s quite popular Harborside, however. Some of his ruder mannerisms are considered quaint by the sailors.”

“We’re headed to the harbor later,” Abiene said. “Jerric is going to show me the view from the lighthouse. Will you join us?”

“No, my dear, but I thank you for the kind invitation.” He glanced around and sighed. Jerric realized that his face did not hold its customary sparkle. “This garden house was a favorite spot of Donrehdil’s,” Thaurron said to Jerric. He decided that Carahil was not the only mer who seemed to read his mind. “I come here every Loredas when the light is good to remember her. She loved the soft air in here, and the smell of damp soil. It reminded her of our home in Silvenar.”

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” said Jerric. He felt he was at risk of sweating through his shirt.

“Who’s Donrehdil?” Jerric asked when they had reached cool air again. He held Abiene’s cloak for her.

“His late wife. I don’t know much about it, and I don’t want to pry. He’s mourned her for years. Sometimes he’s just sad for awhile.” Abiene’s face looked thoughtful. “I can’t say why it comes over him, it just does.”

“He’s a friend to you.” Jerric wanted to ask without making it a question.

Abiene looked up with a gentle smile. “Yes. I suppose he’s part of the family I’ve made for myself here. Carahil, too, though I’m not as close to her. And Felen. He’s so deep in his studies most of the time, but he’s quick to take action when it’s required. I know I can count on him, if I should need him.”

“What about Darnand? He’s lived here almost as long as you have.”

“I care a great deal for Darnand,” she said quietly. “In some ways he reminds me of my Papa. He’s brilliant, and I have tremendous respect for him.” Her expression became pensive again. “I’m glad he’s going with you on your travels. It’s absurd that the guild requires him to collect recommendations. I doubt he would have taken the time from his work without you to drag him away. He should make spells for you at the University, Jerric. Combinations of weakness and elemental destruction. Summoning with invisibility, so that you will not be the target. A spell that will trap the soul’s energy as it kills.”

Jerric found himself impressed again. “You rank higher than either of us. You could make those spells for me.”

Abiene shook her head. “My knowledge is deep, but narrow. Darnand is a true Mage.”

“I don’t know how far we’ll get with the recommendations, but you’ve given me good reason to take the time. I couldn’t make those spells you thought up, even if they’d let me. But you’re right, Darnand could.” He shrugged back into his doublet. “Come on, we’ll go out the Castle Gate and walk along the waterfront. We have plenty of time to get to the top of the lighthouse before the sun sets.”

As they walked through the chapel garden to the street, Jerric glanced back over at Abiene. How did this woman end up on my arm, he wondered. I wish that I could keep her there.

A band of minstrels had assembled on the street while they were in the glass house. They began their song with a flourish as Jerric and Abiene reached them.

“Oh, no,” Jerric groaned when he recognized the music.

“It’s the Ballad of Kvatch! We have to stay and listen, they’re playing it for you.”

“I thought folk would stop recognizing me when you cut that scar off.”

Abiene glanced up at him. “That wasn’t your most recognizable feature.”

“It’s a long song,” Jerric complained. “And they should leave storytelling to the bards.”

“It’s a compliment. Be nice.”

It seemed a lifetime later when they stepped out the Castle Gate. Jerric saw that the tide was in. “Let’s look at the marsh first,” he suggested.

They walked down the footpath to their left, away from the harbor. Low tide on a Loredas would bring industrious children with their buckets and clamming rakes, but for now the mud flats were a hunting ground for birds. Two great green herons stepped slowly along the water’s edge, hiding their shadows in the tall marsh grass. Jerric watched one stop with a leg lifted. Its long bill shot into the water and came up with a silvery fish. A flip into the air and a single gulp later, and only the spreading ripples told of what had happened.

Sedge wrens filled the air with their liquid song. Their orange and brown plumage blended in with the yellow grass. Jerric turned his mind away from the harbor’s clamor and listened to the marsh. Soft chuckles told him that snow geese were nearby, but hidden. Water gurgled as it lapped up into crab burrows in the mud. He followed a sound like rocks clicking together until he spotted clapper rails wading out on a sandbar. His eyes lifted farther and found a skiff manned by teenagers checking their crab pots. Their splashing and distant exclamations carried over the water.

Abiene took his arm again, her face alight with wonder. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “I never knew.”

They stayed in the marsh for some time, walking the dry path along the high ground. Jerric told tales of his childhood, exploring with Rhano and his cousins. Abiene simply listened. Her dark eyes seemed to hold the quiet his heart was seeking.

Dagon would turn this all to blood and fire, he thought. There is no price too high to stop him.

When the sun had dropped into the west, Jerric led them back to the harbor. A different crowd of folk paraded there, far louder and more varied than Chapelgate’s genteel pedestrians.

Jerric noticed an Imperial woman in gaudy attire approaching them, underdressed for the weather. Her thin blouse appeared to be unfastened in the front, secured only by the brief vest she wore over it. Her skirt fluttered open as she walked, exposing most of her legs as they emerged in turn with her swaggering walk. Rolling your hips that much without dislocating one must take some practice, Jerric thought. “Hey there, Nord,” she called out. She stopped when she reached them. “Remember me?”

Jerric froze. This type of situation never became comfortable, no matter how many times it repeated itself. He tried to picture the woman from several different angles, but he still didn’t recognize her. “Let me guess. Was there drink involved? Sometimes that makes me, uh, friendly.”

The woman smiled and looked Abiene up and down. She placed a hand on her hip, swaying on her feet. “Is this your lady?”

“Uh…” Jerric wasn’t sure how much Abiene would allow him to admit. He struggled to decide what answer would be to her advantage. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“Oh, you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she gushed. “Here, this might bring it back.” Without further discussion, she lifted her skirt. The woman didn’t seem to favor undergarments below her waist, either. Abiene gasped at the spectacle, and Jerric knew immediately who the woman was. The name that came to his mind was unlikely to be what she called herself, however.

