What a bittersweet reunion!

Loved the sparring between Jerric and Lildereth in the beginning! I know exactly how she feels! I've had so-called assistants just like that not that long ago.

I just about fell out of my chair laughing! As developed as your characters are, it probably wasn't difficult writing this scene - just let 'em have at it. The hardest part for you probably was typing fast enough to keep up with them!

And Ulfe didn't mind Abiene's - errh - visit with Jerric? Heh, she probably rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, not that they'd hear!

The reunion at the family's home was very sad, but very loving at the same time. All the memories come crowding back, and it's difficult to enjoy the moment when folks are burdened by survivor's guilt. I hope that Rhano and Jerric are able to move past the sadness and enjoy the moment, and that Rhano's parents are able to do the same.

Jerric isn't the only one blinking to clear his eyes again. As much as I loved the temper flare-up between Jerric and Lildereth at the start of the chapter, and all the other wonderful diverse scenes this chapter is full of - all paled into the mist at the end, leaving only the reunion with Shasana and Ongve. Awesome Write !!!

Fabulous! A great scene among the mages, complete with fireworks and delightfully sharp banter. Then a cold rain on a warm beach cottage and finally a touching reunion.

'Green fog swirled around Lildereth’s clawed fingers, matching the venom in her slanted eyes.'
I instantly knew what this was. And why. I wonder why I can identify with Lildereth so easily? And oh my, what a wonderful description!

“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.”
Wonderful, and how very natural it seems that Carahil would hold a position of note when it came to matters involving the castle. She's a fine magister.

'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.'
How beautifully you retain the emotion of the moment while delicately painting the surroundings - what a wonderful touch you have with description! If you are anything like me, this seemingly simple paragraph required countless edits to float so effortlessly from the page.

Jerric reminds me of many a 'gentle giant' I have known in real life, with just a touch of depth and off-beat subtlety to leaven the 'fight, fuk and fart' stereotype of male behaviour. However...if he is vulnerable to command spells (and BTW, your description of one was masterly!) wouldn't that put a great hole in the trust of his companions? Time to brew up a resist illusion magic potion methinks...

Chapter 7.2
Great description of the column of flame. I never imagined it shaking the floor though!

Holy ****! I’m so glad that Jerric killed that daedra. I can’t imagine worse than being captured by one of those.

No no no! That is NOT running water!

I always hated leaving the man in the cage to die at the hands of the daedra. I even tried to kill him once and I couldn’t even do that.

Chapter 7.3
Days? Was he really in there that long, or does time travel differently in Oblivion?

I never thought of it, but these men know Jerric. They’ve always been strangers to my characters. I never thought what it would be like to actually know them.

Chapter 7.4
For a second I thought that this chapter opened as Kvatch was being attack from the perspective of a mage in the guild hall there. It’s actually Anvil right?

The part with the blessing was nicely worked in.

This was a very strong chapter in my opinion. The reactions of the people to Kvatch’s fate was well done.

I’m afraid for Jerric though. It always seemed like he was so care free and now to see him like this and knowing that it will not turn out well is just sad.

Chapter 7.5
I forgot about the legion that joins from patrol! They always died with me. Suicidal idiots. I wonder how they fare here.

Lol those crazy atronachsigns, running into harmful spells!

You do so well describing the skirmishes. The soldiers seem to be making progress with minimal casualties.

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

“It didn’t,” Lildereth snapped.
The whole exchange about poison training was priceless. Seriously though, it is good to see another example of the limitations you are placing on your protagonist. There is a tendency in not only fan fiction, but also professional fiction, to make the central character a master of everything. Having a character who is not all-around perfect is refreshing to see.

Also nice save by Abiene, calming the explosive situation. I thought the Fighters Guild would be the place to expect fights at the lunch table, not the Mages Guild! I see she is not going to Leyawiin for Saturalia this year. Hmmm, that is going to send a message to her parents, especially her mother I think.

“I’m going back to the beach for awhile. Run, swim, restore my temper.”
And get naked and boff? Since Abiene already told everyone that she was going to be busy in the afternoon... I wonder how long they are going to keep trying to keep up the pretense of not being a couple?

Finally, the Saturalia feast with Rhano and the rest of Jerric's foster family was very touching.

haute ecole rider: Luckily Ulfe stayed under the table, or she might have found herself standing in the rain with a Breton-sized footprint on her rear. You’re so right, by the time Jerric and Lildereth got to their shouting/seething match, they knew exactly what they were going to say. Now they’re comfortable enough with each other to let it fly! You describe the reunion just as I hoped, thank you haute!

mALX: You made me smile! Thank you, mALX. As I’m sure you know, the last part was pretty important to me. Now I’m working on a very short Jerric and Rhano story, I know it’s Shasana’s doing!

Acadian: I think Carahil would be an interesting character to explore. Her history with the Benirus situation has her in Anvil for a long time, and folks seem to respect her. Yet her friendship with the castle mage/necromancer Baeralorn provides a nice contradiction. You’re so right about the editing. That paragraph even got one more tweak as I was posting, and I try not to do that! Thank you for your kind and encouraging words, Acadian.

D. Foxy: You’re right, Darnand’s trust would be especially shaken, as would Jerric’s trust in himself. There was a lot that went unspoken while they sat there recovering from the fight. All of them would have been aware of the possibility, though. It’s the reason Jerric can’t bring himself to use illusion magic. I’m sure Darnand’s wheels are turning to come up with a solution, now that he’s actually experienced Jerric yanking him by the throat. Priorities. Thank you Foxy, I’m so glad you’re back!

King Coin: Time passes much slower in the Deadlands in this story. Jerric has to tell time there by how long it takes him to run out of water. Yes, Chapter 7.4 starts with the people in Anvil learning about Kvatch, then jumps to Jerric in the Kvatch chapel. It’s another time difference thing, they had days for news of the attack to travel while Jerric was in the Gate for less time. Since I wrote that, I’ve learned to avoid changing POV in the middle of a post. I thought you’d enjoy that Atronach remark! Your concern for Jerric warms my heart. You’re right, it’s not going to be a smooth road for him. Thank you, King Coin!

SubRosa: Traven might have to tighten the standards again, after the near throw down at the Anvil MG. You’re right about Abiene’s staying in Anvil for Saturalia. That should be a huge step in her allowing herself to break away from her family’s expectations and stop living under their fears. Then she could put on her big girl panties and deal with everyone knowing her business. Or she could move to another city and just not deal with it. She could use some of Aela’s courage! And possibly some advice on how to cope with stress without her daily Nord ride. Thank you, SubRosa. It’s good to know if I’m finding a balance for Jerric.

Where we are: It’s the Eve of Saturalia. Jerric has made his way to Ongve and Shasana’s for the evening. Now we go back a little earlier that same afternoon to pick up with Abiene. We’ll spend the next two episodes in her company. Estrogen overload warning.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 14

Abiene lay on her side in Jerric’s bed, watching him breathe life back into the fire. Shadows rolled along his back and side. Candlelight played over his scars. Magnificent, she thought. How did this skinny Breton get into that man’s bed?

She hugged her knees, cradling his seed inside her. It was folly, her precautions had already been taken. No child would spring from their loving. Still, part of her held a voiceless wish.

Winter rain drummed against the roof of his hut, loud with no ceiling above them. The room was dark enough to make Abiene think it was already night, but Jerric’s stomach would have complained if the afternoon had completely passed. She hoped that the sound of rain on boards and a crackling fire would always bring her back to this feeling.

I need to go soon, she thought. Lildereth is expecting me, and I’ll need to bathe before we dress for the ball. I shouldn’t let him build the fire too high, he’s only doing it for me. She tried to still her mind, and stay just in the moment.

Jerric turned his head to look at her. The new shadow in his eyes was her doing, she knew it. The message had come from Chorrol, and she would leave before New Life Festival. She had told him in the sweaty glow after their energy was spent, hoping that closeness would ease the sting. Now she felt their separation looming over them. Then he smiled, and her stomach trembled.

“Think it’s going to rain?” he asked, teasing. When he rose, his sudden grace stopped her breath. She supposed that’s why he kept his furniture pushed against the walls. At the guild hall he often moved like a horse surprised to find itself at a tea party.

He climbed over her and put his back to the wall, drawing her against him. Heat and strength enveloped her. Bittersweet, she thought. Now I know what that means.

“Are you going to sleep?” she asked. His breathing was already slow and heavy.

“Mmm hmm. I’ll wake up before it’s time to go to Rhano’s. Can you stay awhile?” He draped a leg over hers, hot and crushing.

“Until you drift off. I have to get back soon.”

“Right,” Jerric rumbled softly against her neck. “The ball.”

That must be what it’s like to hear a lion purr, thought Abiene. “I’m going to wear my new earrings.”

Jerric made an unintelligible mutter.

“The shoes?” Abiene guessed. “No, my love. I need to be able to dance in them, and it’s raining.”

Jerric’s snore told her the conversation was over. She waited for his muscles to stop twitching, when he would slump easily to his back without waking. After she extracted herself from the bed, it took some time for feeling to return to her toes.

Ulfe still lounged mostly under the table. She gazed up with her shaggy brows at a supplicating angle. Abiene knelt to give her a long scratch and whispered farewell. Moments later she was out in the rain, her spells speeding her steps and concealing her passage.

At the guild hall, Carahil stood behind her counter in the entry. Abiene saw her check the hourglass as she hung up her cloak. “Good afternoon, Abiene.” Her tone was as neutral as her expression.

“Good afternoon, Carahil.” The Altmer wore a black velvet gown with a heavily embroidered panel running down the bodice. Her belt was made of jewel encrusted gold medallions. Black gems set in an ornate necklace sparkled against her golden skin. Abiene concluded that Carahil was ready for the ball.

“Lildereth has been looking for you.” Now her magister’s smile told Abiene that they spoke as friends. “We will depart in two hours. It has been a slow afternoon here. Most of us have already made our preparations for the evening.”

“You look lovely,” Abiene said. “Is that a new gown?”

“This gown is older than you are, my dear. However…” Carahil stepped to the side of her counter and raised the hem.

“New gold slippers! They’re perfect! Where did you get them? Not from Tulia. Oh, Carahil, they’ll be ruined in the rain!”

Carahil’s smile broadened. “I know a shoemaker in Cheydinhal. I nearly despaired that these would arrive in time for the ball.” She held out a slender wrist adorned with a simple gold bracelet. “I will tell you a secret. The rain does not bother me while I wear this.”

No wonder her hair stays smooth when mine puffs up like a startled cat, thought Abiene. “That’s a useful enchantment. Is there a spell that keeps off the rain?”

“I do not know one, but surely one exists. Perhaps one of our own ambitious mages might make one, if he can tear himself away from his studies long enough to gain access to the Praxographical Center.”

“Darnand is joining us tonight, isn’t he?”

“You might remind him of his promise before you join Lildereth,” Carahil suggested. “He may have already forgotten today’s date.”

Abiene gave in to the excitement of getting ready for a party. Her skipping feet carried her quickly through her preparations until she met Lildereth in the bathing chamber. The Bosmer perched on the edge of the center tub in a dressing robe, trailing her fingertips through the water. The far tub was also filled. “I hung my gown in your chamber,” Lildereth told her.

“I saw!” replied Abiene. “That one suits you so well. It brings out the color of your eyes.”

Lildereth smiled with a twist of her lips. “I’m glad, since that one is the only one. You’ll see it again tomorrow, unless tonight brings some dress-rending mishap.”

Abiene approached the tub, raising her hands. “I would wager on your gown’s safety. The most dangerous event of the evening is about to occur. I shall attempt to heat my bathwater without burning down the building.” She took a deep breath, cautiously preparing to draw fire into her hands.

“Wait!” said Lildereth. “This one is for you, Abiene. I prefer mine cooler.” The wood elf smiled up at her.

Abiene stared at the steam rising from the center tub. Lildereth has been heating it this whole time, she realized. “But it doesn’t smell like fire in here at all!”

“For me it’s a matter of exchanging cold for heat in the water,” Lildereth explained. “Fire has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, I’d love to learn that! Thank you!” Abiene moved to the shelves, rummaging for her bath supplies.

When she drizzled her scented oil into the water, Lildereth raised one hand slightly. The water began to gently circle in the tub.

“Valenwood must be a wondrous place,” breathed Abiene.

“Indeed,” Lildereth told her. She seemed to be on the edge of saying more, but stopped herself.

Abiene bustled around, gathering their towels and moving the screens for privacy. “I know you’re not shy, but Marc will be in here any moment. He always smirks at me like he thinks he knows something.”

“You should give him a good look,” Lildereth suggested. “Then he might leave you alone.”

Abiene hoped that Lildereth hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. She glanced at the wood elf as she hung up her dressing gown. She has the strength I admire and the curves I envy, thought Abiene. Is she reminding me that she’s prettier? Yet Lildereth’s face showed only friendship. I’m looking for barbs where they don’t exist, Abiene decided. Not every woman stings like my sister.

A duet of sighs rose with the steam as the women eased into their tubs. Abiene lay back for a moment before she went about the business of washing. Her eyes popped open with a revelation. “Oh, darn it! I forgot the wine.”

Thaurron strode briskly in as if summoned, bearing a silver tray. “I believe this is yours, my dear! How will you begin your debauchery, if not with wine?”

“How indeed,” Abiene laughed, flicking water at him. Sparky landed on the edge of her tub, scolding. “Only two glasses! Won’t you join us?”

Thaurron handed them each a chilled goblet. “I shall accompany you to the castle this year, so I must postpone my revelry just a bit longer. Felen will outshine me with his raiment, but with my wits about me I might yet find a way to surpass him.” Thaurron winked at Lildereth. “To no end, of course. A simple rivalry between friends.”

“I’m so pleased, Thaurron,” said Abiene. She leaned back and sipped her wine. “To think I have missed this in years past.”

“Your presence is what spurs me to celebration,” Thaurron told her merrily. “You must see me take a turn about the floor with Carahil. It is the dance of the chaffinch and the crane.” Thaurron spun around as he departed, elaborately bowing himself out the door.

“He cares for you,” Lildereth remarked, still laughing.

“More than I deserve. I feel I would do anything for the ones I love, except stay with them.” Tears rushed up behind Abiene’s eyes, infuriating her.

“Tonight is for enjoyment, as is tomorrow,” Lildereth said gently. “Let your concerns keep themselves for one day.”

Abiene ducked under the water to rinse away her sorrow. She came back up determinedly smiling. “Thank you, Lildereth. I wish we had more time together. Somehow I know we would be friends.”

Lildereth’s eyes twinkled the way only a Bosmer’s could. “I feel that we are friends already. Do not say farewell so soon. Our paths may cross again.”

“Do you have plans?”

