'One hit can break your bones, and that’s very distracting. '
Actually, the full context of Jerric's advice to Darnand was very good. This one piece elicited a chuckle though. Very Jerric!

'Darnand’s skeleton followed Slim at a lurching run.'
I see the author's careful observations of game skellies paid off here this simple but highly effective description.

“I guess real mages don’t carry little bandages,” Jerric remarked.'
Heh, Lildereth can dish it out. Nice to see that Jerric is testing to see if she can take it.

'Jerric remembered Lildereth’s face when she had drawn one of the skeletons away from him. She had acted decisively despite her fear. He wished he had the words to tell her.'
Very insightful, Jerric. Buffy would describe what you observed as 'Courage is action in the presence of fear.' Jerric, in his adorable eloquence described it just as well:
“Yeah,” he said.'

'The mace he found was made of Nordic silver. Holding it felt like finding something he had lost. He wanted Morvayn to take a look at it, but he knew it would be his. He felt a smile crease his face as he tucked it into his belt. '
This little passage is beautifully written.

Now, I like Darnand and he has proven his friendship to Jerric. Is it just me or is there perhaps more to his consistent interest in things necromantic that he tries to avoid discussing? I wonder if I'm onto something or simply seeing shadows.

Well. Jerric's little band doing a rehearsal run was a great idea. I think they will fare much better at Fort Strand as a result. Hopefully, Jerric will give his crew a brief respite to retrofit and grab himself some biscuits and Abiene.

Jerric's a bit fussy about his weapons, isn't he? The axe was too sharp, getting stuck in the skeleton's leg. Then the iron mace was too heavy. Let's hope the silver mace (which had a blue glow, but didn't seem to do anything as it clipped his shield?) is the "Goldilocks" one.

He found it hard to judge distance when his enemy was emanating a pinkish glow. I liked this bit of game mechanics. The enchantments aren't always positive, and knowing when to hold 'em, and when to fold 'em, is an important part of adventuring.

And now everyone in the party has shown the others how they can shine. Remind me what they're rehearsing for?

Part 5:

He still hadn’t learned how to tell his body when a quick fight was over.
This was a good nod to the realities of adrenaline.

Jerric grinned at her. “First I got a ‘please,’ and now you suggest? Someone found her manners.”
No kidding. It's about time.


Part 6:

He’s casting with both hands, Jerric realized.
Hey, that's illegal in Cyrodiil! You can only do it in Skyrim.

corpse pirates
An excellent term!

I will need some time with the remains.
Hubba hubba...

And finally a job well done. With loot in hand, fluffy biscuits, ham, and honey await our threesome. The warm up in the necromancer caves has welded Jerric, Darnand, and Lildreth into an efficient team. The marauders at the fort do not stand a chance now!

mALX: Well, the poor guy didn’t get to digest his lunch. Now he’ll need two meals to make up for it. Thank you, mALX!

Acadian: This section should firm up Darnand’s good intentions. You’re right; he seems a little too interested in necromancy for comfort. You’ll see in this section that Jerric shares your concern. Darnand has a lot of ambition, and more power than experience to guide him. He’s looking over the edge with no idea that he could fall. I’m so glad you spotted that! Brief respite coming right up.

ghastley: Preparing to take on the Fort Strand marauders. Eventually. The silver mace is not enchanted. I went back and changed the description to make it clearer, thank you for pointing it out. Jerric was a little bitchy about the iron mace. I think the third one was just right for the Nord Goldilocks.

SubRosa: The more I read about Morrowind and Skyrim, the more I want to work some of their details into this story. Of course, Jerric would be upset if he couldn’t cast with a sword in one hand and a shield in another, so he’d better stay in Cyrodiil. My absolute favorite term for necromancers has to be Cardboard Box’s/Ra'jirra’s “corpse humpers.” I laugh every time I read it.

Where we are: Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth cleared out a necromancer lair in the Garlas Malatar sewer. (It’s not in the game.) Now it’s North Wind’s Prayer in Anvil.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 7

Jerric carefully poured the last drops of liquid into the vial. He placed his retort back on its stand with a clink. Capping the vial, he positioned it in line with the others, awaiting his seal. The symbol appeared in the enchanted glass. Candlelight shone through the potions, showing that they were perfectly colorless. Felen won’t have any complaints with this batch, he thought with some gratification.

Darnand approached down the basement chamber’s center aisle. Only one other table was occupied. Two young associates had their heads together over a text and a set of alchemy apparatus. They looked up and murmured to Darnand as he passed them.

“Good day, my friend,” said Jerric. He straightened his back and idly picked up his knife, pleased at the interruption.

Darnand gave him a nod. “It is a good day. I have been studying those notes we found yesterday. My understanding has increased, along with my misgivings. I would like to keep several of the texts. It will decrease our profit, but I am prepared to reduce my portion of our earnings accordingly.”

“Works for me. I guess we’ll make a few coins off the gear we hauled out of there. I’ll have Morvayn give us a price for that silver mace, and you can take it out of my share. If you and Lildereth don’t object.”

“You have my consent. We might have made more, if you had not insisted upon burying our mort flesh.” Darnand’s tone was neutral, but his eyebrows looked annoyed.

“I wish we could bury all that we left in there, but I think the fire was good enough. That used to be someone’s kids, Darnand. No matter how they ended up undead, making potions out of them doesn’t seem right.”

“It would not have changed their fate. Whoever they were is long gone.”

Jerric tried to sound reasonable. He was sure Darnand had not sought him out looking for a fight. “I’m not going to try to explain what my gut knows is wrong. I’ll apologize for the time you took scraping it off those folk, but not for putting it under ground. Anyway, you’re the one who said that charm over the bodies.”

“An invocation to Arkay, asking for protection under his Law so that the remains might never be raised again. I did not do it out of concern for the departed, but to prevent further harm to the living.”

“I guess you did it just the same.” Jerric flipped the knife in his fingers. “What’s the part about misgivings?”

Darnand’s brows drew together again. “There is evidence of an organized cult of necromancers. I have turned my findings over to Carahil, along with the black robe that we acquired. She will inform the Council of Mages. Necromancy is still legal. Without my discovery I fear our actions yesterday could be interpreted as an unprovoked attack.”

That made Jerric pause. “In a way, it was. I mean, the zombies attacked us, but…”

Darnand waved the concern aside. “I still do not know if this cult is connected to the threat from Mehrunes Dagon, or if they are simply using the disorder to strengthen their position against our guild. Either way, there will come a time when each of us must decide where we stand.”

Jerric snorted, but he watched Darnand carefully. “I guess I already know where I stand. And I remember what you said in the healing hall, after Abiene cut on my face. It was something like, ‘I am not a necromancer. Even though I may know a good zombie recipe.’ ”

Darnand’s face relaxed. “I see that you jest. I did not fully understand the rituals involved until I recovered these notes. Jerric, our plans have not changed. Our travel to the guild halls will require coin, which we have already begun to earn. I will take any information as we find it.”

That was no jest, thought Jerric. He decided to move on. “Should we save the salvage we already have to sell until after the Fort Strand job?”

“I believe we should. Let us focus on watching the fort and making our preparations in the next days. I expect you will find me in the library, should you need to converse.”

“Who’s first on fort watch?”

“Lildereth begins tomorrow night. I advise you to get some rest. Her schedule sounds quite demanding, though it is only sitting still.”

“Sitting still. Just what I’m good at.” Jerric ran his hand through his hair, restless at the thought. “Don’t worry, I’m used to standing watch. I won’t fall asleep. And I won’t start a fight just to end the boredom. Probably.” He gave Darnand a hard look. “Just like you won’t make a couple of rat zombies, just to see if it works.”

Darnand echoed Jerric’s tone. “Probably.” He gestured at Jerric’s work. “These are not the potions we discussed for Fort Strand. What are you making?”

“I finished those this morning. Now I’m working for Kvatch. These are energy potions. Potatoes and onions. I feel like I’m getting ready to cook breakfast.”

“It appears that you will have some leftovers.”

Darnand’s remark bumped Jerric’s mind fully awake. He glanced around the table, wondering what he had forgotten. “Dammit! I didn’t add the potato. Now I’ll have to…” Darnand pinched the bridge of his nose. Comprehension dawned in Jerric’s mind. “Well hump me sideways, I made a potion out of just the onion! Ha ha! Darnand do you know what this means?”

“Yes,” Darnand said shortly.

“Ask me to teach you something. Go on, I won’t charge you.”

“No.”

“Come on,” Jerric wheedled. “I want to hear someone say it.”

Darnand closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“Everyone proceeds at their own pace,” Jerric assured him in an instructional tone. “One mustn’t compare one’s progress to the achievements of others.”

“Forget it.”

“I’ll just get one of these lads to ask me, then.” Jerric grinned his delight.

“You ought to go get Felen to make it official first,” Darnand told him. A smile touched his eyes. “Master Jerric.”

“Ha ha! Well, I’ve been the master of one thing for a long time.”

“You need not elaborate.”

Jerric picked up his Expert seal and turned it over in his fingers. “I hardly got a chance to use this.”

“It would not surprise me if you had already reached your mastery when Felen tested you,” Darnand remarked. “Neither of you thought to evaluate how far you had come.”

“Well, some days I drink more magicka juice than beer. And I’ve been making my own since I learned to throw frost.”

Darnand nodded at the table. “You might benefit from better equipment. Though quality apparatus is difficult to obtain.”

“And expensive, I’d wager. I guess this guild issue gear will do for me. Though it would be nice to get a finer grind from a mortar and pestle. When we were in Garlas Malatar, I almost choked to death on a bit of mushroom. Then I thought Lildereth was going to shoot me for the noise I made coughing it up.”

Darnand fixed him with a glare. “Nord, your technique is to blame. If you spent only one additional minute—”

“I know,” Jerric laughed. “I just thought you’d like to bark at me is all. And I was right.”

Darnand looked as if he was biting his tongue for a moment. Then he gave Jerric a small but genuine smile. “Congratulations, my friend. You will make twice as many potions for Kvatch now, if you can resist the urge to fry up your potatoes.”

“I’d need a bigger calcinator,” Jerric said thoughtfully. His stomach gurgled.

“That brings me to my purpose. I knew you would forget to turn over your hourglass. The feast will begin shortly.”

Jerric took a moment to look Darnand over. His hair was smoothed neatly back, and he wore one of his finer robes. Gold gleamed at his neck. Jerric was glad he had brought his good doublet to change into. Probably no time to wallow in the bath, he thought regretfully. He sighed. “What’s my best move?”

Darnand gave him a critical once-over. “Dampen your hair and comb it. You could stand to scrub your neck. By all that is good in this life, I pray you have brought a different shirt. Your trousers are adequate, though you should try to keep your legs under a table if you must wear them. You smell… acceptable.”

Jerric began to pack up his gear. “Thanks. I’ll get to it.”

The sounds of laughter and clinking glassware greeted him when he opened the door to the guild hall’s main level. The chapel offered their services for half of the usual donation in celebration of North Wind’s Prayer, so traffic in the healing hall would have been light all morning. Jerric wondered when the healers had started in on the wine.

The harvest had been good this year, and the winter mild. Everyone seemed to want a reason to celebrate. Good smells crowded Jerric’s nose. Roast meat and spices predominated, but he knew the table would be groaning with winter vegetables, as befitted a late harvest feast. Circlets of evergreen boughs adorned the walls, symbolizing the turn of seasons and hope for spring. Folk had decorated them with bright ribbons and trinkets. Each one represented someone’s prayer of thanksgiving. The wreaths would be tossed onto the bonfires tonight, sending the prayers out to the gods in the smoke.

Jerric caught a glimpse of Lildereth chatting with an elegantly gowned Argonian mage, a crystal goblet in her hand. The wood elf wore a long dress in shades of green. Her hair was swept into a knot at the back of her head, revealing that her shoulders were as tanned as her ears. He indulged in speculation as he jogged up the stairs.

The upper level seemed empty as Jerric passed down the hall to the bathing chamber. The air in there was warm and humid, he guessed from earlier use by those who managed their time better. At least that’s what Darnand would say, he laughed to himself. He stripped to his drawers and filled a wash basin with cold water. New woolen trousers and his doublet hung ready on a garment rack. His small grooming kit unrolled neatly on the stand.

Abiene slipped into the room and closed the door halfway. His heart lifted at the sight of her. Her blue gown made her cheeks look pink, he noticed. He had an instant to admire her knees as she lifted the hem.

Before he could speak, she was pressed against him. Her mouth felt hungry on his. She drew his hand under her skirt, quick and demanding.

“I missed you last night,” she whispered against his throat. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Oh gods,” said Jerric, staggering a little. His hip bumped the washstand.

Gulitte’s voice sounded on the stairs. Abiene pulled away and flitted out the door, faster than Jerric could curse. He wrestled his drawers back into place.

Gulitte breezed into the chamber. His eyebrows went up. “Caught you at an awkward moment?” he inquired.

Jerric ground his teeth, tying his laces. This is no time to toss a Breton down the stairs, he told himself.

“We have screens for a reason,” Gulitte continued, indignation coloring his tone. He gestured to the corridor. “There are ladies who dwell here.”

Jerric plunged his head into the cold water in the basin. He could hear Marc droning on. The Jewel of the Rumare, he thought with satisfaction. That’s something to be thankful for. He kept his head under until the water level dropped below his ears. By then Gulitte had gone.

Water ran down his skin, restoring his calm. That’s funny, he thought, looking into the wash basin. I guess it stays air after I breathe it back out. I’ll have to mention it to Darnand.

Abiene didn’t return, so Jerric finished getting ready. He tugged at his doublet until it completely covered his disreputable shirt. The winter holidays, he thought, thumping down the stairs. Best not to think about it.

Jerric getting caught by Marc Gulitte in a compromising condition - alone ... SPEW !!! Hilarious !!!! The brotherly banter between Jerric and Darnand is perfect, a wonderful reminder of their beginnings in this story - and in spite of the tremendous personal growth both have experienced, it is great to see their friendship solidly intact through it all !! Awesome chapter and Write !!!

It looks like Lildereth has the same susceptibility to water that Buffy does!

And that Abiene! That wench needs to learn how to control herself or lock the door!

I loved the interchange between Jerric and Darnand. They've come a long way since that first chapter! I remember how Darnand thought Jerric annoying and crude. Well, he still thinks Jerric is annoying and crude, but at least he does so with some brotherly/friendly affection.

“Well hump me sideways, I made a potion out of just the onion! Ha ha! Darnand do you know what this means?”
What a delightful way to tell us that Jerric is now a master alchemist! Now, in case there is any doubt about how he accomplished it, this next passage puts that to rest:

“Well, some days I drink more magicka juice than beer. And I’ve been making my own since I learned to throw frost.”
Yes, Jerric of the Atronach birthsign!

Your incorporation and presentation of North Winds Prayer was seamless and provided much to admire in your style. For those who like lore, you were indeed true to it. For those not familiar with TES holidays, you deftly showed us everything we need to know. I suspect both types of readers join me in being equally delighted by the way you did this.

Let me also join mALX and Rider in admiring the charming banter between Jerric and Darnand. I also enjoyed the substantive argument about mort flesh as well as the foreboding discussion of necromancers vs the guild. Oh, and I thank you for the reassurance that Darnand does not seem to be in danger of becoming a necrodude. Probably.

And Abiene the whirlwind with horns makes a quick drive by. Wham, Bam, Thank you man. Gotta go!

'Jerric plunged his head into the cold water in the basin.'
Oh my. I'm hoping Foxy does not stop by and comment on that.

Why yes, I expect Lildereth is probably suntanned right down to her little elven toes. Nice to see her in a dress!

This episode was a rich and delightful feast!

Nit? “Nord, your technique is blame."
Now, this is dialogue here, so Darnand can say as he wishes. It did, however, cause me to pause and question whether he omitted the word 'to' before blame?

I've been meaning to get to this for the past month.

Chapter 1

I like how the story introduces Jerric from the perspective of another person that resents him.

Jerric's already a battlemage eh?

Well I'm hooked. I'll be reading more.