“Yeah, I remember you. That’s an unusual place to wear jewelry. You know, I pissed glass for a week after I met you. I hope you got yourself to a chapel.” He glanced over at Abiene. She tore her gaze away from the woman’s sparkling embellishments and leveled a glare at him. Several emotions seemed to battle for control of her face, none of them good. “Say, when was that again? Had to be a couple of years ago. You might have been at the University, Abiene.”

“Well I may not remember when, but I sure remember you,” the woman declared. “Hung like an ogre and twice as—”

“All right, put your skirt back together,” Jerric interrupted. “There’s a lady present. We have to go.”

“What a shame, I have a new piercing I’d like to show you.”

His mind ground to a halt, curiosity threatening to overcome his last shred of sense. Abiene yanked his arm and got him moving.

“Let’s walk along the waterfront,” she said in an acid tone as they walked, imitating him. “Great idea, Jerric.”

“Well if you ever have to heal one of those, now you won’t be surprised. That just can’t be good for you.” He glanced cautiously at her face, hoping that the humor of the situation would soon present itself to her. “I think she was drunk. And who knows anything about an ogre’s package? They wear those ogre drawers.” Abiene’s lips seemed to twitch. He tried to sound affronted. “I mean, a minotaur, sure. That would have been a real compliment. Those fellows just swing in the breeze, everyone—”

“All right, you can stop,” Abiene laughed. “I suppose it was the pox that she gave you.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“I should teach you to cure your own diseases. For my own benefit, at least.”

“Well, you can’t catch by it breathing the same air, so I think we’re safe this time. That would be a good spell to know, though. Let’s add it to my list.”

“There’s no need to go out and catch another dose for practice,” Abiene pointed out.

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

They hiked up the long, shallow steps to the lighthouse, then climbed the spiraling staircase within. Jerric paused before the final ladder to let Abiene catch her breath, but she wasn’t winded. “Are you afraid of heights?” she asked.

“No. Are you?”

“Not at all.” She started up the ladder. “Just a little worried about falling.”

The sky glowed nearly every color but green as the sun went down. Wind gusted through the lighthouse’s open top. The fire wasn’t yet lit, so they kept back a few steps from the railing. Jerric knew the landmarks they could see, but the moment didn’t seem right for a lecture. He stood with Abiene at his side, her hand clasped in his. Her hair lifted in the breeze, and her cloak wrapped around his legs.

Abiene turned to face him. “No, keep watching the sunset,” she said. “Don’t pay attention to me. I just want to look at you.” She took his chin in her hand and lifted it back toward the sky.

“All right.” He smiled, knowing she could see it. “But you’re making me think of bedchamber things now.”

“Let’s enjoy the peace, such as it is.” She pulled his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist. He could hear gulls crying, and ships’ bells in the harbor. Music floated up from the taverns, along with distant voices raised in shouts. The calm sea reflected all the warm colors of sunset, until the horizon was only visible as the brightest layer of blazing light.

“I have an idea,” he whispered into Abiene’s hair. “But we only have a moment before the sun is down.”

“No,” Abiene murmured back. “I’m taking you to dinner next, so keep your trousers buttoned. The restaurant I told you about. It’s called A Taste of Camlorn.”

“Breton food.”

“Yes. Goose guts and snails the size of your fist. I can’t wait to see you try something new.”

“At the top of the lighthouse would be something new.”

“With the lighthouse keeper watching? He’ll be here any moment to light the fire. I can see that headline in The Black Horse Courier. ‘Anvil Healer Cited for Public Acts of Extreme Lewdness. Local Nord Receives Accolades for Same.’” She reached up and ran her fingertips along his jaw. “We should come back another time when he’s busy. And it’s a little warmer.”

He caught her fingers and kissed them. “All right, if you’re sure. I want to know what you had in mind. I was only thinking of one act of moderate lewdness.” His stomach gurgled loudly. “Goose guts. I can’t wait.”

If that couple in the glass house was Heinrich Oaken-Hull and his Bosmer wife, I believe you got the man's race wrong - Heinrich is a Nord. If you had a different couple in mind, then never mind. I did enjoy the stories Jerric and Abiene made up. His story tugged at my heartstrings, but hers was real drama! But his embellishment wasn't bad either! I had to laugh at their stories getting wilder and wilder, then deteriorate into a discussion of the value of high heels for women.

Thaurron was a real treat, talking about his imp's antics and mentioning his dear departed wife. The discussion of Darnand's abilities was interesting, as were the suggested custom spells Abiene came up with. Somehow I never think of those when I'm playing the MQ - but then I'm always doing that one first before starting any other questlines.

Loved loved loved the description of the marsh outside the city, especially the birds. Though when you mentioned the clicking sound, I immediately thought of mudcrabs!

The encounter with the prostitute/streetwalker cracked me up! Jerric's responses to her questions - "Let me guess. Was drink involved? It somehow makes me more friendly." Heh heh. Then when she showed off her -umm- embellishments and bragged about her newest addition, his momentary spark of interest - curiosity? - was hilarious! Abiene took that in stride pretty well, I thought.

Then the sweet scene atop the lighthouse! That's one of my favorite places to watch the sun go down (high in the Valus Mountains is another). The way it ends is typical of this pair.

You certainly covered a lot of ground for a half-day spent doing nothing. But we learned even more of our favorite characters here, and that's important. Loved it!

The band striking up the "Ballad of Kvatch" when Jerric approached was a very touching reminder of what he has done since his last time in Anvil - loved that respect they showed him !!!







Both of these had me rolling laughing!

The chemistry between them seems awkward and stilted when they are trying too hard to find something other than sex to base their relationship on. Maybe they should have had sex and then spent the rest of the day together trying to see what else they had to base a relationship on, lol.

The differences between their personalities become pronounced when Abiene is in charge of the festivities, her idea of a fun day together getting to know Jerric/vice versa reminds me of the proverbial singles ads in the papers: "Love conversation and long walks on beaches..."

This staid day she planned is at such odd varience to how wild and free she is in the bedroom - and how wild and free Jerric is. Maybe he brings out the best in her ... and he should plan their next "day standing up," Lol.

It is amazing how clearly you have defined their characters, AWESOME WRITE !!!!