“I thought I might go to Kvatch for a time. I’m a market hunter, and the guild needs venison for feather potions.”

“Oh, you should travel with Darnand and Jerric!” Abiene sat up in the tub, excited. “Darnand speaks so highly of you, and Jerric would never bother shouting at someone he didn’t care about.”

“Perhaps I’ll find them there. They plan to ride, and I don’t have a horse. Besides, I prefer to travel off the roads.”

“I do hope so. It would ease my mind to know they had someone sensible with them.”

Abiene and Lildereth finished the wine in Abiene’s chamber. Lildereth amazed Abiene by using gentle streams of warm air to dry their hair. The wood elf took her time playing with Abiene’s curls, eventually drawing them into a loose twist at the back of her head. She tugged a few free and tweaked them with her fingers until they framed Abiene’s face to her apparent satisfaction.

Abiene smiled at her as they switched places in front of the mirror. “Your turn.” She picked up Lildereth’s brush.

Another thing to envy, Abiene sighed to herself. Lildereth’s hair was as glossy and smooth as the Niben on a moonlit night. Abiene watched the Bosmer’s eyes close with pleasure under her touch. “My mother used to do this,” Lildereth murmured. “Long ago.”

Abiene looked at the wood elf’s delicate features more carefully. Slight shadows darkened her eyelids, and she looked sallow under her tan. Abiene stilled her hands. “Do you feel all right, Lildereth?” She saw her own cheeks flush in the mirror. “I’m sorry, that was a little blunt.”

Lildereth’s eyes opened, pale green and almost luminous. “I suppose I’ve been tired lately.” She looked at Abiene in the mirror. “How should we style it? You decide.”

Abiene chose braids running down from a center part, tucked into a roll at the neck. For a moment she was stymied by Lildereth’s ears. They have their own fragile beauty, she mused, smoothing the hair behind them. When she carelessly brushed one with her knuckles, Lildereth jumped in her seat. That answers that question, thought Abiene. She made her movements more cautious.

Lildereth’s green dress bared her shoulders and a flattering amount of cleavage. The sleeves and skirt fell loosely around her, but the close-fitting bodice showed off her shape. Abiene tightened the laces until Lildereth gasped. Her bosom surged above the neckline. “Your dance card will be full this evening,” Abiene giggled. She blamed the wine.

“I’ll be breathless the entire night!” laughed Lildereth. “Give me room to breathe, or they will all think I’m panting with desire!”

Abiene showed some mercy with the laces. “Is there anyone in particular you have your eye on?”

Lildereth sighed. “Not for some time. Such matters have not held my interest lately.”

Abiene chose her sleeveless gown made of deep burgundy silk. The neckline rose high in the front, showing only her collarbones. The back dipped low, open halfway to her waist. Tiny, evenly spaced beads glittered across the fabric. Abiene pulled the material snug over her hips so Lildereth could close the hooks along the side. This is not the dress to wear with Jerric, Abiene thought with a smile. She shook out the full skirt when Lildereth stepped back, checking herself in the mirror.

“A healer’s robe does not do you justice, Abiene,” said Lildereth. “What jewelry are you wearing?”

“Just earrings.” Abiene smiled her thanks as she fastened Jerric’s gift onto her ears.

Lildereth took her hands, holding them out to the sides as she looked her over critically. “I have a bracelet you can borrow. I’ll be right back.”

Their final primping complete, Lildereth and Abiene moved swiftly through the guild hall, following the mages’ chatter from the entry. Abiene smiled at the sight of her guild mates’ muffled figures gathered there. Most had their heads together in jovial conversation, but Darnand and Marc seemed to be engaged in one of their interminable staring competitions. Darnand has my cloak, Abiene realized with surprise.

“At last!” Thaurron exclaimed. “Ladies, we are graced by your presence. We are also delayed by its long absence. Make haste, friends! To the castle!”

The door let in a rush of wet air, but the rain seemed to have ended. “Felen, is this your doing?” Carahil demanded as she stepped through.

“Ayleid weather magic?” The Dunmer replied. Abiene lost the end of his remark as they passed into the street.

Darnand’s eyes were on her, admiring. Abiene stopped for a moment in the hall to look back at him. His haughty expression had faded, and now his lean features held an almost boyish smile. He held her cloak in his hands, ready for her. “Will you permit me?” he asked softly.

Abiene stepped in front of him, bending her neck as he secured it around her shoulders. Her stomach surprised her with a nervous flutter. Thaurron’s words returned to her. Surely tonight will pass without any awkward declarations, Abiene thought.

Once on the portico, they found their guild mates already processing down the street under a halo of glittering light. Carahil and Felen led the group, the Altmer’s long strides keeping the trailing wood elves at a trot. She sent up another swirl of sparks as they watched. Darnand caught Abiene’s eye, and they shared an indulgent smile. “Illusionists,” said Abiene. “Such theatrics!”

Darnand offered his arm, and Abiene gave it a squeeze when she took it. I’m going to miss him, she thought. They walked out under a clearing sky, the wet cobbles just beginning to reflect the starlight.

In a way Aela had it easy. Once your family disowns you, you don't have to worry about what they think anymore. Abiene still wants to keep her family, just at a safe distance. So she still has to consider them.

No child would spring from their loving.
Here is a good touch. Most writers completely ignore the fact that without birth control, sex = kids (at least the guy on girl variety of sex). Now I am intensely curious as to the form. A spell? A potion? Abiene is lucky to be a Restoration magician, I imagine that makes either easy for her to do herself. Of course it also begs the question, how available is birth control to ordinary women in the JF? For example, not so long ago IRL, it was illegal for a doctor to tell a woman how to prevent pregnancy. Margaret Sanger went to prison for doing just that.

So Abiene is leaving before the New Life Festival? That gives her less than a week in Anvil. Then it is off to Chorroll where her big girl panties await.

I see Carahil is hot as ever. When I read about her velvet dress, I immediately thought it would be ruined in the rain. But I see Teresa is not the only one with anti-water enchantments. As Abiene noted, not only good for the clothing, but in keeping those bad hair days at bay as well.

Aela would suggest conjuring a sylph to deal with the weather. Being a spirit of the air, it could stop the rain, at least around your group. Or perhaps an undine might bend the raindrops around everyone?

Is she reminding me that she’s prettier?
As soon as I read this, I thought of Abiene's sister. Then reading her own thoughts of the same a few sentences later was excellent.

Lildereth’s hair was as glossy and smooth as the Niben on a moonlit night.
This was a wonderful passage.

Yes, kind of a bittersweet afternoon with Jerric as you show us Abiene's perspective.

'She hugged her knees, cradling his seed inside her. It was folly, her precautions had already been taken. No child would spring from their loving. Still, part of her held a voiceless wish.'
I liked this for a variety of reasons (including those mentioned by SubRosa). Abiene is a thinker and a planner, but her thinking doesn't always nudge her heart and body in the direction she thinks she wants.

'Moments later she was out in the rain, her spells speeding her steps and concealing her passage.'
Another easy to visualize and beautiful Grits passage.

Then a delightful time at the guild. All your mages are wonderful, but surely Abiene and Lildereth stole the show here as they prepared for the ball.

“You must see me take a turn about the floor with Carahil. It is the dance of the chaffinch and the crane.” Thaurron spun around as he departed,'
Not only is this a hoot, but you truly make us love Thaurron!

It was interesting to hear Abiene's perspective while having to only guess at Lildereth's. It was great however to see Abiene squirm a bit as she wondered if Lildereth was silently singing the refrain from, 'I'm just like you only prettier.' I suspect however that Lildereth does see Abiene as a friend; in fact I'm sure the wood elf has plenty of insecurities of her own.

'For a moment she was stymied by Lildereth’s ears. They have their own fragile beauty, she mused, smoothing the hair behind them. When she carelessly brushed one with her knuckles, Lildereth jumped in her seat. That answers that question, thought Abiene. She made her movements more cautious.'
Those wood elf ears are actually quite the erogenous zones. No wonder Lildereth jumped nervously.

I'm so glad you lingered here with Abiene and Lildereth. Well done - as ever.

How wonderful this was! It makes me want to write a bit of girly-girl talk for my old warrior Julian. Someday, someday! She and I particularly related to this:
Ach! We hear you, Lildereth!

I can't read the new chapter tonight, but will asap - sorry for the delay !!!

The undertones woven throughout this chapter were all nearly crushingly heavy, Abiene seems to have mopped herself into a corner with her plans, but her heart doesn't seem to really know what it wants.

Another thing I've felt all along, Abiene does not seem to realize the effect (affect?) she has on men in general. She seems almost too comfortable around them overall (as if she grew up with many male siblings or kin), possibly giving the men the appearance that there is reciprocation of interest going on (when in truth her actions are completely innocent in thought - except for with Jerric, of course).

My biggest curiousity is Lildereth. She is an enigma, secret shadows unrevealed. Then Abiene's instinctive caution around her that is totally unlike how she is with the others - I am intrigued to find out if her instincts were right to be wary or if she was just reacting to her nerves of leaving Jerric.

Since the addition of Lildereth your story seems to be moving at a different pace, as if it is heading toward something that is going to happen, but it is such a subtle change that I could be wrong on that. It is like watching a racehorse reaching its stride, they almost appear to be going into slow motion as their strides lengthen, and then suddenly you notice they are passing the field at breakneck speed.

This chapter was huge with places I should be quoting, too many to actually do it. Absolutely AWESOME Write !!!

Greetings! First of all I must say: Your story is good. Very good. Very, very, very good. It was so good that I paused my fortnightly viewing of Lord of the Rings in order to read it, and I am pleased that I did.

The way you introduce and build your characters is wonderful, they seem real with their emotions and actions. The way you write dialogue is astounding, keep it up!

Darnand is a personal favourite of mine, I love his quiet nature even though he is an incredibly powerful mage. I have enjoyed seeing his friendship with Jerric grow, as well as his abilities in combat (and unknown to him, Abiene's fondness for him)

Then there is the adition of a Bosmeri bowgirl! They are becoming quite common these days (which is a good thing of course) and Lildereth is a wonderful addition to your story, filling the female-Bosmer-Rogue-shaped hole next to Darnan the mage and Jerric the warrior-mage-lion.

I can't comment without mentioning Jerric of course. It's very refreshing to see a character who enters the story with the ability to fight well, it allowed you to introduce the character before he had to do any quests which in turn allowed you to bring some of your considerable writing talent into the deadlands descriptions and beyond! The Nord himself appears very smooth, slick and always seems to have his sword in hand ...erm, anyway...his relationship with Abiene tugs at the heartstrings and he always adds some well needed comic relief if the situation turns sour.

I am pleased to say that you can now consider me a regular reader. Three cheers for Grits!

SubRosa: I thought I’d preemptively mention that Abiene is not knocked up, since they’ve been going at it like bunnies. I’ve thought through birth control, lunar cycles, and female cycles both human and mer, along with various cultural views on the subject. So far no place to work it in, since my solutions (apart from the obvious) are employed by women. You’re right that Abiene would be right in the middle of it. Another subject to tackle when she drags the keyboard out of my hands again. In fact, I have an idea…

Acadian: You are absolutely right about Lildereth’s view of Abiene. Lildereth is too forthright to spend time with her if she didn’t want to be friends, it’s Abiene’s insecurity that makes Abiene wary. Now she knows what Jerric wonders about those fascinating ears! I’m so glad you’re enjoying Thaurron. His willingness to devote himself to an imp made me realize he had the capacity to befriend the humans, even though they pass through his life like hurricanes.

haute ecole rider: I’d love to see Julian have some girl time! As you said, someday. I sometimes wonder if Caroline and Jena slip down to Bruma on their day off for some klah and girl chat. Abiene could learn a lot about reining in her impulses from Julian.

mALX: mALX, your instincts about the pace are so accurate!! This chapter would be the end of Book One, if I was going to separate into different threads. (Which I might, I’m not sure if that would be better.) You’re right about Abiene being more comfortable with men. Her Anvil best friend is Thaurron, and even after a couple of years living there she is closer to the reserved Darnand than any Anvil women. Though she would probably be better friends with Carahil if she was not her boss. Abiene is wary of Lildereth until she decides that she is not one of the mean girls, and she is not planning a move on Abiene’s boyfriend. And you’re right about the stress making her unsettled, she has been recklessly falling for Jerric while she pretends she can handle leaving him. Now that’s here, and she’s struggling. She does tend to underestimate her appeal, since from the time she was little she was the smart one and her sister was the pretty one. Plus, her bust does not enter the room far in advance of the rest of her. Still, she knows what she knows, and that gives her confidence when it counts.

hazmick: Yay hazmick, welcome to the story!! I’m so glad you’re reading. Your kind words made me smile, thank you so much! I know when I’m watching Lord of the Rings, my household knows to tread lightly. I’m so pleased at the timing, since Darnand gets to come out of his shell a little in this update and show off some previously hidden skills. And wouldn’t every story be improved by a Bosmeri bowgirl?

Where we are: It’s the Eve of Saturalia. Abiene and her guild mates are making their way to the castle to celebrate.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 15

Abiene and Darnand followed their guild mates through Chapelgate. Warm light glowed in every window, and the streets were lively with folk in festive clothing. Jerric must be at Rhano’s by now, thought Abiene. It hurt him just to think about it. Then she mentally shook herself. Lildereth is right. Let him do what he must, and save your cares for tomorrow.

It’s a holiday, she reminded herself. She let her love for her friends lift her heart until a smile found her.

“I wonder how they celebrate Saturalia at Castle Anvil,” she asked Darnand. “Will they have the traditional sweets?”

“I do not know. I did not attend last year’s ball.”

“Really? Why?”

Darnand looked at her as if the question didn’t make sense.

Abiene didn’t press him. “I hope they have pinwheel cakes. Those are my favorite.”

“Mine are butter stars,” he said.

“Oh, butter stars! Perhaps there will be a gingerbread castle!” Abiene’s feet made a little skip, and Darnand chuckled.

“If there is not, you must still hold out some hope for tomorrow.”

“Why? Are you teasing? What do you know that I don’t know?” Abiene gave his arm a tug.

“You must wait and see,” Darnand said with an air of mystery. He gave her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Have you not seen Bertille standing out in Guild Square lately?”

“She’s made the guild hall!” Abiene squealed. The associates in front of them turned their heads, then turned back around at Darnand’s stern look.

“It is to be a surprise,” he said in a low voice. “That is why I did not tell you.” He arched a brow at her.

“Of course you didn’t,” Abiene declared. “And I didn’t guess, either. Oh, I love gingerbread!”

“I have a proposition for you. At the sweet tables tonight, we will both take an acceptable balance of confections on our plates. Then when each of us has eaten our favorites, we will switch plates, so that we might enjoy them all over again.”