Does Jerric get to vote on which?

Some brilliant bits of humour here!

“I wish we could bury all that we left in there, but I think the fire was good enough. That used to be someone’s kids, Darnand. No matter how they ended up undead, making potions out of them doesn’t seem right.”

“It would not have changed their fate. Whoever they were is long gone.”

Jerric tried to sound reasonable. He was sure Darnand had not sought him out looking for a fight. “I’m not going to try to explain what my gut knows is wrong. I’ll apologize for the time you took scraping it off those folk, but not for putting it under ground. Anyway, you’re the one who said that charm over the bodies.”

“An invocation to Arkay, asking for protection under his Law so that the remains might never be raised again. I did not do it out of concern for the departed, but to prevent further harm to the living.”

Bolded/underlined part made me chuckle. Jerric questioning something? Over his dead Nordic body! And why should he? Trayvond the Redguard is right - "Profaning the remains or souls of the dead is just wrong."

Great little scene there to highlight the different moral perspectives of Jerric and Darnand, despite which it is all good natured. Darnand is clearly of a more utilitarian persuasion. (Ironically, as I recall from a previous episode, when it comes to living women, the roles seem to be reversed, and it is Darnand who takes the view of sex as being more sacred and 'special'. Jerric's response: All women are special. Rofl! Fascinating character-building here, showing us what the boffins would describe as contradictions in the partners' personalities.)

“It appears that you will have some leftovers.”

Darnand’s remark bumped Jerric’s mind fully awake. He glanced around the table, wondering what he had forgotten. “Dammit! I didn’t add the potato. Now I’ll have to…” Darnand pinched the bridge of his nose. Comprehension dawned in Jerric’s mind. “Well hump me sideways, I made a potion out of just the onion! Ha ha! Darnand do you know what this means?

How on earth did that slowpoke ever make Master rank in alchemy?

Gulitte’s voice sounded on the stairs. Abiene pulled away and flitted out the door, faster than Jerric could curse. He wrestled his drawers back into place.

Gulitte breezed into the chamber. His eyebrows went up. “Caught you at an awkward moment?” he inquired.

Jerric ground his teeth, tying his laces. This is no time to toss a Breton down the stairs, he told himself.

“We have screens for a reason,” Gulitte continued, indignation coloring his tone. He gestured to the corridor. “There are ladies who dwell here.”

Look at Abiene leaving poor Jerric in the lurch to face Marc Gulitte! If only Gulitte knew what of those innocent, sweet 'ladies' had just been doing! HER is right; that wench needs to control herself, or at least find the key! Damn women, always leaving us to face the consequences! I'm glad Jerric thought better of taking the 'direct' approach with Marc.

mALX: Jerric’s triumph over the onions took Darnand right back to his early resentment for a second, I’m so pleased you saw that. That you describe their banter as brotherly makes me smile.

haute ecole rider: I think Abiene was telling herself the same thing as she darted down the stairs! You’ve described what I was hoping to convey about the boys, they can bicker and annoy each other now without worrying that it will end the friendship.

Acadian: I pity the person who tries to make a living selling bathing suits to wood elves. Thank you for finding Darnand’s missing “to,” I put it back where it belongs. Thank you for your kind words about the holiday. I’m toying with the idea of a short “Abiene’s Saturalia part 2” to linger on events that have no part in Jerric’s story, but might be fun to explore.

King Coin: Yay, welcome to the story! I’m so glad you’re reading. It’s been quite a journey, I hope we continue to hold your interest.

ghastley: “If you want me to lock the door, raise your…”

Ceidwad: I’m glad you pointed out the differences and contradictions brought out by the mort flesh discussion. These are the things that make the characters rewarding for me to write. Jerric’s reaction to Illusion magic was another. He would break a person’s neck without much of a pause in conversation (if he thought the neck needed breaking), but couldn’t bring himself to cast a spell that would change their perceptions.

Where we are: North Wind’s Prayer at the Anvil Mages Guild hall. Jerric discovered he has reached his mastery of alchemy. Darnand continued to insist that he is not a necromancer. Abiene displayed some erratic behavior in the bathing chamber.



Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 8

Jerric heaved a leg over the bench and rose from the dining table, stifling a belch. He emptied the wine bottle between Darnand’s and Abiene’s goblets.

“This is the last glass for me,” Abiene said. She let go of Darnand’s hand after she stood, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll spend most of tonight at the healing hall.”

Jerric’s stomach clenched in disappointment. Then he felt a surge of hope. She had made such statements before when they weren’t true. In fact, the last time he heard her say such a thing, she had her legs around him within the hour.

Abiene looked across at him with sad eyes over a tiny smile. Not tonight, he realized. She had seemed reserved during dinner. He could almost believe he had imagined the siren who accosted him in the bathing chamber.

Jerric handed Darnand his goblet and picked up his own ale. The three of them followed Thaurron, Lildereth, and Sparky up the stairs to the guild hall’s second level. They settled in the comfortable hearth room adjacent to the library. Abiene curled next to Thaurron in the big settee with her feet tucked neatly under her. Sparky slumped between them. The imp cradled his distended gut. Darnand lounged in a chair with a book in his lap, his legs stretched toward the fire. Jerric sprawled on the thick rug with his back against the other settee and his boots under the low center table. He opened his doublet and shirt as far as he thought decorum would allow. A full belly, a warm fire, and clothing, he thought. Choose any two.

Lildereth entered the chamber on silent feet, carrying Abiene’s jewelry box. She knelt on the rug next to Jerric. “An opportunity to expand your skills, Nord. While you’re immobilized by your meal. Watch and do what I do.”

She inserted her torsion wrench into the lock and selected a pick from the pile on the rug between them. A tiny movement later, and the box clicked open.

Jerric blinked. “That was locked? Do it again, I didn’t see.”

He watched her more carefully, still mystified. He selected a fragile pick from the pile and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. All right, he decided. I’ll give it a try. He put the box in his lap and imitated her.

The pick snapped in the lock. He got another one and tried again. Tension began to radiate from Lildereth’s small frame as Jerric began going through her supply of picks.

Lildereth’s voice sounded strained. “Here, you just have to—” Snap. “A lighter touch on the wrench, and—” Snap. “Jerric, you—” Snap. “Argh!” Snap.

Jerric looked at her. “What?”

She brushed his hands aside. “Watch again.” The lock clicked open at her touch. “See? Like that.”

Jerric took the pick and snapped it off in the lock. He flicked it back out and reached for another one. “Why do you thieves even lock things, anyway? Another thief is just going to come along and open it.” Snap.

“I’m no thief, I’m just naturally curious. Be careful, Jerric, these picks aren’t free. And it’s so that when some club-fisted Nord comes along and kills them, at least their ghost can laugh while he tries to open the lock.”

Jerric broke a few more picks in quick succession. He slapped his palm against the jewelry box. “Open!”

“Easy,” Abiene objected. “Perhaps an alteration spell. You might do less damage.”

“Do you know one?” Jerric asked her.

Abiene smiled at him over her wine. “I have the key.”

“Nords are not known for their manual dexterity,” observed Darnand. He turned a page in his book and glanced over at the pair on the floor.

Jerric stuck a pick between his front teeth and wiggled it with the tip of his tongue. Darnand ignored him. Lildereth handed Jerric another pick, rolling her eyes. Thaurron chuckled. Abiene seemed to find something interesting in the depths of her goblet. Sparky sidled onto her lap.

Darnand started waving his fingers around. Little sparks danced in the middle of the room. Jerric hunched over and worked on the lock. He snapped another pick, and then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out and selected another. He could hardly feel it between his fingers. He carefully inserted it into the lock, keeping the pressure light on the torsion wrench. He gingerly pressed on what he hoped was a pin. The lock clicked open.

“Ha ha, I did it!” Jerric whooped with glee. Darnand was smiling at him. It took Jerric a moment to figure out why. “Oh no, did you? Fetch it!” He put the jewelry box on the table and rubbed his hands through his hair. “I think I’m done here. Lildereth, you’ll just have to always come with me. You can ride along in my pack. You must weigh about as much as a torch, I’ll never notice one more.”

Lildereth gathered up her picks and made them disappear into her gown. “It would seem that real mages don’t carry little lockpicks,” she remarked, shooting a glance at Darnand. She picked up her wine and handed Jerric his ale. Jerric decided to stay on the floor. Lildereth shifted her legs under her, but she stayed beside him.

The pause in conversation lengthened into a silence, underlain by crackles from the fireplace and soft chirps from Sparky. The imp lounged in Abiene’s lap, curled over one of her hands. She caressed his back between his wings with her fingers. Sparky let out a long, chittering trill that brought laughter to all of them.

Abiene’s face turned bright pink. “Here,” she said to Thaurron, handing the wilted imp back to his master. “I’m afraid to ask what that was.”

“It seems your appeal is not limited to man and mer,” Thaurron chuckled. “Even an imp appreciates a healer’s touch.”

Abiene winced and picked up her wine goblet. She took a sip before she spoke, her dark eyes on Lildereth. “If I may be bold enough to ask, what has brought you to Anvil, Lildereth?”

Jerric tried not to look too interested. Lildereth took a sip from her own goblet before she answered. “I am studying Illusion with Carahil.” Her eyes stayed on her wine.

Jerric and Darnand exchanged a glance. Jerric knew what Darnand wouldn’t say. “Studying charm spells?” Jerric asked innocently. “I wouldn’t think you’d need them.”

She shot him a look over her crooked smile. “Go ahead and have your laugh. Then when you wake up one day in Stros M’Kai, you’ll know it was my idea that you should swim there.”

Jerric glanced back at Darnand, a little worried despite himself. The Breton gave him a quick shake of his head, with a small smile of his own. His eyes stayed on the page.

Jerric turned back to Lildereth. “How long do you plan to stay in Anvil? Where’s your home?”

Lildereth looked into her goblet for a longer moment this time. Sadness colored her tone when she spoke, but her face did not invite pity. “I haven’t yet decided. I’m in a transition, I’m afraid. For the past years I made my home with an Imperial couple in Arenthia. I was as a daughter to them. I returned to them when they needed me in their elder years, and stayed until they both passed from this life.”

Jerric tried not to stare, but he doubted if he was succeeding. Lildereth looked to be in her early twenties. Now he knew she must have lived much of the full lifespan of a man.

Thaurron’s voice broke the silence, his light voice warm with kindness. “The rocky meadows and golden hills of county Anvil must make a change for you, Lildereth.”

Lildereth looked relieved. “Indeed. It’s been years since I was in Cyrodiil. I wandered a bit before I came back here. It’s good to return, despite the recent… difficulties.”

Jerric became aware that everyone was trying not to look at him. He doubted he could match Lildereth’s composure. Thoughts of Kvatch crowded out his reason. North Wind’s Prayer should mean tournaments at the Kvatch Arena. Faces of friends he hadn’t thought about since the attack replaced the ones in the room. He knew he was falling again, and couldn’t stop it. He felt at an utter loss as to what to do.

Abiene ended his discomfort. Her gentle voice pulled him back to the chamber. “I must adjourn to the healing hall, my friends. Even a few patients need tending, and there are those there who await their own turn beside this fire.” She stood, holding her empty goblet.

“I’ll walk you over,” said Jerric. “I’m heading out anyway.” His voice sounded normal, he decided. He drained his mug as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll grab my pack from the basement. Won’t take a moment.”

“You’ll miss the bonfire,” Abiene objected. “It will be right outside in the plaza, you should stay.”

“It’s no matter. I won’t be able to miss the ones on the beach.”

They wished their friends goodnight. Jerric made his way to the basement and back to the entry hall where he found Abiene already waiting for him. She had changed into a simple linen gown. Jerric wondered fleetingly if she had put on any undergarments. He wished he could hold her even for just a moment, but Carahil had resumed her position behind her counter.

Abiene took his arm when they got outside. They walked around to the front of the healing hall without speaking. She let go and walked up two steps before she turned to face him.

Jerric looked across at her, his guts a mess of unpleasant emotions. She stood within his easy reach, but might as well be in Bruma. Wanting her went far beyond his body’s ache. Who cares what eyes are watching, he thought with some resentment. I love her. The rest is foolishness. He quickly crushed the thought.

Her face seemed touched with sorrow. When she twisted her hands together, he realized she might be feeling the same way. “I don’t want to leave you alone tonight,” she murmured.

“I’ll be fine.” It sounded like a lie even to him, and Abiene’s face told him he hadn’t fooled her. “All right, I’ll be fine by tomorrow. I need to spend some time with ghosts, I guess.”

“You could stay at the guild hall tonight, or go to the fighters guild. I know your friends there would be pleased to see you.”

“They’re already in their cups. I don’t want that, not tonight.” He scratched his hand through his hair. “I do wish I could stay with you, Abiene. But I have to quit hiding under your skirt. I’m not the first man who’s ever grieved. I’ll get through it, like I did before.” He took Abiene’s hand, drawing strength and comfort from her while he still could. After a moment, he felt like he could speak again. “When will I see you?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Abiene’s voice sounded low and sweet. “Will you wait for me at your hut? I’ll make it worth your while.” Her smile began to fill her face with warmth.

I’ll take Flash out in the morning, Jerric decided. Maybe Darnand will ride with me. Then we can train with Rhano before I meet her.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Around four bells?”

Abiene’s eyes lit with the joy he had been waiting for. She let go of his hand and pressed her palms together. “I will count the moments until then.”

Chapter 2

Oh dear, it looks like Velwyn has sold his manor and is skipping town!

I just love how when the woman blocks his path back to the table in the Brina Cross Inn he's still examining the delicious meal.



----------------

Yes, I've finally started reading. I've been meaning to read this since you started supporting my thread. I was intending to get totally caught up in Teresa before starting another story (this one) but that was a month ago when I told myself that.

An absolutely wonderful end to a wonderful holiday! And here we in the United States, getting ready for our own holiday! Was this planned? Or just the way the story wrote itself?

I loved Jerric's frustration with the lockpicks. After becoming whiz-bang good with the XBox controller, it's been tough mastering even a simple lock on the PC keyboard. Ugh! I know I'm going through at least as many picks as Jerric did this evening!

At KC: That is one of the dangers of this forum - you can't limit yourself to just one good story - there is a wealth of 'em here!

And it just got better from there! What a fabulous touch you gave to the fireside atmosphere here. The complex emotions and interactions were wonderfully supported by natural, endearing and easy to visualize descriptions like the one above. Rich is the word that comes to mind.

It was wonderful to learn a little more of Lildereth, and another reminder of elven vs human life spans. I love Arenthia, and am so glad you referenced it! And Darnand is right of course - real mages don't use lock picks; 'course, neither do Nords it seems.

And yes, this time of year, there should be tournaments and celebrations at Kvatch, not flames and despair.

ROFL !!! This had me in stitches the way you wrote it !!! The scenes with Sparky are my favorites, you are really creating quite a character in him !!!




Very poignient line here !! Awesome Write !!!

Chapter 2 part 2





From what I know of Jerric, Velwyn is going to get it.

After killing the bandits, Velwyn is more concerned about the proper usage of who and whom. That just feels right for the son or grandson of a necromancer/lich.
-------------------------

That's the truth. I'd love to read all of them, but I simply don't have the time for that! I feel bad having to pick and choose.

Part 7
The invocation to Arkay was a good touch. Someone's been reading up on the Nine Divines! I just wish they would give more description of them. Tamriel's gods are so generic.

Another hint that Darnand might star in his own future F, where he takes on Mannimarco. The whole necromancer being legal in Cyrodiil never made sense to me, given the revulsion they say people have for corpse humpers. Not to mention them being one of the big bads in the game. It always struck me as another example of the developers not thinking. I think it is because they wanted the player character to be able to summon skeletons without being a bad guy. Although they could have resolved that by giving the player character a 'good' class of beings to summon, like Aedra...

“Sitting still. Just what I’m good at.”
Indeed!

Well, some days I drink more magicka juice than beer.
That's a lot of juice!

Some good world-building with the feast. That is the kind of thing the game lacks.