*

I always figured that the human cultures were more patriarchal than the elven ones. At least that is what I am going for in the TF. This is all purely my opinion, so do not hesitate to ignore every bit of it. I got the idea because aside from Alessia, normally only men can be Emperors. It only falls to a woman if there are no penises left near the Ruby Throne. The same with the Counties, women only become Countess if their husband the Count dies, or vanishes to become a master thief (I am still not sure how the chick became Countess in Bruma). Since Patriarchy also means double standards, I figure that just like up until recently IRL, human men can piledrive all the women they want with no social repercussions. But a woman who tries that would have to keep it hidden, or be dishonored and disowned, as you see in Jane Austen's novels.

I am sure there would be priestesses of Dibella who would regularly have sex with the congregation. That was a very common feature in pagan religions. Christians call it temple prostitution, but that is not accurate at all. The priestesses were performing the heiros gamos - or sacred marriage - which insured the continued fertility of not only mortals, but the land, and the gods themselves, as well as reinforcing the bonds between the physical and spirit worlds. Again though I picture it only being the men who get hump like madmen in the chapel, and the women have to be chaste and pure. Likewise, those priestesses were not marrying material. This also leaves room for there being a Prostitutes Guild in Cyrodiil. It creates a culture where women are held to Austenian ideals of fidelity, but men can be complete man-whores (which again is basically RL anway, except Regency Era men did not have temples or official businessplaces to have sex with strangers in). Note that in Ancient Rome, men having sex from prostitutes or slaves was not considered infidelity. The first was simply a business transaction, and the second a man using his property.

I picture the elven cultures as being radically different, with women being on more or less equal terms with men, not only legally and socially, but sexually as well. I got that idea from Barenziah's biography, where it is said that all young dark elf women are promiscuous (which is of course another way of saying they have sex as much as men do). There is not much else in the game that reinforces the idea though, as even she could not be Queen of Morrowind once her son became old enough to rule. So clearly Bethesda has the elf nations thought out as being just as patriarchal as the human ones. But I like the idea because it provides a contrast with humans, and actually creates a tangible difference between the races other than pointy ears. In Oblivion, the ears and skin tone often seems like the only difference between them.

My impression, from Abiene's Saturalia especially, was that you were going for the same kind of culture among Imperials. At least concerning the restrictions on women. It looks like I was wrong (which is a good thing for women in Jerric's Story!). No worries there. It is your writing, so it is your world to create.

But anyway, back from imaginings, and to the current episode.

I loved the greenhouse. Such a lovely place. A bosmer would feel right at home. Abiene's story about the couple was definitely much better than Jerric's! Well, except for his addendum.

“That wasn’t your most recognizable feature.”
Well then, maybe Jerric should start wearing his pants in public!

I loved Jerric's discomfort at the song praising him. It seems he shares something in common with Julian there.

The clammers scouring the shore at low tide was a good touch of realism. That was a very common activity from shoreside villages IRL.

And wasn't that a nice meeting with that girl in the marsh! You know, I pissed glass for a week after I met you. I hope you got yourself to a chapel.” If Abiene was not already mortified, I am sure his added information put her over the edge!

Goose guts and snails the size of your fist.
Ewww! No wonder those Bretons are so scrawny.

All in all, that was a nice, pleasant date had by Jerric and Abiene. It is nice to see them being a couple.

'Sparky has been naughty again, and I have a few things of Carahil’s to replace.”
Ah, the price of pet ownership.

Making up stories about strangers was great fun and very much something an intimate couple might do. The whole idea of the glass house/garden was wonderful.

Donrehdil was from Silvenar! How neat!

'Abiene shook her head. “My knowledge is deep, but narrow. Darnand is a true Mage.”
What a lovely way of describing that Abiene's path is more specialized!

This was a fabulous afternoon, topped off by a wonderful sunset and the promise of the guts of a goose!

Nit: “It’s a complement. Be nice.”
I expect you wanted 'compliment' here.

I am finding Jerric to be more and more interesting with each chapter.

The fight with the thieves: A nice blend of tactical planning, and Murphy's First Law of Combat. Jerric's plans most definitely did not survive contact with the enemy. And after, he begins to go over the things he needs to do better, the things he forgot in the middle of combat, the habits he needs to form for next time. He demonstrates the qualities needed for a man that's not only going to survive the Oblivion Crisis, but one who plans doing his part to stop it.

Then, Jerric spends the day with Abienne. They start the morning with the real breakfast of champions, though apparently Abienne got multiple servings waiting for Jerric to finish off.

I do have to compliment your use of double-entendre. The 'pet-cat-named-Vidkun' sequence was hilarious. Though, if I were Jerric, I would have been a lot more worried if Abienne really had used 'Vidkun' as a name for . . . you know what, nevermind. Let's move on.

Their afternoon in Anvil is a delightful sequence, and you manage the blend of romance, advice, and strategic planning so very nicely.

‘There goes a man on his way to a killing. Maybe he’ll stop and do some raping first.’
That's just hilarious.

‘Anvil Healer Cited for Public Acts of Extreme Lewdness. Local Nord Receives Accolades for Same.’
So is that. Actually, it made me think of something great for Awtwyr's return trip to Kvatch. Swap out 'Anvil Healer' for 'Shornhelm Spellsword,' with Sigrid as the local Nord and Awtwyr getting an earful from Matius. It won't actually happen, so I'm putting it here for you to think about in case Abienne ever does agree to some nice, open-sky bedroll games.

Just beware of the mosquitoes. They can really prick you.

Grits, It's official. I am now LOL ROFL SLAL (Screaming Like a Loon).

And Now I Officially Declare that what follows is ALL HER FAULT.

IDEA for Genital Jewellery: Pohoosee Rings with small bells that are each tuned to a different note and will ring only at certain vibrations...so that two humpers who really know how to hump can produce a TUNE while they hump.

Hoes near military bases can opt for the "Star Spangled Banner" tune package.

If Jerric's mosquito is the size of an ogre's, shouldn't it be called a dragonfly or something? What about a giant carpenter ant? OH! How about a behe-moth!