“You’re a genius!” Abiene laughed. “But what if all of the choices are my favorites?”

“Then I shall offer you my complete selection, untouched.” His eyes smiled down at her.

“Aren’t you gallant. I hope you don’t expect me to be so generous!”

“I would never expect. But a man might hope.”

The bridge to the castle blazed with torchlight, and the castle courtyard seemed alive with small candles twinkling in the trees.

“I am certain that the castle footmen spent the day on their knees, praying that the rain would cease,” Darnand remarked.

“Isn’t it romantic!” sighed Abiene.

Cloaks were exchanged for dance cards in the entry. Each of them was announced by name as they stepped into the Great Hall. This feat was accomplished with a flurry of parchment checking and whispers as they approached, Abiene noted. Countess Umbranox’s elegant hand was evident in the decorations. Abiene smiled at the contrast between this grand lady’s interpretation of Saturalia and the young Countess Caro of Leyawiin’s gaudy excess.

The cluster of mages began exchanging and filling out their dance cards. Abiene looked up at Darnand, hesitating.

He held out his card to her with a questioning look on his face. “Felen has informed me that custom permits only two dances for each couple,” he said quietly. “Will you honor me?”

They switched cards. “You choose,” Abiene told him uncertainly.

“The Grand Parade. And if you are willing, the Dance of the Red Prince.”

The first and last formal dances of the evening. Abiene smiled as she filled in the card. “I hope I remember the Prince’s Dance. I’m afraid I haven’t seen a dancing master for years.”

“Nor have I, and I do not miss that tedium.” Darnand’s face filled with dismay. “Although certainly not— I mean to say— Any dance in your company—”

Abiene handed his card back, laughing. “I’m sure we will be a credit to our educations, with some focus and perhaps a little luck. Only one glass of wine for me until afterward, though.” The Grand Parade would be immediately followed by a reel. That meant three dances with Darnand instead of two. She smiled with anticipation.

Marc Gulitte appeared at her elbow. Abiene sighed and handed over her card.

Thaurron’s warning had not been an exaggeration. Within minutes of their arrival, Countess Umbranox stepped forward to make her speech and begin the ball.

Abiene’s eyes moved over the crowd as the Countess’ warm words flowed around them. She recognized many members of Anvil’s merchant class, indistinguishable from the nobles in their finery. Abiene supposed that the party would be much smaller if the Anvil countess was as discriminating as Leyawiin’s. County Anvil’s wealth comes through its port, Abiene remembered. That was as much thought as she was willing to give such matters. There were more Redguards than Bretons in the crowd, and of course there were many mer and Imperials. Only a few Nords’ heads were visible, and as few Orsimer. Abiene had to admit that a formal ball would not be Jerric’s barrel of mead.

After the Countess graciously accepted their applause, musicians began to play on the balcony over the throne. Darnand took Abiene’s hand and led her out for the Grand Parade. The steps were not difficult, as the dance was meant to be accessible to all revelers. She immediately felt how Darnand used his hands and the tension in his frame to communicate. Abiene smiled in relief. The Grand Parade was easy. He was using it give them practice for the challenging Dance of the Red Prince.

There was little time for chatting and laughter between numbers. Before long Abiene found herself confronted by Marc Gulitte. “I believe this is my dance,” he said smoothly. Gulitte’s eyes did not meet hers. Oh no, thought Abiene, did I spill something? She glanced down the front of her dress.

Darnand took her goblet, his haughty mask in place again.

Marc proved an accomplished dancer as he led her through the intricate steps. “There are few others taking the floor,” Abiene murmured nervously. The room seemed full of staring eyes.

“Most Imperials don’t know the formal High Rock dances,” Marc told her. “The countess enjoys a display of our traditions on this Breton holiday. The floor will fill later as the punch bowls empty. Many silks will be spoiled when they start the country dances. The menders must love Saturalia.” His eyes passed over her again. “Of course, I would never accuse you of anything so common as perspiration.”

You should have seen me a few hours ago, thought Abiene. Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

Marc leaned close to her ear. “Ah, the lady blushes,” he murmured.

The lady vomits, Abiene thought. His hand on her skin began to turn her stomach.

The music ended, and they performed the traditional courtesies. Abiene placed her hand lightly on Marc’s forearm. “I wish to return to Darnand’s company,” she told him.

The Dance of the Red Prince was announced before Abiene had the chance to worry about it. She and Darnand took the floor with perhaps a dozen other couples. Carahil and Baeralorn the castle mage were among them, Abiene noted with surprise. Then the music began, and Darnand claimed all of her attention.

The dance began slowly, with a series of complicated figures and blind turns designed to display the couples’ timing. Some part of their bodies was always in contact, and Darnand was able to tell her when to turn back to him even when only their fingertips touched. Abiene’s confidence grew quickly, and soon she found herself smiling. Whispers swelled to murmurs in the crowd. She could tell without looking that at least one couple was not performing well. Darnand’s obvious pride reassured her, and she let him see her own admiration. A musical flourish told them to begin the next part.

It seemed like only minutes later when they completed the honors ending the dance. The musicians immediately struck up a hornpipe, and trumpets at the end of the reception hall announced the opening of the dining chamber.

Thaurron appeared before them, grinning and clasping Abiene’s hands. “Triumphant, my dears! Abiene, you must give me this dance before you are swamped with suitors. Go and fetch her some punch, my lad. I intend to leave her breathless!”

Abiene was soon grateful that her figure did not require restrictive undergarments. Thaurron swept her through several energetic Gold Coast country dances before she found herself back at Darnand’s side. She had moments to down her punch before she sailed off again, this time in the velvet arms of the elaborately coiffed Felen.

Gambling over cards and dice broke out along the sides of the reception hall, made elegant by tapestry-draped card tables. The shouts of merriment rose in volume as the level of punch dropped in the crystal bowls. Darnand made good on his promise to share sweets, and Abiene did her best not to be greedy. The moons lit their slightly unsteady walk back to the guild hall.

A line of hanging cloaks told them that their guild mates had preceded them home. Abiene stood in the entry hall with Darnand, reluctant to see the evening end.

Darnand stood close, not touching her. “Shall we exchange gifts tonight, or wait for the morning?” he asked.

“My mother always says that Saturalia morning is for servants and children.” Abiene bit her lip, watching him.

A slight smile drifted across his features. “As did mine. However, I believe that no one is too mature for simple joys, and anticipation is a gift we can give ourselves.”

Abiene took his hands. “Tomorrow, then.”

Darnand’s reply was cut off by a crash at the front door. He opened it and stood to the side as two Anvil city guards angled their way in. They dragged an unconscious man down the steps and deposited him on the tiles without ceremony.

“Jerric!” Abiene gasped, dropping to her knees beside him.

“He’s dead drunk, miss, don’t fret yourself,” a guard told her. Abiene noticed dried blood on Jerric’s neck. Anxiety tightened her chest until a quick investigation revealed a scalp wound, already healed. She heard Darnand speaking to the guards while she worked. When Abiene glanced up at the men, she found she didn’t know them.

“That one’s no stranger to the prison,” the guard said with a slightly pompous air. “Nord, you know. Pays his fines is the best I can say about him. I would have dragged him there, but Marcellus said you’d know him. Lucky for him, your hall was closer.”

Go hump yourself, constable, thought Abiene. “Thank you for bringing him to us,” she said, looking at the other guard.

The second guard removed his helmet. “Marcellus Illio, miss. I don’t expect you to remember me, but you were a comfort last spring when my sister had her accident.”

Abiene looked at Marcellus more closely. She still had no memory of him. “Thank you, Constable Illio. I wish you a good evening, and may joy find you this Saturalia.”

“Good evening,” Darnand echoed, still holding the door. “And many thanks.”

Darnand spoke to Constable Illio for another moment at the door before he joined Abiene at Jerric’s side. She looked up, at a loss for words.

Darnand’s nostrils flared. “I do not think he soiled himself. And yet…”

“I think it’s ale, sweat, and pipe smoke. Well, that might be dung. There’s no telling what occurred tonight.” She hoped that was mud in his hair with the tree bark. His face looks as peaceful as a child’s, she thought with a private smile.

Darnand’s voice sounded dismayed. “We cannot leave him here to be found on Saturalia morning. I fear we may need to wake some associates. I have a spell to increase my strength, but this man weighs a solid ton. I doubt I can get him all the way up to the common quarters without disrupting the entire guild.”

Abiene sighed inwardly. “I know a feather spell, Darnand, and you learned how to fortify your strength from me. You take his feet, and I will carry his shoulders.” She caressed Jerric’s face once more before she started feeling his pockets. “Let’s get his weapons, I don’t want him to wake up disoriented and do any harm. Here, and check in his boot. Help me roll him. Look, under his shirt.” Belatedly Abiene hoped Darnand wouldn’t ask how she knew. ‘Healer’s matters’ explained away a world of knowledge, but not her familiarity with Jerric’s clothing.

Getting him up the stairs was more awkward than strenuous. They shifted him onto the bed closest to the door in the common quarters. Darnand helped her tug off his boots. She saw his shoulders sag as his spells faded.

“Should we cover him?” asked Darnand. He’s concerned, Abiene noticed with a surge of affection.

“No, he won’t take a chill. Let’s turn him onto his stomach. That way he won’t aspirate his vomit, if he should throw up during the night.”

They heaved him over with a mutual grunt, then hauled his arms and legs back onto the bed. “There,” Darnand said with some satisfaction. He glanced at his palms with a look of mild disgust.

“I think I’ll stay here tonight,” Abiene said. “I’ll sleep on one of these beds. Just in case.”

Darnand’s brows climbed upward. “He is merely drunk, Abiene. From memories of this summer, it is practically his natural state. He will rise in the morning regretful but unrepentant. You should get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep better where I can check on him. You know I can’t help it. This way I won’t be up and down the stairs all night. I’ll come back down in a few hours. He’ll likely sleep the morning away.”

Darnand walked around the bed and took her hands. “I wish you a happy Saturalia, Abiene. I shall see you in the morning.”

Abiene reached up impulsively and kissed him on the cheek. “May joy find you, my friend. I hope you sleep well, for what remains of the night.”

After Darnand had gone, Abiene knelt beside Jerric. She could easily reattach someone’s ear if the wound was fresh enough, but preventing a hangover still eluded her. It has something to do with the mundane toxins in his blood, she decided. Perhaps I could treat him with medicine instead of magic.

Abiene could hear the two resident associates and Lildereth breathing gently in their beds. Jerric’s hair was stiff under her fingers with only the gods knew what. She pressed her lips to his brow and found it somehow both cold and sweaty. Sweet Mother Mara, what a smell, she thought. Even now she wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him.

She stretched out on the next empty bed. This will have to do, she thought, closing her eyes and dispelling her light. A Breton’s shy smile drifted through her mind as she fell into sleep, entwined with the memory of strong arms around her.

A lovely description of the ball, and Darnand comes further out of his shell!

But poor Jerric! That dinner with Rhano's family must have stirred the bad memory pot a little too much! Of course he's a Nord, and that's what they do Drink. And drink. And drink a little more . . . Good thing the guardsmen brought him to the guild hall instead of the clink.

“I would never expect. But a man might hope.”
The story of Darnand's life I think.

“Felen has informed me that custom permits only two dances for each couple,”
I see I am not the only who reads Jane Austen... It was good to see some authentic medieval/regency era dancing, rather than the usual couples dances most people are used to today.

The lady vomits
And I am sure Abiene is not the only one.

And Jerric does what Jerric does best I see! Now Abiene has good look at the what else she is signing herself up for if she continues her relationship with Jerric in Chorrol.

Darnand is playing a dangerous game trying to come between a woman and her sweets!

Being a huge fan of period movies and books, I really loved your rendition of the celebration so much! (as well as the descriptions of the dances, dance cards, etc). The interplay between Abiene and Marc Gulitte was hilarious! You did a wonderful job of portraying Marc as oily, I could feel Abiene's skin crawling at his touch!

Uh oh, I don't like this new development with Jerric! He was with Rhano and the family, what could have happened? And who were those guards that brought him? Dried blood on his neck? GAAAAH !!! Sounds like some retribution for his unprovoked attack on that necromancer's lair ... or worse! URG !!!!!

Awesome Write !!!

Loved it! I thoroughly enjoyed your wonderful recount of the ball through the eyes of Abiene. You did justice to so many characters here, particularly gallant Darnand, oily Marc and the wonderful Thaurron.

'Countess Umbranox’s elegant hand was evident in the decorations.'
I think very highly of Millona Umbranox and am delighted to be reminded that you do as well!

'Abiene had to admit that a formal ball would not be Jerric’s barrel of mead.'
Not only was this particularly 'Nordic', but it turned out to be very prophetic indeed.

'She pressed her lips to his brow and found it somehow both cold and sweaty. Sweet Mother Mara, what a smell, she thought. Even now she wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him.'
As dear Mazoga would say, "Girl, you got it bad!"


Nit: “Oh, butter stars! Perhaps there will be a gingerbread castle!” Abiene’s feet make a little skip, and Darnand chuckled.'
Mixing tenses here. I think you want 'made'.

I've been away for a while and finally got some time to read more of Jerric!

Chapter 7.6

There was no way that was going to end well, but it’s still sad

Chapter 7.7
I find it fascinating hearing about the main character of a story through the eyes of some of the other characters in the story. This chapter is excellent.

Some resolve at the end by Jerric. At least he’s going to start moving again. It’s a start for him.

Chapter 7.8
The prison cell joke was good. Jerric is doing pretty well since his world was burned to the ground. Having a purpose seems to have helped.

In my game I used the Kvatch gear for quite a while. I found the cuirass to be extremely weak and broke after every battle. However the shield never took damage. The only thing that was able to break it was a minotaur’s head-butt.

All the stuff he received is very appropriate for a hero.

Off to lead Martin to the Priory. Glad Jerric’s back.

Chapter 8.1
Jerric mentioned a feeling of disconnection. Very appropriate for a man that just lost his family and home.

Jerric’s been to Gnoll’s camp several times before. He’s definitely changed since he decided to tell Carmia to take her children away from there.

Generosity from the Skingrad Mage’s guild?

Chapter 8.2
For a second there I thought Jerric was being an [censored], but I see what he’s doing. He’s tearing down Martin the priest and (trying) to put the emperor in his place.

AH! Jerric got tripped up like Aravi does, in front of a bear no less!

I had to laugh at Jerric yelling at Martin while his leg was healed.

More rat to eat? Yum. :puke:

Hilarious banter between Jerric and Martin!

Interesting bringing up the stones. Cool! Jerric’s got a new power to play with!

haute ecole rider: Yes, Jerric was not up to the reminder of all he lost, even with the family that still means so much to him. There’s a lot that’s still broken.