Part8
A sweet little fireside chat by all. You did well in keeping the scene going, with so many people involved. The descriptions of Sparky especially helped to keep it moving. Jerric's introduction to lockpicking was hilarious! That is what spells are for indeed!

Somebody really NEEDS to visit Nocturnal's shrine. What's a few trolls compared to the scorn of a Wood Elf?

King Coin: It is a delight for me to remember these early chapters, and simpler times for Jerric. Funnily enough as you were reading about Rutila Harsinia, I was writing a little bit about her again. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read through the Writers Subforums, but this place is a treasure trove! When I click on a story thread that is new to me, I feel like I’m opening a present.

haute ecole rider: The timing just worked out that way, though it gave me a smile. I guess you’ve been seeing a lot of Shady Sam lately. It seems that picking locks is not in Jerric’s natural skill set. He might refer to his hand axe as the Nord’s skeleton key.

Acadian: I adore Buffy’s screenshot for July! Valenwood seems so exotic and mysterious, and I still know so little about it. The more time I spend with Lildereth, the more interesting she becomes to me. I expect this does not surprise you!

mALX: Jerric is as alien to Lildereth as she is to him, it was fun to give her a taste of thick-fingered Nordliness. I’m so glad Sparky lives in Anvil, he has been an unexpected joy to write. But he’s no Alix the Mouse! Thank you for pointing out the line on the steps, where Jerric has to deal with turmoil that is not in his pants.

SubRosa: You’re right, I have been reading up on the Divines, and I’ve decided that Dibella’s priests and priestesses wear way too much clothing in the game. Also the lovely but generic chapels don’t help, I think there would be a great deal of difference between those who follow different Divines. Perhaps some competition, even. Summoning Aedra is a great idea, as is summoning animals like in your Witchcraft mod. In fact there is a lot about summoning that could be expanded, like summoning specific ghosts or living people. But perhaps that is Darnand talking.

ghastley: An easy lock could become a Sisyphean task with an unbreakable pick. Hmm, it could keep him out of trouble for awhile.

Where we are: Jerric has planned a day of riding, training, and giving Abiene a chance to finish what she started.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 9

Jerric leaned on both knees, helm under one arm. Sweat dripped onto the stone floor, and exertion burned his throat. He’d lost track of how many times his blade had sent the summoned dremora back to the Void, but he had beaten it every time. Darnand looked as tired as he felt.

“You’re quicker in just leather,” Rhano remarked. His lazy drawl underscored Jerric’s exhaustion. “That’s always been what held you back. Speed.”

Jerric glared up at him. “I wish you’d have told me that before.”

“You had your spells to fall back on,” Rhano said scornfully. He continued in a more objective tone. “You’re in better condition than when we were teenagers. I guess they don’t serve beer in the Deadlands.”

“I’m used to my uniform. We all wore steel breastplates and greaves.” Jerric straightened and went for his canteen.

“You get more power from your magicka in less armor,” Darnand observed. “Your spells are more effective.”

Jerric saw Rhano’s thoughtful look at Darnand. “You already know you have to dodge the big fetchers, not block,” Rhano said to Jerric. “You wouldn’t be the first Nord to use shield magic instead of heavy armor. Though I can’t think of any old Nord warriors we could ask about it.”

“You told me that your helm’s enchantment would make your mail stronger than steel plate,” Darnand said. “We should supply you with shield potions to augment your helm’s enchantment. Our strategy is for you to use your superior maneuverability to counterstrike with contact destruction spells. You will not be able to cast them if you are recovering from being hit. I have seen a daedroth’s power in close quarters. Even a glancing blow will stagger you.” Darnand glanced at Rhano.

“The mage is right,” said Rhano.

“All right,” Jerric agreed nervously. “Let’s try it. Daedroth.” His stomach lurched at the word. He drew his sword and pointed at Darnand with the hilt. “Do not let it kill me.”

“Do it without the sword,” said Rhano.

Jerric stared at him, astonished. “Have you lost your mind? This is blade training!”

“Are you going to try to attack it with a blade, or those spells you were talking about?” Rhano demanded.

“The spells.”

“Then do it. Dodge the strike, then get in and hit the thing. Let that be your spell. We need to see if you’re quick enough. Of course, this could be the shortest training session in the history of the Fighters Guild. Don’t let it take your head off, Jerric.” He looked over sternly at Darnand. “Mage?”

“Not without a shield potion,” Darnand insisted. “Or your Woad. It’s too dangerous.” For the first time, Darnand looked concerned.

“I’ll use my Woad.” Jerric put his words to action.

He watched the air rupture in the middle of the chamber as Darnand cast his spell. Something beyond Jerric’s understanding rushed through the opening. It embodied itself before his eyes. The creature towered over him on two legs, covered in scales with a line of spines erupting down its back. Its hooked claws were the length of Jerric's arm, and he knew it had the strength to tear him in half. Worst of all was the hideous head, its elongated snout bristling with dagger-like fangs.

Daedroth. His mind shrank from the word.

While Jerric stood frozen, the daedroth shook its head and sent a shimmer of power over itself. Its shield, Jerric realized. His skin felt iced with terror and hot at the same time. The daedroth lowered its head and roared. The sound seemed to turn Jerric’s knees to water.

Jerric crouched slightly, watching for its move. The daedroth charged, swinging a great arm across it chest. Jerric ducked the backhanded swipe and lunged past, tagging the scaled leg. The daedroth’s tail swept him off his feet. He tucked and rolled, looking for his escape. Something lifted him and flung him to the floor in a flash of his shield magic. He flipped over to his back, scrambling in blind panic. All he could see was teeth as another roar deafened him. The monster’s hot breath filled his lungs. Then the vaulted ceiling appeared again. Jerric blinked at it through watering eyes. Now the room was silent, apart from his own coughing.

“Well, that won’t work,” said Rhano’s voice, after a moment. Jerric heard him sheath his sword.

“No,” Darnand agreed, sounding breathless. “We must reevaluate our plan. The touch spells…”

“Not touch,” Jerric wheezed. “Too close.” He began to feel the floor under him. His boot heels still ground against it in panic.

“That thing was faster than it looked,” said Rhano.

“Do you think you could have cast a spell?” Darnand asked. Jerric still couldn’t see him, his gaze seemed stuck to the ceiling.

“I know spells?” I’m alive, Jerric thought. That was the stupidest idea ever.

“You’re both spent,” Rhano said firmly. He entered Jerric’s field of view, looking down at him. “I’ll report to Azzan. He’ll want to adjust his plan to train the rest of us.” He gave Jerric a long look. “I can’t teach you to kill that with your sword. Not now, not by yourself. It’s too fast with too much reach, and when you get inside it can use its jaws. I guess you need to go get targeted spells. Give me time to think.” Rhano shook his head. “That thing was fast.”

Jerric knew what the admission cost Rhano. He sat up and looked over at Darnand. The Breton’s face looked pale and drawn, exhaustion visible in the set of his shoulders.

“Rhano is correct,” Darnand said. “It would be dangerous for me to continue. Even with my magicka restored, I might lack the will to control the summoning. It was difficult to return the daedroth to the Void.” He looked at his feet. “I was overconfident. I should have cast dispel.”

“Now we know,” Jerric told him. He looked back at Rhano. “You said not now with a blade. What do I need?”

Rhano rubbed his eyes while he thought. The familiar gesture gave Jerric a pang of regret for the years they had lost. “You need to be quicker, get back on your feet faster, jump higher to dodge that tail. Llensi trains conditioning, but I’ll ask her if she knows any drills for agility. Quill-Weave is the one here in Anvil, but I know how you left things with her. I need to think. Blind it somehow, or take out a leg, slow it down.” Rhano looked grim.

Darnand spoke. “I had not thought to diminish its speed. We might find our solution in the schools of Destruction or Restoration magic. Thaurron or Abiene are the ones to ask. Additionally, Lildereth seems to have a deft hand with poisons. Their use without causing oneself harm is its own skill.”

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “Poison. Never thought I’d consider using it myself. Sounds like we have some ideas. I better get cleaned up and get going. I need Morvayn to work on my sword. And I need to scrounge up some grub, in case I miss dinner.”

He saw Rhano and Darnand exchange a look, and he smiled to himself. The common ground was slim between the two of them. Jerric knew that he occupied all of it.

He climbed to his feet, checking himself over. He was shaken, but not really hurt. “Well we know my helm and my Woad work. My leather isn’t damaged.”

Darnand’s face was a picture. “The daedroth had you in its teeth. I cannot imagine why it dropped you.”

“Angling for a better bite,” said Rhano. “Farther back in the jaws.” Jerric saw Rhano’s throat work as he tried to swallow.

Jerric gripped Rhano’s shoulder in one hand, Darnand’s in the other. “It took three of us to come up with this plan,” he reminded them. He felt a mad grin split his face.

“Indeed,” Darnand said ruefully.

Rhano still looked disquieted, but he let out a snort of laughter. “I don’t think we should mention it to anyone.”

Darnand and Rhano headed for the stairs. Jerric executed his plan, arriving at his hut in time to get a fire going for Abiene. He lit the candles, then blew some out again. He doubted that they would be reading, and his shabby furnishings looked better in less light. He straightened the bedcover and glanced around. The discarded clothing on the floor went under the bed with a kick. A moment’s scramble replaced his stray books on their shelf. Wine and cups stood on the table. He picked up a dagger to keep his hands busy.

I should have gotten flowers, he thought. I wish I could offer her a promise ring.

Abiene skipped through the door and into his arms without seeming to touch the floorboards. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she breathed after their first frenzied greeting. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“You said something about making it worth my while?” He grinned at her while he pulled off his boots.

She placed a satchel on his table, then went to latch the door and hang up her cloak. “Look inside. Just the top.”

Jerric found several bright scarves. “What’s this?”

“Silk. I noticed your headboard has posts. There’s something I’d like to try.” She wrapped a scarf around his wrist with a wicked smile.

“All right! You or me?”

“You first.” She pushed him onto the bed and covered his eyes with the cloth.

“Saucy minx.” He held it in place while she secured it. “Do you want me to– Oof! Well I guess I found the wall. Hey, easy with the buttons. I have to wear these again tomorrow.”

“All right, just lie back… There.” He heard her step away and make some industrious noises. Then nothing but the crackling fire and his own uneven breathing. Everything sounded loud with his sight taken away. He could feel a trickle of cold air from the shuttered window.

“Abiene?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I guess you’re not bored. Are you nervous?”

“Yeah. Believe me, I have reason.”

“Perhaps we should agree on something you should say, if you want me to stop,” she suggested sweetly.

“How about if I just say ‘stop.’ Now I’m really nervous.”

She gave her musical laugh. “All right. Now I’m going to touch you with something. I’ll start with something that you’ll know. Jerric! Don’t kick.”

“Sorry, I just– Whoa! Yeah, I know what that is. Better slow down or we’ll be through before we start.”

Before long, Jerric had decided that Abiene’s enthusiasm was only surpassed by her inventiveness. He had some ideas of his own by the time he wrapped the silk around her wrists. Eventually they rested together unfettered amid what could only be described as wreckage. Jerric stroked Abiene’s face with the backs of his fingers. Her eyes closed, and he thought she might begin to purr.

“You gave me a fright when I heard your frost,” Abiene murmured. “I thought you were fighting something.”

“Yeah, I should have warned you. But that would have spoiled the surprise.” Jerric felt like he was standing on the sea cliffs, right before the jump. “I want to see you when you’re in Chorrol. I told myself not to even think that, but I do.”

“Why not? I won’t stop feeling this way once I’ve gone.” Now she propped her chin on his chest, watching him.

“It’s what I told you before. When I want something, I go get it or stop wanting. I don’t know what to do with the in between.”

“I know what you mean, Jerric. When you choose one thing, you’re choosing not to have another. It doesn’t make the desire go away. But I just go on. It doesn’t have to be goodbye or a promise we’re afraid we can’t keep. It can just be I hope to see you again. That’s the in between.” Abiene was quiet for a few moments. “I can’t believe I’m the one who’s saying this, but I’m getting hungry. Do you want to come back to the guild hall?”

“Sure. I sort of lost track of the time, what with all of the… I don’t really know what to call it.”

Abiene slipped off the bed and picked up her dress. “I’m afraid I was careless,” she sighed. “This is wrinkled.” She draped it over the back of his chair.

“I don’t have a remedy for that.” Jerric sat up and leaned against the wall so he could watch her at the wash basin. “Maybe we could stop at a tavern instead.”

“No, I think we can get to the guild hall before dinner. I can change quickly there.” She ran her palms over her hair. “Do I look windblown?” she asked hopefully.

Jerric took his time appraising her. Curls tangled, eyes still bright over flushed cheeks, and he didn’t know a polite word for the marks on her neck. “You look like you’ve been loved,” he told her, feeling rather proud of himself. She made a small sound and increased her efforts. “It’s not so much that, as…” He pointed.

White light shimmered in the darkening hut. “You were going to let me walk around looking like a harlot?” she demanded.

“Well, I didn’t see it until you moved your hair.”

“You didn’t notice when you did it?”

“You didn’t either,” he pointed out defensively.

She shot a look his way, then her eyes widened. In one movement she had placed her palm on his chest and washed it with healing light.

“What?” He looked down at himself.

“Nothing.” Abiene’s tone sounded suspiciously innocent. “Perhaps I should bring a mirror.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “A big one.” He scooped her up and rolled her back onto the bed with him.

“Again?” she gasped.

“Good gods, woman! I’m flattered you think it could be possible.” He gathered her close so that they lay like two spoons in a drawer. “I just want to hold you for another moment, before you fix yourself.”

Abiene nestled back against him. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“Well, I’d want you to turn around eventually.” He gave her a little grind, hoping she would laugh.

She did laugh, and she wrapped her arms over his. “We could live on slaughterfish and mudcrabs, and if I ever went back to town I would bring home some tallow candles. Their wax isn’t so hot when it melts.”

“Oh, you liked that? I couldn’t tell if that was the, uh, good kind of noise.”

“That was mostly the good kind.” He felt teeth against his knuckles. “But I would have liked it more without the blisters.”

You had to bring magic into this didn't you? Now my head's exploding with the possibilities.

Beware of blue potions, and if it persists for more than four hours, see a healer.

And that's just Alchemy, what about Alteration and Illusion?

So we start with an intense training session with a Daedroth (of all creatures!) that left everybody pretty much shaken, even (one of my favorite FG guys) Rhano. That one left me wiping my brow - Whew!

Then we move onto another intense session of a completely different sort - a little bit of BDSM. Just enough detail that most of us can fill in the blanks (especially those of us that have read some of that kind of slash), but not too much for this PG-13 forum. Grits, just be careful there!

Ghastley, loved your crack about the blue potions! Fortunately I had just swallowed my mouthful of tea!

Your world building with the combat training is Awesome !!! Your detail adds so much realism to the art of combat and how one would go about deciding when and how much magic is appropriate, when the weapons are useless against the enemy, etc. I am loving these descriptive training sessions!! (and hopefully seeing some steps toward Rhano and Jerric regaining the closeness they once had). Awesome Write !!!



@ Ghastley - SPEW !!!! ROFL !!!!

The blue potions have already appeared in the SI expansion to Gweden Brothel. - look on the shelf behind Miranu. She's made a few others that Jerric might find useful - follow the link to her lab notes!

ROFL !!! EW!!! And those blue bottles are oddly Minotauricly ... phallic, ROFL !!! URG!!!

“I’ll use my Woad.” Jerric put his words to action.'
I loved your wording here. Completely efficient with crystal clarity.

'He saw Rhano and Darnand exchange a look, and he smiled to himself. The common ground was slim between the two of them. Jerric knew that he occupied all of it.'
This is the type of understated insight that I have come to expect from you. Stunningly well done.

I thoroughly enjoyed both the training session and interactions between Jerric, Rhano and Darnand.

And with Abiene, Jerric discovered everything goes better with magic and silk. Tantalizingly fun!