Mmm... Daggerfall sounds like my kind of city! Escargot and Foie Gras, Ratatouille and Steak Tartar (Jerric would like that one, I think)!

And thank you for painting an image I will take to my grave. Please do not ever give me the displeasure of meeting that harlot again.

I am now completely caught up, too. It's been a good day, and only made better by your writing.

haute ecole rider: That wasn’t Heinrich and Hasathil, just a random couple. By that time of day Hasathil should be behind the stables. I’m glad you enjoyed their normal afternoon, especially the marsh. I loved giving Jerric that walk, since there’s so little left from his childhood. Luckily Abiene just called Jerric by another man’s name, otherwise she might have been a little more vocal about their chat with the bejeweled woman.

mALX: You’re right, their time together has highlighted more differences between them. They’re definitely a mismatch in many ways. You bring up an important point, something that Jerric gets to ask Abiene soon: how can she be so wild and free with him in private, and so buttoned-down in public? It’s also the question Abiene has to deal with for herself, and decide if she wants to be just one or the other. She knows he’s not going to be the guy in the velvet shoes. It means a lot to me that you have picked up on this! One thing she got right for their day was staying outdoors. It could have been all art galleries, lectures, and museums! If only someone was in town to give a talk about rat libido…

SubRosa: I definitely am trying to carry over that patriarchal society you describe so well from Abiene’s Saturalia for Imperials and members other races who have adopted their culture. I’m sure I’ve created confusion by trying to explain! It’s just one layer of the cake in Jerric’s Story. The main point here for Jerric and Abiene is how culture and family have shaped them differently, and what it would mean for each of them if they were to stay together. I’m in complete agreement about equality in mer societies, I think because I see them spending far less of their lifespan pregnant or with small children. That would be a huge difference for them compared to human women, and something that’s not addressed in the game.

From Jerric’s frank comments to the glitter girl, it seems he could use another lesson with Arvena. I’m glad you enjoyed the garden house, I was thinking about all of my favorite wood elves when I wrote it! It was a fun afternoon to write, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

Acadian: Thank you for the nit, I fixed it. I'm glad you enjoyed the glass house. Anvil has a Hammerfell flavor, but I wanted to give it a little Bosmer influence, too. I don’t know much about Valenwood, but it seems like the most fascinating place!

Captain Hammer: I’m so glad Jerric’s evolution has kept your interest. Thank you for your endorsement of his plan for the thieves, he’s learning! I’m glad you’re enjoying the humor. Jerric does seem to get himself into situations. Best of luck to Awtwyr, should he decide to scale Kvatch’s icy peaks.

D. Foxy: Jolly Bellz: the Kitten Collection, inspired by D. Foxy. Sounds like a market opportunity. Just remember when you hear the National Anthem, you’re supposed to stand up!

Thomas Kaira: I’m glad you saw through Abiene’s teasing about the cuisine. Unsettling images abound when you roll with Jerric of the TMI.

Where we are: Abiene and Jerric spent Loredas together in Anvil. Now Jerric and Darnand have some sirens to entrap.




Chapter 10: Septims, Part 15

Darnand stepped into The Flowing Bowl and stood for a moment letting his eyes get used to the light. A smoky haze hung in the room, the mark of a poorly drawing chimney and the patrons’ bad habits. At ten bells of the evening watch, the crowd was still fairly calm. The serious drinking would begin after midnight, or so Jerric had told him.

The tavern contained an assemblage of wood elves partly concealed by a forest of Nords. Darnand’s eyes sorted through the blond heads and broad shoulders until he spotted Jerric’s. Seated alone at the back of the room, hunched over a tankard. Did Jerric see him? Darnand squinted until Jerric’s raised eyebrow told him to get on with it.

He approached the bar. A sharp-featured Bosmer with his dark hair in a topknot greeted him with a smile. “Welcome to The Flowing Bowl. I'm Maenlorn. My twin's name is Caenlorn. How to tell us apart? I'm in brown. He's in blue. Simple, really.”

“Good evening, Maenlorn. How do you do?”

The Bosmer looked taken aback. “I’m… What can I get you?”

“I will have a beer, if you please.” Darnand glanced around at his fellow patrons. Most appeared to be dockworkers or seamen by their rough clothing. Norbert Lelles was the exception in his neat doublet and unstained trousers. Lelles gave him a nod of recognition, which Darnand returned. Lelles appeared to be in conversation with an Imperial woman. Her skirt gave away her gender more than her brutally short haircut. Darnand watched her for a moment before deciding that she was not one of the sirens. Her expression looked sweetly vacant as she spoke earnestly to Lelles, and her posture was in no way inviting.

As he scanned the room, Darnand noticed that nearly everyone in the tavern wore a blade at their hip, males and females alike. He looked down to meet the beatific smile of another dark-skinned Bosmer. “Greetings,” said the mer. “I’m Thurindil, son of Julianos and Mohi-Titona, Queen of Akavir. Mother's coming for me in the dragon ships. I don't like these itchy clothes, but I have to wear them or it frightens the fish."

“Indeed,” Darnand replied. This mer makes only marginally less sense than some others, he thought. “We each have our burdens to bear.”

"Don't mind him. He's not right in the head. Poor fellow." Darnand found a hard-looking Breton woman at his elbow. His stomach gave a nervous jump.

“Good evening,” he said to her. “May I offer you a drink?”

She gave him a scathing glance. "I'm Mirabelle Monet. I run the Fo'c's'le, a boarding house for sailors. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Sorry, I reserve my beds for seamen." She stepped over to Thurindil and slipped her arm around his shoulders. The Bosmer rested his head on her breast, smiling.

“Your beer, Breton.” Maenlorn made the exchange with him, and Darnand found an empty table. He sat so that he could see most of the room, including Jerric. He tried not to look at him. Then he felt that he was being obvious by not looking. He glanced over.

An Argonian with a blazing orange scalp leaned down with his fist braced on Jerric’s table, talking to him. Jerric’s face still held a neutral expression, but he somehow looked quietly menacing. He did not collect those scars playing patty-cake, Darnand reminded himself. Jerric gave the Argonian a brief nod, and the lizard-man backed away a step before turning. Jerric’s eyes met Darnand’s. Jerric gave his head a small shake.