SubRosa: Jane Austin indeed. Jerric provides some more awkwardness for Abiene in this installment. Dragging her passed-out boyfriend up the stairs while still in her ball gown isn’t part of her ideal evening.

mALX: Don't worry, it was nothing more sinister than a friend with a Nord-sized bottle. (For now. ) I’m so glad you enjoyed the ball. It was fun to show a little of what goes on in Abiene’s mind under the manners.

Acadian: I’m glad you enjoyed our mages at play. I had a great time writing it. In my mind I can see Countess Umbranox and Abiene with their heads together over some community welfare projects, but I can’t see how we’ll ever get there!

King Coin: Welcome back! It’s great to remember that road trip with Martin. I’m looking forward to Jerric eventually getting back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Eventually. I think that’s why I enjoy Aravi’s fatigue mod so much. A lot of Jerric’s fights end up on the ground, but his game doesn’t reflect that. Hang in there, soon rat will be off the menu!!

Where we are: Jerric’s Saturalia.


Chapter 11 Holidays: Part 16

Jerric woke to pain and quiet darkness. He lay still for several moments before he tried to think. I’m in a bed, he decided. Boots off. He rolled gingerly to his back and felt the front of his trousers. Buckles and buttons still in order. That relieved a host of concerns.

He cracked his crusty eyes open. A dormitory. He was in the mages guild common quarters. Daylight glinted around the window coverings.

Urgent needs began to make themselves known. Jerric flopped out of the bed and staggered to the necessary. Once undone, his fly proved too complicated to close, so he let his shirt hang over it. In the nearby bathing chamber, his shaking hand couldn’t hold water. Jerric dragged himself down the stairs in search of a drink.

He stood in the dining chamber, bewildered. Why was he here? He closed his eyes against the stabbing light.

“How is your head, Jerric?” Abiene’s tender voice pierced him, and her footsteps seemed to shake his bones. She took his face in her cool hands. Darnand’s head popped up over her shoulder.

“Uh,” Jerric croaked. His mouth was the Alik'r Desert.

“This is the perfect opportunity,” Darnand whispered to Abiene. “You suggest it.” His wide eyes stayed on Jerric’s face.

“I can hear you, Darnand,” said Jerric. “What daedric trick do you two have planned?”

“Not daedric, alchemical,” Darnand replied in a voice like a cracking whip. “I… we have a hangover remedy to try out on you. That is, to offer you.”

Abiene gently brushed Jerric’s hair back from his forehead. He wished he could lie down with his head in her sweet lap and quietly die. “If it doesn’t work, I can try to heal you,” she coaxed softly.

“Why wouldn’t… ugh, too many words. Bring it,” Jerric groaned.

Abiene guided him to a bench and sat him down with his back against the table. He closed his eyes again and let his head drift in a sea of pain. He awakened to a pair of Breton faces, one curious, and one compassionate. Darnand handed him a mug. Jerric closed his eyes and drank the bitter liquid. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for relief.

After a moment he began to feel he was at the center of something he could not control. Sweat slicked his skin, and his stomach heaved. Vomit surged up his throat and burned his sinuses as he tried to hold it in. Abiene swiftly moved a basin under his chin and held his head over it, gripping him by the hair. The potion came out first, and he lost track of which way was up and which was down. He tried to cling to Abiene’s legs, but a spasm drove him to his hands and knees. Abiene followed him with the basin, bending over him as he emptied his guts.

He could see Darnand’s feet under the hem of his robe in front of them. “Do you feel the need to defecate?” Darnand asked with clinical interest.

“Kill you,” Jerric wheezed. He spewed out another burning mouthful. Sweat ran down his nose. Heat flashed over his skin, and then he started to shiver.

“Now is not the time, Darnand,” Abiene scolded. “I told you the emetic was too strong.” She let go of Jerric’s hair and wiped his face with a damp cloth. Jerric began to think she had been anticipating this kind of result.

“All right, but…” Darnand’s footsteps moved toward the dining room door. “But how does your head feel, Jerric?”

He locked his elbows, hoping to keep his face off the floor. “A cool bath, when you are able,” Abiene said softy, stroking his hair. He realized that it no longer felt like he was being hit with a hammer.

A noise began in his abdomen. That’s not my stomach, Jerric realized with growing horror. A painful cramp told him that Darnand had anticipated the next effect. Thank the gods his trousers were already unfastened. He scrambled up and ran for it.

“And I told you we should administer it in the necessary!” he heard Darnand say to Abiene behind him.

Eventually Jerric emerged into the hallway, exhaustively purged. Abiene waited there holding a lit candle. She placed it in the necessary and closed the door.

“A bath now, if you agree. I have it ready for you.” She reached her hands out to him. It was all he could do not to collapse on top of her. With minimal cooperation on Jerric’s part, Abiene got him ensconced in his bath.

The lukewarm water eased some of his suffering. Cool air flowed down over his head from the open window behind him. Abiene had tucked a linen towel around his hips under the water. He was certain that his own modesty did not require preservation, but her reasoning quickly became evident. A fallen Nord battlemage recumbent in the tub proved an irresistible curiosity to his guild mates. He was soon subjected to a parade through the bathing chamber.

Felen was his first visitor. He stood at the foot of the tub, aglow in dark orange velvet. Crimson silk panels ran down the sides of his doublet, and more crimson was visible through the slits that decorated his puffed breeches and sleeves. Scarlet hose hugged his legs below the breeches. Jerric decided it would almost be worth the effort of moving to see what the mer considered appropriate footwear for such an outfit.

“Jerric, my lad,” said Felen warmly. “While you are indisposed, perhaps you would allow someone to trim your hair?”

“All right,” Jerric agreed feebly. He lifted a dripping leg and propped his heel on the tub’s edge. “You can start with my feet.”

Felen laughed heartily. Jerric winced, but he realized it wasn’t his head that was hurting. In fact, that was the only part that didn’t hurt. Felen patted the wet foot affectionately, his eyes slits of amusement. “You will soon be upright. I do not doubt the recuperative power of your stalwart race.”

As Felen left, Jerric spied Darnand hovering near the door. For safety reasons, Jerric suspected. “I wonder if the potion would affect the races differently,” Darnand mused. “They said they found Rhano with you, and delivered him to the Fighters Guild. Do you suppose we should offer him a dose of our cure?”

“Cure?” Jerric demanded, rising up a little in the tub. “Cure? Yeah, go ahead and give it to Rhano. Then I can watch you try to cough up your teeth.”

“You admitted that your headache has improved,” Darnand said defensively.

Jerric raised his hands out of the water. They still shook uncontrollably. “Yeah, my head feels better.”

Thaurron slipped past Darnand, bearing a steaming mug in his hand. Jerric eyed it warily.

“An offering from our own kitchen,” Thaurron announced with inexcusable mirth. “A restorative tea!”

“Bosmer tea?” Jerric asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“It is one of Hjordhild’s blends. I expect she is familiar with Nordic indiscretions. And this,” he produced a napkin-covered plate with a flourish, “is from Bertille.”

Jerric lifted the napkin with trembling fingers. “A bacon sandwich. May all the powers bless those women.”

Darnand drew closer to the tub. “What did she put in the tea?” he asked suspiciously. “I did not know that Hjordhild was an alchemist.”

Jerric tasted the thick brew. “She put tea in it, you madman.” He took a crunchy bite of the sandwich and washed it down with a scalding sip. Abiene’s hand helped him steady the mug. “Sugared bacon,” he moaned, closing his eyes. “I might need another towel.”

He opened his eyes to find Carahil standing at the foot of the tub, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. She looked splendid in gold and plum-colored velvet. Jewels glittered at her ears and throat. It’s Saturalia today, Jerric reminded himself.

“Greetings of the day,” he said to her, flushing. A shower of crumbs freed themselves from his sandwich and tumbled over his chest. He set it aside.

Carahil got right to the point. “I must ask you about last night, Jerric. Do you remember when the guards found you?”

“Uh…” Thinking was like trying to see through thick fog.

Carahil waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, I will tell you. They found you on the ground under the evergreen oak in Westgate, leaning against the trunk. Singing. Before you passed out, you told them you were waiting for Rhano.”

That rang a faint bell. “Yeah! I was waiting for Rhano.”

“Only you were not waiting for Rhano. You were holding him in your arms like a babe.”

That rang another bell, this one more alarming. “He was cold. Just like…”

“Yes,” Carahil agreed. “Just like the last time. Was that ten years ago? A dozen?”

Jerric tried to form the question, but the words were stuck.

Carahil anticipated him. “No, this time you were both wearing trousers. Jerric, there is an important question I must ask you.”

Abiene’s eyes widened with shock. One hand crept up to cover her mouth.

“No!” Jerric said to her hastily. “It wasn’t like that. And anyway, it was a long time ago. We were thrown out of a brothel.”

Now her other hand came up to press over the first one.

“Just for fighting!” Jerric tried to explain. “There was a little brawl. We were hardly more than kids! That man is a hothead, it was all his fault.” He glared at Carahil. “I’m so glad you remembered that.”

Carahil’s face was solemn, her voice low and urgent. “Jerric, you must focus your attention. Last night…. Last night, did you drink brandy, or whiskey?”

Jerric blinked at her. “Whiskey.”

Carahil pounded her narrow fist against the edge of the tub. Felen’s voice came in from the hallway. “Whiskey!” he crowed. “I told you the boy would never learn!”

Carahil looked aggrieved. “That is fifty-five Septims you have cost me.” She swept from the room.

“Get your hair wet,” Abiene said gently, after a moment that seemed to last an hour. “I want to wash the blood away and see where it came from. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before you start questing in your chest hair for bits of bacon.”

Jerric complied. “I probably smacked my head on something. My hands aren’t busted up, I don’t think there was a fight.”

Thaurron perched on a stool, still smiling. Sparky sat on his shoulder. The imp tilted his tiny head to the side, looking between Jerric and the sandwich. Jerric warned him with a glare before he closed his eyes.

Abiene’s strong fingers worked over his scalp, sending shivers through him. This is better than most of what you pay for at a brothel, Jerric thought. He decided to keep that to himself. He wondered why Thaurron lingered. Then he realized that the mer’s presence might help give them the appearance of a healer and her patient, rather than an aedric spirit and her idiot lover. He resolved to maintain an appropriate expression.

Jerric rinsed his head when she told him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Abiene had a sudsy cloth in her hand. “Lean forward,” she instructed. She began slowly scrubbing his neck.

Jerric held on to the sides of the tub and let his head fall forward. “Do you do this for all of your patients?” He had to stifle a moan. Thaurron began to chat with Sparky.

Abiene rubbed the cloth across his shoulders. “No, my love,” she murmured. “Only the ones who smell as badly as you do. You can wash your own— Hello, associates.”

Jerric looked up to find the grey-eyed Imperial lad and a stocky Khajiit in the doorway. They both wore their Saturalia finery.

“Hail, Master Jerric,” they chorused.

Jerric tried to sound happy to see them. “Well met, lads. I’m no one’s master this morning. I’m a cautionary tale. Stay…away…from the whiskey.”

“Mead before liquor, never sicker,” advised the Imperial.

“If it is brown, this one puts it down,” the Khajiit replied solemnly.

“The wisdom of youth,” said Jerric. “I thank you for sharing it.”

“Let us repair to the lower chambers, my lads,” Thaurron suggested. “Only a few moments remain of the morning. The parades should begin shortly, and Hjordhild has promised a midday repast to write home about.” The four of them made a procession of their own leaving the room.

Since they were alone, Jerric leaned back in the tub and studied Abiene. She rubbed her cloth against the soap again. Her gentle hand drew it over his chest and down his arm. When she met his gaze, he thought he might drown in her tender eyes. Her smile made him feel less of a repulsive spectacle. What is it about this woman, he wondered. Her portrait might simply be titled ‘Breton in Brown.’ Yet I would swear there’s never been anyone more beautiful.

Her cloth worked its way down his middle. She pushed up her sleeve as her arm went deeper in the water. Jerric moved his hand so that her breast slipped into it as she reached. He discovered that he was not entirely dead after all.

“Now I know why you gave me a towel,” he said softly. “You don’t suppose you could put your hand under…”

Lildereth appeared in the doorway, barefoot and tousled in a knee-length nightdress. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes half-open.

“You look a little rough, mini-mer,” Jerric told her.

“And you’re in your prime.” Lildereth’s voice sounded like pine bark. She leaned against the door frame.

“Are you ill?” Abiene asked, instantly concerned. “I noticed you left early last night.” She rose and dried her hands as she approached Lildereth.

“I didn’t feel well. I don’t think I’ve ever been sick before.”

Abiene took Lildereth’s face in her hands. Jerric watched her feel Lildereth’s forehead, neck, and under her jaw. “You’ve caught something, Lildereth. Even a Bosmer can sometimes fall ill. How long have you been feverish?”

“Just since last night, if that’s what this is. I didn’t drink anything after our wine, so I know it’s not the Nord’s illness.”

Jerric was too worried to tease her back. A fever was no laughing matter. Some diseases couldn’t be cured or healed away.

“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Abiene asked. She had Lildereth’s wrist between her fingers.

“I thought I was just tired. Perhaps a week?” Lildereth sounded uncertain.

Jerric sat up in the tub. “The zombies. I didn’t think you touched them.”

“When we buried Darnand’s meat,” Lildereth said weakly.

Abiene put an arm around Lildereth’s shoulders and a hand under her elbow. “I don’t want to take you over to the healing hall, and I don’t want to put you back in the common quarters. Will you rest in my chamber?”

Lildereth nodded. Abiene shot Jerric an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she led Lildereth into the hall.

Gulitte took their place in the doorway. “Now I know what I have to do to get into her bed,” he remarked. He stood looking down the corridor, Jerric guessed at the two women.

Darnand elbowed past him back into the bathing chamber, looking cross.

“Ah,” Gulitte continued. “The two of them together in there. That Bosmer looks like a nice little handful. And Abiene might not fill up her blouse, but she’s as flexible as a willow branch.” Gulitte sighed. “Now I won’t be bored for weeks.” He gave Jerric a smug glance. “You know what I’m talking about, Nord.”

Jerric couldn’t disagree, but Darnand’s face looked like a thunderstorm. His hands were clenched into fists. As long as he doesn’t open them full of fire, thought Jerric.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never looked through the wall with your life detection spell,” Gulitte said to Darnand. “You’re missing a treat. Every morning our esteemed Restoration trainer bends herself in all directions before breakfast. You can’t tell what she’s wearing, but she’s bare the way I picture it.” He shook his head. “I’d wager she can cross her ankles behind her neck.”

Jerric took a moment getting his feet organized. By the time he lurched upright in the tub, Darnand was speaking.