Nit: 'Jerric leaned on his knees with his helm under his arm, watching his sweat drip onto the stone floor. His breath burned his throat.'
My goodness. Considering this is your opening line, you really want to squelch out some of the repetition of 'his' here. I'm sure you can improve upon this quickly contrived and humble suggestion: 'Jerric leaned on both knees, helm under one arm as he watched his own sweat drip onto the stone floor. Burning breaths rasped in his throat from the exertion.'

I agree with mALX, this was excellently done.

Jerric's scene with Abiene was also very detailed and, uh, 'real'. Someone, for Akatosh's sake, think of the children!

I am slowly getting caught up on my reading- and what a treat it has been. There will be much more to say, but I wanted to post what there is up to the moment Jerric finally reaches home....

Of course, the banter between Darnand and Jerric is always a treat, but this was a brilliant bit of insight:

"How do you know these things?" Darnand demanded. "You don't live here."

"How do you not know them? Don't you ever talk to people?"

Velwyn and Jerric climbed the gold hills above Anvil in the warm light of afternoon. Puffy white clouds made towers in the sky. Jerric knew they foretold a coming storm. To their left the sea glittered away into a haze. If they turned they would see Anvil's red rooftops bright in the sun where the land swelled out of the sea.

Throughout, you have wonderful descriptions that bring the world and the story to vivid life.

The fight with the bandits outside Skingrad was excellent, especially the wrestling moves and the last bandit making the wise choice.

A soggy groan told him it was a zombie. As his eyes adjusted he saw it shamble toward him picking up speed, so he dropped his bundle and braced himself for disgusting.

Ewww- and also ROFL.

He had reached some sort of dwelling place, and he realized that to them he must be the foul marauding creature. They were doing the same thing his own sister would do if she found a stranger with a sword wandering through her house.

And another bit of brilliant insight that shows how much more there is to Jerric.

It was over, he was free. He blinked in the warm light, taking in gulps of fresh air and coughing out the filth and grief that lay behind him. The sun felt better on his skin than water would have felt on his cracked tongue, and every green tree seemed like its own miracle.

I will come back to the sentiment I am about to express here- perhaps frequently…. If I ever planned to grow up, I want to write like that!

Beyond that- your telling of the starter dungeon and of the Emperor’s death is fresh and gripping.

He selected one of the bedrolls by the process of smell and covered it with a gentle cloud of frost to kill any vermin that might have found refuge there.

A clever bit of “why didn’t I think of that?” use of magic.

...he took the opportunity to drag them away from the camp to prevent scavengers, ghosts, or a dreadful creeping feeling from finding him.

That last is my kind of gallows humor, and another reason to love this story.

Chapter 4, Part 2

Jerric walked over, but before he went inside he stepped between the trees to take in the view he had been enjoying as he climbed up the road. He could see the whole of the Imperial City with its towers and great bridges all the way across Lake Rumare, and if there had not been a haze he might have seen the thread of the Ring Road beyond. He looked around at the plains and distant mountains, and at that moment he wanted to climb every hill just to see what lay beyond it. A summer day such as this was a thing to be appreciated. His heart lifted and he took a few deep breaths before he turned to enter the inn.

Again- a wonderful descriptive passage.

The news of the Emperor’s death had just reached them that morning, but their deliverance from invisibility took precedence over their grief. After all the White Gold Tower was still clearly visible from behind the inn, so it seemed that the Empire hadn’t fallen.

So much more useful and in tune with the game world than “I saw a mudcrab the other day.”

He looked across his empty plate at Emfrid and thought how grateful he was for brothels. He had never been tempted to risk his life to impress a prostitute, mostly because he was convinced that it wasn’t possible.

There is so much character-building in that short passage- plus a world of humor.

His nose told him that there would be venison on the table, and he found it accompanied by roasted potatoes and carrots, a great vat of gravy, dressing made of cubed bread mixed with herbs and chopped onions, a bowl of corn kernels that looked like they had been cooked in butter, mashed pumpkin, and enough bread that each diner could have his own loaf. He wondered if he had stumbled upon some local feast day, but when he looked around the table and noticed that his companions were all men of more than average girth, he understood.

I think I gained 5 pounds just reading that. Are “Men of More than Average Girth” (MMAGs) anything like “Rodents of Unusual Size?”

Your treatment of Jauffre rings true for the history he is supposed to have- in fact, much more true than the in-game dialogue.

“If you had to choose between a long route by road or a direct route through the wilderness, which would you take?”

“It depends on how far you’d need to go without provisions, and what kind of danger you expect. The Legion patrols the roads, but people can find you more easily on them. There are all kinds of monsters in the wilderness, but your path would remain secret. Weather can slow you down either way, but the road doesn’t get muddy in the rain. It could slow you down even more if you got injured or lost.”

The question and the answer are both excellent- showing thought on the part of Jerric- and his writer.

Flash’s head bobbed up and down gently as he walked, and the sound of his hooves and the creak of leather made the music that Jerric walked to most of the days of his life.

A wonderful descriptive passage- again.

Jerric thought that while a map and road signs were more reliable, rural directions given out loud provided far more entertainment. All that was missing from Valus’ instructions was a reference to a landmark that no longer existed, and Jerric suspected that he would have included one if Jerric had been more familiar with the area.

Having experienced those sorts of directions- many times- I had to laugh. According to my father, once when he was trying to locate a “lost” mine, he read the following property description in an East TN courthouse: “Beginning at the stump where my old mule died…”

“Don’t try your Voice on me, Imperial, or I’ll have to use my Nord power. It’s called my foot in your balls.” Jerric thought that he sounded pretty reasonable.

Glad I always make sure to set aside any beverages when reading Jerric…

He had left his sword with his clothes back on the sandy shore in the solemn keeping of two nine year old Weye girls. The boys who were keeping him company would surely have killed each other with it before he was out of sight, but the girls had them intimidated in the mysterious way of all females.

I would disagree with that last bit- but Mrs. Treydog won’t let me…

"Welcome to the Wawnet Inn, traveler," she said. "I am Nerussa. Could I interest you in a room or perhaps a bit of wine?" Her low-pitched voice made him think of firelight on velvet.

Woo Hoo! Remind me to steal-- um, I mean- paraphrase- that last line.

With that voice she could ask me to do anything, and I would consider it, Jerric thought. This may be the most dangerous female I have ever met.

Poor Jerric…

...they stopped to watch a puppet show. One puppet was wearing only a short pair of white pants. “I’m going to duel the fish with my sword!” it said in a deep voice. It brandished a puppet-sized weapon.

“You won’t need that one,” squeaked the other puppet. “Just go in the lake and you’ll scare the fish to death!”

The entire “Fish Party” at Weye was wonderful- especially Jerric’s… ahhh- interactions.

Jerric jogged through the streets of Skingrad in the rain. He loved the way they ran up and down with big rocks jutting out of the ground. The buildings were orderly and fine, but the land was wild underneath. The rain turned all of the stone to dark gray, and he felt as if he was winding through twilit canyons. Little rivers of rainwater ran down the steep streets, adding to the effect.

And again- you turn a seemingly mundane moment into a bit of vivid description.

The highwayman didn’t flinch when Jerric opened his neck. Jerric stepped back and waited for the life to drain out of him. He watched for the moment when the Khajiit left and the meat stayed behind, but he didn’t know it had happened until he heard the final breath rattle out. Jerric had been told what to believe, but he wondered what it was like to lie on the warm grass one moment and then be somewhere else entirely.

I would like to quote the entire aftermath of the fight, but content myself with just that passage. Amazing and thoughtful.

Stopping for now- but still reading and completely in awe of your story.

Edited to remove annoyingly non-functioning quote tags.

Chapter 3.1
Start of the main quest! I always enjoy reading about it in fan fics.

A bar fight, what an appropriate way for a Nord to end up in prison.

My character took the short sword from the dead captain as well. She still has it in her house.

Chapter 3.2
Of all the enemies, zombies are definitely the most disgusting. Aravi hates them. I wish that Jerric's tactics were an option in the game. Chop off it's limbs so it can't move, then leave it.

He's going to eat that rat?? Gross!

I made a little Aedra summoning mod to use with my character Aela. I used creatures already in the game though, and just changed the names and stats for them. It is really too bad that Bethesda did not do it themselves, they only would have needed to create 4 new creatures to give you one different summoning per Mastery level, starting at Apprentice. Oh well.

I can’t think of any old Nord warriors we could ask about it.
There are old warriors, and bold warriors, but not old bold Nord warriors!

A thoughtful discussion on the merits and disadvantages of heavy armor, and the idea of Jerric changing tactics to use potions in place of the former. The only downside to that is of course you are only one dispel magic away from having no protection.

My kudos to you in describing the Daedroth (I have always wondered, is its counterpart a Naitdroth?") without using a comparison to crocodile. I have a hard time not doing that, given that head it has. Here is what Jerric needs to deal with those pesky Daedra.

The common ground was slim between the two of them. Jerric knew that he occupied all of it.
This was an excellent description.

A nice touch of soft core BDSM with the silk scarves and hot wax. Jerric is certainly the adventurous sort, a lot of vanilla people start to worry when those come out. Although granted it is pretty minor. The big question is of course whether Abiene has a flogger back in her room, and what kind? For Jerric's sake, lets hope it is doeskin.

ghastley: New quest: Recruit Mage for Gweden. I was rolling at Milanu’s notes! Jerric’s joke about a potion got cut from this story, but there’s a minotaur line coming up in a few episodes.

haute ecole rider: No worries, just some light sensation play. Abiene is no Sontaire! I can imagine Rhano explaining to Azzan how he let his student get eaten by a daedroth.

mALX: I’m glad you like the training, I think they wouldn’t automatically know how to deal with new things. Darnand may have experience summoning a daedroth, but he’s only seen one fight once before. They all have to branch out from what they know. We’ll see more Jerric and Rhano before the holidays are over, or at least we’ll hear about it.

Acadian: Thank you, I changed those first lines. The moment you pointed out in the training session is my favorite. Jerric is not above clowning a little if the situation calls for it.

Ceidwad: That training scene saw more re-writes than the Battle for Kvatch. Whew! I’m glad it seemed to work.

treydog: I am honored, humbled, and astonished by your comments. Most of all, I’m inspired to keep learning. Several of the passages you quoted were starting points for their whole sections, and I remember how clear everything seemed when I was writing them. It makes me go back and look at what I’ve just written a little harder, checking for the muddy parts. It seems that each time I learn something new, the old lessons slip a little. I appreciate your comments so much!

King Coin: Hey, a Nord’s gotta eat! Just writing about zombies makes my stomach turn. I get that rotten smell in my mind, like it’s on my tongue. I probably should clean out the fridge more often. I love that Aravi kept Captain Renault’s short sword. Jerric still has the goblin mortar and pestle, too. Though now he uses it to grind his kahve beans.

SubRosa: Good point about dispel. I expect their tactics will continue to evolve, especially as Jerric makes some more mistakes and gets some more powerful spells. Thank you for recognizing that salute to Acadian’s words: There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old bold pilots. Jerric’s recklessness was an asset at his old job, but his friends would like to see him get through more than just one more Gate.

Where we are: Remember Maeva the Buxom? Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth finally have. They’re on the way to Fort Strand to deal with Bjalfi the Contemptible.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 10

Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth walked along the South Peak Road in the pre-dawn chill. The Anvil city wall loomed up on their right, and the grassy hillside rose to the left. Jerric had been using this route for exercise since he grew large enough to pose a hazard to the public by running inside the city. The stars gave him enough light to keep up the pace.

Occasional glints of pale blue told him when his companions renewed their sight spells. Lildereth wore his life detection ring. He had discovered that his comrades’ nearby healthy glows spoiled his night vision. Life detection magic has tremendous value but some limitations, he decided. He was glad he hadn’t used the sigil stone to place that charm on his boots.

Jerric’s and Darnand’s feet crunched in the road grit. Lildereth would seem as some silent spirit between them, except for the fog of her breath. Jerric couldn’t tell if her reticence was a symptom of tension or the early hour. He knew that Darnand was feeling some nerves, and they were still a fair distance away from where they would cut left up the Fort Strand Road. Jerric decided to lighten the mood with a story.

“So a bear is squatting in the woods,” he began. “He looks down and notices a tree rat beside him, doing the same. ‘Excuse me, Mister Tree Rat,’ says the bear. ‘Do you find that dreck sticks to your fur?’ ‘Why yes, Mister Bear,’ says the tree rat. ‘It is troublesome. What is your method of resolving this problem?’ ‘Allow me to demonstrate,’ says the bear. So the bear picks up the tree rat and wipes his rear with it.”

Jerric glanced down at Lildereth to gauge her reaction. He hoped she wouldn’t chastise him for talking.

The wood elf kept her face forward as she walked. After a moment, she spoke. “You know that Cyrodiil has black bears and brown bears, and the deserts have sun bears. Even the far north has snow bears. But have you ever heard of a golden bear?”

Lildereth’s tone was light, so Jerric guessed he hadn’t offended her. He shook his head.

“This tale might explain events,” she said. “There was a time when golden bears were common throughout the forest. They were the biggest and strongest of all the bears. Some say they were the bravest, and some say not the brightest. But this is known: golden bears were the loudest, and the most flatulent.”

Jerric got an idea where this story was going.

“One fine day a golden bear was walking through his woodland home with his associate, the tree rat. They came upon a small statue of a hound, hidden almost entirely under the leaf litter. They picked the statue up and brushed it off. To their amazement, it spoke.

“‘Well met,’ said the statue. ‘I’m Barbas, the Hound of Clavicus Vile. Some silly adventurer dropped me from his pack, and I’ve been lost for ages. In the name of my Master, I will grant you each three wishes.’

“Well, the golden bear was an impulsive creature, so he went first. ‘I wish that the attractive lady bear in the cave next door had an uncontrollable desire for me,’ he growled. In a twinkle, it was done.”

Jerric and Darnand shared a glance over Lildereth’s head as they walked. Darnand was already silently laughing at him.

“The tree rat wished for an oak tree all of her own, but big enough to share with generations of tree rats,” Lildereth continued. “‘A tree?’ scoffed the golden bear. ‘Foolish tree rat. You live in the forest! You could have anything in the realm, and you wished for another tree.’

“The golden bear already had his second wish ready. He was after all a virile bear, with some would say an excess of energy. His next wish was for all of the female golden bears in the forest to be as attractive as his neighbor, and all madly in love with him. In a twinkle, it was done.

“The tree rat’s second wish was also about her tree. She wished for it to be enchanted so that it stayed in leaf all year, providing shelter and an endless supply of acorns.

“Again the golden bear mocked her, but he was anxious to receive his third wish. He had decided that he had underestimated his needs. ‘I want every other golden bear in the forest to be female, wildly attractive, and madly in love with me,’ he rumbled in his golden bear voice. In a twinkle it was done.”

Jerric realized that the golden bear had a familiar yet somewhat unusual combination of West Weald accent and Gold Coast drawl.

“Barbas turned his attention to the tree rat,” Lildereth said. “‘What would you like me to grant you for your final wish?’ he asked.

“After some consideration, the tree rat answered. “‘I wish this golden bear preferred the company of snow bears.’ And with that, she scampered up her tree.”

After a few steps, Lildereth stopped and looked back at them where they stood laughing. Darnand wiped his eyes and shook his head at Jerric. He stepped to the side of the path to relieve himself. Jerric took the opportunity to do the same. He resolved never to cross Lildereth.

“Your turn,” Jerric said to him. The next moments were critical. Would the Breton ally himself with the bear or the tree rat? Darnand’s loyalty was beyond question, but Lildereth had his sense of self-preservation in her favor.

Darnand looked thoughtful for a moment, gazing up at the sky. “What is a balanced diet for a bear?” he finally asked. He completed his shake and tuck before he answered himself. “A tree rat in each paw.”

Jerric shot a triumphant look at Lildereth where she waited, judiciously uphill. “On the way back I’ll tell you the tale of the bear and the stag,” she offered.

Jerric snorted with amusement. Darnand did possess a certain nobility of carriage. Usually, Jerric amended in his mind. When he’s not hunched over fixing his trousers.