“Well met, Breton,” came a sultry voice. A dark-haired Imperial woman stood by Darnand’s table, one hand on her slim hip. She wore a red and purple velvet gown trimmed with gold that had seen better days. The suggestion in her smile did not match her cold eyes. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Good evening.” Do not appear too eager, he told himself. This might not be one of them. He let his eyes wander over her figure disinterestedly.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Indeed. Are you?”

“I have a friend, Signy. She wants to talk to you. She likes Bretons. I think you’ll like what she has to say.” Darnand kept his eyes on the woman’s backside as she walked away.

A Nord woman approached immediately. Tall, blonde and busty, she was the physical opposite of the Imperial. He stopped noticing her clothing when his gaze reached her cleavage. This has to be them, Darnand decided.

"I haven’t seen you here before,” she purred. “Awww, and you’re all alone too. How sad. Well, if you’re up to it we can solve that little problem. You see, me and Faustina here are lonely too, and we’ve been looking for someone. You look like just what we need.”

Excellent, Darnand thought. Now I do not have to drink the rest of this swill. “Your appearance appeals to me. Which one is Faustina, that one there?”

“That’s her. I’ll tell you what. We have a cozy farmhouse not far from here where we could... well... get to know each other much, much better. You know the old Gweden place? Meet us there around eleven bells. I can promise you a night of fun you won’t soon forget."

“What kind of fun? That is a long way to walk for a conversation.”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You’re a man, and I’m a woman with a certain desire. You figure out the rest.”

“I shall see you in approximately one hour. Make sure to bring your friend. She is thin for my taste, but I am certain I will find a use for her.”

The disgust that passed across Signy’s face matched what he was feeling, but she put a smile on over it. Darnand stood and headed for the door, forcing himself not to look at Jerric. He passed Faustina on the way out.

“Can’t wait to see you later,” she said flirtatiously. “Don’t keep us waiting."



Jerric pounded on the Gweden farmhouse door with all of his strength. Darnand was inside, the door was locked, and it sounded as if the house was being torn down from within. Gogan and Maelona were nowhere in sight. He backed up and crashed into the door with his shoulder. Screams, howls, and roars from inside drowned out the sound of his shouting.

Darnand had followed the plan to the letter, and Jerric had trailed him to the farmhouse, keeping out of sight. Darnand hadn’t been inside long before the noise started.

Jerric crashed against the door again, and silence fell over the house. “Darnand!” he shouted. When he heard the lock working, he stepped back and drew his sword.

Darnand pulled the door open and stood holding on to the frame. Jerric stared at him in shock. He looked as if he had been dragged through a slaughterhouse. Jerric reached out and flicked something meaty off of Darnand’s shoulder. The thick stench coming from inside the cottage filled his throat. He grabbed Darnand by the front of his robe and pulled him out into the moonlit farmyard.

“Are you hurt?” Jerric asked. Darnand’s robe appeared to be intact, but it was wet with blood. Darnand shook his head. His eyes were big, and he was not focusing on anything. “What happened?”

Darnand didn’t reply right away, so Jerric put away his sword and gave him a shake. “Daedroth,” Darnand said.

Jerric thought for a moment. “You summoned a daedroth?” Darnand nodded. “Inside a cottage?” He went to the door and looked in at the single room, and then he really wished that he hadn’t. He went back to Darnand. “Let’s get you back to the guild hall. We’ll tell the Guard later.” Jerric was worried that Darnand’s calm would erupt into something else at any moment. “Are you wearing trousers under there? Good.” He stripped off Darnand’s stinking robe and cleaned his face with a dry section. Blood trickled down out of his soaked hair, so Jerric rubbed the robe over it. It reminded him how he used to clean Rhano up after a night out. Rhano’s mother had always struggled with her son’s Nord side. “Here, put on my shirt. That’s good enough for now, let’s go.”

They turned to find Gogan and Maelona walking up the hill carrying torches. They both wore the russet surcoats of the Anvil City Guard. “You’re late,” Jerric gritted through his teeth. He thought Darnand’s fragile calm would not be bolstered by him shouting. “Where were you?”

Maelona and Gogan stared at Darnand. Jerric noticed that he still looked quite bloody in the torchlight. Jerric stayed with Darnand while the other two went to the farmhouse’s open door. Maelona gagged, and when Gogan threw up on her boots, she also lost her dinner. They completed the obligatory spitting and mouth wiping, then they rejoined Darnand and Jerric.

Darnand seemed ready to talk to them. “I did as you asked. The weasel-faced one is called Faustina. She said we could have some fun, her Nord friend likes Bretons. I met them here and you didn’t come. They had swords and a Khajiit. I had to fight them.” He looked at Jerric. “I heard you but I couldn’t reach the door.”

“How many were there?” Maelona asked.

“Three. Faustina, Signy, and a Khajiit. I didn’t hear her name.” Darnand looked back at Jerric, his face sick. “I should have removed my clothing as they asked. Then you might have had time to arrest them.”

“First time?” Gogan asked Jerric.

“Yeah.” Jerric saw that Darnand had started shaking. He reached for Gogan’s torch. “I’m sure you law enforcers can sort out the parts. We’ll pick up his reward tomorrow. And it better be good!”

Darnand was silent the whole way back to the guild hall. By the time they passed into the Chapelgate district, he was shivering with the cold. Jerric simply kept him moving.

They stepped into the Mages Guild’s empty front hall. “You need a bath,” Jerric told Darnand. “Can you handle it?”

Darnand looked at him as if he had said something foolish. “Where is your shirt?”

Jerric eyed it, hanging open halfway down Darnand’s chest. He decided not to explain. “What were you about to do?”

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”

Jerric thought that sounded accurate. “Good night, then. I’m headed to the beach.” He wished he had better words for the situation.

Darnand nodded solemnly. “See you tomorrow.”