“Spy on her again, and I shall pluck out your eyes. Then a faint glow is all you will see of anyone.” Darnand’s voice held an icy calm. Marc looked too terrified to move.

Jerric found himself at a loss. First he was disappointed by Abiene’s abrupt departure, and now he wouldn’t be killing Gulitte. There was no telling how long this standoff would last. Jerric decided he had seen enough.

“One of you come over here and give me a hand,” he said affably, reaching an arm out toward the door.

The chamber was suddenly empty of Bretons. Jerric sat down in the cool water and reached for his sandwich. “Gods save me from the attention of mages,” he muttered.

That brings back memories of my college days. The biochemistry department was researching hangover cures, and called for volunteers. I wasn't tempted, but a number of colleagues were. They reported that the boffins had found a way to give you a hangover without the getting drunk part, and that the "cure" was much as you described here - effective, but leaving one with the impression that the hangover may have been preferable. I don't think anyone did it twice.

Nice touch with Carahil's "important question"!

I see the lady was not the only one vomiting indeed! One of the reasons I gave up alcohol was the hangovers.

“You can start with my feet.”
Jerric Baggins it is then!

“Whiskey!” he crowed. “I told you the boy would never learn!”
A nice touch. Never drown your sorrows with whiskey. You cannot keep an even buzz on it. Always go for beer.

“When we buried Darnand’s meat,”
Hubba hubba! Now this is just begging for slash!

I had to quote these all together because each one of them was the catalyst for the spewed coffee on my monitor !!!







GAAAAAH! Huh? Oh, Whew !!

OMG, I fell out of my chair on these two:





This was a light chapter - all the way around hilarious !!! Awesome Write !!!

*

I don't know which I enjoyed better, Abiene's and Darnand's ministrations to Jerric's hangover, or the other Guildmates' enjoyment of the same.

I loved the little bit about Sparky looking at Jerric's sugared bacon sandwich. Yum!

“While you are indisposed, perhaps you would allow someone to trim your hair?”
“All right,” Jerric agreed feebly. He lifted a dripping leg and propped his heel on the tub’s edge. “You can start with my feet.”
Oh Grits! You caught me completely off guard here! It is a good thing I didn't have a drink in my mouth when I read that.

 
“An offering from our own kitchen,” Thaurron announced with inexcusable mirth. “A restorative tea!”
Inexcusable mirth! How wonderfully like a Bosmeri man and how delightfully Thaurron!

“Sugared bacon,” he moaned, closing his eyes. “I might need another towel.”
I'm proud of myself because I got this right away!

“You look a little rough, mini-mer,” Jerric told her.'
I see I shall have to place that 'mini-mer' in my stylesheet right next to 'micro-knight'.

A very enjoyable read indeed. Well done!

Chapter 8.3
Carahil is the head of the Anvil mages guild for a reason. She turned that chaos into order!

Charred troll? They didn’t happen to wander into Mongrel’s Tooth cave did they?

I really enjoyed the conversation they held over the fire. It helped explain a few things about them and had a good touch of humor in it.

Chapter 8.4
Acorns crunched on the stones under their feet. I really liked that imagery.

Looks like they arrived in time to see the assassins try the Blades. Jerric is quite the warrior.

So much for a good night’s rest, huh? Isn’t that just the way it goes.

I share Jerric’s concern for Piner. Hopefully the remaining priests will abandon the Priory and move into town at least.

Chapter 8.5
It makes sense that Martin would be having the most trouble. Jerric’s a nord obviously and Jauffre’s been in the area before and knows what to expect.

Heh, Jerric doesn’t want to be blamed for a frozen emperor I guess? Good of him to spare Martin any embarrassment.

I’ve always found Cloud Ruler Temple to be one of the coolest locations in the game. Unfortunately you have to do the main quest to get in there (or cheat) and with this play through that I’m doing I doubt I’ll get to the main quest before Skyrim’s out.

That certainly was a polite way of suggesting a bath now wasn’t it?

Neat explanation on how the fortress is hidden. It’s certainly better than in game.

he sank to the bottom and spent a blissful period just lying there, completely submerged in hot water. Eventually he realized what that would look like to Delain when he returned
LOL! Not good at all!

Chapter 8.6
Neat conversation with a Blade. Always fun seeing the personalities given to some of the NPCs by authors.

Jerric noticed that Jauffre was one who could smile with his eyes while the rest of his face was scowling.
Love it!

Jerric and the serving girl getting into it! Hilarious!

The first real character I played never was asked to join the blades. When I found out later that you normally are asked I was pissed.

Back to hell. Loved how he just charged ahead.

Chapter 9
I’ve never chosen the Apprentice for exactly the reason illustrated in the beginning of the chapter here.

It’s good that Darnand intends to be a scholar, because he’s no battle mage!

Holy hell! Jerric’s HAS lost it since he left.

Stendarr’s beard, I’m going for my pocket. And I sure don’t have a sigil stone in my pants


Great way to end the section with a joke about Breton mages and conversation with a friend (I think)

Chapter 9.2
If Darnand wasn’t a friend before, he is now. I remember the beginning of the story when he didn’t like Jerric at all.

He’s really taking care of him. I don’t think he’d argue for himself but he damn well did for Jerric!

It’s rather shocking how far downhill Jerric went since leaving the Temple. Now that he doesn’t have a specific task I guess he allowed his grief for his family and Kvatch consume him.

Powerful scene with Abiene. Loved it!

Jerric’s guild is going to pull him together. I love tearing down a character and building them back up again!

Chapter 9.3
Oh there’s too much to quote. I’d have to copy the entire top half! The banter between the two is just great

@ the clothing shop

Chapter 9.4
Jerric and the cleaning lady are going to get along just fine lol.

I’m glad Jerric and Abiene are (somewhat) together again.

Chapter 10
I wonder what’s with the cold shoulder from Rhano? Because he’s a battle mage?

It sounded like a huge insult when Azzan said “I have something that suits your experience” and then proceeded to tell the Hero of Kvatch to deal with a rat problem.

Do you trust me?”

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

I really like the Carahil you put in Jerric’s story.

Chapter 10.2
It’s been a while since I’ve seen ‘chortle’ used. Felen seems like a good guy as well. I’m used to the notion of mages being full of themselves (like the way Darnand was at the beginning)

At least hunting with Inventius should be enjoyable to a nord such as Jerric.

Chapter 10.3
I like the community there in the fighter’s guild. They’re giving him sh!t already

I just read your comment to mALX about not sure if it sounds like they are joking around. Believe me you did it very well! Great job!

I don’t think Oblivion gates will be troubling him tonight.

I wish I was Jerric -
I really, really do
I hoped to be as hearty
as when he fights, farts and screws,

I wish him the best
And plenty of rest
for he shall yet need it
to fulfill author's behest -

Let all malefactors fear
This galumphing Nord here
A touch of poet in a mass of Bear
A bit of clown to balance the frown

Long may Jerric live and love
And find inspiration from stars above
*the ones he sees after he's been bonked
on the head, or after a - erm - dronk*

After I've committed this sin
of forcing spelling to rhyme whithin
I now shall read again to savour
This story which I (and many) favour!!!

ghastley: A hangover without the getting drunk part. Such evil in the name of science.

SubRosa: It started off as “When we buried Darnand’s flesh,” but that sounded worse!!

mALX: That was Abiene’s exact reaction!

haute ecole rider: I knew he’d be in that tub for awhile, so I thought he should at least get a snack.

Acadian: When the gang leaves Anvil, I’m going to miss Thaurron more than those Abecean sunsets. He has captured my heart in a completely unexpected way.

King Coin: I’m already looking forward to getting back to Cloud Ruler Temple. If Jauffre didn’t invite my character to join, I would be pissed off, too! Your insights into Darnand are exactly right. He has been difficult for me to write, since he is not a big talker. I wish Jerric could spend more time at the Fighters Guild in Anvil, they are a lot of fun. You’re right about Rhano’s issue with him, and Azzan’s ego-check. Here you go, hero, a weird lady and her rats. You’re about a chapter away from Fort Strand. That will explain why I couldn’t post screenshots of the Bjalfi confrontation.

D. Foxy: A Foxy poem!! I am so honored and delighted. Thank you so much for providing the nudge that made me get on with it. Also I was slightly growled at by a Nord. Something about keeping warrior poets waiting?

Where we are: In Anvil, Darnand and Jerric are making final road trip preparations. This next little adventure will take two posts to cover.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch, Part One

Darnand sat at his work table in the guild hall basement, candlelight flickering over the page in front of him. The words had stopped making sense some time ago. Dark eyes in a gentle face had taken their place in his mind. Abiene. He could almost smell her hair and feel her hands in his, somehow both soft and strong. Silk rustled in his memory as her sweet lips brushed his cheek.

Two days had passed since she left for Chorrol. Two mornings without her quick steps in the corridor. Five endless meals in the dining hall with an empty space on the bench beside him. Thaurron had haunted the guild hall’s second level last evening, drifting between the library and hearth room like a ghost. Even Sparky seemed listless and unsettled. She brought a kind of light to all of us, he realized. I was foolish to wait this long. Now I must bide my time until she has finished her studies.

Booted feet out in the passageway interrupted his thoughts. Only one mage strode through the guild hall like that, as if listening to war drums. Darnand leaned back and watched the doorway for his friend.

Jerric breezed in, tossing something in his hand. The Nord’s broad grin was a welcome sight. When he neared Darnand’s table, he sent a small, felt sack sailing through the air. It landed on the book with a clink. “From Maeva with love,” said Jerric.

“It took you long enough to go back to Whitmond. I almost thought you might keep the mace.” Darnand lifted the coin purse. “You were right, the spoils were the real reward. This will not be much once we split it three ways.”

“Two ways,” said Jerric. “I can’t take her coin, it wouldn’t feel right.” He studied the wall over Darnand’s head with what Darnand decided was supposed to be an innocent expression.

“Tell me you did not,” Darnand said warily. “At least not until after she paid you.”

Jerric laughed. “No, I didn’t. She was spreading manure on her kitchen garden, and that’s a little much even for me. And you were right about the sweating.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “She’s going to make some farmer a very happy man some day. Rockshatter is a beautiful mace.” He seemed to shake himself. “Anyway, add my cut to what I owe you.”

“That would be two shares of three ways. There is no debt between us. If there was, I would subtract it.”

Jerric’s palm thumped heavily on Darnand’s head. “That’s a good Breton. If it was a pitcher of mead, I would know how to split it. Thanks for keeping track of the numbers. You know I can’t count past… How many did you tell me?”

Darnand flicked his hair back into place, smiling to himself. He decided to help Jerric get to his point. “I have not forgotten my promise. I shall accompany you to the Riptide this evening. Though how one tavern differs from another is beyond my powers of observation.”

“Different brews. I heard the publican at the Riptide brings in a Bruma porter for the winter. I think you’ll like it better than the Gold Coast beers. It should taste malty, not bitter with hops. Plus I could stand to look at some different women.”

Darnand waited, but Jerric just loomed over his workbench wearing his mildly pleased expression. Darnand raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Oh,” said Jerric. “I guess you don’t know. This evening is right now. Let’s go. You don’t need to change your gown or anything. How one of your robes differs from another is beyond my powers of observation.”

Darnand left his cloak behind in favor of a warming spell. Pipe smoke no longer bothered him in the air, but he did not enjoy the way it lingered in woolen clothing. Their path took them past the chapel and out the Castle Gate. Darnand knew that the Riptide was located on the harbor’s east end.

“I think I found a mount,” Jerric said as they walked. “I can’t ask Flash to carry me and everything we’ll need for a winter camp. He’s quiet as a lamb, Clesa said. I don’t know about that. The lambs I’ve seen are pretty frisky.”

Not long ago that would have annoyed me, thought Darnand. “Shall I accompany you?”

“Yeah,” said Jerric. “I’d like to know what you think. We can take him out on the road with Flash and Banner, see how they get along.”

“Tomorrow. If you have time, I would also like to review our supply needs.”

“Done,” Jerric said. “We can take over the back of the basement for a few hours, or use your chamber. I’ll show you what we have, and how I pack it. You might need to pick up some things after I check your gear, but I’m ready to go.”

Darnand considered as they walked. “Ready to go when?”

“Day after tomorrow, if you like. I have a few things I’ll leave at the guild hall, in case I make it back. Books, mostly. I’ve already paid Vania, she’s going to lock up for me when she’s through cleaning the hut. What do you still need to do?”

“I must visit the castle steward and shift some things into storage at the guild hall. Carahil might reassign my chamber while we are away.” He looked over at Jerric. “Do you not wish to stay for Old and New Life Festivals?”

His friend’s eyes stayed forward. “I guess I can skip another drunken episode.” He ran a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. “I guess by then we’ll be in Kvatch.”

Darnand didn’t know how to respond to his friend’s agitation. Jerric’s return to Kvatch also troubled his mind. He was no more inclined to offer false comfort than Jerric would be to accept it. They stopped in front of a single-story split log building. Jerric pushed open the door, and Darnand followed him into the tavern.

The Riptide looked the same as The Flowing Bowl inside. Dark and smoky, with every surface showing hard use. It smelled the same, too, Darnand decided. The music of wood elf voices was absent here, replaced by a sullen mutter. Darnand followed his friend to the bar. He guessed that Jerric’s Bruma porter must come from one of the barrels against the wall. That meant they would drink from tavern crockery. Darnand braced himself for an unsanitary experience.

“Hey, Jerric,” called a thick voice from the center of the room. Darnand saw that it came from a spectacularly unkempt Nord hunched troll-like over his tankard. “I’ve heard some strange noises coming from your hut in the past weeks. Sounded like a seagull crying, but long after dark.” The tavern quieted as folk turned their attention to Jerric.

Darnand glanced at his friend and found him almost unrecognizable. The dark look on his face made Darnand reflexively take one step away. “Maybe it was a seagull, Bog Trawler,” Jerric growled.

“She must have flown all the way from High Rock,” sneered Bog Trawler, seeming to somehow swell. “In fact—”

“It was your ma,” Jerric interrupted. “I’m sure you’ve heard her sound that way before. When the little man comes to sweep the chimney, maybe. Or when the milk lad comes in for his New Life tip.” Darnand looked at his hands and realized that Jerric had just passed him his dagger.

Bog Trawler’s face turned from red to purple as he smashed his tankard against the floor. By the time he lurched to his feet, Jerric was over the tables.

Space was hastily made as the two Nords crashed to the floor. The tavern’s patrons began calling out wagers over the barman’s shouts. Bog Trawler’s enraged bellows abruptly ceased. They rolled so that Bog Trawler lay on his back with Jerric under him. Darnand shifted his feet, wondering how he could help his friend. Jerric was visible only as a corded forearm around the larger Nord’s throat and pair of boots hooked over the man’s thick thighs. Then Bog Trawler thrashed and Jerric’s face became visible, turned to the side and oddly serene.