They kept quiet on the Fort Strand Road. The crepuscular light told Jerric that they had timed their approach perfectly. Hopefully the marauders would still be in their bedrolls. Or at least still unarmored.

The fort’s exterior consisted of only a half-circle of crumbling tower wall, completely open to the sky. One functioning door led to the subterranean levels, dug into the hillside behind the fort. Broken pillars cluttered the space inside the ruin, but the open ground had been cleared of loose rubble. Jerric guessed that the old stones now sheltered many local farming families, having been repurposed over the years by those with the means to haul them. He silently thanked Lildereth for her insistence on thoroughly surveying the terrain as well as the force that dwelt inside the ruin. Jerric’s method of charging in and letting the targets reveal themselves by attacking him was not a good plan in this instance, he admitted to himself. Not without open ground and a team of archers to thin out the crowd.

Lildereth gave Jerric his ring back as they approached the ruin. He could see firelight, and he knew that a brazier stood to the left of the door. Two sentries huddled next to it, their positions exposed by their faint glows. Another, smaller glow stood alert by one of the ruined pillars. Lildereth signaled a stop, and the three of them crouched where a low wall would keep them out of sight. They made their final preparations.

“Dammit!” Jerric whispered. “The dog is out front. I hope I don’t have to kill it.” He rubbed his hands through his hair.

“You won’t.” Lildereth pointed to herself. “Bosmer. Shouldn’t you be wearing your helm?”

Jerric unhooked his helmet and put it on. He drank his first shield potion before she could remind him. “Anything else?”

“Your fly is open,” Lildereth said without looking.

Jerric checked, but it was laced. He glanced over at Darnand. His friend looked tense and still. “Ready for this?” Jerric asked him.

“I am uncertain,” Darnand replied quietly. “Perhaps we should remain here and converse until they wander over and kill us.”

Lildereth’s glance encompassed both of them. “I’m first. Stay put until I signal.”

Before Jerric could speak, she was gone. He watched her pink glow as she made her way around the side of the ruin to an open archway. Jerric made himself stay still and wait. He rose and stepped forward when she signaled, stuffing his ring back into his pocket.

A Redguard and a Nord, Jerric saw as he approached. Both held blankets wrapped around them, and the Redguard wore some kind of fur hat. Jerric held his shield on his arm, but down at his side. His right hand was empty.

The dog gave a single warning bark, but it didn’t move forward. Chained to the pillar, Jerric noted. The two guards stepped away from the wall, shrugging out of the blankets. “You there, halt!” shouted the Redguard. Jerric heard swords grind free of their scabbards.

This is the part where I hail them, Jerric thought. Fetch it. There’s just going to be a fight.

He quickened his steps as he moved into the tower space. His magicka rent the air near the Redguard in a sinister looking swirl, and his will summoned Slim through it. Lildereth is going to be peeved, he thought. Then his mind leaped into the fight.

“Drop to your belly if you want to live,” Jerric called out. A blast of frost from his shield hand distracted the Redguard as he spoke, giving Slim the first strike with his axe. Jerric’s eyes swept over the ground as he drew his sword. Packed dirt with tufts of grass, no rocks. Just like he saw days before from the hillside above.

The Nord wore iron plate, cuirass and greaves. Leather showed through the joints. Longsword, no shield. The Redguard’s grunts and steel ringing on Slim’s axe told Jerric all he needed to know about that fight.

The Nord brought his sword up into a high guard, the point aiming low toward Jerric’s face. At that angle it was difficult for Jerric to judge the distance. Jerric bought Redeemer into a middle guard behind his shield, ready for the Nord’s downward thrust. He circled away from the tufts of grass, keeping his weight centered on the balls of his feet.

Fire hurtled past him, into the Nord’s chest. The Nord howled, startled into making his strike. Jerric slid to the side, raising his Wolf. The Nord’s sword rebounded off his shield with a white flash but little impact. Jerric thrust at the Nord’s groin, braced for a jolt from the man’s Woad. Redeemer sank in without resistance. Magicka welled inside Jerric, filling the empty space left in Slim’s wake.

The Nord fell back shrieking, his sword point dropping away toward the ground. Jerric brought his shield into position with the forward edge toward the staggering Nord, checking his sword. He hooked the guard’s foot, tripping him onto his back. A glance at the Redguard showed that she was down. Jerric finished the Nord with a thrust through the throat. When he looked more closely at the Redguard, he saw that an arrow protruded from her neck.

Lildereth appeared in front of Jerric. She looked upset.

“That was not what we planned,” she fumed. “I couldn’t get another shot with you jumping around. I’ve half a mind to call this off, if you can’t control yourself. I have no intention of going in there and getting killed. I could have shot them down before they moved, or cast a spell, there didn’t need to be a fight. You reckless, impulsive—”

“I know,” Jerric said evenly. “I think we should kill them all, no warning. I know it’s not honorable, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decided not to go in.” He glanced up to find Darnand beside him, impassive. Jerric knew Darnand was disappointed, but still with him. He thinks I deliberately left him behind, Jerric realized.

“I’ve seen too many folk torn apart and left along the road like garbage,” Jerric explained. “I should have thought it through before, you’re right. But I guess I don’t intend to give these fetchers any more chances.”

Lildereth seemed to swallow her anger. “Bjalfi?” she asked. Under control again, now her expression was unreadable.

“Well, I’ll know him when I pick the mace up off his body. Maeva can mourn him if she likes. But we’re here to get Rockshatter back. Taking down this gang is just a benefit. Let’s kill them all.”

Lildereth regarded him for a long moment. “We’ll need to go in quiet, like we planned. It will be easier your way, we don’t have to ask questions.” She gave each of them a hard look. “I’ve seen folk held captive in situations like this. Be ready for any kind of perversion once we get in there. We’ll take them all down, then free any prisoners.” Now her hard look was just for Jerric. “When you killed them, you kept your head. That’s the only reason I can trust you.”

Jerric nodded. “I really just got the one.” He looked down at the dog, now standing in their circle next to Lildereth. Darnand must have unchained it, he thought. “How long will your spell keep him quiet?”

“Her. I didn’t need my spell.” Lildereth reached up and ruffled the dog’s droopy ears. Her shaggy head was level with the Bosmer’s chest. The dog’s long jaw dropped open at Lildereth’s caress. Dog breath steamed into the morning. “This is no guard dog, she just barks when someone comes near. She doesn’t seem to have any love for her dead masters. I wonder where they got her.”

Darnand raised an eyebrow. “A mystery to be contemplated at leisure, perhaps tonight beside the fire.”

Jerric saw Darnand looking between the wheat-colored dog and himself. He seemed mildly amused. “Yeah?” Jerric asked.

“I believe you two share a barber,” Darnand told him.

“Right,” said Lildereth. “Nine more marauders. Let’s get to work.”

How long have you been waiting to use the word "crepuscular'?

Good fight here - and Jerric's decision to just wade in and kill both of them is understandable. One thing I've noticed playing games of this kind - bandits/pirates are just common folk, but Marauders (always capitalized) are an evil breed, not worth any kind of mercy. As I remember correctly, the folk in Fort Strand are Marauders. The way I like to see it, bandits/pirates are forced into banditry/piracy due to lack of gainful employment, while Marauders seek this kind of lifestyle because of their unpleasant natures.

I point this out because I recall Jerric being friends with the folk at Gnoll's Meeting Camp (or some other bandit camp along the Gold Road) earlier in the story.

The running bear and rat jokes were wonderful! After Lildereth tells about the stag and bear, perhaps Jerric could regale them with the story of moose and squirrel.

'Jerric thrust at the Nord’s groin, braced for a jolt from the man’s Woad. Redeemer sank in without resistance. Magicka welled inside Jerric, filling the empty space left in Slim’s wake.'
Gosh, another stunning Grits display of magic with words. From the reminder of a Nord's Woad, to reveiewing Jerric's Atronach birthsign. The last sentence was so very perfect!

I identify so strongly with what Lildereth must have been doing/thinking during the fight that I found myself sharing her fury at Jerric. No doubt she could have silently dispatched both guards and still saved the dog. In fairness, Jerric acted completely in accordance with his nature - that is why he is the Hero of Kvatch.

I can't find a single passage to quote without encapsulating the entire chapter! From the humor to the interaction, the accompanying descriptions of gestures and action, the combat ... All amazing !!! Your dialogue is always outstanding, but this chapter is a showcase to your ability - absolutely AWESOME Write !!!!!

All caught up yet again. It appears I have fallen into the bad habit of reading your story in bursts, and then putting things off until you are ten segments ahead of me. I really need to address that.

Anyways, a mighty fun start to our latest (mis?)adventure with my new favorite D&D adventuring party. We have Jerric, the happy-go-lucky warrior who knows how to kill and, interestingly, make potions. We have the mage, who can dual-cast and perhaps open an Oblivion Gate if he tried hard enough, and finally the wisecracking, smart-alec rogue who never fails to entertain. These three have barely done any real adventuring together, and already they are inseparable!

I look forward to what happens inside the Fort. Something tells me that things are likely to go pear-shaped, but time will tell, and whatever the outcome (save one of the trio dying) I will thoroughly enjoy it.

What do you have to do get the nickname "the Contemptible" anyway?

Jerric had been using this route for exercise since he grew large enough to pose a hazard to the public by running inside the city.
This gave me a good smile!

Jerric’s method of charging in and letting the targets reveal themselves by attacking him was not a good plan in this instance, he admitted to himself.
But it always works in the game!

Jerric's contempt for the outlaws is quite understandable, given his profession. I cannot say I blame him, or would be inclined to show any quarter either. Just like a certain stringy wood elf and skooma dealers.

ghastley: Since fifth grade. Now that I’ve used it, I can banish it forever!! Next up: “vituperative.”

haute ecole rider: The inhabitants of Gnoll’s Meeting Camp aren’t bandits any more in the story, but most do have a shady or violent history. Jerric told the story to Velwyn about how some of them joined forces and drove out the bandits so that they could convert the camp to a legitimate stopover for travelers. Not giving the guards a real chance to surrender does represent a change for Jerric, and I’m glad you pointed it out. He doesn’t know how to act like his heroes from the storybooks and still get the job done.

The way I see bandits vs. marauders for the story is similar to what you describe. Bandits are generally more opportunistic predators along the roads living in camps, while marauders are organized gangs with a fortified base of operations somewhere. Jerric would have experience with both from his caravan guard job, and no tolerance for either. He even feels some kinship with them based on their common skills and his expectation that he will also meet a violent end. That ends up making him more judgmental of their choices, since anyone with the skills to be a bandit also has the skills to protect people. Of course, bandits can do whatever they want when they’re not out robbing and killing, but guards have to show up for work even when they’re suffering from a near-fatal hangover. In Jerric’s Cyrodiil there is a lot of opportunity for people to make a living, but it’s hard to save up and get ahead. Thank you for your encouragement, haute! And may I say, you have really raised the bar for fight scenes!! Julian’s battle in Sancre Tor is so inspiring.

Acadian: I am delighted that you felt Lildereth’s frustration so clearly. You nailed it, Jerric was doing what he does, which is not always what the situation calls for. This will not be the last time he infuriates Lildereth, I’m afraid! The line you quoted was the one I was waiting for to finish this episode. No matter how hectic RL is, the piece of advice I can remember is to wait until it sings to me. Thank you, Acadian!

mALX: Thank you, mALX!! For some reason this Fort Strand quest has been difficult going. Maybe because I know what comes next. Your kind words mean so much!

Thomas Kaira: Take your time, we’ll be here when you get to us. I’m glad you’re still enjoying the story. These three have fun chemistry; I’ve enjoyed writing about them. Oblivion can be a little lonely as a game. As far as pear-shaped, well, you’ll see in a minute.

SubRosa: Exactly. When he doesn’t have time to connect with the person, Jerric doesn’t have any conflict. Otherwise his empathy can cloud the issue.

Where we are: Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth are heading into Fort Strand.



Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 11


Jerric stepped into the tunnel that would lead them under Fort Strand. It was as the Fighters Guild map had shown, a long corridor dropping through darkness with a glint of firelight at the end. A single distant glow showed a sentry patrolling where the tunnel split into right angles. Jerric drank his night eye potion, and the stone passage jumped into blue clarity around him. Clean paving stones underfoot, he noticed. Rubble cleared to the sides. He slipped off his life detection ring so he could see Lildereth’s signals. Ring on, ring off, ring on again. This could get annoying.

Lildereth signaled that they should proceed as planned. Jerric took her vigorous eyebrow motions to mean that she saw him take off his ring. Dammit, he thought as he slipped it back on. She’s still mad at me.

They moved quietly down the passage, freezing against the walls as the sentry moved by the opening. Lildereth oiled the hinges when they came to a rusty gate. They waited until the guard reached the end of the cross passage before they opened it.

Lildereth and Jerric got into position after the sentry passed the intersection again. An Orsimer in steel plate, Jerric saw. Lildereth greeted her with a poisoned arrow when she returned, and Jerric jumped to catch her as she fell paralyzed. He broke her thick neck before they carried her back into the shadows. His sight potion fought with the firelight coming from small pyres along the cross passage, and Lildereth and Darnand’s glows nearly blinded him. Jerric rubbed his eyes, his stomach churning. Another reason to learn the spell, he thought. Then I could get rid of it.

Darnand stayed at the intersection to guard the exit, and Jerric and Lildereth split off in opposite directions. Jerric took the passage to the right, oiling the hinges when he came to a closed door. He knew that a rectangular chamber should lie beyond it, approximately ten paces by fifteen. One life sign glowed motionless, probably lying on the floor. Two columns had been marked on the map, and the chamber should have a low, level ceiling. Lildereth had taken the path where hidden corners and traps would be more likely. Jerric could see dim light around the door, so he saved his sight potions.

The door eased opened quietly, and Jerric thanked the careful hands who kept it maintained. When he saw the bedrolls along the floor he realized it was for their own convenience. This was a sleeping chamber. A fire burned low in a metal brazier, more split wood stacked beside it. Smoke hung near the ceiling. Weapons racks and chests stood along the walls. Most of the racks were empty. One bedroll was occupied.

Jerric stepped into the chamber and eyed the sleeping figure. An Altmeri female. Her armor and sword stood arranged against the wall at the foot of her bedroll, next to a locked chest. Kill her quietly, Jerric thought. Another life sign glowed some distance away, through how many doors and chambers he couldn’t tell. Sound carries oddly underground, Lildereth had told them. Sometimes there are voids in the rock behind walls that you don’t know about. Assume they might hear you. No one must raise an alarm while the three of them were separated.

Redeemer whispered into Jerric’s hand. He thought about the centuries to come that this mer should see after he had gone to dust. I’m taking all of that away, he thought, all of the evil she might do as well as any reparation. Tension coiled in his legs. He wanted to kick her sword within her reach.

Why am I hesitating, Jerric wondered. I won’t trade this mer’s life for my friends.’

It’s not just her life that I’m ending, he finally realized. It’s the hope that I might become what Martin already thinks of me. This strike makes me a murderer. I told Jauffre I don’t have any honor, and now I’m going to make it true.

Jerric stepped around the fire, careful not to let his shadow fall across the sleeping mer. One stroke ended her life. Magicka flooded in through his sword arm in a welcome rush. He thought that shame would follow, but instead he felt its curious absence.

Another chamber lay adjacent to the sleeping space, trapped with swinging metal balls connected to pressure plates. Firelight illuminated the room, showing him the plates as well as two rats sniffing along the wall. Their final squeaks did not seem to alert the glow making its way through the corridors beyond this chamber. The wooden door stood open, so Jerric saw the glow become a Nord when the man turned the corner. The marauder was unarmored, but he carried a sword across his back.

Jerric sprinted across the chamber, casting a ball of fire at the Nord. He prepared to tackle him if he turned to run back down the corridor. Jerric’s fire spilled across his shoulder as the marauder drew his sword. He met Jerric’s charge with a curse.

Jerric dodged the swipe across his middle, hoping to prevent the telltale ringing of steel from alerting the rest of the gang. The Nord’s movements showed the fire’s damage to his shoulder. Jerric whipped Redeemer’s tip through his throat and lunged forward as the man fell gurgling, catching the sword before it could sound against the floor.