So Darnand panicked and summoned a daedroth? Yikes! That sounds as bad as the slaughter of Julian's family! Ugh!

Great depiction of shell shock afterwards. And how appropriate that it's Jerric that helps Darnand through it this time, considering that Darnand helped Jerric with his PTSD on the latter's arrival in Anvil.

ROFL !!! Mirabelle Monet must have a different type of seamen in mind with Thurindil, he is decidedly a landlubber, ROFL !!! His mosquito must be a real "ketch" - maybe it is a "De Havilland Mosquito," I heard they have an arresting hook...GAAAAH! Foxy must really be back, I see dherty in-you-endo!



SPEW!!! ROFL !!!




Poor Darnand, bless his little heart! ROFL !!!

I absolutely love this chapter!!! You have a knack and ability for knowing exactly when to back off at just the right moments - NOT give play by play/blow by blow details - leaving scenes like this to the imagination with just teasers for information - Huge Talent !!!! Gotta add this to my favorite Jerric episodes, AWESOME WRITE !!!!

The tavern contained an assemblage of wood elves partly concealed by a forest of Nords.
I loved your metaphors here.

I also loved how Maenlorn was taken aback by Darnand's greeting, because it wasn't rude!

Excellent, Darnand thought. Now I do not have to drink the rest of this swill.
That is our Darnand alright!

And Darnand opens a can of whoopass on the sirens! Yuck! You handled his shellshock quite well, and the heaving stomachs of the typically useless city guard. Now if Abiene could only see him at at time like this, he might stand a chance with her after all!

Yes, I was in whoops over the puke fest that took place after seeing Darnand's handiwork too !!

BOLD: ROFL !!!!

What a great bar scene! You really captured that place. Darnand being 'out of place' while Jerric fit right in made it priceless.

What a fabulous idea to have used a summoned daedroth! That would certainly create the mayhem you described! Whatever it takes, and Darnand was smart enough to do what he needed to in order to more than even the odds to his favor.

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”
This is brilliant for its unusually striking blend of humor, truth and sadness. Perfect!

“Take a bath. Wash the blood out of my hair. Lie awake and listen to dead women screaming.”


Man, now....THAT....IS....W.R.I.T.I.N.G!!!!!


Malx, I was going to do something with "Seamen" and "Semen" but now you have come prematurely into this thread and I shall just have to keep my semen to myself.



Er...

Um...


OH DEAR. ME and my BIG MOUTH.

Wow. Calamity and mutilation galore today. This is the second update I've read through today where people have been torn apart in a very physical way.

See what they say? You mess with the nerds, and you die a horrible death. We may be easy to pick on when young, but once we grow up, we can make our bullies' lives a living hell. Darnand fits this perfectly, and now the whole world will know not to *shablamz!* with him.

Let's hope he wears notoriety well.

So, Darnand gets some experience in a bar, including the ever-popular tavern pick-up routine. 'Course, he's operating at a different game, and so are the Sirens, but you can't let those little things get in your way. At the rate he's going, he'll soon be cruising the local taverns each night, at least until Carahil warns him off for inviting too many strangers to the guild-hall at night.

Then there's this little gem:



Well, where else? I mean, even Darnand can't seem to be in multiple places at one time, and he was clearly in the cottage. Jerric maintains his fabulous propensity of ignoring the obviously practical on-all-fronts solutions that Darnand has a knack for finding.

I'd get a lot of water-tight sacks for the clean-up. And see about selling the place cheap once it's clean. Maybe have a chapel priest perform a cleansing to be on the safe side. Then hopefully get an old legionary to retire on the farm and discourage similar efforts in the future.

I have to echo everyone's admiration of the way you describe the carnage without describing the carnage, but everyone else's reaction to it.

I do hope no Daedroth was harmed in the making of this scene!

In my Gweden Brothel mod the player has the additional complication of keeping Tsarrina alive. Darnand would not have done too well with that constraint.

haute ecole rider: I don’t know what it is about beautiful Gweden Farm that made me want to paint it with blood. Probably a combination of hideous draperies and the sour grapes of knowing I can’t get back inside!!

mALX: I was so paranoid about spelling “seamen” correctly! Well, Thurindil reportedly has the potential to scare the fish, so… Thank you, mALX!!

SubRosa: I can see it now. “Darnand, you seem upset. You should definitely bone me.” Then when people pass her on the street they could say she has the hoo-ha of a healer.

Acadian: Darnand is extremely difficult for me to write! He doesn’t talk much, and he’s way smarter than me. Thank you for your kind words about his quote.

D. Foxy: Thank you, Foxy! Darnand had kind of a rough night.

Thomas Kaira: Since he went from zero to daedroth, I’m sure no one will cut in front of him in line, ever again.

Captain Hammer: Darnand the playa, trying to pick up women without touching anything in the bar. I’m sure the dismemberments just sparked an overdue redecorating. Those curtains had to go!

ghastley: Looks like Darnand’s pimping career has had a setback. Still, I guess he could offer blood baths?

Where we are: Darnand ended his second real fight with death by daedroth. Up next: some girl time.


Chapter 10: Septims, Part 16

Abiene pulled the white wrap from her hair, straightening her back in a painful stretch. She thought by now it must be Sundas. An emergency patient had claimed the hours after Jerric had taken his leave. Their golden afternoon already seemed a distant memory. Now her patient was resting upstairs. Her magicka was depleted. She felt the emptiness inside her more acutely than the soreness from her muscles.

Yanerion finished wiping down the table. They had used the procedure room so that the boy’s cries would not disturb the patients sleeping in the main hall above. Now they were alone. The Altmer folded his cloth and placed it in the basin with the others. Abiene waited while he prepared himself to speak.

“I believe that lad’s parents nearly cost him his life,” he said quietly. “What recourse do we have when someone has been careless with a child?”

Anger and helplessness still twisted in Abiene’s stomach. Below it lurked the fear that the next time she would not be able to save him. “None,” she said shortly. “He is theirs.”

“You have exhausted yourself again.” Yanerion’s eyes remained downcast, his tone respectful. “I could have finished for you.”