An argument broke out to Darnand’s left and quickly spread through the tavern. Smashing crockery and angry cries from either side announced the beginning of a brawl. Darnand found himself short of breath and pinned to a table with a Dunmer on top of him. A telekinesis spell moved the mer, but an Anvil guard took his place. The tavern returned to relative order as the combatants scattered.

“Grab that Breton, he has a blade,” called a tense, nasal voice. Darnand found a sword pointed at his chest. After a moment of frozen shock, he realized that the man was talking about him.

Darnand heard Jerric start to object somewhere beyond his sight. The guard with the sword spoke to Darnand slowly, in a calm tone. “Drop the dagger. What happens next is up to you.”

Darnand couldn’t feel the dagger leave his fingers, but he heard it hit the floor. The guard kicked it away and stepped back, allowing Darnand to breathe. Darnand saw Jerric leaving the tavern. “Don’t forget my blade, Marcellus,” he called back over the heads of his escort.

Bog Trawler rose up from the floor like a mountain, shedding russet-coated forms. His guards arranged themselves around him, surging to one side or the other as he struggled. Darnand heard chains under the swearing as they started for the door.

“I know who you are,” Darnand’s guard said to him quietly, drawing Darnand’s attention back to the sword. “When you have composed yourself, sir, you will accompany me to the castle.”

The man’s voice restored reason to the world. “Constable Illio,” Darnand said, surprised. “We met on Saturalia.”

Illio gave him a tight smile. “Yes. We have a mutual friend. For her sake, I hope you can keep your head.”

Darnand nodded. “I will cooperate in every way. However, I am uncertain what is expected of me in this situation.”

Illio retrieved Jerric’s dagger and sheathed his sword. “Walk with me, keep your hands down. No magic. We can skip the irons as long as you comply. I’ll take you as far as the dungeon. Jerric will be there, I’m sure he’ll want to talk you through your processing. No one wants to see a daedroth tonight.” The Imperial made a polite gesture, and Darnand preceded him out into the cold night.

Darnand and Constable Illio got little attention as they passed through the harbor in the wake of Jerric and Bog Trawler. Jerric stayed as silent as he had been during the fight, but Bog Trawler’s curses floated back to them on the light wind. Illio slowed their pace as they reached the castle bridge, allowing first Jerric’s group and then Bog Trawler’s to cross before he and Darnand stepped onto it. Darnand took a moment to look up at the glittering night sky. He told himself that the cold was the source of his shaking.

“I was just here,” Darnand said to Illio as they entered the castle courtyard. The other two parties were nowhere in sight.

“We won’t be going through the Great Hall tonight,” said Illio. He stopped outside a reinforced door guarded by a woman in Anvil colors. “Let’s give them another moment to secure the Nords. Bog Trawler might still have some energy left.” The constable braced his feet apart and absently loosened his sword in its scabbard. “You know, your friend sends a keg of mead to the barracks every Saturalia. You can thank him for your noble’s treatment tonight. At least until we get under the castle. The jailers are a different sort; you should step lightly around them.”

Darnand wished he had thought to jump off the bridge. “Thank you, constable. You have made this a most pleasant arrest.”

Illio’s eyes glinted under his helm. “May you have a brief and equally agreeable incarceration.” He nodded for the guard to open the door.

So Darnand still has it bad for Abiene? Poor guy, unrequited love is a beyotch. He seems to be holding out until she returns to make finally make a move on her. So he has not noticed she is shacking up with Jerric? I would think it would be rather obvious to everyone in the guild hall by now. Given the scene in the bar, it does not appear to be a secret.

You know I can’t count past… How many did you tell me?”
21, assuming he takes off his shoes and drops his pants...

And Jerric gets Darnand arrested! Now that is a wonderful way to spend his last night in Anvil.

No one wants to see a daedroth tonight.
Obviously a very wise guard. Not to mention one without a dispel magic spell or scroll.

Holy Cow! We finally get to see how Jerric really gets banged up in those bar fights !! WOO HOO !!!!! You nailed this by giving the visuals from Darnand's viewpoint, that made us all witnesses with him - Awesome!!!

Jerric may have been protecting Darnand from finding out about Abiene, but I doubt Darnand would actually be able to guess the female (knowing Jerric is quite free with dispensing his pleasure with the masses).

What a twist of events !! This is AWESOME !!! This chapter is right up in the top five favorites of Jerric's episodes !! AWESOME WRITE !!! WHEW !!!

Opening scene- *sigh* - Poor Darnand.

'The Riptide looked the same as The Flowing Bowl inside. Dark and smoky, with every surface showing hard use. It smelled the same, too, Darnand decided. The music of wood elf voices was absent here, replaced by a sullen mutter. Darnand followed his friend to the bar. He guessed that Jerric’s Bruma porter must come from one of the barrels against the wall. That meant they would drink from tavern crockery. Darnand braced himself for an unsanitary experience.'
What a masterfully scene-setting description. I luvs those musical wood elven voices!

A fun episode - admittedly not so for Jerric nor Darnand. I really enjoyed the 'classy' arrest treatment that Darnand received.

Chapter 10.4
It sounds like Abiene doesn’t mind it a little rough

I like the description of Jerric’s healing. It certainly fits him though. Gets what needs to be done not through finesse, but brute strength and determination.

She’s interested in both Jerric and Darnand eh? Which is she going to choose… because I don’t think she’ll be with both unless this turn into one of those books.

Wait did I just totally misread her interest in him? I’m like a child, hoping for approval from Papa, she realized

@ the Woodelf. I always imagined them as those ‘cursed morning people.’

Chapter 10.5
Morvayn’s Peacemakers feels as much like an island for Jerric almost as much as the MG and FG does amongst the world.

None of my characters got any special treatment for being a hero! No repairs under the promise of payment!

“Shall I paralyze you now, or would you like a head start?”
Great line!

What will be better? Glad I don’t have to wait to find out. An advantage of being horribly behind you see. I bet you enjoyed dangling that in front of everyone.

Chapter 10.6
Ah crap.

Folks, since I decided to go ahead and keep the whole story in one thread, I added a table of contents to the very first post with links to the beginning of each chapter. There are also a few screenshots of the Fort Strand adventure posted in King Coin's excellent video thread.


SubRosa: Abiene’s habits never changed to most of her guild mates. She lost a lot of sleep, but restoration magic helps with that. I expect she slept the whole way to Chorrol! I doubt Jerric is reliable counting past eleven. He might not remember to take off his boots.

mALX: You’re right, Jerric would only need to worry if Bog Trawler recognized her, since he’s been so generous with his affection. And now that Darnand has Abiene on that pedestal, she would be his last guess. Thank you, mALX!! I’m glad you enjoyed the Breton’s-eye view of the fight.

Acadian: I thought you might enjoy Darnand noticing the elf voices. Thaurron and Lildereth have had an influence on him. Thank you for mentioning Constable Illio’s manner. I think Countess Umbranox would encourage courtesy as part of maintaining order. Courtesy backed up with a sharp sword.

King Coin: You read her interest right, she has all kinds of tingly feelings for both of them. She also wants Darnand to see how clever she is, like when she would bring home school work to show off her good grades. Darnand does remind her of her father, but not in icky ways. Yikes, you did stop at an “oh crap” moment.

Where we are: Darnand goes to jail.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch, Part 2

Darnand and Constable Illio passed down stone stairs and through corridors until they reached a square chamber lined with cupboards. A grizzled Imperial in a guard’s uniform stood beside a desk with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, a ring of keys clenched in his fist. An assortment of shackles and chains hung on the wall behind him. Illio placed Jerric’s dagger on the desk next to a ledger, parchment, and writing implements. Jerric’s voice reached them from the chamber beyond as Darnand stared at his jailer, but Darnand did not hear what he was saying.

The Imperial frowned at him. “Name,” he grunted.

“Darnand Penoit of Anvil, Associate of the Mages Guild.”

“Have you been informed of the charges against you?” The jailer sounded irritated.

Darnand cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“You’ll be booked when the complaint is filed, or released in due time if no one comes forward. Fill in the parchment. Anything on him I need to know about?” Darnand realized that the question was directed at his captor.

“He’s clean,” said Illio. Darnand signed his name under Jerric’s scrawled signature and Bog Trawler’s mark. He noted that the other Nord had not supplied a given name.

“Let’s go, lawbreaker,” said the guard. “Your suite is ready. Stay in front of me, hands out where I can see them.”

Darnand preceded him into the dungeon. Torchlight showed him a long, windowless chamber with barred openings on either side. Straw was stacked in bales and loosely piled in a cart against the far wall. The smells of everything a body could expel assaulted his nose. As he walked down the center holding his hands carefully out from his sides, his fellow prisoners jeered at him in tones from bored to deranged. Then through the bars of one cell, there was Jerric.

The cell door shut behind Darnand with a clang that made him flinch. A quick glance over his friend showed only a purple mark under one eye and a scrape on his forehead. After a second look, Darnand decided that there was really no way to determine if his nose had been broken again, short of asking.

Jerric reached out and squeezed Darnand’s shoulders. “Sorry about this,” he said. “I should have kept you out of it.”

Darnand swallowed until he felt his voice wouldn’t crack. Then he realized he didn’t have anything to say.

“Don’t worry,” Jerric told him. “I’ve been in and out of here so often I’m surprised they even locked the door. And they didn’t even make us change into their prison clothes. Maybe we’ll just be here overnight.” He moved over and leaned against the bars. “When you’re bare and bent over with the law investigating your person, that’s when you know you’ve done wrong. I’d swear that of any folk of all races, prison guards have the thickest thumbs.” Jerric winked. “At least I hope that’s what they use.”

“By the Nine! For what purpose is that done? Do you suppose he will return?” Darnand looked frantically out through the bars. Then he worried that he might have drawn the guard’s attention.

“They search you on the way in if you’ve really misbehaved,” Jerric explained. They might have been in the dining hall at the mages guild, for all the concern he showed. “Lockpicks, smuggled goods, you’d be surprised what folk carry around. I once saw an Imperial with a whole sheep’s bladder full of moon sugar, and I don’t mean in his pocket. He was not happy, I can tell you. Neither was the guard, actually. Ugh, what a job! No wonder they’re usually in a foul temper.”

A shudder rippled through Darnand’s frame. “That just does not make sense to me. How could someone manage it?”

Jerric gave him an evaluating look. “Something tells me this is not the time to explain. Anyway, relax. That didn’t happen.” He dropped to the floor and started doing rapid pushups.

Erratic behavior from one’s cellmate was not comforting, Darnand decided. He looked around the cell, rubbing his hands up his arms. A rough pallet and a bucket in the corner were the only furnishings. The floor was strewn with straw and unidentifiable oddments. And occupied by a Nord of exceptional cheer and vigor. “What are you doing?” Darnand finally asked.

“Check-in procedure,” Jerric grunted without pausing. “I’ll stay calmer if I’m tired.”

“Well you are not helping me to relax.” At least the straw is fairly fresh, Darnand noticed. He did not want to think about the bucket.

“Join me down here. Could be a life-altering decision.”

“No, but thank you.” Darnand shivered again.

Jerric popped up and grinned at him. “You live all day inside your mind, but this meat has to carry you around.” He dug a hard finger into Darnand’s arm. “What will you do when you’re too weak and spindly to pick up a book? What if you have to pull me out of a ruin? I’d like to think you could at least help me home if I exhaust myself in a brothel.”

“A mage can enhance his strength and abilities. I could cast a feather spell and drag you with two fingers.” Darnand thought that the cell had become a little smaller.

“That’s going to be impressive when you’re with a lady. ‘Just a moment, love, I must enhance my strength and abilities. I shall cast a spell to make you less of a heavy burden.’ Women love to hear stuff like that. Hey, maybe you could wear an enchanted—”

“All right, I take your point,” said Darnand. There is nothing else to do, he thought. “Show me.”

Darnand did his best to imitate Jerric. Eventually he decided that he must be doing well, as his chills had turned to sweat. He had time to regret it when Jerric said they were through. Darnand’s muscles burned in ways he hadn’t experienced, and cold and clammy was worse than just cold. “No spells,” Jerric told him, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched across the cell. “If you use magic, we’ll both get the irons.”

Darnand scooted back against the wall next to him. His mouth felt dry, and his stomach rumbled despite the stench. Another chill shook him.

“I wish I still had my Ring of the North,” Jerric said. “It had an enchantment to keep you warm. I didn’t really need it, but sometimes it came in handy when I was with a woman. You know, outside. Too bad I lost it, you could use it tonight.”

Darnand stared at him, deciding which question to ask first. “You lost an enchanted ring?”

“I didn’t misplace it, I lost it dicing. Then I learned to throw better, but the fetcher I lost it to never wagered it again.”

“You mean you learned to cheat.”

“No,” Jerric explained patiently. “I practiced until I knew how to win. I don’t cheat.” He gave Darnand a look that a six year old might try when caught with his hand in the sweet jar. “You don’t have any dice on you, by some chance?”

“We do not require dice to wager.” Darnand began breaking up an abandoned crust of bread. “For example, do you see that spider, descending from the beam? Which way will she turn when she reaches the floor, left or right?”

Jerric stared intently at the spider. Darnand pushed half of the bread cubes over to him and leaned forward to scribe a line in the debris directly under the spider. “Left,” said Jerric. He brushed aside the straw and slapped one of his bread cubes on the stones between them. “A bet while we wait for the spider. Which of those Imperials will be the first to spew?”

Darnand looked over at the cell across from them. Three young men in fine but disheveled clothing sat against the far wall in various states of distress. “The one in the red doublet.” He met Jerric’s spider bet and placed a second bread cube to the side.

By the time Darnand had won all of the scraps of bread, he was hungry enough to consider eating them. He rarely thought about meals, but then he always knew that the next one would be available. Jerric’s persistent hunger seemed more reasonable now. Darnand decided that rather than dwell on his situation, he would to try to sleep.

Jerric must have had the same idea. “You take the bed,” Jerric told him, lifting his chin at the pallet. “Don’t worry, anything that bites you will likely scamper off before you can jump. Anyway, I doubt you’ll be much of a haven for fleas. I’ve slept with women who are hairier than you.” Jerric started unbuckling as he headed to the bucket.

There were so many things in Jerric’s remarks that Darnand found disquieting, he decided to just let the whole thing go. He curled on the pallet in a way that he might touch as little as possible. It reeked of mold and unwashed folk. Darnand said a brief prayer that he might temporarily lose his sense of smell. Then he prayed to lose his hearing as Jerric endlessly filled the bucket, humming a jaunty tune.