More stones than sense, Jerric thought, watching him die. Charging in like I would have done when he should have sounded the alarm. Hopefully he just cost his friends their lives.

Moments later Jerric reached the door that Sten had described to him. It would swing away from Jerric, and the hinges were on the other side. No life signs glowed behind it, but he left it closed. A dark passageway opened off to his right, leading to a natural cave and pit system according to the map. Dust and cobwebs showed it to be unused, as Lildereth had suspected. Probably the source of the rats, Jerric decided. He returned to Darnand at a run, staying aware of his boot heels, as Lildereth would say.

The smell of burned hair greeted him as he turned into the final corridor. Its author lay smoking near Darnand, a large, charred rat.

“You made me a snack,” said Jerric.

“It came from Lildereth’s direction,” Darnand told him. “I suppose she decided I could handle it.”

“At least it wasn’t a dog.” She probably didn’t want to give her position away by fighting it, Jerric thought. Lildereth rounded the corner at an easy trot before worry could take hold.

She held up two fingers, then made the sign that she had killed them.

Jerric and Darnand shared a guilty glance for talking. Jerric gave his death tally with the appropriate gestures, then indicated that he hadn’t seen anyone else. Lildereth signaled that four mortals were behind the door she had investigated. The men gave her a nod, and she led them down the left passageway.

Fort Strand’s underground sections contained twists and changes in level as well as cave-like areas, but proceeded in a generally linear fashion. Jerric did not bother to remember the turns, as there was really only one way to keep going. Lildereth’s coaching had made things clear in his mind. Forget about the air, these places were made with ventilation. Forget about the turns, unless you have a choice to make. Keep one sight potion in case you have to run. He couldn’t picture doing that last part.

Steps, gates, and a trapped chamber brought them to the final door. Recent death hung in the air, along with the smell of breakfast. Two bodies slumped near an arrangement of tables and an open cook fire. Jerric wondered if the gang had plans for the day that got them up this early.

A foul stench trickled in from a rough tunnel off to the right. They had passed soiled bedrolls under shackles chained to the walls. Jerric guessed that their former occupants now rotted down that tunnel.

Four life signs glowed behind the door, one oddly higher than the others. Lildereth made her signals, and Jerric nodded. Sneaking around the other way could result in them getting trapped in the ruin. Better to use surprise to their advantage. Jerric’s skin tingled, ready for a fight.

Lildereth nocked an arrow and disappeared. Jerric drew in a breath and summoned Precious out of the Void. Darnand threw the door open. Jerric charged in, his scamp at his heels. He heard the air rip and knew that Darnand had summoned something behind him. He hoped to the gods it wasn’t a daedroth.

Jerric found himself in a high ceilinged, rectangular chamber about twenty paces long and ten wide. Stone stairs led up to balcony along the near short wall. A Dunmer stood there, reaching for something. The chamber had three exits, but the remaining three marauders were not leaving. An Altmer, an Orsimer, and a Nord. All of them were armored, two carried swords. The Nord carried a Dwemer mace.

Jerric’s frost whipped toward the Altmer, and he had Redeemer in his hand before it hit. The Orsimer doubled over as an arrow sprouted from his groin. Lildereth flared into view, and the orc fell with an arrow in his neck. Jerric felt a surge of magicka. His eyes met the Nord’s. Bjalfi, he thought. The Nord drew his mace with a flicker of white magicka, staying in place. Jerric could hear Darnand’s shock spell by his side, crackling up at the Dunmer. Darnand’s fire atronach leapt across him, chasing Darnand’s spell with her fire. Jerric’s scamp pounced on the fallen orc. Jerric sent another ball of frost at the staggering Altmer. Then green fog filled his vision, and he shook his head to clear it.

His enemy was right next to him. Jerric heard his own growl as he reached for the Breton’s neck. Contempt filled him at the startled look on the man’s face. He called his Nordic Frost, sending it into the Breton as soon as his hand closed over the puny throat. The Breton sagged in his grip, his own frosted hands coming up to tug at Jerric’s arm. Jerric swore and dropped his sword. This close, he wanted his dagger. He would watch the light leave his enemy’s eyes.

Darkness claimed him again. Jerric’s mind cleared slowly, like water washing away blood in a stream.

He lay face down on a stone floor, his shield arm under him. His right hand was empty. A man shouted behind him. Jerric rolled over in time to block a mace on his shield, the force of the strike driving his shield down to his chest. Shock energy crackled around him, deflected away. Bjalfi raised the mace again. Oh skitt, Jerric thought. Shock damage and weakness to shock.

Darnand lunged up from the side, grabbing the Nord around his waist. Magicka flared around them in a way that Jerric thought must be an absence of light. Bjalfi fell to his knees, screaming. Darnand rode him down to the floor. By the time the awful sound stopped, Lildereth had an arrow pointed at Jerric’s throat. Her lips made a tight line, but her eyes were wild.

“What the fetch,” Jerric said weakly, trying not to move. He realized that his back hurt. So did his leg.

“Is that you?” Lildereth demanded over her arrow point. She seemed to think she was making sense.

“He has returned,” Darnand said, hauling himself to his knees. Ice glittered over his face, arms, and chest. His labored breathing sent fear racing through Jerric.

“Heal him,” Jerric said to Lildereth, eyes back on the arrow. “Stick me with your pin first if you have to, but get on with it.”

Lildereth lowered her bow. “I can’t.”

Jerric pulled his shield off and crawled over Bjalfi. Darnand sat with his back against the stairs. Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes. White light began to swirl around him. “See to your shoulder,” Darnand told him. “I would not refuse a potion, Lildereth.”

Jerric kept his mind on the healing, both his and Darnand’s. The realization slowly broke over him that his frost had done this.

“The Dunmer got us both,” Darnand said. He spit a little blood onto his chest. “Shock spell. Mother-humping battlemages.”

“I thought the Altmer would be the spell slinger,” said Jerric. He didn’t remark on Darnand’s uncharacteristic word choice.

“As did I,” said Lildereth. “You had the Altmer and the Nord, so I went for the orc. Darnand had the Dunmer.”

“What was it?” Jerric asked. “A command spell?”

Darnand nodded, fumbling for his water skin. “I tried to dispel it, but you absorbed my spell.”

Jerric realized that his thigh still burned. He stared down at the shaft of a broken arrow in disbelief. Lildereth stood over him with her slender knife. “You shot me?” he demanded.

“I paralyzed you. Bjalfi did the rest.” Lildereth worked her blade into Jerric’s leg, tugging on the arrow head. He concentrated on not pissing himself. “You’re lucky I still had a knockdown arrow ready. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone for your leg.”

“Well,” Jerric said after a moment, “at least they’re not sitting around talking about us.”

Holy Crap !!! This chapter had me riveted from beginning to end !!! I didn't take a breath till Jerric's last line !!! Jerric's inner thoughts ruled this chapter and led it through one of the most powerful battles scenes I've ever read !!!


This was AWESOME :




The end, the realization that Jerric had been hit by a command spell and turned on his own friends in there - HUGE !!! I am speechless, gobbling like a turkey ... and humbly bow down to the master Grits !!!!!!!!!!!!!! AWESOME WRITE !!!!!

And down to business in Fort Strand!

'Ring on, ring off, ring on again. This could get annoying.'
Ask Lildereth. I'm sure she'll tell Jerric that you get used to it when seeing those pink glows keeps you alive.

'Lildereth oiled the hinges when they came to a rusty gate.'
This is a beautiful tiny touch that shows the author has clearly walked the details of the scene carefully through in her agile mind.

Jerric's hesitation at killing the sleeping mer speaks volumes to his nature. He is used to declaring himself then smiting his foes honorably. Again, Lildereth could tell him much about the requirement for less sturdy fighters to make hard, preemptive choices. Well done!

'More stones than sense, Jerric thought, watching him die. Charging in like I would have done when he should have sounded the alarm.'
Must be ex-Fighters Guild with those stones! I love how Jerric pokes fun at himself here.

'Keep one sight potion in case you have to run. He couldn’t picture doing that last part.'
Again, Jerric shows the heroic stuff that makes him Jerric.

The concept of Jerric being turned by a command spell was brilliant. For what it is worth, it did not click for me at all until Jerric and Darnand spelled it all out at the end. That is, as it was happening, I was lost, wondering if you had made a mistake about a 'Breton'. I stopped and recounted the races you listed initially, then scratched my head in confusion until it became clear. Then I went back and reread it and it made sense. I guess I'm saying that it went over my simple head on the first read. The clues you gave were simply too subtle for me. I don't know if that is just me or not - I readily admit that I am a simple reader and require Mrs Acadian to tell me who did it even after a murder mystery show is complete. Let me repeat though, that the concept of our hero being turned by a command spell is absolutely inspired - both in its cleverness and terror. Wow!

Whoa! For a moment I thought Jerric had PTSD! Flashback time, ya know? For all I know, maybe that's exactly what a command spell does! In that case, how would it affect someone who's never fought for his/her life in the past? Scary stuff, that. I admit I had the same moment of confusion as Acadian - Breton? What Breton? Where in Oblivion did he come from?? It really added to the impact of the command spell, especially once Lildereth and Darnand explained it to Jerric (and me).

Ring on, ring off, ring on again. This could get annoying.
So it does! This is why I rarely use detect life in the game. Plus I like the surprise of walking around a corner and finding myself face to face with a troll.

I loved Jerric's dilemna concerning the sleeping elf. I hate the idea of attacking a sleeping person too, even when I know they are just going to attack me when they get up. He did the only thing he could do of course, but that does not make it easy. Now I wonder if he will be receiving a visit from a man in black the next time he sleeps?

A wonderful description of the Command spell taking over Jerric. It is nice to see this, as it never happens to the player in the game, most writers never think to have it used against their protagonist. Just like antagonists using detect life when people turn invisible in front of their eyes, or a dispel magic on their friend when they suddenly turn on them and attack.

Oh skitt,
This was an inventive way to circumvent the board's swear filter!

Darnand rode him down to the floor.
Hubba hubba! I guess if we cannot have Valdemar/Alain slash, we can make due with Darnand/Bjalfi!

“Well,” Jerric said after a moment, “at least they’re not sitting around talking about us.”
This was a perfect ending to an exciting fight. It looked pretty one-sided at first, but things really changed after Jerric switched teams. Nicely done.

And my reading (and spamming) continues apace!

Chapter 7, Part 1

This is another one where I would have to simply copy and quote the whole post to highlight the “good parts.”

Even so- I will pull two paragraphs that define so much of what I love about this story:

[quote]One hand met the sword hilt. His fingers closed around it, and he clutched it like a drowning man holds on to a rope. He wiped the sweat from his face and told himself that if the daedra could breathe his air, then he could breathe theirs. He opened his eyes and focused them on the sword. A long, straight steel blade, double edged and stained with blood. The edges were squared off near the crossguard. He recognized the design on the hilt as Batul’s work. This sword had belonged to someone from Kvatch.[/quote]

[quote]Jerric pushed himself to his feet and deliberately slowed his breathing. The sword’s grip fit comfortably in his right hand, and its heft and balance felt familiar. There was plenty of room for his left when he cupped the rounded pommel in his palm and made an experimental thrust. When he got his arms moving, he began to calm down. He stood by the Gate and looked around him, and the sword’s weight in his hand held him together. If he could not close the Gate here, he would have to go into the Deadlands and look for a way. The Gate is behind me, he thought. Home is behind me. I need to go forward.[/quote]

Chapter 7, Part 2

[quote]The narrow, sloping hallway beyond appeared to be empty, so he jogged up in the near darkness to the door at the top. It opened from the center with a sound like tearing cartilage.[/quote]

Now THAT is a simile! Perfect description for the awful, organic feel of those towers in the Deadlands.

[quote]Disgust drove away his wonder. He had discovered a fountain, but it did not contain water. He spit and gagged for a moment until he brought himself back under control. Somehow this blood fountain had healing properties, he could feel it. He told himself that squeamishness and curiosity were luxuries he must put aside. He just needed to stay alive. He drank from the fountain and pretended it was something else to keep it down.[/quote]

Yes. Again, you show Jerric’s humanity- and his determination.

[quote]Jerric closed his eyes and reached in his mind for anything that would keep him on his feet. He thought of his sister's children even now trapped in the burning city. He imagined Fjirsten with her naughty gap-toothed smile, Hrolgar's small hand in his, the three of them walking in his Ma's sunny garden. Right now he should be with them. Grief surged through him, and rage followed it. He had failed them, but he was still alive. Anger gave him new strength. As long as he lived, he would keep going.[/quote]

I said that I would return to the statement that I would like to write like that if I ever grew up. This is another passage that reinforces that feeling.

[quote]Jerric’s joy splintered into new grief. He couldn’t bring himself to leave this man, not after he had lost all hope and then found him. Every moment that he delayed closing the Gate allowed more daedra to attack his city. He thought of Captain Matius and the Kvatch Guard. They held the barricade, barely. How many of them would fall while he stood here, paralyzed with indecision? What had his family suffered while he was wandering lost in the dim tower? Menien's courage was a balm to Jerric, but it was also an arrow through his heart.[/quote]

Wow. Just… wow. And of course Jerric gives Menien the dagger.

Chapter 7, Part 3

[quote]Jerric was astonished. He looked around at the tense, attentive faces, too embarrassed to speak. Many of these men had hauled him off to the drunk tank more than once. Public intoxication and brawling weren’t serious crimes, but he knew his arrest record took up a significant amount of parchment at the prison. To be recognized on sight by most of the law enforcement in Cyrodiil’s second largest city was something of an accomplishment.[/quote]

These moments that reveal Jerric’s history make him so real to us. And the contrast between the carefree brawler and prankster is even more stark as the story goes on.

I am going to skip ahead a bit, even though it is too late to avoid spamming your thread…

The retaking of the castle is one of the hardest “quests” in the game- not because of fear of dying- or not JUST that. I hate to lose companions- I feel that I have failed if any of the Guards or Legion troops get killed. You describe the chaos and the vain hope turning to despair as brilliantly as I have come to expect.

[quote]“I’m back!” announced Rilian, dropping down between them with a grin. “We’re on the edge of the Arena. I looked at the curbs. My father used to make me wait while he watched the games.” Rilian sounded breathless and exhilarated. Jerric thought that perhaps they had all gone a little crazy.[/quote]

That part I have to highlight, because it shows the depth you bring to your story and your characters.

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

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

Nothing I can say will adequately convey the power, beauty, and sadness those paragraphs invoke.

The conversations at the Anvil Guild, running the gamut from mundane to heartfelt, show your ear for the truth of human interactions. Even in the midst of a crisis, we are often petty and silly and obtuse.

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

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

That renders me speechless with admiration.

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

So well written that I can see and hear Inian clearly.

[quote]Jerric decided there was just no polite way to explain his distraction during their alchemy lessons.[/quote]

Yes, well Sigrid does have a—“distraction”- or two about her.

[quote]He saw Faustino’s face fall, and he realized that they needed to believe in a hero. This isn’t about you, he told himself. He looked around at the other folk who were crowding him.[/quote]

You weave those changes in Jerric so skillfully that they surprise us….

[quote]Puppy dog eyes won’t work on this one, he thought. She probably eats puppies.[/quote]

Only the ones that get in her way or interrupt her “studies” or annoy her with their barking, or….

Love your description of Jerric “reading” Chillrend and the soul gems.

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

Perhaps we are best able to teach the lessons we ourselves need to learn.

[quote]A large rat lay curled on its side, frozen solid. “That’s one powerful frost spell,” Jerric remarked. He dropped the rat in front of Martin. It bounced a little when it hit the ground. “Here’s your kill. Dragonborn.”

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

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

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

Here, you bring Martin wonderfully to life- and also show that Jerric is beginning to be more like his old self, as well.

[quote]“Maybe we’ll run afoul of a murderous deer.”

“A rogue sheep would also be welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That whole passage had me laughing.