Abiene leaned her hip against the high table. She watched Yanerion’s face carefully. “I had to cause him terrible pain. I wanted to be the one who took it away.”

Yanerion nodded. “I understand.”

“You already possess a delicate touch. Your skill is not in question.”

The Altmer’s golden cheeks flushed. “I thank you for the reassurance.”

Abiene found his formal tone irritating. She reached up and rubbed her neck. “You should go on to the guild hall. I know you’ve been here all day. Perhaps Hjordhild made a plate for you. You’re the only one she’ll serve after hours, and you could use a hot meal.”

“As could you.” Yanerion’s long face held concern. “How many days have you gotten by on soup and kahve? There is one more lesson I would have you teach me before you leave for Chorrol, Magister. How does a healer care for herself?”

Abiene’s mind leaped straight to Jerric. Find someone who loves you and don’t let them go, she thought. But I can’t do it.

Yanerion saved her from having to answer. “Hjordhild favors me because I help her with her back,” he continued. “She injures it repeatedly, and will until she accepts her limits or suffers permanent harm. I watch you exhaust yourself and wonder at the cost.” He stepped around the table and reached for her hands. Reluctantly Abiene gave them to him. “I may appear as a lad, but I am many years your senior. I hope you will take my words as coming from one who respects you, and not a student’s impudence. Please look after yourself in Chorrol. I fear that you will not last.”

Abiene had the urge to snatch her hands away and slap his face. Then she let herself feel his sincerity. Altmeri seldom touch, she realized. I don’t remember when Yanerion ever took my hand outside of lessons. I’m not being fair to him.

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m just tired. You and I are much alike, Yanerion. Healing is not a vocation, but a calling. I expect before long you will find your own way to Chorrol. Perhaps by then I will have found the answer.” She dropped his hands and walked briskly to the door. “Come, let’s go back together. I want a long soak in a hot tub, and you ought to put some meat on your bones. You may have twice my years, but I suspect you’re still growing. The guild hall has everything we’ll need tonight.”

They moved quietly through the dimly lit healing hall, careful not to disturb the sleeping patients. Yanerion took her soiled robe with his to the laundry. She waited for him outside the front door.

The cold night air bore a hint of low tide and wood smoke. Abiene stepped out from under the torchlight and looked up at the stars. Formed from the blood of Anu, she mused. The source of magicka from Aetherius. Another wonder that I take for granted until it’s gone. She shivered, wishing she had worn her cloak.

Yanerion joined her, and they walked in silence around to the front of the guild hall. They found Thaurron passing through the entry, chattering with Sparky the imp. When he looked over at them, his face filled with reproof. “Again, my dear? Go and retrieve your night clothes. I shall warm your bath.” Thaurron disappeared with the alacrity of his race.

Abiene felt herself flush and glanced up at Yanerion. His expression matched his neutral tone. “Good night, Magister.”

“Good night, Yanerion.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ve found that mother hens come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Indeed.” He smiled back and walked toward the kitchens.

Abiene stepped into Felen’s day room. The Dunmer sat with his legs crossed under a book, silver wine goblet in his hand. Green brocade and velvet provided a background for the lavish display of gold trim on his doublet. That outfit is worthy of Sidette, thought Abiene. She had only met a few folk who could out-dress her ostentatious sister. “Good evening, Felen.”

Felen smiled up absently. “Good evening, Abiene. You missed a lively dinner. Darnand and Gulitte were at one another’s throats. Highly entertaining.”

As much affection as Abiene had for Felen, she had no stomach for gossip. “It still smells like roast pheasant.”

“That is what we had. I shall not tease you with a description, other than to suggest you go in search of the apple pie that followed. Our Nord failed to join us this evening, so there may be a piece left.” They shared a smile. No mortal ever loved pie more than Jerric.

“Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll say good night.” She walked through to the stairs, knowing that Felen’s attention would already be back in his book.

Abiene collected her things from her bedchamber and walked down the hall in her dressing gown. The long bathing chamber contained three metal tubs, each with a small table beside it. White marble tiles covered the floor. Attractively carved cupboards hung on the walls, concealing general supplies and personal items. Folding screens could be moved to provide privacy, but Abiene doubted that anyone else would want a bath at this hour. Thaurron stood beside the tub at the end, trailing his fingers in the water. Steam carried the soothing scents of lavender and sage into the air. Sparky hovered near the open window, his wings wafting the last traces of destruction magic out into the night.

“Thank you,” Abiene said fervently. She placed her towels and nightdress on the table, then retrieved her basket of bathing supplies. “Will you stay and chat?”

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company this evening.” Thaurron gave her a sad smile. “I planned to go fetch you a cup of soup from the night hearth. I can tell you don’t have an appetite, but you should drink it anyway. You look worn out, my dear.”

“No soup tonight, I dined with Jerric. You look tired, too, Thaurron.” Abiene slipped out of her dressing gown and stepped into the hot bath. “Perfect,” she told him. He smiled wider at the praise, keeping his eyes averted. Abiene knew her bare skin held no interest for him, but he was unfailingly polite. She ducked under the water and reached for her shampoo jar while she still had the energy.

“I am tired,” he said. “Today I taught Flash Bolt to an adventurer from Cheydinhal. He kept burning his own hands, and I had to keep healing him so he would have enough magicka to practice the spell.” Thaurron plopped down on a low stool and leaned against the warm tub. Sparky flew over and tried to land on his shoulder. “Close the window first,” Thaurron told him. Abiene shut her eyes and rubbed shampoo through her hair. She heard the window latch click, and Thaurron chuckled. “There’s a good lad.”

Abiene ducked under the water again, working the suds out with her fingers. She emerged and sighed, leaning back against the tub’s high back. “I don’t know how you get the water just right. I always leave it too cold, or the tub gets too hot to sit in. You have a gift.”

“I have the gift of practice.” Sparky crouched on Thaurron’s narrow shoulder, his wicked claws folded under his hands. He had his wings folded back and his arms wrapped around his raised knees. He closed his glowing eyes and leaned his small head against Thaurron’s.