Jerric stretched out on the stones with such a contented sigh, Darnand almost looked to see if he had conjured a feather bed. He closed his eyes against the torchlight, surprised to realize how close sleep had already come. He found his mind turning away from the comfort of his bed at the guild hall, instead wondering at the camps and inns to come. This night is only the first of weeks of discomfort, he realized. But at least I know the company will be entertaining.

___

Darnand woke on the floor, mysteriously and crushingly warm. Sweet Mother Mara, I’m in prison, he remembered. As his senses returned, he realized that he had joined the long and doubtlessly colorful parade of people who had been spooned by Jerric. He crawled away with a cry and staggered against the wall as his sleeping legs failed to support him.

When Jerric flopped over onto his back, Darnand decided that three of the pallets still wouldn’t contain him. His friend spoke in a sleepy voice, eyes still closed. “Don’t flatter yourself, we haven’t been in here that long. You were cold.”

Darnand brushed straw and a crawling sensation off of his chest and arms. “Where in the sixteen realms is your shirt?” He could not imagine why the Nord couldn’t keep his clothes on.

Jerric reached under his head and produced it. “No pillow.” He opened his eyes. “You’re a heavy sleeper. You’re lucky it’s me you’re locked in with, pretty boy.” His wiggling eyebrows looked so ludicrous, Darnand couldn’t help but snort.

He smoothed his hair and began to shake his robe into order. His body was a chorus of complaints, but he ignored it. “I do not suppose that the guards will break our fast with a fresh pot of kahve.”

“Let’s hope they don’t break our anything. I might not know the next fellow who comes in here. We’ve had a pleasant stay so far, but you never know when one of them is going to share his bad day.” Jerric climbed to his feet, pulling his shirt on over his head.

Jangling keys and grumbling preceded a guard into the dungeon. Darnand grew both hopeful and concerned when he walked straight to their cell.

“Pack your bags, it’s time to drag your stinking carcass out of my jail,” the guard growled.

Jerric lounged against the bars, straw in his hair and an insolent grin on his face. “So soon? I haven’t had a chance to dine on the county’s drake. I’ll have some strawberry jam on my toast, and make sure my eggs aren’t runny.”

“Ha! Fellow from the Riptide dropped the charges last night when he came by to pick up his shackles. I guess he heard you drink more than you break. Bog Trawler’s been out for hours. You ladies looked so cozy, I didn’t want to wake you.” He began to work his key in the lock.

“What are you still doing here?” Jerric asked. “Are you fellows pulling double shifts?” Darnand realized that it must be the same man who locked them in last night.

“Double and then some. The Watch has new patrols, with news of daedra roaming about. More training with the county militia, and some of them still on the teat. Half the guards that had prison duty are back up on the walls.”

The jailer returned Jerric’s daggers at the desk. Their fines left them with only a few coins between them. Darnand suspected that their gold would go straight into the man’s pocket, and the record of their arrest would meet a flame. He decided not to mention his theory to Jerric. His friend might drag him to the Steward’s office to ensure justice was done on them. Jerric had a unique sense of duty for a repeat offender.

They stopped when they reached the castle bridge to raise their faces to the sun. “Mid-morning,” Jerric sighed. “It’s a good day to buy a horse.” He looked at Darnand. “I suppose you won’t be right until you’ve had a bath. Let’s find something to eat and some kahve first. I don’t think you’ve blinked since I handed you my dagger. We’re out now, you can go ahead and breathe.”

Darnand decided that he wouldn’t argue. Jerric bought some kind of food from a Harborside cart, and Darnand devoured it without questions. He chugged his kahve under the amused glances of Jerric and the kahve vendor. “One night inside, and you’re eating like an inmate,” Jerric laughed at him. They walked into the Chapelgate District in companionable silence. There were plenty of folk out on the street. Darnand wondered if he looked like a criminal.

“Dammit,” said Jerric, halting in his tracks in front of the chapel. “I went the wrong way.”

Darnand stopped too. “Will you meet me at the guild hall later? I will negotiate your purchase with Clesa, if you wish.”

“Yeah, I definitely wish.” Jerric began to walk backward toward the Castle Gate. “Do your exercise,” he said, pointing at Darnand.

“If I think of it,” Darnand replied, smiling to himself. He turned and started toward the guild hall again.

“Keep doing it, every day,” Jerric said earnestly, raising his voice as the distance increased.

“Perhaps I will forget how,” Darnand called over his shoulder. He relished the rare opportunity to tease Jerric.

“Darnand!” he heard Jerric shout behind him a moment later. He turned and looked at him down the busy street. “Just keep doing it like I showed you in prison!” Jerric made a motion that indicated pushups. From the looks on the faces around him, Darnand suspected that the gesture was being widely misinterpreted.

Jerric gave Darnand a cheery grin and a Nord-sized wave. Every head in the street swiveled around to look back at Darnand. As he made his way through the interested crowd, Darnand tried to console himself with the thought that at least today was not a market day.

If I ever get thrown into prison, Jerric's the cell mate I want! Even if I'm male!

Poor Darnand. At least they put him in with Jerric, and not Bog Trawler!

Just surprised to see that kind of talk here, that's all. But very, very appropriate, given the situation (both in the story and the fact that it's on a PG-13 forum!).

Hey, at least it's Jerric!

"Give me a moment hon. Got to whip out the pump." What?? I'm leaving!

The betting game was funny, as was Darnand's thoughts about the reason for Jerric's bottomless appetite.

You mean Darnand doesn't have a spell for that? At least it's the bucket, not the corner!

Perfect timing! My mouth just happened to be empty of tea as I read this!

A perfect ending to a bawdy, rollicking and funny tale!

Grits, if you keep on getting bawdier than me, I really think I must sue you for copyright infringement.




...AND inflicting greivous injury on LCD screens through induced beverage expectoration...

Chapter 10.7
Looks like Jerric’s initial plan of going to the waterfront is coming around anyways. Not sure about the fighting though. That might be out of town.

So funny that Maelona is warning Jerric to be on his guard in a place he frequents.

I didn’t see that one coming! Jerric recognized the guard! Hilarious!

He pulling in Darnand?

Abiene's habits never changed? So who was she sneaking off to boff on the beach before Jerric arrived? Keeping your romantic liaisons secret from the people you live with is not very easy, especially not for a long time. They see you coming and going all the time and notice when you are not there. Not to mention most people who are in a positive romantic relationship tend to behave in a much happier manner all around. While the people in the bad ones do the opposite. Add the fact that they went on several public dates, and well, it is really hard to miss. Although I do not really see why either would go to the effort of keeping it a secret? So far as I can tell Abiene has nothing to lose, and Jerric does not seem like someone who normally shows discretion with any of the women he is with (although granted, most of them seem to be prostitutes).

I’ve been in and out of here so often I’m surprised they even locked the door.


Well, Darnand's night in prison was not so bad. Well, not counting the Nord spooning part.

It was good to see a mention of Daedra. I was wondering when they would begin to show their ugly heads again.

What a fun romp through the Anvil jail!

You certainly do a masterful job of portraying the stark differences here betwen two of your leading men. Bravo, Grits.

'Jerric popped up and grinned at him. “You live all day inside your mind, but this meat has to carry you around.” He dug a hard finger into Darnand’s arm. “What will you do when you’re too weak and spindly to pick up a book? What if you have to pull me out of a ruin? I’d like to think you could at least help me home if I exhaust myself in a brothel.”
As a lifetime devotee of physical fitness, I can think of no more eloquent way of stating the case.

Chapter 10.8
I never thought of magic having a particular smell… except conjuration. Do shock spells smell like ozone?

Be careful, I don’t want to put it on and experience fire damage
Understatement.
I actually was wondering if it was possible to constantly fuel an Atronach (or anyone really) with 100% magic absorption and an enchantment with magic damage on self. I haven’t tried it yet.

I really like the effect the Sigil Stones are having on them when they use them. They look like evil. I had one in a display case and the constant humming from the thing drove me crazy.

Meridia… One of the Deadra I like. Anyone who has necromancers killed is good in my book.

@ Darnand’s reaction to the job.

LOL! Going to get another lunch at the other guild!

Chapter 10.9
Talking about all the food and I missed DINNER. I was doing fine until now.

GAAAAK !!! URK !!! "Why is this lockpick so ... brown? ... er ... What's that smell?"

Poor Darnand! He is not suited for this kind of place ... and I'll bet Carahill will take Jerric's head off for causing his incarceration !!

This line had me rolling:



Awesome Write !!

Chapter 10.10
Beer and a brawl sounds great, but training is definitely a better use of your time. I’m glad that it is at least occurring to him to train now rather than the whole train of thought ending with “I want beer.”

The “sparring” is a really good idea. I know I’ve trained with summons before.

Oh Jeez. Foolish redguards. Does make the story interesting however.

Chapter 10.11
“Stop right there, criminal scum!”
you HAD to use that line! I even heard the Imperial Legion in my mind!

Never been silenced before Jerric?

Whoa! Down and empty handed! Just when I thought he was victorious too!

LOL! @ walking into the Flowing Bowl

Well some lessons learned. He won’t overlook those items again.

Folks, no story update this time. I just want to answer your very much appreciated comments.


haute ecole rider: I don’t think Jerric could imagine a higher compliment than an offer to share his cell. I’m so glad you enjoyed Darnand’s little walk in Jerric’s boots. I think Jerric did manage to make it less horrific for his friend. Apart from the cuddling.

D. Foxy: Oh dear Foxy, you know you should keep a towel handy!! I hope the damage was reparable.

King Coin: I thought Maelona’s line was funny too. He is the one she’s warning him about! Oh, Darnand is in for some new experiences. I was thinking that fire spells would make a smell, but I now think shock would, too. I haven’t tried that damage to self/100% absorption thing. Would it run out of juice because it’s an attack? Funnily enough, Darnand has a similar idea for a scroll/spell. Eventually we’ll see if it works out.

SubRosa: Thank you very much for bringing up those questions. Those are some fundamental things that I thought I had addressed through the story, but what I hoped to convey has not come across. I trust my characters, and I know I’m telling the right story. I would like to learn how to tell it better. Would you say that the events are not believable, the characters are acting in ways they shouldn’t, both, or something different? It would help me to know which parts I need to communicate better.

Here’s how I see the issues that you mentioned:

Why doesn’t everyone know that Abiene has been sneaking off to boff Jerric? Everyone she lives with sees her coming and going between the guild hall, the healing hall, and errands in town, just like always. No one from the guild sees her going to the beach. We’ve seen her using her spells to prevent that. They’re used to her being somewhere else a lot of the time and keeping healers’ hours. Carahil already knows, and as Abiene’s boss she’s the only one who keeps track of Abiene’s free time. Darnand looks for her in the morning and at meals, and she’s there. Gulitte spies on her when she’s doing yoga, and she’s there. Felen talks to her when she comes in at night if he’s still awake, just like always. It’s actually pretty easy to deceive people who trust you, and Abiene has a lot of practice. She must have slipped up at Jerric’s house at least once for Bog Trawler to have seen her there, but Jerric doesn’t think it’s general knowledge or he wouldn’t have jumped on Bog Trawler to shut him up.

How can anyone miss what’s going on, since they’ve been on several public dates? Well, they haven’t. One of the things they discuss is that they have so little time together, they spend all of it naked. They spent part of one Loredas together in public. Abiene worked at the healing hall that morning, then they visited the market, ran into Thaurron at the garden house, walked through the marsh, Abiene declined to get sweaty on top of the lighthouse, they went out to dinner, then Jerric swapped Abiene for Darnand at the guild hall and went on the Sirens job the same night. All that time Jerric treated her exactly the way Darnand did at the ball. Also the way Felen, Thaurron, and Gulitte treated her. Holding her cloak and offering an arm are just courtesies. Nothing in their behavior would suggest she was dating much less sleeping with any of them. It would also not be unusual for Abiene to spend some leisure time with a guild mate, especially one who needs some emotional support. That’s what she does, we’ve seen several people mention it. If she had spent the afternoon with Rhano, people might look for romantic intentions. Even then, I can’t see anyone assuming that going out to dinner once means that she must be having sex with her date.

Why doesn’t everyone notice that she is extra happy/sad? Jerric is the only one who sees her happy, that’s something we saw them discuss. Mostly their relationship makes her exhausted and conflicted. People have noticed that she is wearing herself out, and they have commented about her working too hard. Given the state of affairs in Cyrodiil, everyone is upset. Her best friend noticed the light in her eyes, as he put it. Otherwise she’s just as stressed out as everyone else.

Why are they bothering to still keep it a secret? This is pretty important to understanding Abiene. She explained her reasons for discretion, and they haven’t changed. Jerric only keeps it quiet because Abiene asked him to. I hope I have shown that he would not betray her trust. Neither of them thinks they have a future together, so they would gain nothing by revealing their past. Abiene would have to admit to some very slutty behavior, her mother would be furious, her sister would be embarrassed, and her friends would be hurt that she had deceived them. Abiene has said that she considers Anvil to be her home. She wants to preserve her Anvil reputation, not damage it. Jerric explained the hopelessness of their situation when he returned to Anvil, before he slept with her again. If they had a chance to someday be together, they would have a reason to date openly and deal with the consequences.

Again, thank you for sharing the holes you see in the situation. If current events sound implausible, then it’s likely that more of the story will also ring false. I would like to know how to communicate my characters better, so that I’m not trying to build part of my story on a broken foundation.

New business: The Anvil Dungeon Jerric Suite comes with a hairy, half-naked Nord blanket. No extra charge. I’m glad you mentioned the daedra. This is a good time for a reminder.

Acadian: If Darnand had to walk to Bruma with a pack on his back, this would be a much longer story. Thank you for drawing attention to Jerric’s fitness evangelism. As I’m sure you know, it’s his way of caring for Darnand.

mALX: You’re right, Carahil’s vision of running a clean hall does not include her mages doing the walk of shame from the dungeons! Thanks, mALX!!

Where we are: Jerric and Darnand have embarked on their road trip. We’ll catch up with them in the next update. A reminder about the timeline: Jerric was in Anvil for a little under a month. According to the way time passes in this story, it has been about a week in the Deadlands since he closed the last Gate.

Chapter 10.12


Took me a second read through to figure out where Vidkun came from then I was oh. So that’s what happened.
Chapter 10.13

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


Ah crap. The fact you included the attack of grief is genius though. I really haven’t thought of his family much and this was a perfect reminder.

Question game turns into a serious discussion. I’ve never really found fortify spells very useful. I might give them a go again though. Maybe with Aravi?

She's happy that she can really help Jerric

Chapter 10.14
I really liked meeting Thaurron. Hearing about the trouble his imp gets into is great!
Haha Jerric wants to run away from the song written about him. I guess I don’t blame him.
that was hilarious meeting the prostitute!
Lovely scene at the lighthouse.