[quote]“When she went back out the door, the sun shone through and lit you up like a torch. Look at this boy, I thought. Unspoiled, and full of promise. See how the sun loves him.” Brother Martin looked at him intently.[/quote]

And then there are moments like that one- that just take my breath away.

[quote]“Is that a potion?” asked Martin. “Jerric Juice?”

“Jerric’s Juice,” Jerric corrected him. “Yes. It restores my magicka. Sign of the Atronach. I’m out of bottles, I should have grabbed some in Skingrad.”

“Oh,” Martin said. He sounded genuinely interested. “Is it supposed to be so… lumpy?”

“Are you an alchemist?”

“Not at all,” said Martin.

“Then yes, it’s supposed to be very lumpy.”[/quote]

And with perfect timing, you bring us back from the seriousness of the situation.

[quote]How is this place a secret? We followed a cobbled road to get here, and you found it in a snowstorm.”

“This fortress was built by Reman Cyrodiil’s Akavari Dragonguard at the founding of the Second Empire. The enchantments that conceal this place were laid down with the very stones. When you leave, you will not be able to find your way back unless you are one of us. Even those few who are born within these walls cannot find their way home unassisted, unless they are inducted into the Blades.”[/quote]

An excellent explanation for a rather major hole in the main quest as it is given.

[quote]Jerric felt that he must be standing near the top of the world. Grey granite ridges poked out of the drifted snow in the hollows far below him. The sun rose through a pink haze without warmth, but he realized that he didn’t need its heat. He wandered along the battlements, looking down the road they had climbed in the snowfall. Dark fir and spruce trees dotted the high mountainside and filled the lower slopes with their groves. Wide, open meadows looked like pale blankets, brightening to coral where the dawn light touched them. Bruma’s dark mass was visible to the south in the distance, but beyond that the land dropped away into a blue mist. His heart lifted in a way that felt like home.[/quote]

“Lyrical” does not begin to do justice to that description- especially the final sentence.

[quote]Jauffre extended the sword balanced across his open palms. The simple gesture spoke louder than pomp or ceremony. Jerric took it from him with the sense of a door closing behind him.[/quote]

I want to quote a lot more than just that part- but it does so much that it will stand.

Chapter 9, Part 2

[quote]Now that he could see Anvil’s walls, he felt reluctant to close himself within them.[/quote]

You have such an economy of expression- a few words carry a world of feeling.

[quote]“He’s getting that center room in the front. I don’t care if you’re expecting the High Chancellor this weekend, that man is a hero. Unless you wanted an inn full of daedra, you should be thanking him. No, he’ll stay until he’s ready to leave. Don’t bother him. Send someone up with water, and a hot meal with some meat. I don’t care what time it is, he’s not waiting for dinner. Someone from the Mages Guild will probably check on him, you should give them your cooperation.”[/quote]

Hooray for Darnand.

[quote]Jerric was shortly headed back up the inn stairs with a towel around his neck, tripping over a borrowed robe. “I’ve never worn a dress before,” he told Darnand, but he couldn’t quite find a smile to go with the words.

“You’re hilarious. I don’t know anyone whose trousers would fit you. Carahil had this robe.”[/quote]

There is a bit of the prankster still left, even with the sadness.

[quote]Her sadness was too much for him, and his own grief closed over his head like a suffocating wave. He held on to her for a long time, shaking so hard he feared they both might break.[/quote]

Powerful and wonderful and sad.

“[quote]I suppose, but I don’t think about it.”

“How can you not think about it?”

“I think with my mind, not my…” he gestured at Jerric, “general belt area.”[/quote]

And the Darnand and Jerric Show is back in Anvil!

The discussion of the why’s and how’s of soul gems was a treat- and provided a lot of insight.

“[quote]Why do you need me to be naked?”

“I don’t! I just want to get accurate measurements.” She lifted the end of the tape measure she wore draped over her shoulders.

“You want to measure it?”[/quote]

Glad I read that passage at home rather than at work- and that I was carefully observing the “no beverages” rule.
There is so much with Abiene that is wise and sad and romantic and wonderful that I cannot isolate just a few instances. They are all good.

Chapter 3.3
Obviously he's working for the assassins. He just tackled one, furthering their plot to assassinate the emperor!

Lol! That sounds like something that would happen to Jerric. Healing his nose while it’s busted so he's stuck with it!

Soo I guess passing out is sleeping huh? Good cover. Nobody will see through that one lol.

Going to the ruin eh? I hope he likes killing necromancers.

Chapter 4.1
So much for a friendly sit down at the camp. I really think that there should be more friendly camps in Oblivion. You are pretty safe opening fire on anything not in a town. I think it would be much more interesting if there was some doubt whether someone was a friend or a foe.

Jerric quickly finished off the bandits. I’m glad you reminded us that his armor was MIA.

Lol. Lots of helpful books around and which does he read?

He’s decided to take the amulet to Chorrol. Things are about to get very interesting for him.
Oh and I just remembered he’s an atronach (fantastic choice for a birthsign by the way ) so I’m glad he hit the magic well before setting out.

Chapter 4.2
Aleswell! Invisible people? I hope so!

For some reason I’ve always liked the surly Altmer in the fort.



Now that’s a proper party! Jerric won’t be in castoffs for long!

I really enjoyed the addition of this little quest to the journey to Chorrol.

Chapter 5.1
Bah! He should have gone to The Oak and Crosier. The rates are very similar if not the same as that dingy little shack. Lol.

Oh boy it’s Maglir. I wasn’t expecting him in The Grey Mare. I’ve always seen him in Skingrad.

And now the old Imperial. How many side quests is Jerric going to get tangled in before dropping off that amulet? Next he’ll be off to Hackdirt!

The visit to the Guild hall was very nice. It’s nice to read some about just the day to day things.

Chapter 5.2
Jerric is from Kvatch?! Oh no. I wonder if he’ll take the time to clear the goblins before hitting the road. Seems unlikely now.

I wish that the priests were this interesting in the game. My characters usually went without the horse.
I am relieved that Jerric didn’t forget about the goblins.

mALX: Thank you so much, mALX! It took a long time for this quest to click for me. This job was supposed to be well-rehearsed and smooth, but it sure didn’t work out that way! Thank you for pointing out the moment with the sleeping Altmer. He’s growing in some ways that he doesn’t like, but he’s still doing what he has to do.

Acadian: Lildereth is dragging Jerric kicking and yelling into staying alive. I changed the wording just a little when Jerric gets hit with the spell to give a better clue, but I didn’t want to really explain it until the end when Jerric figured out what happened. I was hoping that the confusion would reflect what was happening in the scene with an Aha! moment at the end, but not be confusing enough (or last long enough) to be annoying. Letting me know how it read to you is so helpful, I appreciate it very much. Thank you, Acadian!

haute ecole rider: You describe exactly what Jerric experienced: where did this Breton come from? I decided that the spell would trick a person into thinking someone was a stranger and their enemy, not force them to attack a friend against their conscious will. It seemed more like illusion magic that way. Thank you for letting me know how it was to read, I took a chance with it!

SubRosa: Fort Strand turned out to not be Jerric’s best day ever, what with the murdering and near friend killing. I had to answer my own question to Maeva, why don’t you waltz in there and get your own darn mace? You picked up Jerric’s issue with illusion magic back when Abiene tried to teach him. Now this day’s events might make him try using fireballs for light. Thank you for your comments about the fight. Jerric planned to do some straight-up slaying with mighty thews, but it didn’t work out that way!

treydog: Now we’re two chapters later from where you’re reading, and Jerric is still in Anvil. I have not yet learned how to move the plot forward. But I promise I have a plan! Writing the Kvatch sections was far more emotional than I expected. I think that’s why I’ve lingered in Anvil. He has things to do there, but mostly I think we both needed time to repair some damage and let him become Jerric again. I can’t express how much the time and care you’ve taken with my story means to me. Thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart!

King Coin: You can imagine it’s going to get pretty grim for Jerric in the next few chapters. He got a little sidetracked in Chorrol, I think he would have gone to Hackdirt if he stayed one more day! For some reason Jerric really got along with Brother Piner. It’s funny, because the game doesn’t give him much to say. Maybe it was the crumpled up letters he was writing to his mom, I loved them in the game but I couldn’t fit them in the story. I took a chance on the Atronach sign, since I’d never played it before. My other characters would be afraid to leave the house if they were born in Sun’s Dusk, but it has helped shape Jerric into what he is. Thank you, KC, I enjoy your comments so much!

Where we are: Jerric, Darnand, and Lildereth found Rockshatter and killed the Fort Strand marauders, despite the gang’s magical recruitment of Jerric during the final fight. Now they take care of a little business.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 12

Hauling salvage out of the ruin took most of the day. Darnand put the dead to rest inside the fort while Jerric cleaned the marauders’ armor. Lildereth ran back to the stable and returned with Flash and two rented pack mules. Darnand’s horse was not trained to a pack saddle.

The three of them walked down the road toward Anvil under a high overcast sky. Jerric swung Rockshatter idly in his hand. In his mind he could see a dozen skeletons lurching toward them with their boney grins. He imagined how the mace would feel as he bashed his way through them. Its shock noise was all too familiar, but he wondered if it would cause more recoil. A glance over the empty hillside told him his scenario was unlikely to occur. He considered summoning Slim so he could try out the mace.

The marauders’ dog trotted along with them, occasionally dashing off into the meadows but always returning to their side. Jerric had a number of troubles on his mind. He started with the easy one. “What are we going to do with the dog?” He raised his voice so that Darnand could hear him at the back of their procession.

“I do not think Carahil will approve of a massive hound in her hall,” Darnand remarked. “She has already made an exception to her standards by allowing Sparky to reside there. Not to mention the occasional Nord.”

“I’ll check with the Anvil Guard to see if anyone’s missing her,” Jerric said. “The Fighters Guild already has a dog. I think she’d like to live at the beach for awhile. Lildereth?”

“What’s her name?” Lildereth asked him.

“Ulfe,” Jerric answered immediately.

“She has fleas and ticks,” Lildereth said. “What are you going to do about that?”

Jerric laughed. “You are talking to a Master Alchemist and the former host of many a pestilence. None currently, of course. Bergamot, lavender, and orange oil for Ulfe. I’ve learned a mild shock spell on oneself kills even the most persistent crotch crabs, but I’d never do that to a dog.”

Ulfe trotted up to Jerric and kept pace beside him, her tail wagging gently as she walked. Her tongue lolled out in what appeared to be an excess of happiness.

“Ulfe seems to agree,” Lildereth said. “She’s no guard dog, Jerric.”

“I know. She’s a Colovian sight hound, and a good companion, I’d wager.” He reached out and scratched the side of Ulfe’s neck. She tossed her head up and rubbed her jaw against him affectionately. He guessed she didn’t mind the blood. “Anyway, I’d like to take her to Kvatch. I’m not a good long-term prospect for any female.”

Darnand, Lildereth, and Ulfe seemed to agree. Flash did not seem interested in Ulfe, and the dog knew her way around the pack animals. Jerric moved on to his next concern.

“They say when you murder someone, the Dark Brotherhood comes to you in your sleep,” he remarked.

“I have also heard this rumor,” Darnand called up to him. “I am told that is how they recruit new members. Whom did you murder, Jerric?”

“That Altmer in the bedroll. She never knew I killed her.”

“I doubt she was an innocent,” Lildereth told him. “If you dream of assassins, you’ll know she was.”

Jerric decided he wouldn’t notice one more bad dream. He turned back to Darnand. “You went after Bjalfi like a veteran brawler. Not bad for a man who can barely cut his own meat. What kind of mage jumps a Nord in steel plate armed with an enchanted mace?”

Darnand did not look amused. “One who has reached his limit.”

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “Sorry about that.”

“Do not apologize, you are not responsible for what you did under that spell.”

“All right. Still… When you said ‘mother-humping battlemages’…”

Darnand shot him a look. “I might have also meant you.”

Jerric placed a hand over his heart, walking backward. “That hurts, Darnand.”

“As does Nordic Frost. Let us say that we are even.”

Jerric grinned at him. “Deal.”

“I would ride a minotaur right now, if I could figure out how to mount it,” Lildereth announced.

Jerric agreed with the spirit of her remark, if not the specifics. “I think I’ve seen enough command spells for today.” He glanced back to check Darnand’s temper. “Try the Breton,” Jerric offered. “He looks like he could use some relief.”

“Watching death pass by does make one feel more alive,” Darnand admitted. “I suppose that is why there is usually a brothel right behind the Fighters Guild.”

“I expect you’d like me to take you both on,” Lildereth said. “Isn’t that what you men are always talking about?”

“By the Nine!” Darnand exclaimed, sounding a little out of breath.

Jerric looked back at Lildereth, curious. His finely honed instincts told him she was not really interested. “You’re pretty confident, tree rat.”

“You’re pretty proud of yourself, mouth breather,” she shot back. “I hate to be disappointed. You think they’ve got a warhammer, and they pull out a spoon.” She shook her head.

Jerric decided to call her bluff and see what point she was trying to make. “Come up here and see for yourself. Fair warning, it’s pretty humid down there.”

Lildereth laughed and kept walking.

“For someone without intentions, you’re pretty reckless with your mouth,” Jerric observed.

Lildereth gave him a green glance. “Now we all know where we stand.”

Fair enough, thought Jerric. I guess sooner or later a lot of men would try to give her a poke. “Where do you think we should sell our haul?” he asked, moving on.

“Morvayn’s or Lelles,’ I’ve traded at both places,” said Lildereth.

“One of us should do the haggling,” Darnand told Lildereth. “We’ll end up paying the merchant if we let Jerric do it.”

Lildereth nodded. “If we can catch Enilroth while Varel is out, I think I can get the best deal from him on the weapons and armor. Lelles will take the other items.”

“We need to eat, and we’re in no shape for the mages guild,” Jerric said. “Let’s drop off the heavy goods with Morvayn, then head over to the Flowing Bowl. Maenlorn always has a hunk of meat on the fire. We can sort through the small salvage up on that rooftop you showed us, Lildereth. We’ll put aside what we want to keep, and you two sell the rest.”

Lildereth nodded. “An expedient plan, Jerric,” said Darnand.

They followed their course of action, lightening their burdens with every stop. Jerric and Ulfe got some hard looks from the guards, but they passed through the city without trouble. Jerric used a belt as a temporary leash for Ulfe, as Countess Umbranox had a strict leash ordinance within city walls. Ulfe cooperated with what Jerric began to believe was an extraordinarily forgiving nature. Their appearance did not get them much attention Harborside as they made their way into The Flowing Bowl.

“Greetings!” called Maenlorn from behind the bar. “Welcome to The Flowing Bowl. Do you know which twin I am?” His face twinkled with enjoyment.

Jerric stared at him. “Again? Maenlorn, we were in here the other day. Last summer you called the Guard on me. You don’t even look like Caenlorn.”

Maenlorn squinted up at him. “Apologies, Jerric. You Nords all look alike.” Lildereth and Darnand moved around beside Jerric. Ulfe rested her chin on the bar, gazing placidly at the publican. “Oh, greetings, Lildereth. I didn’t see you there.” Maenlorn nodded to Darnand and Ulfe.

“You are the twin in brown,” Darnand informed him.

“We want a pitcher of ale, a bucket of water, and a piece of whatever poor creature you’re burning,” said Jerric. He glanced at the other two for confirmation. “Times four on the meal.”

“Shoulder of mutton stuffed with garlic and onion, roasted all afternoon in a very slow fire. A happy sheep who lived peacefully in our golden meadows. In her day she clothed us well and gave us many lambs to feast upon. Her temper was sweet, her fleece was springy, and her meat will nourish you. But not yet, she still needs a little more time on the fire.”

There was a silence as the companions considered his words. “All right then,” said Jerric. “Start a tab, if you please. We’ll be up on your Bosmer balcony as long as the rain holds off.”

Maenlorn filled a pitcher from the ale barrel. “Take some bread while you’re waiting for Flossy.”

Jerric grabbed the pitcher and three mugs in his hand, tossing the bread to Lildereth. Darnand shouldered his back and picked up the water bucket. Lildereth led their parade up the stairs.