“Even your imp is sleepy. Better get him to bed. Shall I come in to say good night?”

“I hope you will.” Thaurron reached up to brace Sparky with one hand while he rose, but the imp jumped off and flew ahead of him. “Otherwise I’ll think you’ve fallen asleep in here, and I’ll have to send Gulitte in to check on you.”

Abiene snorted. “I can’t imagine less welcome company.”

“That thought was shared by others at dinner.” Thaurron’s eyes held a glint of amusement. “It was the Battle of the Bretons.” He stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Abiene worked conditioning cream through her hair, pulling out the tangles with her fingers. She breathed out her stress, and drew calm into her body with the scented steam. Her hair piled onto her head to keep it out of the water, she leaned back and closed her eyes while the conditioner did its work. Her mind drifted as she enjoyed her soak.

The holidays are nearly upon us, she thought. She wondered how the guild celebrated Saturalia. An exchange of small gifts would be customary, but Anvil may have different traditions than Leyawiin. No doubt there would be a great deal more drinking, particularly on the Waterfront. The healing hall would see an increase in business, she guessed.

New Life Festival might find her already on her way to Chorrol. I’ll send my trunk as soon as I receive confirmation, she decided. Then I’ll follow when I can by express carriage. I don’t want to miss any time with Jerric. Her mind wandered through thoughts of him while the bath water cooled.

She stood and reached for her soap before she could talk herself into a midnight walk to the beach. Her bath left a trace of oil on her skin, and she rubbed it in firmly. Rinsing herself without soaking the floor held her attention. Her tired mind stayed blank.

Pleasantly warm and relaxed, she stood on the tiles and worked the hand pump as the tub drained. The handle was enchanted with a charm to increase the operator’s strength, so she easily sent the water up through the pipes to the cistern above the adjacent necessary. Bath water flushed the waste away there. The system made indoor facilities possible in a warm climate.

She tidied the bathing chamber and rinsed her hands in cool water before she slipped her nightdress over her head. With her dressing gown belted around her waist again, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen in her slippers. She had no cure for Thaurron’s melancholy, but she did know how to make his favorite tea.

She glanced at Darnand’s door on her way back to Thaurron’s chamber. Still no light under it. He’s probably in the basement, she thought. Or still out with Jerric, wherever they went. Small noises from the bathing chamber gave her another possibility for his whereabouts. She tapped on Thaurron’s door and entered, balancing her tray.

Thaurron’s chamber held a double bed, a relic of the days when he shared it with his late wife. Her clothing still hung in one of the wardrobes, according to the chambermaids’ gossip. Sparky lay at the foot of the bed, curled in the shreds of a velvet lap robe. Letting Sparky keep his stolen prizes only encouraged his bad behavior, but Abiene could understand the idea that a living creature was more important than material things. Of course she kept her own possessions under lock and key. At least since the time he ate her skin cream, then regurgitated on her rug.

Thaurron sat up with pillows at his back and a book on the coverlet in front of him. He beamed at Abiene in the candlelight. “You made my tea.”

She handed him the cup, and he slid over on the bed. “Stay comfortable,” she told him. She placed the tray on the bedside table and climbed up, pulling one of his bare feet into her lap.

“Won’t you have some?”

Dear gods, no, thought Abiene. Roasted bones steeped with salt and powdered sinew. “No thank you. I’ve already cleaned my teeth.” She took Thaurron’s small foot in her hands, kneading the ball with her thumbs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Thaurron sighed. “No, my dear. It is a sorrow that comes and goes, like clouds crossing over the sun. Recent losses bring old ones near again.” He sipped his tea and leaned back into the pillows. “Your sweetness is light enough until the shadow passes.”

“I’m going to miss you, my friend. You have been a refuge to me.”

Thaurron’s keen gaze seemed to pierce her. “There is much you are not saying. Heat in your eyes and sand in your shoes this past week. What will you do, Abiene?”

“I’ll go to Chorrol.” Abiene found herself blinking back tears. “And he’ll go on to who knows what. I can’t think about it, Thaurron.”

The Bosmer pulled his feet back and leaned forward. “No, my dear. What will you do about Darnand?”

Abiene stared at him in surprise.

Thaurron nodded thoughtfully. “Then the fool has still not declared himself. Well, until he does, he cannot deserve you.”

“Did he say something to you?”

“No. I know only what my eyes can see.” They sat in companionable silence until Thaurron finished his tea. “Do you wish to stay tonight? I am prepared to overlook wet hair on my pillows.”

Abiene slipped off the bed, smiling. “I’ll go to my chamber. You snore awfully, and I need rest.”

“It’s the imp.” Thaurron leaned toward her.

Abiene kissed him on the cheek. “Shame on you, blaming the poor creature. You must give him silk to shred as an apology.”

Thaurron tucked his feet under the coverlet. “Leave your door open, and I am sure he will find some. Good night, my dear. May your dreams be sweet.”

“And yours.” Abiene closed the door behind her and stood in the dim corridor.

Thaurron’s words confirmed her suspicions, but now it brought no joy. Instead she hoped Darnand would never mention it. As much as she cared for him, her heart knew that her answer would be no.

Now light flickered under Darnand’s door. She wondered if he was reading in bed, or sitting up at the small desk in his chamber. She imagined him bent over a book, shadows playing over his features. When I think of him, he’s never looking back at me, she realized. But yesterday morning in the healing hall, he had. The respect and admiration that had filled his face still gave her a thrill. She knew in that moment Darnand had seen the deepest part of her, and he had embraced it.

Then the dark hall faded away, and another vision filled her mind. Her Nord’s face lit by the sunset, with eyes the color of firelight through Cyrodiilic brandy.

The man I wanted might finally turn toward me, she thought. But I’ve reached for the one who’s going to walk away.

That was a chapter for the girls, indeed!

The interactions between Abiene and her Guild mates was interesting and heartwarming. Here we see Abiene at her maternal/sisterly best, looking after the men around her.

And Sparky the imp is quite the trouble maker, I see. Thaurron needs to do a slightly better job training that creature! Though his treatment of Marc in an earlier post was a lot of fun!