Chapter 10.15
Woohoo! The quest begins.
Good manner is short supply at the Flowing Bowl? Lol.
Things are not going as planned it seems. Typical
A f------ daedroth??? I can only imagine how horrific that scene was.

Every time I come back to this you’ve added ten pages!! I’ll be back once I’ve caught up.

Chapter 10.16
…go in search of the apple pie that followed. Our Nord failed to join us this evening, so there may be a piece left.” They shared a smile. No mortal ever loved pie more than Jerric.
Couldn’t help but grin at that.

Hearing of the fights at dinner gives the bland NPCs of Oblivion some welcome character.

Thaurron and Sparky are quite the pair. I’m glad you included them.

Aliene, what a mess… and speaking of messes it’s a good thing you didn’t see Darnand. Freaking Daedroth ripping people to shreds. What was really weird was how calm he was. Probably was gibbering on the inside.

Chapter 10.17
Well Jerric messed that up at the breakfast table.
Darnand seems more formal than usual.
Haha funny ending!

King Coin: Fortify spells take some planning, so they’re very new to my game. I’m glad you liked the teacup incident. It’s easy to forget that he’s still broken. Thaurron has become one of my favorite NPCs since I started this story, even though he wasn’t so much in the game. Yep, a daedroth. Darnand could be a loose cannon at this point. You’re right about how he felt in the aftermath. Gibbering on the inside, then sort of retreating back into his formal shell, even with Jerric. Darnand’s tone has gotten more formal overall, that was my oversight in the beginning. First story.

Destri: I am honored and delighted that you’re reading. I hope very much that the story keeps your interest. Posting has slowed down lately, if that helps.

Where we are: Jerric and Darnand have embarked on their road trip. You might notice a departure from game mechanics. Please do not try this in the game.



Chapter 12: Return to Kvatch, Part 3

Jerric knelt in a doorway high in the Sigil Keep, looking in at the pillar of fire. The livid, membranous floor told him he had reached the uppermost chamber. Two staircases with steps like severed claws arched up to meet on the next, open level. Above that, Jerric knew there would be two ramps to the final platform where the Sigil Stone hovered in its frame, powering the Gate.

He watched the pink glows moving above him. Too many life signs. Too many daedra. He had already used Jone’s Shadow to pass invisibly between two deadroth outside the main tower, and his last invisibility potion got him through a gathering of armored dremora in a lower chamber. His gut lurched with fury at the memories. Now he had to avoid another fight while every part of him howled for justice. The potion he had made from pears and wisp stalk caps would give him additional speed, but it would also cause him some pain. Best to take while it would not distract him, he decided. He reached into his daypack for the vial.

His ring showed him the shapes of two daedroth and two dremora on the level above him. The platform at the top was too far for him to detect the signs of any daedra. There’s usually at least one up there, he thought. Maybe more this time.

Jerric drank the potion and tucked the vial back into his pack, gritting his teeth against the stab of pain. It wasn’t bad this time. He guessed that the shriek from his torn back must be drowning out his smaller discomforts.

The pacing daedra finally arranged themselves to his liking. Jerric cast the spell to improve his speed, then brought his scamp to the front of his mind as he crept up the claw stairs, concealed by the next level’s overhanging lip. Exhaustion weighed his limbs despite the spells. The thrumming fire provided cover for the noise he must be making.

A furious voice like grinding metal told Jerric it was time to run. He summoned his scamp as he launched himself up the final steps and into full view. The two daedroth and a dremora mage stood to his left, no closer than a dozen paces. Precious scrambled up facing that direction, already throwing a flare. The shouting dremora charged around from the right, drawing its sword. Jerric would have to pass one way or the other to reach the leathery ramps. He ran toward the warrior.

Lightning cracked behind him over the fire’s roar. Jerric dodged the dremora’s shield bash and kept running around the tower, looking over past the column of flame to see Precious fight. He heard the armored dremora behind him, but he knew he was faster.

Both daedroth had engaged with Precious. One lifted the scamp and simply ripped it in two at the waist, sending it back to the Void. More lightning arced toward Jerric from the mage’s staff. He saw that it would hit the wall behind him as he ran. A glance upward showed him his last enemy.

A storm atronach. The daedra was already making its way down one of the ramps. The large rocks that made up its body came apart, beginning to rotate around its indistinct center. Jerric jumped onto the other ramp, almost skidding off as he reversed his direction. Get the Sigil Stone, he told himself.

Roars and thundering feet from below told him that the daedroth had joined the chase. Shock energy angled past him again, and he heard a furious screech over the fire. He slid to a stop on the platform and reached into the inferno for the humming stone.

Even through his surcoat and mail, the stone’s vibration seemed to seep into his bones. Jerric drew his sword as the storm atronach approached up one ramp. A daedroth’s fanged snout became visible as the monster climbed the other, roaring. Its companion was right on its heels. The Sigil Stone’s frame cracked behind him, and the platform lurched. Jerric felt the stone begin to pull him back into the collapsing pillar of fire. It would draw him down the heatless flame and back out through the Gate, he knew. Or he could stand and make his end.

Jerric stepped toward the daedra. “Come on!” he screamed, raising his sword.

White flame took him in a blinding rush. He became a wisp inside a vortex, without substance but drawn by the racing stone. Motion abruptly ceased with a sound like the world breaking. He opened his eyes to a sun-drenched hillside. Legion soldiers and Kvatch militia stood in a meadow. And there was Darnand.

Jerric found his feet as noise erupted around him. A Legion captain moved up to stand beside Darnand and the Kvatch officer. Their words melted into the cheers, and over it all Jerric thought he could still hear the fire.

Redeemer felt heavy in his hand, so he sheathed it. There were too many faces gathering around him, and he still felt like he should fight. He looked over at the distant trees until it passed. The soldiers begin to move down the hill away from them. Away from the Gate, Jerric remembered. He looked to the side where black spikes jutted out of the cracked soil, like the ribs of some abomination that had somehow grown there.

A meadow lark’s song was the first sound that made sense. Then Jerric realized that the Legion captain was speaking to them. “We’ll keep a guard on this site until we’re told otherwise. You men will be safe if you camp here tonight.” The captain looked like he wanted to say more, but he just extended his arm.

Jerric clasped the captain’s forearm, then the Kvatch officer’s. He hoped he wouldn’t need to know what the men had been saying.

The captain turned to Darnand as he stepped back. Respect and gratitude remained on the captain’s face. “Magister.” The men exchanged a nod before the officers strode away.

Darnand took the humming stone and handed Jerric a water skin. After a few moments, Jerric followed him down the rise away from the Gate. Green stickle bushes stood out against the winter-brown grass. They passed legionaries piling brush against a stack of skinned corpses. Jerric realized that they must have been scamps.

“Looks like you had a fight after I went in,” Jerric said.

Darnand pointed further down the hill, toward the Gold Road. Dremora lay in a row, stripped of their armor. Their chests had been opened. “The fire atronachs don’t leave much behind,” he said. “Just some residue on their armor. We thought the whole hill would burn at one point. Then it rained.”

Now Jerric noticed the darkened swathes. The ground under their feet was dry. They were following a path trampled into the grass. “How long was I in?”

“Three days.”

“I count less than a day my time. But it’s hard to tell.”

Jerric remembered climbing this hill from the road, up toward the blazing Gate. Three days ago, he told himself, trying to make it real. He drained the last drops from the water skin.

When they neared the Legion encampment, Darnand veered off toward some trees. “Our camp is over here,” he said. Jerric could hear the weariness in his voice. “Though I haven’t spent much time in it.”

Jerric dropped his gear and knelt near the bedrolls. “Help me.” He gestured to his back, stripping off his gauntlets.

Belts and buckles came off, and Darnand lifted the surcoat away. He hissed behind Jerric as he pulled at the mail. “Daedroth?”

“Daedric longsword. Some kind of enchantment. Felt like it sliced right across.” Now that his eyes were closed, they felt too heavy to open. Darnand pulled the armor and then the padded tunic over Jerric’s head. The stiffened cloth scraped his neck.

“You made a mess when you healed your back,” Darnand told him. “Lie down. Gods blood, Abiene is going to kill you.”

You know you’re tired when you’re glad to smell your own bedroll, Jerric thought. Then exhaustion took him.

Jerric woke some time later to mist and the aroma of kahve. The light told him it was either dusk or a new day. He raised his head and looked around.

“Morning,” said Darnand. The Breton held their wooden mugs. Steam rose into the chilly air.

Jerric struggled to a seated position. Sharp pains and deep aches told him he was not finished with his healing. He spotted his boots and greaves near the fire. “Thanks,” he said, nodding at them. “I guess I don’t remember that part.”

“You were not fully awake for it.” Darnand handed him a mug. “Legion brewed. They are breaking camp. The militia has already disbursed. Their cook expressed his admiration by packing some meals for us.” Darnand sat across from Jerric, placing a large bundle between them.

“Whatever we pull out first, we’re calling it breakfast. Where are the horses?” Jerric took a sip of kahve before he opened the bundle.

“They await us down by the road with the Legion riders.’ The Gate site will be watched. The further intricacies of their explanation slipped away from me as soon as they were voiced.”

“I’d wager those fellows have a standard procedure for shaking off their sticks. Can’t argue with their results, though.” He took another sip of kahve while Darnand dug for their meal. “Did you find the hearts in my pack?”

“No. I moved your things, but I left them arranged the way you dropped them.” Darnand held out two biscuits. “Cheese or sausage?”

Jerric took both biscuits. “We should make some healing potions while we’re comfortable here. I guess we’ve gone through our supply, some of those soldiers looked like they were in rough shape. Anyway, Flash doesn’t like daedra hearts in his pack. This way when we hit Kvatch, we can just do your task for the guild.” Jerric watched Darnand for a moment while he chewed. He wondered where his friend had stashed the Sigil Stone. As anxious as he was to ask about it, he thought Darnand might be more impatient to tell him.

Darnand balanced his biscuit on his knee and took a sip of kahve. A small smile crossed his face as he looked up. “An enchantment to fortify your very life’s energy. Or one that can pull the life from your enemy, and use it to heal your wounds as you strike.” His knuckles whitened on the mug, and he leaned forward a little. “Any enemy, Jerric. Regardless of its immunity to the elements. It will even absorb the energy that animates the undead.”

Jerric grinned at his friend. “You sound like you’re ready to take up the sword.”

“Or the spear, mace, or hammer. We could even enchant your axe.”

Jerric sucked in a breath. “Your staff! It’s just a stick now, but we could enchant it for you! Darnand, you might actually survive if we enchant your staff!”

Darnand placed his mug on the ground and stood, taking a bite of biscuit. He retrieved his staff and handed it to Jerric.

“I retract my remarks,” Jerric said with respect. The staff was chipped and darkened in places. Deep gouges had been scraped out of the wood.

“Scamps,” Darnand said, sitting back down. “I survived.”

Jerric placed the staff aside and returned to his breakfast. “So we’ll argue about it later.”

“I shall reserve some time this afternoon.”

Jerric looked down over the meadow as he drank his kahve. The mist had sunk to the road, and he knew that soon the sun would burn it away. Ash pits showed where the Legion had burned refuse from the battle. Jerric could see the remains of the Gate high on the hill. A breeze shook the bare branches above them. Their position provided shelter and a view. He knew they couldn’t be more than a ten minute walk away from water. “Let’s camp here again tonight,” he suggested. “I need to clean my gear and make some potions. You could probably stand to wash your socks. If you work on my back some more, I’ll let you try to hit me with your staff. We can crack our teeth on Legion biscuits for dinner and start for Kvatch before dawn. We’re less than half a day away.”

Darnand gave him a knowing look. “And if the Gate should open again, you will be here to close it.”

“Yeah,” said Jerric, standing. “Plus I need to get my head straight before… Say, look in my pack and get out my mortar and pestle. Felen gave them to me for Saturalia. You know, since I made Master of Alchemy.” Jerric couldn’t resist the little dig. “I’m going to take a piss and check on the horses. Try to get over being jealous before I get back. Give me your mug, I’ll see if they have any more kahve.”

By the time Jerric returned with the kahve, Darnand had filled the water bucket and gotten the fire going again. He sat with Jerric’s mortar and pestle resting in his lap. The white stone glowed faintly, even in daylight.

Jerric handed over the mugs and went about gathering his supplies. When he settled by the fire, Darnand’s hands were still idle.

“Stone from an Ayleid ruin,” Jerric told him. He began to work on Atronach’s Redeemer. “Try it. I have some aloe vera pulp you can use with the hearts.” He wondered how his friend would adapt to working on the ground beside a campfire instead of on a table at the guild hall.

Darnand held the pestle in his palm. “I can feel the magicka in this stone. I wonder what the original enchantment was.”

“Maybe something to keep it from weathering away for thousands of years. Do you think the stone helps make the potions stronger?”

“I believe it does. It seems to enhance the alchemist’s ability to draw the mystical properties from the ingredients. Someday I believe that enchanted apparatus will do the mystical work, and alchemy will simply become a skill accessible to all, such as baking. I wish I could live to see such advances.”

“I know,” said Jerric. “You could turn yourself into a lich. Not an evil one mind you, a nice one that doesn’t have to take time to eat or sleep and gets to read all of the books that folk will ever write.” Jerric watched Darnand carefully as he ran his fingers over the sword hilt, feeling for wear and damage.

Darnand’s voice was mild, but his face showed irritation. “All of my life I have been told I do not adequately express myself, I do not ‘communicate.’ Now you greet my most idle thought with suspicion.”

“Who told you that?”

“Women.” Darnand’s annoyance darkened into a scowl.

“You should get to a brothel, Darnand. A prostitute will never say that sort of thing to you. One word at a time is usually all they need to hear. Well, sometimes two.” Jerric looked down the blade, checking for nicks.

“Of course that is what I should want,” Darnand snapped. “A dead-eyed woman whose skin is a map of abuse to which she has agreed, perfumed to cover the smell of other men’s leavings. A prostitute would fill every empty corner of my soul.”

Jerric felt genuinely revolted. “I guess I never looked at it that way.”

“No doubt your whores are different.”

“No. I won’t bug you about it again, in jest or otherwise.” Jerric decided that Batul was likely to swear at him when he handed over the sword. Perhaps he should show her the shredded mail first, in a bid for sympathy.

Darnand was silent for a few moments. “I might have been overly judgmental.” He passed a hand over his forehead. “I am afraid that my sleep was not restful.”

“You were honest, and you don’t have to apologize for that. You can tell me anything. I can’t say I won’t tease you about it, but I’ll quit checking to see if you’re wearing a necromancer’s robe under your gown.” Jerric thought that restful sleep was likely part of the past, at least for awhile.

Darnand snorted. Jerric decided that for this morning, not frowning was as good as a smile.