“She has already made an exception to her standards by allowing Sparky to reside there. Not to mention the occasional Nord.”
Indeed, the latter shed enough as it is!

I’ve learned a mild shock spell on oneself kills even the most persistent crotch crabs
Ewwww!

A nice homage to the game with the rumor about the Dark Brotherhood (apparently only men are allowed). Also some cute banter between the trio. I guess since they are a team now, they need a name. Maybe the Terrible Trio? The Anvil Three?

And Ulfe is of course terribly adorable.

Colovian Sighthound indeed! Loved the pic of Ulfe. But doesn't Jerric know that if you name 'em, they're yours for life?

Actually these dogs are quite fierce guardians of their families (i.e. the classic story of the Irish Wolfhound who defended the baby from a wolf that broke in, only to be killed for being covered in the wolf's blood when the father arrived home and mistakenly thought the dog had killed the babe). So that makes Ulfe's behavior even more striking.

Loved the banter between the three. Lildereth is now considered one of the 'boys' if they are comfortable enough to descend into trash talk with her. She certainly is comfortable in her own skin! Liking this woman (wo-elf?) more and more!

A great transition from dungeon to town, complete with fabulously natural and entertaining banter among the three amigos. Ulfe does indeed look exactly how I would picture a 'Colovian sight hound'.

“They say when you murder someone, the Dark Brotherhood comes to you in your sleep,” he remarked.'
This is so rich for a couple reasons. Firstly, it instantly reminds of that Jerric is not at all done thinking about killing that sleeping Altmer. Secondly, it is one of those precious times when, without the slightest bit of force, a line from the game slips perfectly into place. Well done!

Goodness. I hope Lildereth doesn't let a minotaur near her sock drawer. Oh, and perhaps Ulfe should guards hers from Jerric? Well, you know, since Flossie is no longer available. . . .

“You’re pretty confident, tree rat.”
Oh my. I see that SubRosa and I shall have to add this to our growing list of names for our bark biting wood nymphs elves.

'Ulfe rested her chin on the bar, gazing placidly at the publican. “Oh, greetings, Lildereth. I didn’t see you there.” Maenlorn nodded to Darnand and Ulfe.'
I hope so very much I'm not mistaken here. Maenlorn just called Lildereth a dog, and the image had me rolling!

Chapter 6.1
Heh, it sounds like you’ve received some whacky directions before. Jerric’s thoughts about the directions to the Odiil farm were pretty funny.

Good thing that Jerric warned them of his summons. I always imagined a summon causing an uproar even though the NPCs never batted an eye at a skeleton popping out of nowhere.

Chillrend was one of the coolest blades in the game. It’s just too back that it wasn’t a bit more useful (in game). I’m sure Jerric will put it to good use.




Chapter 6.2
Lol Jerric got to go fishing. That’s one boring quest that I always do. The ring is just too valuable to not get.

Nerussa gets a lot of attention. She’s going to have Jerric tromping around old forts to get some wine.

Not what I was expecting him to say at all!

Chapter 6.3
So many parties spring up when a big Nord wanders into town

A puppet show? Hilarious! Too bad Jerric didn’t stay!

Chapter 6.4
I remember the passage about the apple and the horse from some topic on the BethSoft forum.

Nice to know Druja doesn’t think much about anyone. Funny sarcasm though. “Good for you.”

Huh, everyone’s so cheerful. Except Vigge. Keep an eye on him.

Chapter 6.4
Ah yes it’s Falanu, as creepy as ever.

I almost forgot that Sinderion was an Altmer, being pleasant and all.

Haha! Maglir! Someone for Jerric to punch in the face!

Oh my…

Chapter 6.6
A highwayman! This one knew what he was doing too for the most part. Why are highwaymen always khajiit? That always irked me about Oblivion.

Jerric the Doll? Lol!

Chapter 7.1
I was going to quit at the end of chapter 6, but I want to read some more!

Great description of the city and what Jerric was feeling. The Deadlands are a terrifying place and Jerric reacted as you would expect. I’m glad he pulled himself together quickly. He better get used to going to hell and back though.

I always sent the guard out of the gate too. I always do my best to keep the guards alive.

Remind me not to have a mouth full of anything when Jerric begins discussing his crotch crickets ... urgh!

I loved the discussion about the Dark Brotherhood - Jerric is obviously worried about hs actions earlier !! Awesome interjection of the game wording there !! Ulfe is beautiful !!! Awesome Chapter !!

SubRosa: I’m sure a lot of Nords could stand a spell treatment from Aela! After the TMI about his history of external parasites, I expect Jerric will find he has a little more elbow room wherever he goes.

haute ecole rider: Thank you for the story about the Irish Wolfhound. I have the same fierce loyalty in mind for the Colovian dogs that resemble them, as well as their intelligence and independence. I wanted to give the sense that Ulfe was not always the marauders’ dog, they likely stole her like they stole everything else. Chained to the column outside, she didn’t really have a family any more. If she had been a local dog, she probably would have run home. I’m glad you like Lildereth. When she gets talking, she does have quite a mouth.

Acadian: Well, Ulfe is a leggy blonde. Maenlorn’s slip is a product of clumsy editing, but now it’s unintentionally hilarious! Especially with the squinting. Oh my goodness!! I’m leaving it as it is, I was rolling too when I read it again. And it seems that Jerric finally took Flossy to dinner.

King Coin: The Grits trifecta of country directions is a reference to an animal, a tree, and a landmark that no longer exists. Bonus for some kind of warning. Here’s how I used to tell people to get to my house when I lived out near nowhere: Turn right at the place where the Junk Man used to live. Go past the cedar trees, and watch out for the chickens. Turn right again at the road with no sign. Go past the yard with the collies. When you see the red mailbox, you’re there. You kept reading after you thought you would stop, that makes me so happy.

mALX: Former crotch crickets, Jerric hastens to point out! You’re right, that Altmer is going to be hard for him to let go of.

Where we are: The Fort Strand business is concluded, and Jerric has been awarded temporary custody of the dog. We find our friends a few days later.



Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 13

Jerric slammed through the basement door and stalked into the mages guild dining hall. Darnand, Abiene, and Thaurron sat around one of the tables, a pitcher and goblets between them. Dammit, we missed lunch, Jerric thought.

The mages stared silently at him, their faces three versions of surprise. Sparky crouched frozen at Thaurron’s elbow.

Darnand cleared his throat. “How goes the poison training?” he asked.

Lildereth slipped into the room behind Jerric. “I’d sooner teach a boar to sew,” she spat.

Jerric didn’t look at her. “Nothing but rules, this one,” he told the table. “‘Don’t cut yourself! Don’t pull the cork with your teeth! Don’t spill the poison! Don’t touch your face! Quit wiping your fingers on your shirt!’” He realized that the crunching sound was coming from his knuckles.

Darnand spoke after a moment. “Did you do all of those things?”

“Of course not!” Jerric kicked a bench, sending Sparky squeaking into the air. “I never cut myself.”

“You used as many cure potions as you did vials of poison!” Lildereth flared.

“I told you not to give them to me! It would have worn off.”

“You made the poison too strong, you kept turning blue! I’m not going to watch you suffocate by your own hand, even if you deserve it!”

“You were using real poison?” gasped Abiene.

“Poisons of paralysis,” Jerric explained. “She said it would make me pay attention.”

“It didn’t,” Lildereth snapped.

“You never quit talking,” Jerric shot back at her. “How am I supposed to do it and pay attention?”

“Excuse me for assuming your mind is as quick as your temper!”

“I don’t have a temper!” Jerric thundered. Glass chimed on the shelves behind him.

Green fog swirled around Lildereth’s clawed fingers, matching the venom in her slanted eyes.

“My friends,” Thaurron began.

Abiene was already on her feet, sliding between them. Jerric eyed her, suspecting she might hit him with a calming spell. She arrested her hand before it reached his arm, soft eyes on his face. “Business takes me away from the guild hall this afternoon, but I will return in time for our Saturalia Eve festivities.” Her voice was balm on his frayed nerves. As she looked back and forth between Jerric and Lildereth, Jerric’s mind began to ease despite himself. “Will you join your guild mates at the Countess’ ball this evening?”

Lildereth composed her face. “I have not received an invitation.”

“None is needed,” Abiene assured her. “The Countess extends her invitation to all guild members who are resident at the hall. We have Carahil’s position in Anvil to thank for that courtesy.”

“I don’t know…” Lildereth began.

“Oh, please join us!” Abiene urged her warmly. “I have never attended either, I’ve always spent Saturalia with my family in Leyawiin.” Abiene reached out and drew a lock of Lildereth’s hair through her fingers. “We could help each other get ready, say at five or six bells of the afternoon?”

Jerric watched Lildereth relax before his eyes. “I would like that very much, Abiene,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be grateful for the companionship,” Abiene told her. “Today I find myself missing my sister’s company.” Abiene’s eyes went to Jerric.

“Oh,” he said. “Uh… I’m not going to the castle party. Rhano’s folks want me to join them tonight.” Abiene’s face still held a question. “I’m going back to the beach for awhile. Run, swim, restore my temper.” He said the last with a grimace aimed at Lildereth.

“Thank the Nine, or perhaps we should thank the influence of Bretons,” said Lildereth.

Abiene blushed, and Jerric realized that she had calmed both of them. Only Lildereth had noticed.

“Well, I’ll save my Saturalia wishes for tomorrow,” Jerric said. “I expect I’ll head this way in the morning, or in the afternoon if we go a little too deep in the ale tonight.”

“Until tomorrow, Jerric.” Her back to the others, Abiene’s smile told him something altogether different.

Jerric went for his run under a heavy sky. Feeling ridiculous, he completed his sidestepping agility drills before he swam. Cold rain fell in sheets as he made his way up to his hut. He stood for a moment beside the lowest step, letting the cascade from the roof wash over him. I’ll give Abiene her gift today, he decided. Tomorrow we might not get any privacy.

Ulfe lay stretched out under the table on her new blankets, lending the scent of freshly washed dog to the hut. She raised her head and yawned her greeting. Jerric had discovered that while the hound seemed tireless outdoors, under a roof she became almost immobile.

Jerric still stood dripping onto the hearth when Abiene burst through the door. He took her heavy cloak while she gasped and chattered about the rain. She dried her face and hands by the fire while he opened the wine.

“I have something for you,” Jerric told her, trading her cloth for a mug of Tamika’s.

“So I see,” she smiled, running her eyes over him.

“Really, I have something for you. A Saturalia present.” He handed her the velvet bag and stepped back to watch, giving himself a few swipes with the towel.

Abiene drew in a sharp breath when the earrings tumbled into her palm. “Oh Jerric, they’re beautiful! Brown topaz, and so dark!”

She put them on and turned to show him, holding back her hair. The gems glittered in the firelight, outshone by her delighted smile.

“I wish I had a mirror so you could see,” he said. “They’re the perfect color, like your eyes.” He felt his face flush. “I mean, I don’t know about jewelry, but...”

“Oh thank you!” She reached up to kiss him, her body light against his. In a heartbeat he felt her fingers tighten on his shoulders as his own tangled into her hair. “Wait, wait!” She drew back and pushed him so he would sit on the bed. “I brought some shoes I want to show you.” She fiddled with her bag and held them so he could see.

“Shoes?” Jerric discovered he was more than willing to humor her. “Oh, they’re nice I guess. They’re brown, too, see I know you wear a lot of that color. How are you going to walk in those heels?” Abiene placed them on the floor. In one smooth motion her dress went over her head and across the back of the chair. “Whoa, that’s a nice surprise. I guess you can’t get sand in your undergarments if you don’t wear any.”

Something delightful happened to her posture when she stepped into the shoes. Hand on her hip, Abiene smiled at him over her shoulder. Jerric found that he had lost the power of speech.

“What do you think of my shoes?” she asked pertly.

Jerric cleared his throat. “I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention. Better twirl around again. Slow.”

She did, this time lifting her curls off her neck. When he tried to speak it came out as a growl. “Oops,” Abiene laughed, “I think the strap is twisted. I’ll just fix it.”

Jerric appreciated his small house, because it took less than a step to lift her to the bed. “Oh, I’ll keep them on, shall I?” she laughed again. Then she seemed too breathless for conversation.

The afternoon passed in the most pleasant way Jerric could imagine. Eventually he woke alone. The fire had died down to embers, and he could hear that the rain had stopped. The pillow still held Abiene’s scent when he pressed it to his face. She would leave for Chorrol before New Life Festival, she had told him. In a way it will be easier, he thought. I could lose myself again, this time in the comfort of a woman.

Ulfe slipped out the door behind him as he left for Rhano’s parents’ house. She galloped off down the beach, intent on her own business. Jerric checked the cloth he had tied over the door latch. Ulfe would be able to let herself in when she returned.

Jerric took the Dock Gate into Anvil’s Westgate district. Within minutes he found himself standing on the familiar porch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt like a child for a moment, running out the back door and around to the front, playing Troll in the Cave. He blinked, and he was a disgraced teenager seeking refuge once again.

I should have come before, he thought, tension making his hands shake. It seemed strange to knock. Before he could bolt, the door opened, revealing a trim Redguard woman somewhere past her middle age. She stood on the step looking down at him, and her round face crumpled into sadness. The dark place inside him yawned open, his grief rising up to meet hers. Now she all but disappeared into his arms, but Jerric remembered how it felt to be enfolded in her soft embrace.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Shasana said.

“Mother,” Jerric whispered.

She drew him into the entry hall, holding him at her arms’ length to look at him. Her face told him how he must have changed. “Still forgetting your cloak and hood, I see.” Her chin trembled despite her gentle teasing.

“I can run between the raindrops if it starts again.” How old was I when I first told her that, Jerric wondered, glad he had remembered to brush the sand from his boots. He handed her the wine.

“Rhano is in the dining hall, Jerric. You may take your parcels in with you.” She smiled through her tears as she smoothed his doublet. “I cannot express what it will mean to have you both at our table again.”

Jerric felt shadows crowding the hall. He and his nieces and nephews had filled this house with chaos when they visited. He remembered his Ma’s dismay at their noise, and Shasana saying that she had never been happier. She only smiled at their constant laughter and shouting. Nord music, Shasana called it.

Jerric’s honorary mother bustled off to finish her preparations in the kitchen. The sound of a fire greeting new wood drew him into the dining hall. Rhano straightened at the hearth, brushing his hands together. Jerric’s eyes wandered over the elegant table, reluctant to meet Rhano’s. Candlelight glimmered on polished silver and glazed porcelain. Crystal goblets would hold their water and Shasana’s wine. Gleaming tankards stood ready for the men’s ale. The tight feeling grew in his chest when he recognized the cloth on the table. Damask from Kvatch. Jerric set down the gifts he had brought before he finally looked at Rhano.

His friend’s face could have been made of stone. He lost them all too, Jerric thought. It’s worse when we’re here. He wants to run from me as much as I want to get away. But this is something we can do for Ongve and Shasana.

Rhano stepped over and offered his arm. Jerric took it without speaking.

“Let’s get through dinner, then I have some of your Nordic rotgut,” Rhano said.

“Your rotgut,” Jerric told him. “You have more of a head for whiskey than I do.”

“You’re always the one crying in the morning,” Rhano agreed. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I hear you’ve been seen with a long-haired blonde around town.”

“Yeah. Ulfe. Found her up at Fort Strand. She’s back at the beach, I fixed the door so she can open it. She’s not so good about closing it, though.”

“She should be careful,” Rhano remarked. “You could give her fleas. Or worse.”

“Puppies?”

Rhano’s laugh turned into a cough. Jerric turned to find Ongve behind him. “Jerric.”

“Thank you for having me here, sir.”

Ongve passed the ale pitcher to Rhano and pulled Jerric into an awkward embrace. “You’ll always have a home with us, lad,” Ongve said quietly. Dammit, thought Jerric, blinking to clear his eyes again.

Shasana’s voice floated in from the kitchen, calling for her boys’ helping hands. This is what we are now, Jerric thought. I can’t let them know how soon this too will end. He followed Rhano down the corridor to offer assistance.